He felt regret at the sound of fear in her voice. “It wouldn’t be surrender. They’d only want to ask questions, Violette.”
“My family went in for questioning the day after my grandfather blew up that supermarket and look what happened to them.”
“This isn’t the same,” Bish said.
“It’s exactly the same.”
“Your mother confessed, Violette.”
“It was an illegal confession. They got it through torture.”
Bish hesitated. The wrong response now could end the call.
“I’ll only let them question me if my mother or my uncle is in the room,” she said.
“That’s not possible. You know that.”
“Then you’re turning out to be a great disappointment.”
Bish was dismayed to have reached that status in such a short span of time. It used to take people years to work out what a great disappointment he was. “Give me a chance, Violette, and I’ll turn out to be just what you need.”
“Your daughter’s about to run her best race, Chief Inspector. Don’t miss out on that because of me. I’m dealing with enough guilt in my life. We’ll speak later.”
Bish stumbled to his feet, searching the oval and grandstand. She was here?
“Violette!”
But she’d already hung up. He punched Grazier’s number just as the starter’s gun went off. He looked up to see Bee, and she was beautiful to watch. He hung up. He didn’t know for sure what Grazier’s people had in store for Violette, and he didn’t want to be the one to tell Noor LeBrac that he had found her daughter and had no idea if she had been taken to a twelve-foot-square cell in Paddington Green.
Violette had rung him. It was progress. He’d find another way.
26
Layla Bayat walked into a pub and most of the men turned to have a second look. Bish was no exception. She was beautiful. Long, thick, wavy black hair, and a pretty impressive body fitted in a black suit. She slid onto the barstool beside him, and he tried not to stare at the way her skirt rode up, because he was almost twenty years older than her and women like Layla made him feel past his prime.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“The Sangiovese.”
He signaled the guy behind the bar and fought the urge to order a second Scotch. He settled for a tonic water.
“What did I overhear Violette saying to Eddie?” he asked, getting straight to the point.
“You need to talk to Noor about Violette. Not me,” she said.
“Noor and I aren’t exactly on chatty terms, Layla. In fact I’m up there with the top three people she’d prefer to see under the wheel of a bus.”
She studied him suspiciously. “Were you one of the arresting officers?”
“No,” he said, then decided to go for broke. “But I was sent into the cell to take Violette from her that day.”
She looked horrified. “I think I could hate your guts for that too.”
“But then you’d have to remind yourself that no one from the neighborhood went down to the station to collect Violette,” he said. “Didn’t family and friends turn their backs on the Sarrafs?”
Her wine arrived and she took a sip without answering.
“I reckon that’s something Noor and Jamal will never get over,” Bish continued. “They expected it from the government, but not their neighbors.”
She looked away. He could tell it was a sensitive issue for Layla. Perhaps he should have pointed out that she was only seventeen at the time, but he doubted it would make her feel better.
“My mother’s only way of dealing with the whole mess was to nurse Aziza Sarraf when she was released from jail,” Layla said. She looked up, angry tears in her eyes. “Jimmy should have been there with her.”
“What did Violette say to Eddie, Layla?”
“You could have got this translated by anyone without mentioning Violette,” she said. “What do you want from me?”
“I care what happens to those kids and I figure you do too. That’s why I came to you with this. You were still there for a Sarraf after everything that happened. Not many people were. Etienne LeBrac certainly wasn’t there for his daughter.”
She flinched at his words. “You have no right to pass judgment on Etienne. You didn’t know him like we did.” She downed her wine and he ordered her another.
“What’s your theory about Brackenham?” she asked. “About what really happened?”
“Does it matter? The clue to Violette and Eddie’s whereabouts doesn’t belong in the past.”
“If you’ve come to me, then it is about the past.”
“I just want those kids safe.”
She sighed. “You wrote it down phonetically better than you thought. Bhebak Khayi—‘I love you, my brother.’ It sounds a lot less clichéd and a lot more profound in Arabic.”
It sounded profound enough to him in any language. And the confirmation still came as a shock, despite his having worked it out himself.
“Did you know Eddie was Noor’s son?” he asked.
“Not until I read those words of Violette’s. Then Jocelyn confirmed it. My sister’s a bit of a mess at the moment. She’s scared for those two. We all are.”
“That’s exactly why we have to get them off the streets, Layla.”