up the tracking app he and Nikki had on their phones. Nikki’s app was inactive, but the last registered position was right here. Shit, she’d clearly ditched her phone in the street. What the hell was she up to? She needed to get her ass back here pronto before Hegley burst a gut.
The back door opened and a small Indian woman in jeans and a T-shirt, black hair falling to her shoulders, came in. Aw no, why did Nikki’s mum have to turn up right then? Hoping she’d leave before the CCU officers arrived, he smiled. ‘Hallo, Mrs Parekh, you all right?’
Lalita Parekh had her daughter’s height and her down-to-earth Yorkshire accent. The two women were clearly mother and daughter. ‘Don’t you Mrs Parekh me, Sajid. I’ve told you before, it’s Lalita. Nikita nipped out, has she?’
Pleased that she’d provided her own reason for her daughter’s absence, Sajid nodded, ‘Yeah, something like that. She’ll be back in a bit.’ Well, he hoped she damn well would.
Lalita proceeded to dump a couple of Morrisons’ bags-for-life on the table and began putting groceries into cupboards. ‘Pop the kettle on, love. I’m gasping for a tea.’
Sajid hesitated. What was he supposed to do? If he could, he’d rush Lalita out of the kitchen and into her own house down the street, but that was out of the question. This wasn’t his story to tell. Nikki would kill him if he told her mum, but what other option did he have? He shrugged his shoulders, trying to shake the tension out of them.
If that’s what she wanted, then she shouldn’t have pissed off like she was guilty of something, then should she? Picking up the kettle, he walked to the tap and filled it. ‘Lalita, something’s come up. Maybe you should sit down. Leave the shopping for now. We need to talk.’
Lalita froze, her dark eyes studying his face, and then without saying another word, she put the tins she was holding on the worksurface and sat down at the kitchen table, resting her clasped hands on the brightly coloured plastic table cover. ‘What’s she done this time? Is she okay?’
Sajid put the kettle on, flung a tea bag in one mug and a spoonful of coffee in another before replying. ‘She got some …’ He frowned, trying to think of a suitable word to describe the information his colleague had been confronted with a couple of hours earlier and settled with ‘… troubling news.’
A small frown pulled Lalita’s eyebrows down. Unlike Nikki who was full of anger and passion and activity, Lalita possessed a calm stillness that instantly reassured. The pressure across his back diminished a little. Lalita Parekh had not had an easy life, but here she was exuding soothing vibes, ready to face whatever he had to tell her. He filled the mugs, stuck a teaspoon in Lalita’s tea and took a carton of milk from the fridge. Before he had a chance to pour it into his coffee, Lalita stretched out her hand, a smile teasing her lips. ‘I wouldn’t risk that. Knowing Nikki, it’s three weeks out of date. There’s some fresh in the bag.’
Sajid sniffed the milk, grimaced and poured it down the sink. He settled opposite the older woman and studied her face. Nikki hadn’t told him anything about her mother’s past, but police stations were notorious for gossip and Trafalgar House was no different. It was funny how the fact that Nikki had been married and somehow misplaced her husband, had passed the gossipmongers by completely.
According to the rumour mill, Lalita Parekh had been through a lot and yet, despite her own trials and tribulations, she’d raised two daughters single-handedly. Okay, Anika was a bit loopy and Nikki carried a chip the size of Concord on her shoulders but, all in all, she’d done all right. Shame neither of the girls had inherited her serenity.
Conscious that time was running out, Sajid blew on his coffee and then told Nikki’s mother about the Odeon remains, the passport identifying them as belonging to Khalid Abadi, and his dad flying over from Ramallah and accusing Nikki of killing his son.
As he spoke, Lalita’s grip on her mug tightened. Her face paled, her frown deepened and a tear trickled from the corner of her eye. He wanted to put his arm round her shoulders and hug her, take away the pain that had dulled her eyes. Sniffing, she wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her hand and wiggled her nose as if that would stop the onset of more tears.
‘Fifteen years.’ Her voice was a whisper. ‘We thought he’d left her, gone back to his family. His dad put pressure on him, you see? We thought he’d chosen his family, the business, everything they could offer and … all the while …’ Her breath hitched in her throat and she stood up, scraping the chair back and began pacing the room. ‘Oh, my poor beti, my poor Nikita. How is she?’ As if noticing her daughter’s absence for the first time, she looked round the room, apparently expecting her to materialise.
Sajid wished to hell she would! Time was running out. Springer would be here soon and there was no love lost between her and Nikki. The last thing Nikki needed, was to give the other woman more ammunition.
‘Where is she? Is she next door with Anika?’
This was the tricky bit. How could he explain to Nikita’s mum that her daughter was a suspect in her husband’s death and that instead of waiting to be interviewed, she’d run? For fuck’s sake, Nikki! ‘That’s just it. I don’t actually know where she is. But that’s not all. Khalid’s dad’s accusing her of having something to do with his son’s death. She’s a person of interest.’
‘Phuh! Person of interest indeed.’ Lalita, her eyes reproachful, glared at him. ‘If you’d seen her when Khalid disappeared you wouldn’t be standing there telling me that. She was devastated – broken.’
‘Aw, hell. I don’t think she did it, Lalita. But I’m not the one investigating. She never filed a missing persons report – it looks suspicious. The Cold Case Unit will be all over her till they can prove either way. She dumped her phone and took off. We’ve no idea where she is, none at all.’
Lalita moved over to the sink and began washing up her mug. ‘Well, she can’t have gone far, can she? Her car’s up the street.’
Sajid paused, processed that thought, then it dawned on him. This was Nikki they were talking about. She’d have been one step ahead of him. Slamming his cup on the table, he ran to his coat, rummaged in the pockets. ‘Aaaagh.’
He wrenched the front door open, jumped down the steps and onto the pavement. The space that had been filled by his Jag was occupied by a bashed-up Mini Cooper. Fucking hell, Nikki. You better not have damaged my car!
Nikki parked Sajid’s car on Toller Lane and jogged down the hill to BRI, pausing only to nip into the hardware shop that, for some reason, also sold cheap mobiles. At least now she’d be able to contact Charlie and possibly Sajid, under the radar. Mind you, she might leave Saj for later, he was prone to being a bit possessive about his Jag and she’d enough to worry about without getting beef from him.
Every so often, a sharp pain, like lightening, jabbed her heart. Khal! How many times had she parked in that car park? Passed by? Visited the Chinese buffet? And all that time Khal was there … buried under there. What had happened to him? How had he ended up there? Everybody loved Khal. There was just no explanation for it. Unless, of course, his dad had orchestrated something from Ramallah. He’d plenty of money – more than enough to order a hit on his only son. The question was, would he? If the stories Khal had shared with her were true, then she would put nothing past the old bastard. Of course, if he was guilty, what better way to exert a little more revenge than to point the
