3
Z ayn
Rome and I arrive together for the reconvened briefing. Ethan is at the head of the table, Tony to his left and Jack to his right. Aaron and Nico follow us in, and we all help ourselves to a mug of the ubiquitous coffee from the fresh stuff brewing on the side table. Mrs McRae keeps it permanently topped up, I gather.
Ethan waits for us all to be seated, then, “Where were we?”
“Taking stock from the warehouse raid,” Jack reminds him. “As I said, we got our stuff back plus a little on top. There were three guards there, but they didn’t seem interested in putting up much of a fight. We left them tied up in the office.”
Ethan nods. “Good. Pity the same couldn’t be said for Gallagher and his crew. He lost five men on that roof and narrowly escaped with his own life. Nice shooting there, by the way, Zee.”
I shrug. “You said to leave him alive, boss.”
“I did. No point starting a war over a few kilos of product. It was to be a warning, demonstrating a principle.”
“Do you suppose anyone found him yet?” I wonder aloud.
“Unless he’s even more of a dickhead than I gave him credit for, he’ll have told someone where he was meeting us. His brother will have been searching for him long before now. I’m expecting to hear from him any time now.”
As if on cue, there’s a gentle knock on the door.
“Come in,” Ethan calls.
The gangly geek youth enters, a tablet balanced on the flat of his hand.
“Frankie?” Ethan’s brow furrows.
“Boss, sorry to disturb, again, but…I thought you’d want to see this.” He places the tablet on the table in front of Ethan. “I took a video.”
“A video? What video.”
“This video, boss.” Frankie hits a key on the tablet.
Ethan’s eyes narrow as he watches the footage. “I need to run that through again.”
“What is it, bro?” Aaron moves around to peer over his brother’s shoulder. “Oh. That looks like…”
Yes,” Frankie announces. “It is. They deliberately threw her into the water.”
Now we all cluster behind Ethan to view the short clip.
“The whole thing is about ten minutes long…I left it going when I ran down here to raise the alarm. But the business end of it is only about forty seconds. Watch this, it all starts right here.”
The video shows the small boat bobbing on the slight swell of the North Atlantic. Four figures can be clearly seen seated on the benches at the stern, with a fifth at the wheel. The girl’s vivid red dress is easy to spot. The rest of the boat’s occupants are men, two older, maybe in their fifties, and one younger, in his twenties, I’d say. They appear to be discussing something, with much finger wagging and angry expressions. The girl has her back to the camera so we can’t see whether she is participating or not, nor what her demeanour might be.
Suddenly, one of the older men gets to his feet. He’s standing over the girl, his face close to hers, his lips drawn back in a vicious snarl.
“He doesn’t seem happy,” Tony murmurs.
“Wonder what it’s about,” Aaron replies. “Maybe they?—”
“Fuck.” This from Ethan, when the angry man grabs the girl by the arm and drags her from her seat. His fist is in her hair, and he’s dragging her head back so she has to look at him.
Her mouth moves, she says something.
His response is to backhand her across her cheek.
“Bastard,” Ethan mutters.
We watch in growing horror as the man forces her to the rail and bends her backwards over it. Her fingers clutch at his loose-fitting shirt. She opens her mouth again. This time it’s definitely a scream.
The other older man is also on his feet. He, too, clutches at the other as though to pull him off, but his attempt is half-hearted at best. The younger man just watches, seemingly unmoved.
The violent one gives her another hard slap, then bends over to shove his face right in hers.
She appears to be shaking her head, but it’s difficult to be sure. Then, without further warning, he slips his arm under her legs and tips her backwards over the rail.
Now the younger one gets up, and all three of the men stand together in a line, gazing down into the water where the red dress can clearly be seen thrashing on the surface.
“Holy fuck. They threw her in. On purpose.” Jack voices all of our outrage. “They’re not trying to help her at all.”
As if to prove the point, the boat swerves away and the man at the controls lets out the throttle. In moments they are skimming across the water, heading west, leaving the struggling girl in their churning wake. None of them gives her a backward glance.
“Holy shit,” Tony breathes. “That’s heartless. I wonder what she did to deserve that.”
“We’ll ask her when she comes round,” Ethan replies. “ If she comes round.”
I’ve said nothing so far, simply watched the drama unfold. I think I have a good idea what we just witnessed.
“Frankie, how did you get this footage?” Ethan turns to the youth.
“My new telescope,” he answers brightly. It arrived yesterday, but I didn’t have time to play with it. I set it up this morning and tried it out. There are no celestial bodies to see at this time of day, so I trained it on the ocean. That boat was the only thing out there, so I focussed on that. You saw what I saw.”
“But the video…?”
“My telescope is designed to photograph and record. Obviously, it’s meant for more distant objects but works fine on closer subjects. Like boats at sea. I started the video going at first just to try it out, but I captured a lot more than just a bunch of fishermen.”
Ethan strokes his chin, his brow furrowing. “I wonder who they are? Who is she, and what was it all about? I suppose we have to wait until she’s fit to talk.”
“Not necessarily,” Frankie replies. “I got a few. really good, high-res facial shots of the two older men. Good enough to run a facial recognition reverse search. They were identified as Abdul Hussein and his brother-in-law, Mohammed Mansour. Abdul is fifty-one, Mohammed forty-nine. They both live in Greenoch but at separate addresses. I didn’t get a good enough view of the younger man, but Abdul has a son, Mehrban, aged twenty-seven. My money is on him.”
“And the one at the controls?”
