But it was not the failed marriage or the assets that concerned him the most, it was the children. Would they receive a moderate education and upbringing? Would his daughter be allowed to integrate into British society as an equal, free to choose her direction in life, free to choose who she married when the time came? He saw England for all its beauty and its benefits. It was a country he had come to love, a country that was allowing him to fast-track his career.
Chapter 25
Farhan acknowledged several minutes after leaving the office that his personal issues were just that, personal. There were two bodies, possibly more if he and Isaac did not come up with a solution soon. He laid out his plan of action. First, he first wanted to meet Aisha, although he felt sure she had not spoken to the reporter.
Christy Nichols seemed the most likely to have told the media. He realised he had not spoken to the hotel employee who had smuggled them into the hotel. He had deemed it not necessary in the initial investigations; realised now that it may have been an error of judgement on his part. Maybe that person had seen something, knew something. Christy Nichols would know who that person was.
Geoffrey Agnew proved to be of little use to Farhan. ‘I only spoke to the person on the phone.’
Pressed further, Agnew claimed that the voice was muffled and that he was not sure if it was male or female. Farhan did not believe him, told him that it was a murder investigation and that withholding information was a criminal offence. Agnew, a pugnacious little man, continued to state that he was not withholding information, and any future conversations would be with his company’s full legal team in attendance. Farhan knew he was wasting his time.
Christy Nichols would be easier to deal with, and she would not be threatening in her manner or evasive in her answers. At least, he hoped she would not be. He liked her. She was an ambitious woman in an industry that rewarded ambitious people, as long as that came with aggression and a complete lack of feeling or emotion. He thought that she did not have the aggression; she had even admitted it. Victoria Webster certainly did, and Christy Nichols admired her for it, but would never emulate her.
He felt fortunate that he worked within an organisation that rewarded people for their ability, not their gender or their religion or their colour, but then he was not so sure of that. The Met prided itself that it was equal opportunity, but who were the most senior people in the organisation? He knew the answer. They were male, white, Anglo-Saxon, and Christian. Sure, there were signs of change: Isaac was one example. There was every indication that he was in line to move up in the police force, but how far would he go? How far could he go? Farhan dismissed his pessimism and focussed on doing his job. He was not leaving the police force, period. It was where he belonged, he knew that.
He found Christy Nichols at the apartment where she lived on her own, a two-bedroom, first-floor conversion of a terraced house. The location, close to Hampstead Heath, was fine, the condition of the building, mediocre. She was apologetic when he knocked on the door, although she had agreed to their meeting at her apartment, instead of a local coffee shop or at the local police station as Farhan had suggested.
‘Apologies for the mess.’ She had made some attempt at tidying up. She was dressed in a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt.
‘That’s fine. You should see my place,’ he replied, although he had to admit his housekeeping, woeful as it was, did not look as bad as hers. The bathroom door was ajar, and he could see the washing hanging from the shower rail.
‘Take a seat, not the one in the corner though.’ He could see why. It was occupied by what appeared to be an old rolled up woollen jumper, but turned out to be an old cat. ‘That’s Cuddles,’ she said. It did not seem cuddly to Farhan. He had no great affinity for animals, no great dislike. His wife had abhorred pets in the house; he would not have been overly concerned. A family pet was good for the children, gave them a sense of responsibility.
Farhan sat on one of the two remaining chairs. Christy Nichols sat on the other, the tee-shirt tightening as she adjusted her position. He did not feel comfortable in her presence. ‘Did you watch the press conference?’ he asked.
‘I saw some of it and then switched it off,’ she replied.
‘Why was that?’
‘It reminded me of the events at the hotel.’
It seemed a fair response to Farhan. After all, she had been in the room next door when a murder had been committed, and Sutherland had forced her into giving him oral sex.
‘One of the reporters knew about the two escorts at the hotel.’
‘That seems possible,’ she replied.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘I don’t think it’s the first time prostitutes have been in the hotel, do you?’
‘It probably happens all the time. What interests me is who told the reporter.’
‘I certainly didn’t.’ She went on the defensive and stood up.
‘Please, the issue is not whether you did or did not. I’m not here about whether it was illegal.’
‘Then why are you here?’
‘Four people knew of the two women in the hotel.’
‘The escorts, myself
