The Ultimate Truth (8 page)

Nothing.

The sun would never shine on them again.

‘Are you all right, Travis?’ Courtney asked quietly.

‘I can’t stop thinking about Mum and Dad.’

She glanced at me, looking concerned. ‘Maybe we’d better leave this for now. We can always—’

‘No, it’s all right,’ I said. ‘I’d rather be doing something than just sitting around at home, you know?’

‘Sure?’

‘Yeah.’

‘OK.’

I looked out of the window again. We were heading along Slade Lane now, about a kilometre or so from Beacon Fields. In the distance up ahead, I could see the grey houses of the estate shimmering
in a haze of heat.

‘I’d better use the sat nav when we get to the estate,’ Courtney said, reaching up to turn it on. ‘Driving around Beacon Fields is a nightmare. What’s the address
again?’

I looked in the file. ‘42 Roman Way.’

As she keyed it into the sat nav, a memory of Mum and Dad flashed into my mind. It was the day of the car crash. Dad was getting out of his car with his sat nav in his hand, and Mum was saying
to him, ‘I’m not having that thing in my car.’

‘We’re driving into the middle of London,’ Dad had said. ‘You know what the roads are like—’

‘I don’t care,’ Mum had told him. ‘I’d rather get lost than use one of those.’

Then Courtney’s sat nav piped up –
In 400 metres, turn right
– and the memory faded.

But as I glanced up at the map on the sat nav screen, something else flickered briefly into my mind, something that seemed to mean something. I closed my eyes for a second, trying to get hold of
it, but it had already gone. I knew there was no point in trying to get it back. It was one of those elusive feelings that you just have to let go, because the more you chase after them, the
further they float away. So I just let it go, hoping it would come back when it was ready, and turned my mind to something else.

‘Can I ask you something?’ I said to Courtney.

‘Of course. What is it?’

‘What’s going to happen to Delaney & Co now?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said. ‘It depends what arrangements your mum and dad made. When they took over the agency from your grandad, they insisted that he stay on as a
partner, even though he wasn’t directly involved in the business any more. So I suppose their share of the business will go to him.’

‘Does that mean Grandad owns it?’

‘Possibly.’

‘So, if he wanted to, he could keep it open.’

‘He retired a long time ago, Travis.’

‘He still knows what he’s doing.’

‘I know. But he found it hard enough running the business on his own before, and he was twenty years younger and stronger then.’

‘He wouldn’t have to run it on his own. You could help him.’

‘Me?’ she said, taken aback.

‘Why not? You’re smart, you know the business, you’re good at it.’

‘Well, that’s nice of you to say, but it’s not really up to me.’

‘You’d like to do it though, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yeah, of course I would. I’d love it.’

‘The only thing is . . .’

‘What?’ she said.

‘Well,’ I said seriously, ‘Grandad’s a bit old-fashioned in his ways.’

‘So?’

I looked at her. ‘If you worked for him, you’d have to dress like that every day.’

She laughed.

I smiled.

Just for now, everything felt all right again.

The Kamals’ house was pretty much the same as all the others houses on the estate – grey, pebble-dashed, with net curtains in the windows and a small front
yard.

‘Let me do the talking, OK?’ Courtney said as we went up to the door.

‘You’re the boss,’ I told her.

She gave me a serious look. ‘I’m going to have to explain what happened to your mum and dad. Are you going to be all right with that?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Sure?’

I nodded.

She rang the bell, and after about ten seconds the front door inched open and a woman’s face appeared in the gap.

‘Yes?’ she said warily.

Courtney smiled at her. ‘Mrs Kamal?’

‘Who are you?’

‘My name’s Courtney Lane,’ she said. ‘And this is Travis Delaney. We’re from Delaney & Co. I believe you spoke with Mr Delaney recently regarding the
whereabouts of your son.’

‘He’s not here,’ she said, starting to close the door. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t help you.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Kamal,’ Courtney said gently. ‘We’re not here about your son.’

Mrs Kamal hesitated. ‘What do you want?’

‘Well, unfortunately, Mr and Mrs Delaney passed away a few weeks ago,’ Courtney said, lowering her voice. ‘It was very sudden. A road traffic accident.’

