won’t hear of it, though. They haven’t even allowed the police to interview her.’
Libby turned to Fran. ‘You said yesterday the police wanted to interview her. Why? She was a missing girl who’d turned up at home. Why would they want to see her?’
‘Apparently they always do,’ said Sophie. ‘In case the family are lying and the person hasn’t really come back, or the people who made the report weren’t telling the truth in the first place or in case something awful has happened while the person’s been away. It’s quite normal.’
‘So, what’s Rachita’s story?’ asked Libby.
‘I’ve heard it, so I’ll go and make more coffee,’ said Fran. ‘Or tea, anyone?’
Libby and Rachanda opted for tea, and Rachanda started her story.
‘Sophie says you all wondered if there was a boyfriend involved, although she didn’t think so. But, in fact, there was.’ She paused and looked into the empty fireplace. ‘And the worst sort of boyfriend, too. Not that any boy, unless chosen by my parents, would have been good enough, but this one was beyond everything.’
‘Amazing in this day and age,’ said Libby.
Rachanda smiled. ‘Not in our culture, as I expect you know. There are many women trying to change things and standing up to their families, but I wasn’t brave enough.’
‘Brave enough?’ repeated Libby. ‘Were you afraid?’
‘No, no,’ Rachanda corrected hastily. ‘I wasn’t brave enough to leave the community. A lot of women who do get away never see their families again. I didn’t want that. I love my family.’
Fran reappeared with a tray and handed out mugs.
‘Go on,’ said Libby. ‘Who was Rachita’s boyfriend?’
‘He was an illegal immigrant.’
‘Oh, no.’ Libby shook her head, remembering the last occasion she and Fran had investigated the illegal workers scams.
‘Yes. Sophie says you know something about them?’
‘A bit. Not a lot. Where was this boy from?’
‘Pakistan, we think.’
‘And where did she met him?’
‘He was doing some building work at an uncle’s shop. We have several uncles who are shopkeepers. The council said the facilities at the back weren’t correct, so Uncle Jaiman had to have an extension built.’
‘Health and safety,’ said Libby.
‘Exactly.’ Rachanda nodded. ‘And this Kiran was one of the builders. Rachita used to go there on the way home from school every day -’
‘Like we did,’ put in Sophie.
‘Yes. And they became friendly.’ Rachanda shook her head. ‘I didn’t know anything about it, none of us did, even Uncle Jaiman.’
‘Is that the only place they met?’ asked Libby.
‘No. You see, the extension was finished and Kiran and the other men left. But Kiran arranged to meet Rachita at the place where he was staying.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘My sister says it wasn’t at all nice. But then, suddenly, Kiran sent her a message saying he had to leave. He didn’t say why. And so my silly little sister ran away to go with him.’
‘What made her come back? Is she disillusioned?’
Rachanda shook her head. ‘No. Kiran is dead.’
Libby gasped.
‘That’s why I said you needed to be here,’ said Fran. ‘The confirmation of a theory – if not quite the right one.’
‘What? You mean… one of those builders found in Medway?’
‘Yes.’ Rachanda nodded. ‘Two of them. Kiran and another boy – they were only nineteen. Rachita says they were hiding, but they wouldn’t say who from. Just that if they were caught they would be killed. She thinks it was something they had worked on that wasn’t right, somehow.’
‘How did she get home? Did she have any money?’
‘No. The place they were hiding was some old building, and the boys went out to find food. When they didn’t come back, Rachita went out at night, found a phone box and called my father. He went and picked her up. Then she heard about the two people murdered. Then, yesterday, they were named on the television news, although she’d already guessed it was them. She was hysterical.’
‘And your parents won’t let her speak to the police?’ said Libby.
‘No. They say it will bring shame.’
‘Oh,
‘I know.’ Rachanda sighed. ‘It is ridiculous. This is why I told Sophie yesterday and she said we must tell you and her mother.’
Fran opened her mouth to correct this, but closed it with a smile at Sophie. ‘And you did the right thing Rachanda. So now we must tell the police. And if necessary, protect you from your parents.’
Rachanda nodded. ‘They will not be pleased. Neither, I think, will my sister.’
‘That,’ said Libby, ‘is not our problem.’
Chapter Thirty-three
IAN’S PERSONAL MOBILE WAS switched off, unsurprisingly. Neither Fran nor Libby had his dedicated police mobile number in their phone books, so Libby phoned Ben to ask if he still had Ian’s business card.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘At home. Why?’
Libby sighed and told him.
‘Wouldn’t it be quicker just to phone the station? At least they would leave a message for him. Or you could ask for the other bloke.’
‘Sergeant Maiden. The trouble is, the police switchboard is just that – it doesn’t go through to the actual station. Oh, never mind. We’ll sort it out.’ Libby switched off the phone.
Adam stood up. ‘Sophie and I will go round there. It’s only five minutes from here. And if he’s in the station he’ll see us, or we’ll leave him a note. Or speak to someone else. After all, he’s not the only person on the enquiry, is he?’
‘Don’t talk to that dreadful Big Bertha,’ said Libby.
‘She’s County,’ said Fran. ‘She’ll have gone back to Maidstone or wherever she comes from.’
‘Good idea, though, Ad. You OK with that, Sophie?’
‘Yes, fine,’ said Sophie. ‘Rachanda can stay here with you, can’t she?’
‘Of course,’ said Fran.
‘You are all very kind,’ said Rachanda when Adam and Sophie had gone. ‘I wish my parents were more – more -’
‘Liberal?’ suggested Libby.
‘Yes. I love them, but they are very strict.’
‘Do you know,’ said Libby, ‘I was reading an article the other day about integration in this country, which said that things had often changed completely in the home countries of cultures like yours, yet people in this country didn’t realise it. They were keeping to traditions that had been outdated for several generations.’
‘Libby!’ said Fran, but Rachanda shook her head.
‘No, Mrs Wolfe. Mrs Sarjeant is quite right. Many people of my generation know this, that is why people feel free to break away and go to university, or get good jobs. But my parents’ and grandparents’ generations are still living as though they were at the beginning of the last century. My grandmother still hardly speaks any English.’
‘It’s so sad, when you think of all that has been done to integrate our different communities,’ said Libby.
‘Yet there are still people here who are openly racist,’ said Rachanda.
‘There are, but not so much towards the better integrated,’ said Libby. ‘And there are examples of whole
