‘She’s gone to the laundromat,’ said the tiny Indian boy behind the counter of the Am-La Late Nite Groceries Store.
‘Where’s that?’ asked May.
‘Turn left out of here, next corner.’ He returned his vacant stare to a Bollywood rock video.
May followed the street to the laundry. The printouts taped to the window informed him that the proprietor was also available to unlock phones and could cater for hen parties.
He recognized Edona from her photograph, although she was without make-up now, dressed in torn jeans and a blue Dodgers top. Her auburn hair was tied back, exposing pale skin and high cheekbones. When she finished unloading her washing from the tumble-dryer and stood up, it seemed to May as if she had been expecting him and fearing the worst.
‘It’s all right,’ he said, approaching, ‘it’s nothing bad, I just wondered if I could talk to you about Sabira Kasavian.’
‘You are police, yes?’ She closed her arms over her sweatshirt protectively.
‘Yes, but we’re an independent unit. We’re doing all we can to help her. I thought, as you’re her friend, you might be able to shed some light on Sabira’s recent behaviour.’
Edona sat down on the bench with a defeated look on her face. ‘I knew you would come eventually. She called me to say they had locked her away.’
‘She’s been sent to a clinic to recover, but I’m afraid she’s not getting any better. I think she’s in good hands, but I’m not a doctor. I want to understand what’s happening to her. I’d like to ask you a few questions.’
‘She’s not crazy, if that’s what you’re thinking. But she is …’ Edona chose her words carefully. ‘… vulnerable.’
‘How long have you known her?’
‘All my life. Our fathers grew up together. My uncle married her cousin. We used to be very close. Weddings, funerals … despite everything, we managed to be together for family occasions.’
‘But you’re not so close now?’
‘A lot of things happened. She was determined to move to England and find herself a rich husband, and that’s exactly what she did. Meanwhile, I met an Albanian man who said he was a TV producer and I moved to Tirana to be with him. We laughed about it, said we had both met the men we were going to marry.’
May moved back to let a woman through with a plastic tub of washing. ‘But you came here,’ he said.
‘It turned out my future husband didn’t have a job but he did have a wife and three small children, so I left. And before you ask, no, I don’t see much of Sabira any more, because of her husband. When she married Oskar, he turned her into someone I don’t recognize. Me, I’m a reminder of her past, so I’m not welcome. I am too low class.’
‘But surely he can’t choose his wife’s friends?’
‘All the government husbands do it,’ said Edona wearily. ‘They can’t afford to make mistakes. The wives aren’t invisible women who sit in the background any more, they help to lift up their husbands’ careers. It’s the same in my country.’
‘Do you think Sabira believes in her husband?’
‘I don’t think she believes in the power of the British government.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘She’s seen it from the inside now, the way it works. When we were small, we dreamed of living in England, the lovely gardens, the friendly police, please and thank you and everyone saying sorry all the time. So proper, so well behaved. The well-spoken county ladies, confident and sure of themselves. We thought that to be English was to be fair, to be decent. Reasonable. Now she knows this is a lie. To survive in the English government, it is to hide, to cheat, to bury the truth. This is what she told me.’
‘Was there some specific incident that changed her mind?’
‘Something – yes. I don’t know what it was. Something I think she discovered.’
‘From her husband?’
‘No, from the wife of one of his colleagues. Her name was Russian – Anastasia.’
‘Edgar Lang’s wife.’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Do you remember when this was?’
‘Maybe two months ago.’
‘That was when her behaviour started to change?’
‘Yes. She had a relapse.’
‘A relapse? What do you mean?’
‘Do you not know this? How Oskar and Sabira met?’
‘She was here on holiday, wasn’t she?’
‘She came here for treatment,’ said Edona. ‘Sabira was … well, she had an addiction problem. Nobody knew. She had never broken the law. But there had been bad episodes. Sabira is the one person who should never take drugs. She’s very emotional, very highly strung.’