“No idea, he never turned round. But according to Council Tax records for Greenoch, Mohammed has three daughters all living with him, aged eighteen, fourteen, and twelve. The eldest is called Leila. I brought up a pic of her. This was taken about four months ago.” He taps a couple of keys, and a smiling school portrait materialises on the screen.
“That’s her,” I blurt.
“She’s his daughter?” Jack looks absolutely gobsmacked. “He attempted to murder his own daughter?”
Ethan responds. “Strictly speaking, it was Abdul, the uncle, doing all the serious work. Dad did try to intervene, but he was half-hearted about it. The younger one, Mehrban did you say? He just sat there and enjoyed the show.”
“I don’t get it…” Tony says. “His daughter, sorry, niece.”
“I do,” I mutter softly.
All eyes are on me.
“Zee?” Ethan enquires. “What’s going on?”
“I think we just witnessed an honour killing. Or should I say, an attempt at one.”
“Honour killing? You mean some sort of family row that got out of hand?” Jack asks.
“Does that still happen?” Ethan wonders. “I mean, I know there used to be incidents…”
“It’s rare. These days, I think,” I explain. “But, yes, in some of the more traditional families.”
“If you’re saying what I think, then surely that’s illegal,” is Frankie’s rather naive contribution.
No one bothers to answer.
“It would have been perfect if we hadn’t intervened,” I continue. “The girl, Leila, would have disappeared, fish food at the bottom of the ocean. In fact, I expect that’s exactly what they think happened. If anyone asked, the family would say she was abroad, probably, and mysteriously decided not to return to the UK.”
“Well, if you’re right, that rather screws up my plan to return her to the bosom of her family as soon as she’s well enough to leave.” Ethan rakes his fingers through his hair.
“So, what will we do with her, then?” Jack asks. “She can’t stay here.”
The boss turns to me. “Zee, you seem to have some sort of insight into all this. You talk to her, see what you can find out, and is there anywhere she could go and be safe?”
I nod. “Okay, boss. I’ll go down to the clinic now, see if she’s fit to talk.”
“Yes, she can talk, as far as I can make out. Not that she seems inclined to.” Megan casts a puzzled glance in the direction of the treatment room door. “She’s conscious and apparently understands everything I say to her, but she hasn’t uttered a word yet.”
“And there’s no medical reason why not?” I ask.
“Nope, not that I can see. Well, not physical anyway. I assume shock, the effect of extreme trauma. It may improve with time. Oh, and she has a mild concussion. Did she sustain a blow to the head?”
“No, I don’t think… Fuck, yes. Her uncle backhanded her, then slapped her again a bit later. There was some sort of argument.”
“Poor kid. But that might explain it. And the contusions to her cheek.”
“Can I go in?”
“Of course, but be gentle. Don’t push her for answers. If I’m right, she’s very fragile right now.”
I open the door and slip into the room. Leila, if that truly is her name, is lying on the hospital-style bed, her eyes closed. She’s wearing a shapeless surgical gown, and I can already make out the swelling to her jaw and the start of a bruise.
“Leila?” I begin, pulling up a seat to position myself close to the bed. “Leila? Is that your name?”
Her eyes fly open. She regards me with suspicion, and alarm, and starts to shrink away.
“It’s okay, you’re safe here,” I reassure her. “We saw what happened, out there on the boat.”
She shakes her head.
“We caught it all on video. We saw your uncle, and your father. And the other one, Mehrban, was it? Is he your cousin?”
Her expression is one of sheer desperation. She continues to shake her head and clutches the thin blanket to her chin. She’s obviously terrified.
I reach for her but allow my hand to drop onto the coverlet when she flinches from me. “I promise, I’m not here to hurt you, and we won’t allow anyone else to hurt you either. You are safe now.”
Her mouth works, opens, shouts as though she is trying to speak but no sound comes out.
“It’s okay. No hurry, take your time,” I assure her. “I know you’ve had a nasty scare, but it’s over now.”
Megan enters behind me. “Any joy?”
“Not so far. She’s terrified. Maybe I should come back later.”
“Okay. She won’t be going anywhere for a while.”
I get up to leave. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling a bit better, Leila. You get some rest, now.”
I’m at the door when there’s a faint sound from behind me. I pause, turn around. “Leila?”
“Who…? Who are you?” It’s more of a strangled croak than actual words, but I manage to decipher it.
“My name is Zayn. Zee. And you are Leila?”
She manages a slight nod.
“Leila Mansour?” I clarify. “From Greenoch?”
Her gaze clouds with distrust. “How? How do you…?”
“The wonders of technology,” I reply, taking my seat again. “But please don’t worry. No one else knows you are here. No one is coming to look for you.”
Does she appear to relax slightly? I think maybe she does, but she’s still badly frightened, staring at me as though I just materialised from Mars. I debate with myself whether I should leave it at that for now. At least I know her name.
“My…my uncle…” she rasps.
“Yes. Abdul. We saw him throw you overboard.”
A vicious shudder seizes her. “No, no, please…”
Megan rushes to the bedside, grabs Leila’s wrist and checks her pulse. “I think that’s enough for now. She needs to rest.”
Leila is already retreating from me. I can see I’ll get nothing else from her for a while. “Ethan asked me to find out what her side of it is, but it can wait. Will you let me know when she’s ready to talk again?”
“Maybe tomorrow.” Megan is wrapping the blood pressure cuff around her patient’s upper arm. “Right now, I think a sedative might be a good idea. It’s no use letting her get too agitated.”
I get to my feet. “We’ll talk again soon, Leila.”
She simply stares at me as Megan prepares the injection.