There was a delayed response before Mr Hassan answered. “You won’t be able to get hold of her it’s a small village in the mountains. My family do not have a phone. It is not like it is here in England. They are quite poor. They have to walk miles to the nearest town.”
“What about your daughter, did she not take her mobile?”
There was a slight pause then he replied, “it will not work in the mountains.”
“When did she go to Pakistan?” interrupted Grace. “And where did she go from?”
“I can’t remember the exact date, it was about two months ago. She flew to Lahore from London. I can’t remember if it was Gatwick or Heathrow.”
Grace scribbled some notes in the folder she was carrying. She held it away from his prying eyes so he couldn’t see what she was writing. Then she fixed him with a warm fake smile. “Thank you for that. That’s a big help.”
“Mohammed just one final thing before we leave you in peace,” Hunter continued the deceit, but because of the nagging doubts he had from Mr Hassan’s answers he knew they had to get sight of where Samia lived before they left. “It’s just a procedural thing but in all cases where someone reports something like this to us we have to check physically for ourselves that they haven’t come to any harm in their own home. You do understand don’t you? We would be heavily criticised by our bosses if we didn’t do a check.”
There was an uneasy silence for the best part of twenty seconds. Mr Hassan glanced down, seemed to be checking his hands, then he shot a glance at his wife before returning his gaze back to Hunter. “I don’t suppose we have any choice.”
“Mohammed it’s not a matter of choice, it would just help us with our enquiries. We’d be able to report back to our bosses that we’re okay with everything,” he added his own fake smile.
Mr Hassan began talking with his wife in Urdu. She huffed and clucked back and made an exaggerated gesture of throwing part of her sari back over her shoulder before turning and making for the back entrance.
“My wife is not happy with this interference. We are very private people. We have not done anything wrong.”
“Mohammed we’re not accusing you of anything, it’s just a formality we have to go through,” Hunter replied. “Now if you can just show us her room and then we’ll leave you.”
Mr Hassan set the lock in the shops front doors, turned a sign around to ‘closed’ and pointed them through to the rear of the store.
The entranceway at the back led them into a small semi-darkened stairway. It was cooler back here. Beyond that Hunter could see a large breeze-blocked room that was full of boxed goods. This was obviously the store room.
The bare wooden stairs led up to a door marked private and stepping through they found themselves in a lavishly carpeted hallway. There were five doors off the hall. A couple of those doors were open and Hunter could make out the lounge and what appeared to be a dining kitchen area. He guessed the other three rooms were the bathroom and two bedrooms.
“This is Samia’s old room,” said Mr Hassan pushing open one of the closed doors.
Hunter and Grace followed him in. Hunter’s immediate thoughts were that this room was more like a guest room than someone’s bedroom. It was completely devoid of any personal effects whatsoever. He could tell by marks on the wall that there been pictures or photographs hung up at one time but these had been removed. The bed had a duvet draped over it but the duvet cover and bottom sheet had been removed and were neatly folded and lay across the pillows. Hunter guessed it had not been slept in for some time. Against one wall was a chest of drawers the top of which was bare and next to the window on the back wall was a wardrobe. Hunter slipped past Mr Hassan and moved towards the wardrobe.
“Do you mind?” he asked but didn’t wait for his answer as he pulled open one door. He looked inside. It was empty except for a few wire coat hangers dangling from a metal rail inside. Next he checked the chest, tugging open its bottom drawer first. Moving upwards he slid out the next three. Whilst he carried out an eye search he asked some background questions of Mohammed — how long he and his wife had owned the business; how long they had been resident in this country; which region of Pakistan they had come from; the name of the village where the family lived and the place and date of birth of Samia. All formal questions but he asked them in an informal way in order to obtain as much information as possible without setting off alarm bells. He made a mental record of the answers to keep him at ease.
Finally he pushed all four empty drawers back into place and as he straightened he did another quick scan of the room setting a mental picture for his next visit, which he knew would not be in the too distant future. This room is soulless he thought to himself. Things are definitely not right but he knew they couldn’t move too fast under the circumstances. He had to be patient — make the enquiries first and cover all angles.
“Did your daughter take everything which belonged to her? Did she not leave anything behind?”
“My daughter has gone to join my family back in Pakistan. If you want to know she has gone to marry my cousin out there and make a new life for herself.”
Whilst Hunter had been checking out the bedroom with Mr Hassan he had been conscious that Grace had slipped away. He found her in the lounge with Mrs Hassan. She was making attempts to talk with Samia’s mother but the woman was having nothing of it, all she kept repeating was, “No speak English.”
Hunter knew this would be a good time to withdraw and reconvene back at the station to discuss the next steps.
“Well Mr Hassan thank you for your time. You have been most helpful. You have put our minds at ease I’m sure this can be sorted out now.”
“I hope it can officer, I hope it can,” he responded.
* * * * *
Hunter and Grace sat in the unmarked CID car, which they had left parked by the side of the store. Hunter had turned over the engine but was sat motionless running his hands repeatedly around the steering wheel and staring out through the windscreen, not focussed on anything in particular.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” he asked.
“You bet I am. It is Samia we’ve found in the lake isn’t it?”
Hunter nodded in agreement. “Having just done that search and watching Mohammed and his wife whilst you were talking I’m more than convinced that they’re either responsible for or involved in her death. We’ve got some digging to do to match our hunch.”
* * * * *
The entire Major Investigation Team regrouped at two pm having been called together by DS Michael Robshaw who had been sat in with the HOLMES team most of that morning listening to the team’s updates. The information had come in so thick and fast that for the first time since the investigation had started over a fortnight ago he could see a clear picture emerging as to where the murder enquiry was heading.
The time line sequence on the incident whiteboard had been reorganised and updated and new photographs had been added. Only ten minutes earlier DC Isobel Stevens, the HOLMES manager, had been feverishly writing, putting the finishing touches to the display panel so that it was ready for the meeting.
Michael Robshaw took a last look at the board and slipped off his glasses to address the team. “Okay guys firstly well done everyone, you’ve made some significant inroads this morning. As a result of your feedback from the tasks you were given, without being one hundred per cent sure, I think it would be fair to say that we now know who our victim is.” He folded his spectacles and popped then into his shirt breast pocket. “Hunter, you and Grace have been to see Samia Hassan’s parents. Would you tell the team what you have learned?”