Enough Rope: A Hakim and Arnold Mystery (Hakim & Arnold Mystery) Page 10

‘Again, my . . .’

  She waved a dismissive hand. ‘The Lord in His wisdom saw fit to give her ninety years of life. We have an excellent doctor. Sister remains lucid.’ There was a pause. Then she said, ‘I have asked Sister Pia if she will speak to you, but she has refused.’

  ‘I understand,’ Mumtaz said. ‘Very sick people don’t want questions from the dim and distant past.’

  The nun put her head on one side. ‘Maybe. But maybe not,’ she said. ‘Mrs Hakim, I was not here when Alison was found, as I told you. But what I do know is that when the convent was a hostel for young girls, this was not an easy place to pursue a religious life. I see you cover your head as observant Muslim ladies do, so you will understand, perhaps, how hard it was to be in such an atmosphere. Young girls . . . Worries about their bodies, their studies, boyfriends . . .’

  ‘I have a seventeen-year-old daughter,’ Mumtaz said.

  ‘Ah, then you will know. And the Sisters here, they were in loco parentis, you understand?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘They replaced the parents who remained in Italy, Spain, Brazil. Observant parents expected the Sisters to keep their daughters safe and pure. In those days, sex outside marriage was not the common thing it has become today. The Sisters here were expected to control the girls, and that was difficult. The world was changing. Some of the Sisters – Sister Pia was one – took a hard line. There were disagreements, complaints even.’

  ‘About Sister Pia.’

  She nodded. ‘Si. At the same time as Mother Emerita found the child in the telephone box, Sister Pia was the subject of a – I don’t know how to call it, the girls would not talk to her. There was even an investigation by the diocese. Sister Pia was cleared of any wrongdoing. But it was a hard time for her.’

  ‘Which she won’t want to talk about.’

  ‘No. But I think that she should.’

  To Mumtaz this was a peculiar thing for a Mother Superior to say to a stranger about one of her own nuns. It felt as if she were being disloyal.

  ‘For her soul.’

  Mumtaz saw the nun’s face harden.

  ‘You think she has something to add to the story of Alison’s first few days?’

  She shrugged. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. But I think that she should talk to you. In fact I will insist upon it.’

  Smiling again now, she stood up.

  *

  Venus’s car hadn’t moved. Lee rang the doorbell once and then got ready to kick the door down. Then he saw that it was open.

  Venus was on the floor of his bathroom. Just about conscious, he was sitting up in a wide smear of his own blood. When he saw Lee, he said, ‘The money!’

  ‘Where?’

  Lee knew he should be calling an ambulance, but he repeated the question. ‘Where?’

  Venus shook his head. ‘Kitchen. In the big sports bag.’

  Lee ran down a white corridor and into a big space and a lot of granite. Apart from a coffee machine and one sheet of paper it was empty. As he dialled 999 on his mobile, he read the few words on the sheet and then said, ‘Ambulance.’

  He gave Venus’s address to the ambulance service and ran back to the bathroom where Venus had now managed to haul himself up onto the toilet.

  ‘The money?’

  ‘Not in the kitchen.’ Lee finished his phone call and bent down to take Venus’s pulse. ‘What happened?’

  Venus shook his head. ‘You’re sure the money . . .?’

  ‘Venus, don’t worry about that now.’ Lee looked into his eyes, which seemed steady. ‘I’ve called an ambulance. Someone hit you, yeah?’

  ‘I don’t remember anything. I was in the bathroom . . . Then I was on the floor . . .’

  ‘When I turned up, the front door was open,’ Lee said. ‘Did you hear anyone trying to get in?’

  ‘No.’ He breathed unsteadily. ‘Why are you here? You should be in Barking.’

  ‘Yeah. With you.’ His pulse was fast. ‘And now you’re off to hospital.’

  When the ambulance had picked Venus up, Lee spent a few minutes looking around the flat. There was no sign of the sports bag Venus had packed with his wife’s money. There was also no sign of a forced entry. Unless Venus had left the front door open, his attacker must have had a key. Then there was the typed sheet of paper in the kitchen:

  GO TO THE POLICE AND HARRY DIES.

