Vengeance(115)
Rukshana sat back down. An old teacher of hers had once quoted a French saying: Revenge was a dish you ate cold. Perhaps that was true. But it certainly filled up the belly.
“OH, RUKSHANA, YOU should have been there!” Kelly rang that evening to tell Rukshana about the day’s events. “The cops turned up and nicked Jeff. And they took Sarah away too, it was so funny.”
Rukshana put on her best sympathy voice. “Poor Jeff . . .”
Kelly couldn’t believe it. “Poor Jeff? After what he did to you?”
The following evening Kelly updated Rukshana. “It was all a hoax! The police released Jeff in the small hours without charge. Now we’ve had a team of detectives in all day trying to find the hoaxer. They’re drawing up a list of suspects. It’ll be pretty heavy for the guy who did it. The police don’t take too kindly to that sort of thing — the cops say it’ll mean jail time for the culprit. That won’t help Jeff, of course, now that it’s all out about him and Sarah. The bank’s really embarrassed. Word is that when it’s all calmed down, they’re going to sack him. And Sarah.”
“Poor Jeff.”
“Poor Jeff? You have more reason to hate him than anyone . . .” There was a long pause before Kelly added, “I don’t want to worry you, Rukshana, but I think you might be on the list of suspects, what with being let go.” There was another long pause and then Kelly asked, “It wasn’t you, was it?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s what I told the police! A nice inoffensive Muslim girl like Rukshana — no way was it her. The thing is, though . . . I’m not sure they believed me.”
IT WAS THE following Tuesday, the last day of the cricket match between England and Pakistan. The commentators agreed it was going to be a thrilling finish, and Rukshana’s grandfather was in position in his armchair for it. Rukshana was jumpy. Every time she heard a noise outside, she got up and looked through the window. Then at about noon it happened. A silver sedan pulled up outside her house and a man got out and walked up the garden path. There was a knock on the door.
Rukshana’s grandfather snapped, “Ignore it.”
Instead Rukshana ignored him and went to the door. She opened it to a man with a flashy suit, sunglasses, and slicked-back blond hair. He’d obviously modeled himself on a character from an American cop show. He showed her some ID.
“Rukshana Malik?”
“Yes.”
“Detective Constable John Martin, Metropolitan Police. I’m investigating a very serious crime and I’d like to ask you some questions.”
She looked into his eyes. He knew. And what’s more, he knew that she knew that he knew — but could he prove it? Rukshana had been ultra careful. She’d made sure she was unrecognizable in the burka and in her sister’s clothes. She’d burned all the evidence and left the bike on the High Street, where some kids had promptly stolen it. She’d worn gloves. She had a story worked out and she was sticking to it. She knew what to do; she watched the same American cop shows as DC John Martin.
“You’d better come in.”
John Martin said good afternoon to her grandfather and was ignored for his trouble. Rukshana whispered, “He’s watching the cricket, he doesn’t like to be disturbed.”
“I see.”
They sat down on a sofa. John Martin went through the preliminaries, explaining why he was there and giving Rukshana the chance to avoid wasting everyone’s time.
“Is there anything you’d like to tell me about the events of last Thursday?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean.”
John Martin sighed. He knew. But could he prove it?
“Could you tell me where you were last Thursday?”
“I was here all day with my granddad.”
John Martin looked over at the cricket fanatic. “Could you confirm that, sir?”
Martin was ignored. Rukshana explained, “He’ll confirm it when the cricket’s over.”
John Martin was disgusted. “I’m sorry, I’m not waiting seven hours for the cricket to finish.”
Rukshana shrugged her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
John Martin moved on. “You must have been very disappointed to be passed over for promotion at the bank?”
“Not really, no.”
John Martin feigned surprise. “Not really?”
“I’m a person of faith, Detective Constable. Do you know what that means?”
John Martin looked blank. Islamic theology obviously wasn’t his strong suit. Rukshana went on. “I accept everything as part of the divine plan. So, no, I wasn’t disappointed.”