* * * * *
The morning briefing focussed on Hunter and Grace’s meeting the previous day with junior doctor Chris Woolfe.
Perched on the corner of his desk nursing his second cup of tea Hunter repeated almost word for word what Dr. Woolfe had said. In addition the doctor had given them the names of a few of Samia’s close friends she had made at university who would need chasing up and he had also made time after his shift to do a composite e-fit of the two Asian men who had beaten and threatened him. Printed copies of the computer-generated images together with a note stapled to them stating that the doctor had confirmed they were good likenesses had been waiting on his desk first thing that morning. Hunter handed them round the office as he briefed; no one recognised them.
Overnight, the HOLMES team had done background checks on Samia’s parent’s address; there were only three incidents logged — all 999 calls requesting police attendance for detained shoplifters. A voter’s register check confirmed Samia Hassan as listed at that address along with her father Mohammed and mother Jilani and there was no record of her being reported missing.
“We don’t know what we are walking into today,” Hunter finished off. “The doc is convinced our body from the lake is his ex — Samia Hassan, but no one else has called the name in, including her parents, so we don’t know what kind of reception we’re going to get this morning when we visit. Grace and I will do a softly-softly approach and check out if she is still living there, or if not, if they have heard from her recently. We’ll meet back after lunch for a scrum-down as to where we are once we’ve done the visit.”
* * * * *
Hassans convenience store was nestled between a hairdressers and a small post office on one of the arterial roads that led into the small town centre of Hoyland. It had only taken Hunter and Grace ten minutes to drive there from the station.
As they entered the brightly lit store the first thing that Hunter noticed was the pungent smell of pine air freshener. It was strong but not unpleasant.
To their immediate left a long counter spanned the frontage. An Asian man who appeared to be in his early fifties was working behind it. Hunter checked him out. He was slightly smaller than himself, roughly around five-foot-eight and overweight; a huge well-rounded stomach strained the bottom buttons of his blue and white striped shirt and sagged over his trousers. A thick head of greying hair skirted the sides of his head but he was bald on top. His most striking feature was his hooked nose. The image of Samia entered Hunter’s head and he couldn’t help but think that if this was her father then she obviously didn’t get her looks from him; Samia’s features were far prettier. His eyes roamed around the shop. Most of its brightness came from overhead fluorescent lighting. It was set out like a miniature version of a supermarket, well-packed shelves of fresh produce, tinned and packet foods. The back shelves were stacked floor to ceiling with wines, beers and spirits and close to the door newspapers and magazines took up the remainder of the space. He noticed the large flat-screen monitor suspended from the ceiling directly in front of the counter, its screen split into six sections each portion showing a different part of the store. The CCTV images were of good clarity for a change he thought. He made a mental note; they might need that to back-check footage.
The man greeted them with a cheery yet suspicious smile.
“Don’t worry we’re not selling anything,” Grace said, showing him her warrant card and badge.
He returned a surprised look.
“Mr Hassan — Mohammed Hassan?” she enquired.
He nodded.
“Mr Hassan we’re just making some general enquiries regarding an investigation we have running. We’re trying to track down people who we think might be of help and a witness has given us your daughter’s name Samia. Is she around?”
Good start Grace, thought Hunter focussing on the man’s face. Watching and listening was just as important a skill as talking when it came to interviews and having a partner who was on the same wavelength was a big advantage.
He saw the man drop his gaze, only for a second or two but it was enough for Hunter to realise Grace had a hit a nerve.
“Samia, er no she’s not here.” He stumbled over his words.
“Do you happen to know where she is?”
At that point Hunter became conscious of movement at the back of the store and he turned. Into view appeared a slim, petite Asian woman dressed in a peacock blue sari. A flash of gold came from a necklace that she wore over the bright material. She was tramping towards them and he could immediately see the likeness to the photograph they had of the facial reconstruction; though these features were a lot older. He had no doubt in his mind that this was Samia’s mother. She started talking rapidly as she approached them.
Mohammed responded conversing with her in similar tones. The conversation lasted for a good thirty seconds. Hunter could only pick out the words ‘police’ and ‘Samia’ as she drew nearer.
“Mr Hassan could you speak in English please?”
He turned back to Grace. “Sorry about that. My wife doesn’t speak any English I told her you were making enquiries about Samia. She wants to know what type of enquiries you are making?”
“There is no easy way to say this Mr Hassan but we are concerned about her whereabouts.”
His eyes diverted again. Hunter watched them latch onto his wife’s. Hers were wide and searching. There was a slight delay in his response. “Why are you concerned?”
“Well we’re trying to track her down but we don’t know where she is.”
Mrs Hassan had started chattering unintelligibly again. Mohammed replied similarly his hands becoming animated.
“Mr Hassan if you wouldn’t mind?” checked Grace.
“Sorry,” he apologised, “my wife is asking what is going on — why are the police here?”
“Do you know where your daughter is?”
“Of course I do she is in Pakistan,” he replied sharply.
“In Pakistan,” interjected Hunter. “Are you sure about that Mr Hassan?”
“Of course I am. Why are you asking me these questions about my daughter?”
“As my colleague has already said we have concerns about her whereabouts.”
“Who has said these things? Who is causing us this trouble?”
“No one is causing you any trouble Mr Hassan all we are here for is to check on your daughter’s whereabouts,” continued Hunter.
“She is in Pakistan.”
“Whereabouts in Pakistan?” came back Grace.
“She is staying with my family in a small village in the Punjab.”
“What’s the name of the village?”
“Look what is this all about. All you keep telling me is that you have concerns about her. What concerns?”
“That she might have come to some harm.”
“My daughter has not come to any harm she is with my family.” He was starting to get agitated.
Hunter alternated his gaze between the man and his wife. He could sense that something was not right between them but he did not want to damage the enquiry at this early stage. “Mr Hassan — may I call you Mohammed?” He looked for acknowledgement.
The man nodded.
“Mohammed we’re not here to cause you and your wife any anguish it’s just that a close friend of hers has not seen her for a while and has not been able to get hold of her and therefore reported it to us because they thought it was unusual,” he lied. “Now if you can just give us a little bit more information as to where she is so that we can contact her it would be a great help.”