  But that wasn’t possible. The flat had to be examined. It contained forensic evidence that could lead to uncovering the identity of Harry’s kidnappers. Venus had babbled to the ambulance crew that he’d been mugged in the street and Lee hadn’t contradicted him. But whoever had taken his son and his money had a key to his flat.

  They were playing a game and it was easy for them because they knew him.

  *

  ‘Sister Pia.’

  The room, which smelt of sickness, was vast. And even where the sun came through the pale yellow curtains it was cold.

  An elderly woman said something in Italian and Mother Katerina said, ‘In English, Sister.’

  For a moment there was silence and then a cough.

  Mumtaz turned to Mother Katerina. This felt wrong. ‘Mother, I don’t think that I should be here.’

  ‘You should. It’s OK.’ She left her and went over to the small bed that stood in front of one of the long sash windows. ‘Sister,’ she said, ‘you must speak about that time. So much was happening for you, maybe you forgot something about the baby? But tell this lady what you know. The woman who was the baby, she is dying, Sister, she needs to find her mother. Anything you can tell this lady may be of use. Try.’

  The old voice said something Mumtaz didn’t understand.

  Mother Katerina shook her head. ‘No one is saying she is your confessor. Sister, you talk to Mrs Hakim or you do not, but I think that you should. I think it may be good for you.’

  The old woman whispered and Mother Katerina whispered back. Mumtaz could hear a clock somewhere in the room. The nun’s faint Italian drawled in a vaguely sinister way and then the old woman called her over. Suddenly Mumtaz felt nervous. It was only an old nun for goodness sake! And yet her hands shook in just the same way as they had done whenever her husband had come in after a night of drinking and gambling. The room was cold, but Mumtaz began to sweat.

  9

  Tina Wilton came as soon as Lee called. When he left her at the Whittington Hospital she was at her husband’s bedside, crying. Venus was going to be fine, he had a mild concussion and would only be in hospital overnight, but all the money had gone and there was still no sign of Harry. Lee had been given no choice about sharing what he’d found in the kitchen with Forest Gate nick.

  ‘How long you gonna give these people money?’ he’d asked the superintendent and his missus. ‘Your front door wasn’t open. They have a key to your flat, Mr Venus. They might have a key to your gaff too, Mrs Venus. They’re playing a game with you. They’ve got three hundred and fifty grand with no trouble at all. What makes you think they’re gonna stop there?’

  She’d said, ‘We just want Harry back! At any price!’

  Lee had exploded. ‘Yes, and because you’ve got so much bloody money, it makes you vulnerable! I’m telling you, you can’t buy your way out of this! These people know you, it’s personal.’

  It had taken a lot to convince them that getting the police involved had been the right thing to do. Venus was like stone. Tina had just cried. Lee said he’d done it as discreetly as he could. ‘I’ve spoken to Vi Collins and only her, so far,’ he’d said. ‘I know she’ll keep shtum.’

  Then oddly, for him, Venus had said, ‘Tell DI Collins to ring me. She can have this one.’

  Chief Inspector Stone would take over the running of the nick in Venus’s absence. But he was little more than a pen-pusher with a rulebook stuck up his arse. Vi would really run the show.

  When he eventually tracked DI Collins down, in the Boleyn pub at Upton Park, Lee listened in to the call she made to Venus. Venus knew how fanatically Vi loved her tw
o sons, she was always talking about them. Whenever they had problems or got sick, she was there for them. She understood what having children meant and Venus knew that in spite of their differences, she would not endanger Harry.

  Knocking back a Diet Pepsi, Lee heard her say, ‘I’ve got it, sir, trust me.’

  When the call had finished they both got up without speaking and went to Vi’s car. She turned the air-con on while short men in baggy shalwar khameez occasionally looked at them from the balconies of nearby flats. Then she made a lot of phone calls.

  When she’d finished, Vi said to Lee, ‘How did Venus think that he could get his son back on his own with just you riding shotgun? No offence intended, Arnold.’

  He shrugged. ‘I’d’ve done the same if someone took my daughter. And you’d follow the kidnappers’ script yourself, Vi, if it were one of your lads. You know you would.’

  ‘I s’pose so . . . But Venus knows that we have protocols for this kind of situation.’ She shook her head. ‘You left the flat clean?’

  ‘As I could,’ Lee said.

