Hunter and Grace looked at one another. Grace opened up her folder and slid out an A4 size colour copy of the facial reconstruction. She also took out copies of Samia’s photographs from her Facebook site. She slipped them across the coffee table to where Nahida had a better view.
“Is this the girl you met?” asked Grace.
She lined up each of the photographs and picked up one, which showed Samia holding up a drink to camera. She scrutinised it for just a few seconds before setting it back on the table. She tapped the photograph and raised her eyes to fix Grace. “This is definitely the Samia I met and spoke with.”
“When did she come here?”
“Oh she never came here at all. She originally left a message on our answer machine and left her mobile number. It would have been a good six months or so ago now. I arranged to meet up with her at a coffee place at Meadowhall. It’s a place I always use. It’s public and it’s busy. I also need to suss out the people I’m meeting with before they find out where we are. You wouldn’t believe the things the husbands and parents do to try and track down the girls who flee here. I have had people posing as police officers, social workers, solicitors. You name it I’ve had to deal with it.” Nahida leaned forward clasping her hands intently. “I suppose my job is a little bit like yours when I meet up with the people who request my help. I have to sort out who is genuine and who is not.”
Hunter knew exactly where she was coming from. He pursed his lips and nodded.
“Can you remember what she said to you?” continued Grace.
“Not word for word but I can give you the gist of our conversation.” She settled herself back. “She told me she wanted to get away from her parents but needed somewhere she could hide for a while — where she couldn’t be found, whilst she sorted somewhere permanent to go. She said her parents were putting pressure on her to go out to Pakistan to marry a cousin out there and that she didn’t want to go. I told her that I could help her out with that. Samia told me that she was being constantly watched since she had finished University; that her parents wanted to know virtually her every move. She also told me that she felt she was being followed and mentioned two cousins. At our first meeting she also gave me details of other problems she had encountered because of a relationship with a young doctor. At the end of that meeting I gave her a number of options which included talking to the police as well as meeting me again. She felt she couldn’t go to the police because she didn’t really want to get any of her family into trouble. She felt it would just make things worse for her. She really just wanted to get away.”
“Did you meet again?”
“We did but that didn’t go to plan. She contacted me a couple of times from her mobile and told me she couldn’t get away without anyone knowing. Then right out of the blue about six weeks ago Samia rang me. She said she was on a train coming to Meadowhall and asked if I could meet her again at the coffee place just by Marks and Spencers. She was in a bit of a state when I finally got there. She was agitated, looking all around her. I have to say she made me nervous even though I’ve been involved in so many of these. I was really glad that there were a lot of people around us. She told me she’d managed to sneak out of the flat whilst her father was at the warehouse and she’d brought some things for me to store for her until she could get everything together so she could leave. I could see she was in one hell of a state and I did suggest she should come with me there and then. I could arrange with the police to pick up her other bits she needed later, but she didn’t want anyone else to be involved, especially not the police. I didn’t want to leave her to do that but she said everything would be okay; she was confident she could finish getting together the last of her things. And in a couple of days, she said, she’d contact me and arrange to be picked up.”
“Can you remember when that was exactly?”
“It will be in my diary.”
She pushed herself up out of the seat and left the room, but she was only gone a few minutes before she returned carrying a red knapsack in one hand and a large journal in the other. She set the knapsack down on the coffee table, covering the photographs of Samia, then she sat back in the chair, crossing her legs again and flicked open her diary across one thigh. Following a roving finger she drifted her eyes over several pages checking each one before moving onto the next. After a couple of minutes she paused and stabbed at a page. “It was Monday the twenty-eighth of July.” She announced looking across at Hunter and Grace. “She was already at the coffee shop waiting for me.”
Hunter gazed across to Grace and caught her eye. He knew from the briefing two days previously that her friends had last reported speaking with her the day after — the twenty-ninth of July. Since that day on no one had heard from Samia.
Nahida closed her diary. “From what I remember it was about half ten, quarter to eleven time in the morning. As I said she was really agitated. She was convinced someone was following her. I said I could call security or the police if she wanted and I would bring her to this place, but she said it was only a feeling she had, that she hadn’t seen anyone. Also she wanted to pick up some final things before she left home permanently.” Uncrossing her legs she leant forward and tapped the red knapsack. “This is what she handed me and asked me to keep it safe for when she got here.”
Hunter leaned across and pulled the bag towards him. “Have you had a look inside?” he asked sliding open the top zip.
Nahida shook her head.
He could see that the top section of the bag contained items of clothing and he began to lift out each piece separately laying them down across the coffee table. He counted out two pairs of jeans, four T-shirts, a hooded sweat top, several items of underwear and a pair of trainers. He ran his a hand around the inside lining; he’d emptied that section. He switched his attention to the side pockets. He found make-up and a few items of jewellery — a mix of expensive gold items, a bracelet, two necklaces and a pair of gold loop earrings, together with inexpensive costume jewellery, which consisted of various bead bracelets. Finally he zipped open the front. He had to give the insides a second glance and he couldn’t hide his surprised look. With forefinger and thumb gripping the top edge, as though it was a priceless object, he removed the item and carefully placed it over the laid out garments. It was a British passport. He opened up the back section for Grace and Nahida to see.
The personal details and photograph left them in no doubt that this belonged to Samia Hassan.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DAY EIGHTEEN: 10th September.
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Jock Kerr poured himself a generous shot of Laguvulin single malt.
Just a wee dram after a hard day in the gym.
He pushed back his reclining captain’s chair and propped his feet up onto the desk. Swilling the golden liquid around the crystal tumbler he cradled it against his upper chest allowing the peaty aroma to tease his sense of smell. Reminiscing once again, his eyes roamed around the room leaping back-and-forth between the many framed photos and the promotion posters which adorned the walls of his office; all significant memories of his past boxing career. Then he recalled just how it had all come to a crashing halt. Just when he’d been on the cusp of greatness, with a Commonwealth medal to his name, it had all ended prematurely when one single punch, thrown after the bell during a bout, sliced open an irreparable deep wound above his right eye. At the tender age of twenty his career was over; that one punch had ended everything and had landed him where he was now — in one hell of a mess.