Gemma shook her head. “Charlotte knows Tim and has been to the house with her father; it will be a familiar environment. And Tim has a relationship with her father, whether personal or professional. You don’t.”
She turned to Alia, who was still gently rocking Charlotte. “Alia, would you mind taking Charlotte upstairs and getting some overnight things together for her?”
“Okay.” Alia looked from her to Tim uncertainly. “But-but what if Mr. Naz comes home and we’re not here-”
“You and Dr. Cavendish can both leave notes for him, and Dr. Cavendish will leave messages on his phones. Tim, do you have his mobile and his office?” When Tim nodded, Gemma turned back to Alia. “And Dr. Cavendish and I will both get your phone number. We’ll let you know just as soon as we learn anything. And you’ve done a great job looking after Charlotte today.” Gemma smiled, wanting to reassure the girl, but her copper’s instinct was sending up fizzing red flares.
“But what should I-”
“Change of clothes, pajamas, toothbrush, hairbrush.” Gemma thought a moment. “Does she have a special blanket or stuffed toy?”
“A green elephant. She calls him Bob.” Alia’s face relaxed into a half smile. “I don’t know why.”
“Okay. Bob, then. Make a game of it, if you can,” Gemma added quietly as Alia got up, hefting Charlotte onto her hip.
When Alia left the room, Hazel moved to clear the dishes from the table, her movements sharp with disapproval.
Gemma could deal with soothing her friend’s ruffled feathers later. She turned to Tim, who said, “Gemma, do you think-could something really have happened to Naz?”
“I don’t know. But I think it would help if I knew exactly what happened to your friend’s wife.”
“No one knows. That’s what I was telling you. She just vanished into thin air. There was a missing-person appeal, telly and newspapers. The police investigated. They even-well, they even treated Naz as a suspect.” Tim’s tone was defensive, and below his beard his exposed neck turned a telltale red. Hazel, her back to them as she dried the baking sheet, had gone still.
Dangerous territory, this, and Gemma thought she would have to traverse it carefully if she didn’t want an explosion of hostility between the two whose cooperation she needed. She sat beside Tim on the sofa, near enough to touch. “Let’s back up a bit. You said your friend’s wife is called Sandra. Is she not Pakistani?” Although the name, combined with the daughter’s light-colored hair and eyes and frizzy curls, made it a likely conclusion, she had to ask.
“No. Her name was Sandra Gilles.” Tim used the past tense, Gemma noticed. “She grew up in a council flat in Bethnal Green, still has family there. A mother, half brothers and half sister. The family disapproved of the marriage, and Naz and Sandra disapproved of them. ‘Layabouts,’ Naz said Sandra called them. Or worse. Sandra wouldn’t let them have any contact with Charlotte. It infuriated her that they criticized Naz, who had worked his way through school and studied law, when none of them had ever held down a decent job. They weren’t pleased with Sandra’s success as an artist either-said she ‘gave herself airs.’”
“She was an artist?” Hazel had left her tidying up and slipped into one of the dining-table chairs, looking intrigued in spite of herself.
“Textile collage. Naz helped her through art college-Goldsmiths-when they were first married. She’d become quite successful-gallery showings, some big commissions. Naz said she loved her work.”
“Any marital difficulties?” Gemma asked.
“No.” Tim was vehement. “They had everything. They’d been married almost ten years when Charlotte came along. They’d almost given up on having a child. They were devoted to each other, and Sandra was a fiercely good mum.” The tension in the air had risen again, palpably, with the recitation of uncomfortable parallels. Tim and Hazel had also waited a long time to have a child, and Hazel had been a model mum.
“He told you a lot,” Hazel said now, with an edge of sarcasm.
Tim bristled. “Why do you have a problem with that? He had no one else to talk to.”
“How do you know he didn’t just tell you what you wanted to hear?” Hazel retorted.
“Stop it, the both of you,” said Gemma, exasperated, even though she knew Hazel was right. What Naz Malik had told Tim might have nothing to do with the truth. Whether one was grieving or guilty, a sympathetic audience gave one the liberty to paint life as one wished it to have been. And although that in itself might be useful, they needed to move on. “Tim, you said the police investigated Naz. They didn’t find anything?”
“No. Not a bloody thing.” He stared at them, as if daring contradiction.
“Okay.” Gemma touched Tim’s knee, giving credence to his statement. “So tell me about the day Sandra disappeared. You said it was in May, in Columbia Road?”
“She and Charlotte were supposed to meet Naz for a late lunch in Brick Lane. Naz had gone into the office-”
“On a Sunday?”
“He was preparing an important case. But they always went out for Sunday lunch together. Naz waited at the restaurant for an hour. Sandra didn’t answer her phone. Then Sandra’s friend Roy rang Naz and said Sandra had left Charlotte with him at the market, saying she’d be gone just a few minutes, but she hadn’t come back. He’d finished breaking down the stall and didn’t know what to do.”
“Breaking down the stall? This friend has a flower stall?”
Tim nodded. “Roy Blakely. Sandra worked for him on Sundays all through school and art college. She’d known him since she was a child-he was like a dad to her.”
“And she didn’t tell him where she was going?”
“No. Several people who knew her from the market reported seeing her in Columbia Road, but there was nothing after that. Just nothing. Naz was frantic, but at first not even the police would take him seriously. Then when they did, they searched the house for signs of…of foul play.” He swallowed, looking round uneasily, and Gemma imagined the SOCO drill: luminol, prints, any evidence of violence, alien DNA, fiber transfer. What if Sandra had gone back home unexpectedly that day, found her husband there with a lover?
“They questioned everyone Naz knew,” Tim went on. “His partner, his clients, his neighbors. Naz said no one ever looked at him the same way afterwards.”
“They were doing their job,” Gemma said.
“I know. But it didn’t help, did it? They didn’t find her, and now Naz is gone, too.”
Gemma paused, listening. She heard movement and a soft murmur from upstairs, not just Alia’s voice but a child’s counterpoint. Charlotte was talking. Quietly, she said, “Tim, you may know more about Naz’s mental state than anyone else. When he rang wanting to see you today, was he upset or anxious? Do you think he might have been contemplating suicide?”
Tim’s face blanched. “No. I mean, I know he was grieving, and angry, but he’d never have done that to Charlotte. And if anything, he sounded…” Looking puzzled, he groped for a word. “Excited.”
“That doesn’t rule out suicide,” said Hazel, pragmatic, but it seemed to put Tim on the defensive again.
“I’m telling you, Naz wouldn’t do that. There has to be some other explanation.” He looked at Gemma. “Can we report him missing?”
“Not officially, no. Not until tomorrow. But considering the circumstances, the local nick should be put on alert. I’ll see if there’s anything in the system yet that might be connected, check out hospital admissions, have a word with the neighbors. And if you’ll give me Naz’s partner’s name, I’ll see if I can get a home number or address.” There was the thump of footsteps on the stairs, the sound of a childish protest.
“Tim,” Gemma said hurriedly, “I’d like your permission to have a look round the house, see if there’s a note or a phone number, anything that might be helpful. Unofficially, of course.”
“But I-”
“There’s no one else to ask.”
“Right. Okay.” He straightened his shoulders, taking on the weight of this responsibility.
“And, Tim,” Gemma added, “I’ll need a description.”
CHAPTER FIVE