  The place would be under surveillance all night and then, in the morning, a ‘friend’, or Scene of Crime officer, would drive Venus home from the hospital. And Venus’s phones would be tapped.

  ‘So, you out of work now then, Arnold?’ Vi asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘How’s that then?’

  She fired up the engine.

  ‘Your Super wants us to work together.’

  ‘Does he?’

  ‘Reckons I can go to places you lot can’t.’

  ‘Like where?’

  ‘Like Harry’s school,’ he said. ‘I’ve already spoken to his form teacher and been offered a tour of jolly old Reeds.’ He put on a really bad fake posh accent.

  ‘Do me a favour!’ She pulled away from the kerb.

  ‘If you lot roll up mob-handed the world’ll know something’s up. Vi, whoever has Harry knows that family, intimately,’ Lee said. ‘They had a key.’

  ‘Could’ve had one made.’

  ‘True, but the graveyard where the money drop was supposed to take place is where Venus’s granddad is buried.’

  ‘Venus is from Barking?’

  ‘No, don’t be daft! But some of his family must’ve been.’

  Vi headed down Green Street, back towards the nick.

  ‘What about the first drop site?’ she asked. ‘Where was that?’

  ‘Brick Lane,’ Lee told her. ‘The Bangla Town end. Used a PO box for Asian lonely hearts. Drop was made in the name Shaw. Clearly that bit wasn’t Asian.’

  Vi said, ‘Mumtaz know about this?’

  ‘She knows I’d like the skinny on a rough as fuck doorway on Brick Lane, but she don’t know why. She’s got her own caseload.’

  ‘Yeah, but I bet she’s done some digging,’ Vi said.

  *

  Mrs Ullah had tears on her face. People said that her eldest boy, Amir, not only sold drugs but also drank. His father was dead and there were few family members in the area. There was, Baharat remembered, a cousin, but he was a wrong one too. It was all bad women with him. Which left only Imran. Fat, spotty and smelt of chemicals. Spot cream maybe?

  Baharat watched the woman walk up the concrete stairs to her flat and go inside. He’d seen Imran slumping along Brick Lane earlier and thought he might find him with his mum. But he hadn’t. The kid was probably off delivering love notes to Mr Bhatti’s ‘customers’.

  But there was a small, pleasant park outside the block where the Ullahs lived, and so Baharat settled himself on a bench to wait out Imran’s return. Unlike his brother, the boy wasn’t big on going out and so he probably wouldn’t be long.

  Then the two of them would have a little chat.

  *

  ‘I saw the child, but I didn’t hold it,’ the old woman said.

  ‘When?’

  ‘All the time it was here. From the moment Mother Emerita brought it in until it left to go to the Nazareth Sisters in Essex.’

  In spite of the voluminous nightgown and wimple she hid inside, Mumtaz could see that Sister Pia was very thin and bald. She was also confusing. Her smile, which was almost constant, was seraphic, but the face behind it had a hardness. According to Mother Katerina, Sister Pia had been ill for most of her life, which could explain a lot, and yet was it just Mumtaz or had the Superior implied that Sister Pia’s infirmities were in some way self-indulgent?

  ‘Why didn’t you hold the child, Sister?’ Mumtaz asked.

  Sister Pia’s smile widened. ‘Because it would not have been the right behaviour,’ she said. Then she looked at Mother Katerina. ‘Mother?’

  ‘Convents like ours were much stricter in those days, Mrs Hakim,’ Mother Katerina said. ‘This was a hostel for young girls. To bring them into contact with a baby, probably born to an unmarried woman, was not thought to be right.’

  ‘But other people must have held her here?’

  ‘That was their choice,’ the old nun said. ‘Except for the girls.’

  ‘The residents?’

  ‘Mother Emerita was very clear. The child was not to be passed around amongst our girls.’

  ‘Did they want to see her?’

  She put her head on one side. ‘Some.’

  ‘But they weren’t allowed to?’

  ‘No. Some saw it by accident. All of them heard it. It was a child born of shame.’

  Mumtaz had heard such terms used among some Muslims that she knew. They weren’t all fanatics and neither, probably, was Sister Pia. But she noticed that Mother Katerina looked embarrassed.