‘Oh, my,’ Mrs Kamal said, glancing at me. ‘How terrible. I’m so sorry.’

Courtney nodded. ‘All we’re doing at the moment is going through some of their unfinished cases, trying to clear up a few loose ends. It’s just routine paperwork, Mrs Kamal.
Nothing to worry about. So if you could possibly spare us a few minutes of your time, we’d very much appreciate it.’

Mrs Kamal hesitated again for a moment or two, thinking over what Courtney had just told her. Then she unlatched the security chain on the door and showed us inside.

We followed her into a small front room, and she asked us to sit down. It was a neat and tidy little place, everything spotless and clean, but it felt peculiarly lifeless. The net curtains
filtered out most of the sunlight, and as I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the gloom, I realised that everything was old and worn out – the furniture, the wallpaper, the carpet. Even the
net curtains were yellowed with age.

As Courtney took out a small notepad and a pen and began asking some questions, I sat there quietly and concentrated on Mrs Kamal. She was about forty, I guessed. Dark eyes, dark hair, a
tired-looking face. She was wearing a traditional Pakistani dress and silky trousers.

Although she’d become a little less wary since Courtney had assured her that we weren’t here to talk about her son, she was still far from relaxed, and I could tell she was worried
about something. Courtney was aware of her anxiety too, and she was being very careful not to push her too hard. When she asked her what Dad had been to see her about, and Mrs Kamal told her that
it was all a misunderstanding, and that Bashir wasn’t missing at all but had simply gone to Pakistan to look after his grandmother, Courtney didn’t take it any further. She just made a
few notes and pretended to accept Mrs Kamal’s story.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘So in this case there wasn’t actually anything to investigate.’

‘Nothing at all,’ Mrs Kamal said. ‘As I said, it was just a misunderstanding.’

Courtney smiled. ‘Was that the only time Mr Delaney came to see you?’

‘Yes.’

‘He didn’t contact you again?’

‘No.’

‘What about your husband?’

‘What about him?’

‘Was he here when Mr Delaney talked to you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Where is he now?’

‘At work.’

Courtney made another note in her pad. ‘Do you know if Mr Delaney ever contacted him again?’

‘No, he didn’t.’

‘OK,’ Courtney said, nodding. ‘Well, I think that’s about all for now, Mrs Kamal . . . oh, just one more thing.’ She turned to me. ‘Have you got those
pictures, Travis?’

I gave her the printout, then took out my mobile, opened up the photo of the man at the funeral, and passed her the phone.

Courtney turned back to Mrs Kamal. ‘If you wouldn’t mind having a quick look,’ she said casually, holding out the phone for her to see.

‘What is this?’ Mrs Kamal said, looking cautiously at Courtney.

‘Please?’ Courtney said. ‘It won’t take a second.’

Mrs Kamal sighed, then lowered her eyes and looked at the photograph of the man at the funeral. She tried very hard to hide her surprise, but it was immediately obvious that she recognised him.
Her mouth opened then closed, her eyes went still, and her shoulders tensed.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, avoiding Courtney’s eyes as she passed back the phone. ‘I can’t help you. Now, if you don’t mind—’

‘What about the men in this picture?’ Courtney said, showing her the printout. ‘Do you recognise any of them?’

‘No,’ Mrs Kamal muttered, shaking her head. ‘I’ve never seen them before.’

She hadn’t even looked at the picture. She was very edgy now – sitting up straight, her eyes darting all over the place. She wasn’t just nervous, I realised, she was
frightened.

‘Well, thank you very much for your time, Mrs Kamal,’ Courtney said, passing me the phone and the printout. ‘You’ve been very helpful. And I’m sorry about the
misunderstanding.’ She smiled. ‘We’ll leave you in peace now.’

Mrs Kamal nodded.

Courtney looked at me. ‘OK, Travis?’

‘Yeah,’ I said, grimacing slightly. ‘I just need to . . .’

‘What’s the matter?’

‘Nothing. It’s just . . .’ I turned shyly to Mrs Kamal.

‘Would you mind very much if I used your bathroom before we go?’

She hesitated, clearly desperate for us to leave, but at the same time not wanting to be ill-mannered. ‘Up the stairs,’ she said, smiling awkwardly. ‘At the end of the
landing.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, getting to my feet.

