The Inspector Walter Darriteau Murder Mysteries - Books 1-4 by David Carter (best finance books of all time .txt) 📕

day or two, but after a while you won’t notice. At least you will be safe. At least you will be alive, and some time soon you might be able to write to me, and after a while, well... who knows?’

‘But, mamma...’

‘The only thing that matters is that we keep you alive. You must show contrition. You must not argue. You must remain silent. You must do as the men say. To do otherwise is very dangerous for you.’

‘But, mamma...’

‘No buts, child, you have no choice, you must do as they say, and pray that God will be merciful.’

MAAZ CAME BACK INTO the sitting room and nodded at his elders. He had done his work well. Everything would proceed as they had arranged. The adulteress would go to Pakistan.

Thirty-Seven

At five to nine Mohammed brought the BMW round to the front of the State. There was still plenty of daylight; it was close to being the longest day of the year, it had certainly seemed like it to Sahira. She was saying her goodbyes to Akleema and Nadirah, determined not to cry. Maaz was there too, dressed in his best lightweight suit, shirt and tie, as if he had a very important meet, as he glanced at his expensive watch.

‘Get in the car!’ he said.

‘Open the boot for my bag.’

He took the bag from her and repeated, ‘Get in the car!’

She kissed her mother on the cheek, and pulled the rear door open and climbed inside. Maaz grabbed the open door and threw the fat bag in after her, slammed the door, ran round the front of the car and jumped in beside his father.

Sahira waved through the glass to the women standing in the doorway. They smiled and waved back, trying hard to act as normal as possible. Maaz clicked on his belt, and the car was on its way toward the inner ring road.

‘What time is the flight?’ asked Sahira.

‘Shut up!’ said her father.

‘Don’t you say a word!’ said Maaz, as the car weaved on through the light Sunday night city traffic.

SHE SAT BACK AND SET her cheek on her hand and stared out through the window at the bright lights of the late evening city, at the print shop, the golf shop, the electronics warehouse, the sofa shop, the DIY shed, the hairdressers, as they all floated by, multi coloured name signs above the display windows, lighting up the evening.

It made the place look cheerful, she thought, as did the lovers walking hand in hand and arm in arm, the old man walking the perky West Highland terrier, and the group of Christian lads in their best clothes and tight short sleeved shirts heading down towards the Peacock pub, maybe for a night on the town, perhaps looking for a girl, maybe hoping to find a girl just like Sahira, and after that she saw the young black man walking along the pavement, and making to cross the road, hand in hand with his white girl, a smile of inner satisfaction on both their faces, as if they didn’t have a care in the world, and that made her jealous, as the city buses and taxis bustled to and fro, and even though it was a Sunday, they all seemed busy and alive and vibrant.

It was the ancient city of Chester, full of life, her home, England on a shut down Sunday night, and it was all she had ever known. She’d been born there, never lived anywhere else, never wanted to live anywhere else, it was where her friends were, she was still in touch with most of the girls from the sixth form, and they would miss her at the next reunion, and wonder what happened to the pretty and vivacious Sahira Khan, that same girl who was always smiling and laughing, and showing an interest in everyone and everything, even in their troubles.

True, she had been on holiday abroad, but never to Pakistan, and never into a war zone like the Pakistani-Afghani border promised to be, and she wondered where Luke was, for she knew that no matter how long she was away, she would never stop thinking about him, and loving him, and wondering where he was, and who he was with, and what he was doing. I love you Luke, she whispered.

‘What did you say?’ snarled Maaz, turning round to gape at the girl.

‘Nothing, never said a word.’

‘Keep it that way!’

He’d probably be with that blonde piece, that girl he’d taken to Venice, the one he thought so much about, and that was only to be expected, because Luke Flowers had a deep need for the company of women, and not just one woman either. He would never be a one-woman man, and Sahira understood that well enough. She was happy to share him. She loved him, always had, and always would, regardless of what he did and what he said, and how he treated her.

She shivered in the back seat of the heavy saloon, though it wasn’t cold, and glanced at the neatly cut hair and shaved and perfumed necks of the men sitting in the front seats. Her father Mohammed and her brother Maaz, who had both treated her so badly since her affair with Luke had come to light.

It wasn’t as if they were entirely innocent either.

She had seen how her father had looked at the sixth formers coming out of school in their neat short sleeved blouses, and short and tight skirts, how he had occasionally looked at her friends with lust in his eyes, and she knew for a fact that Maaz had been out with white Christian girls, several of them, maybe more than that, slept with them too, if the street gossip was to be believed, so why in hell’s name was it all so different for girls?

It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Not at all. Not for a young British Muslim woman. She loved England dearly, but in