Ghigau 14

Lenny woke with a start. Somehow, another night had passed. Sunlight streamed through the open curtains that he hadn’t bothered to close. He reached for his phone — almost 5.30 am, no messages, no missed calls. He lay back and stared at the ceiling. ‘Where are you Nikki, where are you?’

    He showered in unheated water, it couldn’t be described as cold. It was as if the world was heating up from within, everything everywhere was uncomfortably warm, all the time. It felt… relentless. On the radio more deaths were announced; an elderly couple who had become disorientated on a country stroll and spent three days walking in circles, a dog left in a locked vehicle, two teenagers feared drowned whilst paddle-boarding off Bournemouth beach. This last made him think of Jamie, of course.

    He dressed in black jeans, a black polo-shirt and trainers, ready to go anywhere, do anything if he had to. Lydia was sleeping in the guest bedroom next door, she hadn’t wanted to be alone, so was sharing the big double bed with her grandmother. He left them to sleep. He went down to the kitchen and, for the hundredth time, turned out every drawer, sifting through the contents, looking for something; for what? He didn’t know. He made coffee, black and strong, sat at the table and opened the notepad he’d left there the night before. 

    For Lenny, the worst thing, was not being able to take any action. Sitting around, wracking his brains trying to remember if there was a sign that he’s missed, a word, a gesture, a look, that Nikki might have let slip and could provide a clue as to what might have happened to her, was driving him up the wall. He needed to actually do something, anything; he couldn’t bear another day of waiting.

 

Lenny arrived at the Starbucks on St John’s Wood High Street just before 10am, ordered a double espresso and grabbed a biscotti. The morning sun had yet to breach the treetops but the temperature was climbing inexorably, so he chose a table outside, under the awning. He’d brought a copy of William Boyd’s ‘Restless’ but it was only there to give him an excuse to sit alone. The truth was, he couldn’t read, watch television or even listen to music until Nikki was back, it wouldn’t have felt right.

    Tariq Hussain arrived a few minutes later. He was tall, probably a little over six feet, heavily built, about fifty years old and dressed for the beach in shorts and a tee shirt with ‘Beatles’ across the front. A laptop bag was slung over his shoulder. His dark sculpted beard was flecked with grey, as was his wiry hair that was cut short to reveal a small tattoo of a bird on the side of his neck. Dark eyes set in a lean, weathered face and an aquiline nose, gave an impression of intelligence, and warmth.  

    Lenny stood to shake hands and noted the firm dry grip. He insisted on getting Tariq’s drink and was back with a Mocha Frappuccino within a couple of minutes. 

    They sipped their coffee and people-watched for a minute, both apparently reluctant to kick off the conversation. Eventually Lenny spoke.

    “So, the reason I contacted y—”

    Tariq held a hand up, stopping Lenny. “We should discuss what this is first, don’t you think?” He waved a pointed finger between them. His voice was deep and there was a trace of a  middle eastern accent that Lenny couldn’t identify.

    “What do you mean?”

    “Look, Lenny you seem like a good guy and I’m very sorry about your wife - I really hope she’s ok. But I’m a journalist. I might not be the person you want to talk to.”

    “That’s a noble sentiment for a journalist,” Lenny quipped.

    “Ouch,” said Tariq. “Maybe, but we hate getting sued. If there are things you want to say, just be sure you are happy that they are probably going to be online a few hours later. Ok?”

    “And if I don’t want them online?” Lenny said evenly.

    “Then you have to make that absolutely clear beforehand. And I’ll either agree, or stop you talking.”

    “Got it.” Lenny decided he liked Tariq. He appreciated the straight talk. “It’s not so much that I have things to say. I want to ask you questions, not the other way round.”

    “Like what?”

    “Like where did you get your information about my wife reporting she was being harassed to the police?”

    “You know that journalists don’t reveal their sources right?” Said Tariq.

    “I thought that was just in the movies”

    “Nope, it’s a real thing.”

    “Well, can I ask if you have actually have the messages? I mean copies of them.” Lenny leaned forward and looked Tariq in the eye. “I’m desperate Tariq. I can’t just wait for the police to do something. I have to find Nikki.”

    Tariq sat back and thought for a minute. “Is it possible she’s just gone off to do some thinking? Maybe she’ll get in touch?” Even as he spoke, his expression said he doubted his own theory.

    “No way, she’d never leave our daughter — never.” Lenny changed tack. “Are you married Tariq? Can I at least ask you that?

    “Yes, I’m married, ten years this November.”

    “Children?”

    “Two girls,” Tariq smiled.

    “Can I ask their names?”

    “Why?” Tariq said, a little suspiciously.

    “I want you to think about what it might feel like if this happened to you. We lost our son a year ago you know; Jamie, he was seventeen. Nikki has been through hell, we both have. She just wouldn’t do this, not having survived what she has.”

    Tariq’s expression softened. “I’m sorry about your son Lenny. Boating accident wasn’t it?”