As I left the room I heard Courtney say, ‘It sounds like you have a wonderful son, Mrs Kamal. He must be a very caring young man.’

‘Bashir has a good heart,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t ask for any more in a son.’

There were only three rooms upstairs. A main bedroom on the left, a smaller bedroom on the right, and the bathroom at the end of the landing. I hurried down to the bathroom,
opened and closed the door without going in, then quietly went into the smaller bedroom. There was no doubt it was Bashir’s room. There was a weight machine on the floor, a punchbag in one
corner, and a poster of Amir Khan on the wall. It was a very small room, and the weight machine took up about half of it, so there wasn’t much space for anything else. There was a single bed,
a chest of drawers, a bedside cabinet, and that was it.

I went over to the chest of drawers and started searching through it. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, I was just looking, hoping to find something that might throw some light
on whatever was going on. I went through the drawers as quickly and quietly as possible, but I didn’t come across anything useful. There was nothing in there except clothes.

As I went over to the bedside cabinet, I heard Courtney calling out from downstairs. ‘
Travis! Hurry up, Trav! We need to get a move on!
’

It was a warning. She’d guessed what I was doing, and she was trying to tell me that Mrs Kamal was getting suspicious and it was time for me to come back down. I hesitated for a moment,
knowing that I should heed her warning, but I was at the bedside cabinet now, and it only had two drawers . . . it would only take a couple of seconds to go through them.

I leaned down and opened the bottom drawer. It was full of bits and pieces: an old iPod, headphones, bootlaces, a pack of playing cards, a can of shoe polish . . .

‘
Travis!
’

Courtney’s voice again. Louder now, more urgent.

I opened the top drawer. It was jam-packed with boxing magazines.
Boxing Monthly
,
Boxing News
,
The Ring
. . .

‘Damn,’ I muttered.

‘
TRAVIS!
’

As I went to close the drawer, something caught my eye. There was something poking out from between the pages of one of the magazines, a little booklet or something. I reached in and pulled it
out.

It was a passport.

I heard footsteps then. The sound of someone coming up the stairs. It didn’t sound like Courtney. With my heart thumping hard, I opened the passport and scanned the details, then I dropped
it back in the drawer and tiptoed quickly out of the room and along the landing to the bathroom. As I went in and closed the door, I heard Mrs Kamal’s voice from the top of the stairs,
‘Excuse me? Are you all right in there? What are you doing?’

I flushed the toilet, ran the taps, turned them off again, and opened the door. Mrs Kamal was standing on the landing.

‘Sorry,’ I said, holding my belly and looking embarrassed. ‘I think I must have eaten something bad . . . I’m really sorry.’

She frowned at me, not sure whether to believe me or not, and I saw her glance over at Bashir’s room.

‘Are you all right, Travis?’ Courtney called out from the bottom of the stairs.

‘Yeah,’ I told her. ‘I’m OK. I’m just coming.’

As I moved off along the landing, and Mrs Kamal stepped aside to let me pass, I could tell from the way she was looking at me that she guessed I’d been up to something. She didn’t
say anything though. And I knew that she wouldn’t. Because I knew now, without a shadow of doubt, that she was lying about her son.

I told Courtney about Bashir’s passport as we drove back to her house.

‘Are you sure it was his?’ she asked.

‘It was in his name, and it had his photograph in it. It wasn’t an old one either. The expiry date was September 2021.’

‘He can’t have left the country then.’

‘No.’

‘So why are his parents lying?’

‘His mother’s definitely scared of something.’

‘And she definitely knew the man in the photograph.’

I looked at Courtney. ‘What do you think’s going on?’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Travis. But whatever it is, I’m beginning to think that your mum and dad were on to it. Everything seems to revolve round them. They were investigating Bashir. Bashir’s mother knows the man you
saw at their funeral. The man at the funeral knows the man who showed up at the office today pretending to be someone else.’ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘There’s
more to this than just a missing boxer, I’m pretty sure of that.’

When I didn’t answer, she looked across at me.

I was leaning to one side, angling my head to get a better view in the wing mirror.

‘What are you doing?’ Courtney said.

‘I think we’re being followed.’

She immediately looked up at the rear-view mirror.

‘Three cars back,’ I told her.