you to talk to her either. Not until I’ve interviewed Kevin and Terry Gilles. We’re having a hard time tracking them down, and the last thing I need is their mum putting the wind up them.”
He’d sent an officer to both brothers’ purported places of work that morning, one a betting shop on Bethnal Green Road, and the other a minicab business nearby. Neither business seemed to be too sure what the brothers did for them, or to know where they were at the moment. Kincaid had staked plainclothes constables on both places, as well as a third on Gail Gilles’s flat.
“If social services has told them to move out of the mother’s flat, they’ll have to go somewhere,” said Gemma. “I’d try the sister.”
“Good idea. I’ll hunt up the address.” He’d heard the disappointment in her voice when he’d said he didn’t want her talking to Gail. “I understand how you feel, Gem. Really. But the caseworker’s right. You have to let social services do their job. If there’s anything dodgy, I’m sure they’ll find it.”
“Are you?” said Gemma, her tone decidedly distant.
He was cursing himself for saying the wrong thing when Sergeant Singh came out of the incident room and beckoned. “Sir, they’ve rung from downstairs,” she mouthed. “Mr. Azad is here with his solicitor.”
“Look, I’ve got to go,” he said to Gemma. “I’ll ring you just as soon as I’ve run the Gilles brothers to ground.”
Ahmed Azad had been as good as his word. Louise Phillips had rung first thing that morning, making an appointment to come in with her client as soon as possible.
Sergeant Singh showed them into the office Kincaid had purloined as an interview room and equipped with a table, chairs, and a pot of coffee. He meant to at least begin their discussion under the semblance of a friendly chat. Cullen was still at the Yard, and Neal Weller was involved with his own division’s business. Kincaid was curious to see what Azad would say without Weller’s interference.
He wasn’t quite sure what to make of Weller, who had defended Azad on the one hand and felt obliged to play the bully on the other.
Sergeant Singh showed Azad and Louise Phillips into the office and, at Kincaid’s nod, unobtrusively took a chair in the corner. Kincaid poured the coffee himself.
This morning Ahmed Azad was dressed in a deep blue suit, perfectly tailored for his slightly plump frame. The fine fabric had the sheen of silk, as did his pink-and-blue-striped tie. He was freshly shaved and smelled strongly of bay rum.
Louise Phillips, on the other hand, looked haggard and hollow-eyed, as if she hadn’t slept, and her rumpled black suit was liberally speckled with what looked to Kincaid like dog hair.
“Thank you for coming,” he said when they were all settled with their cups. Singh had made the coffee, and it was strong but good.
“Very considerate of you.” Azad sipped his coffee and nodded his approval. “One appreciates that, Mr. Kincaid. There is no reason why we cannot talk in a civilized manner.”
“Oh, I agree, Mr. Azad. Completely. And I appreciate your taking the time from your busy schedule to clear up some things for us.”
Singh’s eyes had widened. Kincaid flashed her a smile. She was obviously more accustomed to Weller’s interrogation methods. Not that Kincaid was averse to playing bad cop when it suited him, but he’d read Azad as the type to respond more willingly to flattery than force.
“And you, Ms. Phillips?” he asked, turning his attention to her. “How are you coping?”
“I’m here representing my client, Superintendent.” Her voice was sharp, and she sat stiffly in her chair, her coffee untouched. Clearly, she was not going to consider this interview a social occasion.
Kincaid carefully replaced his cup on the low table. “Now, Mr. Azad. Since you’ve come in, perhaps you wouldn’t mind telling us when you last spoke to Naz Malik.”
“Let me see. That would have been on Wednesday last week. Or was it Thursday? Yes, I believe it was Thursday.”
“All right, Thursday then. Was this at Mr. Malik’s office?”
“No, no, Nasir came by the restaurant. We spoke in my office there for just a few moments. Not long enough, it seems now,” he added, his voice heavy with regret.
“And why did Mr. Malik want to see you?” Kincaid asked easily, but he saw Louise Phillips tense.
“Mr. Azad does not have to-”
Azad cut her off with a wave of his hand. “There’s no reason I should not be frank with the superintendent, Louise. Yes, Nasir and I talked about my nephew, if that is what you are wanting to know. Actually, the young man is my great-nephew, the son of my favorite niece in Sylhet. I told Nasir that I did not know where my nephew had gone. Nor did I believe this nonsense story that Mohammed meant to testify against me. He is a foolish young man, yes, but he is not that foolish. All he would gain by such a thing is deportation, and the bringing of shame on his family.” Azad’s tone implied that the latter was by far the worst consequence.
“But if Naz believed your nephew meant to testify against you, he might have thought you had good reason to- let’s say,
“Nasir would never have suggested such a thing,” said Azad, his chin quivering with his disapproval. “He understood the importance of family. He was merely…concerned for the well-being of my relative.”
“So you didn’t argue with Naz about your nephew that day?” Kincaid asked.
“No. You can ask my staff if you feel it necessary.”
“Did you argue with Naz on the day he disappeared?”
Louise Phillips moved abruptly. “That’s enough, Superintendent. I can’t allow-”
“I did not see Nasir again,” Azad said, interrupting her once more. Kincaid wondered why he had insisted on her accompanying him. “Saturday is our busiest day at the restaurant. I was there from before lunch until well after closing on Saturday night. And I had no reason to argue with him. He was my friend as well as my attorney.” Azad’s round face seemed to sag with melancholy. He finished his coffee, tipping back the small cup to catch the last drop. When he’d placed the empty cup on the table, he brushed his hands against the knees of his trousers. The “game over” signal was as clear as a banner. “Now, Mr. Kincaid, is there anything else?”
“I think he’s lying,” said Sergeant Singh when Azad and Louise Phillips had left the room. She’d followed the conversation carefully, watching alertly even as she took notes.
“Oh, I think our very urbane Mr. Azad is certainly lying,” Kincaid agreed. “But the question is, what is he lying about? Does he know what happened to his nephew? Did Naz accuse him of getting rid of the inconvenient nephew? Did he see Naz again? Or is it something else altogether? And why did he drag Louise Phillips along for that dog-and-pony show-unless it was for her benefit rather than ours?” He thought for a moment. “See if you can catch Ms. Phillips, why don’t you, Sergeant? I think I’d like a word with her on her own.”
“You know I can’t discuss my client’s affairs with you,” Louise Phillips said when Singh brought her back into the small office. She smelled strongly of smoke, and Kincaid guessed Singh had caught up with her in the street as she’d stopped to light a cigarette.
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Kincaid dismissed Singh with a smile, then turned to Phillips. “I realize that. But you
She glared at him, but after a moment, she sank back into the chair and sighed, as if she were too tired to keep up the bristling posture. “Yes, all right,” she said, accepting a fresh cup. “I’ve been trying to give it up. My doctor says my blood pressure is sky high. But with Naz gone, it seems a bit stupid to be worrying about things like caffeine and blood pressure.” Shrugging, she added, “What difference does it make, if you can walk out of your house and end up dead in a park? Or get blown up on a bus? Or get shot in the tube?” She shook her head, then drank half the cup as if she was fiercely thirsty.
“In that case, why don’t you tell me whether or not Naz believed Azad did away with his nephew-excuse me, great-nephew. That would explain why Naz suddenly decided he wanted to drop Azad’s case. And then you can tell me if you think Azad is capable of having got rid of Naz, if Naz had learned he was responsible for getting rid of said nephew. A bit convoluted, but you follow. And you notice I’m not asking if Azad is guilty as charged.”
“I thought you said we weren’t going to talk about Azad,” Phillips countered, but with the faintest suggestion of