    Lenny looked surprised but then realisation dawned. “I should have guessed you’d know about Jamie.” Then added, “He was a diver, a good one. He drowned in Italy.”

    “That must be a terrible thing to go through, I am sorry.” Said Tariq, then added quietly. “Zara, my wife’s name is Zara.”

    “It’s a lovely name. Would Zara leave your daughters alone?” Lenny asked. “Would she disappear with no explanation?”

    Tariq puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. “No, she wouldn’t Lenny, I don’t think so anyway. But people don’t always act rationally, especially when they’ve been through trauma.”

    “Believe me I know that, I really do. But trust me I know Nikki, she’s just not that person, if anything, I’m the one given to rash actions not Nikki. It’s taken us a year to get back to something approaching normal, there’s just no way she would just go off like this — not then and not now. She loves Lydia too much, and me.” Lenny placed a hand on Tariq’s forearm. “I have nowhere else to start. I need your help.”

    “Lenny, I’d like to help, I really would, but there are rules I can’t break. It could cost me my job.”

    “I can see you break rules when it suits.” Lenny said cryptically.

    “Meaning?”

    Lenny pointed to the tattoo on Tariq’s neck. “Aren’t these considered sinful?”

    Tariq’s hand instinctively rose to his neck, “Nice try. It’s henna. My daughter Aisha did it. Permanent tattoos are frowned upon yes. Although, like a lot of traditions and religious edicts, many people take little notice of them these days. I doubt it would get me thrown out of the mosque.” He laughed. “And what makes you so sure of my faith?”

    Lenny pointed to the simple, silver ring engraved with the Shahada on Tariq’s hand.

    “You should be a journalist Lenny, or a detective.” Tariq smiled.

    Lenny turned the corners of his mouth down. “At least my skills would be more suited to the situation. I feel like the world has turned upside-down. My wife has gone missing and no one seems to think it’s anything to worry about.”

    They sat in silence for a minute or two. Across the road, a young woman in a white vest-top and cut-off jeans, holding hands with two small girls in identical yellow summer dresses, walked towards the park. The children were skipping and chattering excitedly while their mother, or perhaps their nanny, tried to keep them from stumbling into the path of passing cars.

    Tariq broke the silence. “I have to go to the bathroom. Would you mind watching my bag for me?” He stood up and made a point of placing his laptop bag on the empty chair next to Lenny. He held Lenny’s gaze for a moment or two and then walked inside the coffee shop.

    For a moment Lenny wasn’t sure if he had read Tariq’s expression correctly. Then he decided he didn’t care. He opened the bag and pulled out the laptop and saw that there was a plastic folder underneath it with a sticky label that had ‘Talbot’ scrawled on it in biro. He opened it and found three sheets of A4, densely printed on both sides. A few lines was all he had to read to know what they were. He placed the sheets on the table and used his iPhone to photograph them. The six sides took him less than a minute. He made sure the pictures had been saved and then put the papers back in the file and the file back in the bag. By the time Tariq returned it was sitting exactly where it had been left.

    Tariq sat and moved his bag from the empty seat, placing it on the table beside him. “The story is getting picked up on a lot of sites you know,” he said, giving nothing away with his expression.

    “Is that good?”

    “It’s good in that the more people who read it, the more chance someone who saw something will come forward.”

    “That’s what the detective handling things thinks.”

    “Samantha Tate?”

    “Yes, she at least seems to care.” Lenny said wryly.

    “She’s one of the good ones. And believe me they aren’t all good.”

    “Do you work with the police a lot? I mean do they tell you things?” Lenny asked.

    “Sometimes, it depends whether they think I can be useful. In a missing persons case, the public are the police’s greatest asset. What they want more than anything is a witness to the crime. So publicity is their friend.”

    Lenny wondered how Tariq came to have copies of documents that must have come from the police.  “They just don’t seem to be getting anywhere, I feel there’s no urgency, you know?” he said.

    Tariq didn’t comment, instead pulling a notepad and pen out from his bag. “How about I ask you a few questions?” He said. “You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, but just so you know, anything you do say is probably going in to my next piece on the story.”

    “Ok”, said Lenny, cautiously.

    “Were you aware that your wife was being harassed, or stalked?” Tariq began.

    “No, I wasn’t. And I’m surprised she didn’t say anything. Normally we share pretty much everything. I can only think she didn’t want to worry me.” Lenny shrugged.

    “Do you think she might have known who was harassing her?”

    “I think if she had known, she’s have told me — and the Police. Nikki is a very capable and straightforward person. She would have dealt with something like this in a no-nonsense way, I’m sure of it.” Lenny said.

    Tariq scribbled notes as Lenny spoke. Without looking up he said, “Did you have anything to do with your wife’s disappearance?”

    Lenny looked aghast. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Of course I didn’t.” He was shocked by the question.

    Tariq looked up and watched Lenny closely. “It’s the question everyone will ask themselves, including the Police. Believe me.”

    “Well, I didn’t.” Lenny’s jaw was set and his eyes locked on to Tariq’s, defying him to suggest otherwise.