He felt cruel, reminding her of Mohammad’s death on top of the disaster of the fire, but it had been bothering him that there was still no sign of the two heads of this family. Ghazala didn’t answer. She lifted an A4 box file out of the cupboard and opened it.
‘Do you mind me asking, miss, what they’re doing there? In Pakistan?’
She shrugged. ‘Family business.’
‘But what about their family here?’
‘Are you interrogating me, officer?’ Ghazala’s eyes flashed as she spun round, almost dropping the box file. ‘Because if you are, I want a solicitor. I know my rights. Do you think I’m just some young girl you can push around and hint at all kinds of things?’
Sean opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.
‘Well, I’m not stupid,’ Ghazala continued. ‘What are you trying to say? That we’re all criminals? Because Mo and Saleem have been stupid boys and mixed with the wrong people? Or because you assume all Pakistanis are drug dealers or terrorists? Is that it?’
Her voice was shrill now and Sean was afraid the officer outside would be able to hear them. He held up his hands in surrender.
‘I’m not saying that.’
‘My dad and my Uncle Hassan have taken my granddad home. He’s old and sick. We haven’t told him about the fire. It’ll probably kill him, because this was his shop. You see? He opened it with his sons twenty-five years ago. Now all he wants is to see his village, one last time.’
Sean didn’t know what to say. The acrid smell from the fire was biting into his throat. He swallowed and his saliva tasted bitter.
‘My granddad was planning to stay over there for a few weeks, say goodbye to all his relatives, but he can’t now, can he?’ Ghazala continued, not looking at Sean. ‘He has to come back and bury his grandson, as you said.’ Her voice faltered and she turned towards the window where net curtains hung grey with soot. ‘They’re still trying to find a flight with spare seats, while my cousin’s body lies in the mortuary because your people aren’t even close to finding out who killed him.’
Sean cleared his throat. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’ Her voice was low, but anger pulsed through it. ‘I saw you on the TV. You were right here, outside on the pavement with that mob. Hanging around with those thugs. I know who you are.’
‘Miss Asaf, please, I’m not … Look it doesn’t matter. We need to go. The smoke damage, I mean, the air we’re breathing, it’s not healthy. If you’ve got the papers you need, let’s get out.’
She held the box file close to her chest and looked around the room. It was clear that it would take a lot of work to get everything back to normal.
‘I hope the insurance covers all this,’ Ghazala said quietly.
‘I hope so too.’ Sean gestured towards the door and she responded by walking slowly down the stairs, the fight gone out of her.
Outside, Saleem came to meet them.
‘How are the stitches?’ Sean tried to sound sympathetic.
‘OK,’ Saleem said. ‘They had to redo a bit.’
‘You want to take it easy, no more climbing into windows.’
‘You can’t resist having a go, can you?’ Ghazala snapped at Sean. ‘He’s been in hospital half the night and for your information he’s not been charged with anything, so leave him alone!’
‘Really?’ Sean said.
Saleem nodded. ‘Just got told off. It’s all right, Ghazala. He’s OK, really.’
He looked like he might have something else to say, but his sister put her arm round his shoulders and hurried him away to the bus stop without a backwards glance.
When he got to his nan’s, Sean found Maureen on her knees in front of the oven. The kitchen smelt of caustic soda. Only his nan would think it was normal to clean her oven this early in the morning.
‘Hello, love.’ She straightened up, out of breath. ‘I thought I’d get this done before the day gets too hot. I’m not going to complain about a decent summer for once, but they say we’re due for another heatwave. I reckon it’s that global warm-up.’
‘Warming, Nan. Shall I put the kettle on?’
‘Aye, why not. I’ll be done in a minute, just need to rinse the gunk off.’
She didn’t question why he was there or mention him staying at his dad’s last night. When the tea was brewed and she’d finished what she was doing, she piled his plate with toast and he lathered each slice with a thick, melting slab of butter. He started to tell her about DCI Khan, about how it had all been going so well and how he had suddenly got it so badly wrong. He was careful not go into too much detail, especially about Mohammad Asaf, but he mentioned bumping into Terry Starkey. He told her he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time when the TV crew turned up. He didn’t tell her he’d been suspended. For some reason the words got stuck and when he tried to form them, his head rushed like it used to when he was a kid and he thought he was about to cry. He told himself it was the fumes from the flat still making his eyes sting. He sank his face into his tea mug and she nodded, reassuring him that she’d never for a moment thought he was in with Terry Starkey’s crowd.
‘You know him?’
‘Of course, I thought I told you,’ Maureen said. ‘He’s batty Bernadette’s lad, different name because he was from the first husband, John Starkey. John used to work at Markham Main with your dad. Died in a scaffolding accident not long after the strike. Fell off drunk probably. Anyway, then she married Bob Armley.’
Sean tried to process what he was hearing.
‘That poor woman,’ she said. ‘As if she hadn’t had it hard enough after losing the younger one, that Terry went and got himself banged up for armed robbery.’
‘Come again?’
‘I thought you knew. The one that got pushed off the flats, that was her younger son. Terry tried to use it in court, in whatsit …’
‘Mitigation?’
‘That’s right. But his was a nasty crime. Armed robbery’s armed robbery, at the end of the day.’
He thought about the pictures in Bernadette Armley’s flat – two young boys with red hair and freckles.
Maureen topped up his tea and sat back in her chair, lighting up a cigarette.
‘First one of the day,’ she sucked on it with her eyes closed.
‘Nan, you shouldn’t. It’s not ladylike,’ he joked.
‘My days of worrying about being ladylike are long gone. Anyway, some fellers still think it’s sexy,’ she laughed a deep smoker’s laugh.
He could sense a dangerous change of subject and sure enough, she was asking him about girls and whether there was anyone special in the picture. He decided to tell her he’d seen Lizzie Morrison, but regretted it as soon as the words were spoken.
‘What’s she doing back in Doncaster?’ Maureen’s eyes lit up. ‘Is she still seeing that bloke from Donny Rovers?’
‘I don’t know Nan, I’ve not really thought about her.’
‘Well you be careful with that one.’
It struck him as ironic that the people who cared about him were constantly warning him to be careful of the people he admired. He wondered if he was gullible, or maybe he trusted the wrong people. But were Lizzie Morrison and Sam Nasir Khan the wrong people? Or were they just people who were out of his league socially, professionally and in every way he could imagine?
‘It’s not right,’ Nan said, ‘the shop being attacked. They’ve gone too far with that Clean Up Chasebridge thing, let it get out of control. I told your friend Rick, I said to him, they’re just jumping on the bandwagon most of them.’
‘He rang you, then?’
‘Yes, I told him you left the meeting early, reckoned you didn’t want to be associated with that lot.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it.’
Maureen refilled his cup, the tea darker than ever.
At that moment his phone pinged with an incoming text and interrupted their conversation. He wouldn’t have recognised the number, but Lizzie Morrison had thoughtfully signed her text. She wanted to know if he was all right. That’s all she said.