“Of course.”
Sofia tells her parents what Ed Sadler told her, and told Abdi, about seeing the man who is Abdi’s father in St. Werburgh’s.
They arrive at the church fifteen minutes later. Nur drives and the women peer out through the car’s rain-spattered windows, but it’s two A.M. and the street’s completely quiet. After a few minutes they see a light extinguish in one of the houses; otherwise there are no signs of life. The spire of the church that houses the climbing center looms high above the street, a dark obelisk.
They drive past the church and see that there’s a tunnel and some parkland, but nothing else.
“We need to come back in the morning,” Maryam says, “as soon as it’s light. If we start knocking on doors now, somebody will call the police.”
Later she’ll wish she hadn’t said this. She’ll wish she’d got out of the car and shouted for her son. Found him and brought him home. Before any of the rest happened.
Abdi isn’t aware that his family is close by.
DAY 5
No surprise that I lay awake for most of the night. Once my insomnia had unsheathed its claws, it refused to let me drift away from consciousness for more than a few minutes at a time. Sleep came in snippets, and even then it gave me no respite from the thoughts that circulated and tightened around me, noose-like, during the small hours.
When I did manage to sleep, those thoughts simply transformed into darker, looser things that made me feel even more disoriented when I woke afterward. All I remember from those dream shards are faces swimming in and out of focus, and that I couldn’t recognize a single one of them.
By five A.M. I’m sweaty and exhausted and the city’s unnaturally quiet, as if it doesn’t want to keep me company.
It’s a relief to get up. We will find Abdi Mahad today; I’m determined that we will.
I head to the office at six A.M., even though Fraser hasn’t asked us to be there until seven thirty. I review the evidence until it’s time to gather in a meeting room.
Fraser’s in bullish mode.
“The officers watching the property in Montpelier overnight have sighted two Somali men and a British man coming and going. We’re confident that one of them is Maxamud Abshir Garaar, and one is Robert Summers, his accomplice. Armed backup has been authorized because Summers is known to have a history of possessing a firearm. We believe from the limited inquiries we’ve been able to make that the suspect Maxamud Garaar may be a resident at the property at least part of the time, with Summers. We’re concerned, however, that another flat in the building is occupied by a family, and there may be young children living there. We don’t have more intelligence than that at the present because we’ve not been able to conduct many inquiries overnight, which means we haven’t been able to establish if Abdi Mahad has visited the premises, but I don’t want to waste time. I want to get in there now.”
I’ve got the security guard coming in this morning after his night shift, so we can nail down what happened to the boys, but that interview will have to be managed by someone else. This is too important. I put in a call to a sergeant I trust asking him to stand in for me.
I’m standing in the car park with the rest of the team Fraser’s gathered, getting organized for departure, when I see a taxi pull into a parking area and Abdi Mahad’s family climbs out.
I curse under my breath. I can’t ignore them. “Go on without me,” I tell Woodley. “I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
I show the family into an interview room and try to not display my impatience to get away. Sofia Mahad acts as spokeswoman.
“We have something to tell you,” she says. “It’s a very difficult thing.”
Her voice is so soft that I can hardly hear her.
“I’m listening,” I say.
“My brother, Abdi, we think he’s gone to look for a very dangerous man because he discovered that man is his father.”
Sofia Mahad and her father watch me carefully. Maryam Mahad’s eyes remain cast down.
“My mother was raped,” Sofia says. “In the refugee camp, fifteen years ago.” She’s having to make a big effort to keep her voice steady.
“I’m so sorry.”
“By a very bad man. It’s the man in the photograph, with the cleft palate. We think Abdi found out that this man is his father, and he knows where this man is. We think he’s gone to try to meet him.”
“Do you know how Abdi might have found out where this man is?”
“Noah’s dad, Mr. Sadler, told Abdi that he saw this man coming out of a house opposite the climbing center in St. Werburgh’s. He recognized the man because he took his photograph before and he noticed the scar on his lip.”
“How do you know this, Sofia?”
“Noah’s dad told me. I talked to him last night. He was at the airport.”
“Okay.”
My mind’s racing: Sofia and her family have come to the same conclusion as us—that Abdi’s gone to look for Maxamud Garaar—but they have a different location for him. And theirs is backed up by an eyewitness who’s also given the information to Abdi.
“This man raped my mother violently. Please, Detective, you need to go and find him before Abdi does. He will hurt Abdi.”
Three pairs of eyes watch me intently.
“Wait here,” I tell them.
I step outside the room and call Fraser.
“I have a possible alternative location for the suspect,” I tell her. “The Mahad family turned up at the office as we were leaving. The intelligence is strong.”
“This operation’s already under way. I’m not calling it off now. Get yourself over here.”
“Boss, the Mahad family . . .”
“Tell me when you get here, Jim, and get here now. That’s an order.”
“Can I at least get some officers sent over to the other location?”
I’m speaking into the ether, because she’s hung up. I can feel my cheeks burning when I put down the phone, with frustration, and not a small amount of anger, too. I’m tired of having my wings clipped.
Through a small window in the door I can see the Mahad family in the interview room. I can hardly imagine what it must have taken for them to come here today and tell me their story.
I step back into the room and take the time to sit down with them, even though I’m dying to be out the door.
“Your information’s extremely helpful, and you have my word that we’ll follow up on it this morning.”
“Do you have a son, Detective?” Nur Mahad asks.
“No.”
“Abdi’s my son. I’m asking you to find him and protect him.”
“I understand.”
He clasps my hand between his briefly, as if sealing a pact. It’s a gesture that’s human and desperate and dignified. I know what I’m going to do.
“Thank you,” he says.
I get to my feet. I’m struggling to maintain a professional demeanor, but I just about pull it off.
“I think it would be best if you go home. I promise to be in touch the minute we have any news.”