She looked at Bish angrily. “I loved my daughter to death but I hated the domestic part of it. More than anything, I hated talking about the domestic part of it.”
“Give it here,” he said, holding out a hand for the file. But she refused and he wasn’t in a position to fight her for it.
“‘A fanatic about everything Islam,’” she read on. “That came from a supposed schoolmate. What were you fanatical about when you were fourteen, Chief Inspector?”
It was the first personal question she had ever put to him. “Well…I wanted to join the seminary. I went to a Jesuit school and discovered St. Francis of Assisi. He was sort of the first environmentalist and I wanted to be him, hair shirt and all.”
“Really? I wore a hijab my entire third form,” she said. “I wanted to make a point about how Muslim women were treated after my mother was verbally abused at a park. My point was proven. On top of the discrimination I was subjected to then, eighteen years later someone labeled me a fanatic over it. No one labels a nun a fanatic for wearing a habit. Or a priest for wearing a collar.”
“Do you practice Islam?” he asked warily, and to his continuing surprise she answered him.
“On my terms.” She was emphatic. “I pray at sunrise and sunset because my brother does and it’s the only control we have over our lives together. I fast during Ramadan because Violette wanted to do it one year and Nasrene wouldn’t let her. It would have been hypocritical if I insisted that she be allowed to if I wasn’t going to join her. Now I do it for my mother, who did it year after year on her own.”
She took a moment to collect herself. “My mother practiced goodness. Part of that came from her religion. Giving to those less fortunate is one of the five pillars—the giving of alms. That’s what I practice, the aspects of both my parents’ religions that make sense to me as a human. My brother is the same.”
Now he couldn’t take his eyes away from her. From the passion and her fury.
“And you? How do you feel about Catholicism now?” she asked.
He grimaced. “I can’t get past the pedophile priests and brothers and cover-ups. I hate the hypocrisy of it. But probably the same as it was for you. My mother and father practiced the good side of it, and that was the part of my childhood I remember most. The teenage years weren’t so good. I was petrified that everything I did was a sin. That every time I masturbated, I’d be struck down.”
“I’m presuming that was often.”
“Every single day of my life when I was fifteen.”
“Not during your St. Francis of Assisi obsession.”
“No, I abstained that year.”
She had a knowing creeping smile. It began with a twitch.
“Next?” she said, going back to the file. But this time Bish managed to take it from her and she didn’t protest.
“I wish just one person of substance had written something of worth about me,” she said. “Even if it was negative.” She pointed to the file he held. “That’s what I’ve been reduced to? Petty people claiming to be authorities on my life. I wrote an amazing thesis, you know. There were only two copies out there. One with my professor and the other on my computer. My professor chose to publicly burn hers and the police confiscated my computer. So four years of feeling guilt for neglecting my husband and daughter and being seen as the least maternal person to join a mothers’ group amounted to nothing!”
He had opened up an old wound. He’d seen that same wound before in Rachel.
“Not to mention moving my family back into my father’s house so I could complete my PhD. That was right up there with the best decisions I made.”
Bish wondered how often that had plagued her mind over the years.
“What they have on Ahmed Khateb isn’t concrete,” she said suddenly. “It’s the same way they arrested my family. On circumstantial evidence.”
“At the moment he’s the only suspect,” Bish said.
“One with no motive. He’s a suspect because he’s Muslim.”
“We don’t know that. The French may have something on him that they’re not letting on. For now, every lead is important, and you have to face the possibility that Violette was the target.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, as if that were too much to bear. “Etienne’s mother has very strong ties to a number of Algerian families here and in Le Havre. They looked after Etienne and Violette after I was arrested. So to point a finger at a member of the community, with so little evidence, is an insult to them.”
“Another reason we need to speak to Violette. Find out what she argued with Khateb about.”
“Well, she hasn’t made contact with any adult but you,” Noor said.
“She’s sent you letters.”
“I want to hear her voice!” she cried. “I spoke to her every day until three weeks ago, and something’s happened to distance her from me. All she had to do was give you a number I could contact her on and she didn’t.”
Cruel teenage children were cruel teenage children regardless of who their parents were. Slowly he sat up, positioning his back against the wall, and he took a chance.
“She isn’t contacting you because she had sex with Charlie Crombie.”