  ‘So who did see Alison in those first few days of her life?’ Mumtaz asked.

  ‘Mother Emerita and Sister Concezione looked after the child. Our doctor visited every day to check on its health. It was not easy for Mother and Sister Concezione. If the child cried during any of our Holy Offices or when we slept, it was unpleasant.’

  ‘Holy Offices are our prayers,’ Mother Katerina said. ‘They begin at six in the morning with Lauds. There are different Offices throughout the day and night.’

  Mumtaz frowned. ‘But if Lauds is at six and Mother Emerita found Alison at six forty-five . . .’

  ‘Lauds is a short Office,’ Mother Katerina said. ‘Meditation usually follows, but maybe Mother Emerita had a visit to make that morning. Our mission is prayer, but we are also here for the community in Chiswick. Sister, do you know why Mother Emerita was out that morning?’

  ‘I do not,’ the old woman said.

  ‘She didn’t say?’

  ‘Not to my recollection. As I have told you, madam,’ Sister Pia said to Mumtaz, ‘I remember the child and I remember those days, but it had little effect upon me.’

  Mumtaz recalled what Mother Katerina had said about the trouble that had occurred for Sister Pia around that time. Her strictness with the girls. It explained her antipathy towards Alison.

  ‘The police may know where Mother Emerita was going,’ Mother Katerina said. ‘The report she wrote for our files was not identical to her statement to the police. And Dr Chitty is still alive.’

  Sister Pia said something in Italian and was chided for it. She switched to English. ‘Mother, what would Dr Chitty know? He is old, like me. He came after the child was brought to us. What would he know about what Mother was doing that morning?’

  ‘It is something to consider, Sister, that is all.’

  It was. The police and this Dr Chitty could be fruitful sources of information. Unlike Sister Pia. In spite of that smile, her hostility was obvious, and it wasn’t just because Mumtaz was a Muslim. What lurked in this old woman’s background that had made her so bitter towards young girls that even now it made her refer to a baby as ‘it’? Was it just the strictures that some said hid horrific abuse in the Catholic Church in years gone by, or was it something else?

  *

  Making a phone ring just by staring at it was not one of Paul Venus’s skills, but it didn’t stop him looking at the damn thing every five
minutes. It got worse after Tina left his bedside. A quarter of a million pounds in the hole to Brian Green and no Harry to show for it. Tina would still withdraw two hundred and fifty thousand from her account and give it to him to pass on to Brian, who no doubt would be full of sympathy for his plight. But he’d probably still want a favour or two if the chance came up, and there was nothing Paul could do about that. He should have kicked Brian into touch years ago. He blamed Tina. Why did she still maintain contact with him?

  A nurse came in and checked the pulse, blood pressure and temperature of the unconscious man in the corner. When she’d finished, he groaned and she turned back to look at him, but then left. Paul was glad she hadn’t come to him. Making small talk was hard at the best of times, but with Harry still missing, it was too much to ask.

  What the hell did the kidnappers think they were doing? They had three hundred and fifty thousand pounds! Did they want Tina and him to have to sell their property? And how did he even know that Harry was alive? He’d never asked for proof of life, which had been stupid. Lee Arnold had known it was ridiculous, he’d seen it on his face when he’d told him. And it was. Someone had taken a vast sum of money from him and he still had no idea who they were, or whether they even had Harry.

  But the boy had gone somewhere. Even if he was dead, he was somewhere. That didn’t bear thinking about, but with Harry still missing, it was possible. He’d never actually investigated a kidnapping. He’d read a lot of historical cases, but it wasn’t the same.

  *

  ‘If I don’t get home soon Amma’ll go mental, innit.’

  Baharat Huq didn’t do young people-speak. He said, ‘Don’t be a silly boy. Your mother is of perfectly sound mind.’

  He put a hand on the boy’s knee and applied some pressure. ‘Tell her you’ve been with Baharat-ji. I know your mother, she’s a good woman, she will understand.’

  ‘Whaddaya want?’

  Baharat had intercepted Imran Ullah as he walked across the small park he had been sitting in opposite the boy’s flat. The silly kid had been out for ages and it was starting to get dark by the time Baharat ushered him over to the bench he’d sat on for over two hours. He hadn’t wanted to come.