If You Were Me (9 page)

DAN

 

 

 

I
t was weird how different she looked in my clothes – stronger, straighter, more determined. She was still on edge, though. All the way to Stoke Newington her eyes kept darting to my face as if she was still trying to work me out. I just had to hope she wouldn't manage it. Khan's Cars was on the corner of a long string of shops but you could see a mile off which one it was, due to the massive hole in one of its front windows and the angry-looking graffiti sprayed across the other. A bloke on a ladder was busy scrubbing it off, working his way down to the dripping red ‘
OUT
!' scrawled at the bottom. As soon as Aliya saw the state of it she pressed her wrist to her mouth and her eyes slid away, shiny with tears.

We squeezed past the bored-looking men hanging
round the doorway and walked over to the woman at the dispatch desk. She was about Mum's age, smooth dark skin, tiny red-streaked plaits scraped into a bun, and pink plastic earrings that rattled and clacked when she looked up.

‘Are you Corella?' Aliya asked.

‘That's me. Where do you want to go?' Her voice was deep, with a strong Jamaican accent.

‘I don't want a cab,' Aliya said. ‘I am the sister of Behrouz Sahar.' She said it quietly but with a touch of defiance. Every head in the room snapped round. Corella's smile faded fast. ‘Please,' Aliya said. ‘I need to ask you some questions.'

‘What about?'

‘The jobs Behrouz did this week and the people he picked up.'

A scuffle broke out behind us, one of the drivers elbowing people aside in his hurry to get to the street. Corella shouted after him, ‘Hey, Karim, where are you going? I've got a job for you.'

He didn't stop. Her dark eyes flashed back to Aliya. ‘You shouldn't be here. You'd better leave. Before Mr Khan gets back.'

‘Please,' Aliya said. ‘It's important. It will take only a few minutes.'

Corella wasn't happy about it but she unlocked the side door. Keeping a wary eye on the entrance, she beckoned us into the cramped office.

‘Behrouz is not a bomb-maker,' Aliya said. ‘You know him, you know he would never hurt anybody.'

Corella sighed and shook her head. ‘When I saw the news I said to my husband this doesn't make sense, not at all. But you've got to admit it looks bad. All those chemicals and detonators. We had a gang of bikers round here last night, threatening to torch the place and accusing Mr Khan of running an Al Shaab terror cell. The punters are keeping well away, even our regulars are cancelling.'

‘Can we have a look at Behrouz's satnav?' I said.

Corella threw me a suspicious look. ‘Who are you?'

‘My name's Dan. I'm . . . I'm helping Aliya. So, can we see it?'

‘Sorry. The police took it away when they came for his cab.'

‘Can we speak to Arif then?' Aliya said.

‘Arif?' Corella kissed her teeth. ‘He's been picked up by Immigration.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘He got caught in one of those government spot checks.'

Aliya's eyes widened. ‘Are they going to deport him?'

‘Who knows? He told me his visa was all sorted, just a few more days and the paperwork would have been through.' She glanced across at the other drivers. ‘They blame Behrouz. They think they're all going to get harassed now. Half of them daren't even come in to work.'

‘But he didn't do anything!'

A green light flashed on the desk. Corella quieted her with a raised finger and leant into the speaker. ‘Khan's Cars. How may I help you?' She tapped the computer, her brightly painted nails clicking against the keys. ‘Pick-up address? Phone number? Thank you, sir. I'll have a cab with you in five minutes.'

She called to one of the smokers in the doorway. ‘You can take this one, Steve.' She tore a slip of paper off the printer and poked it through the grill. A lanky man with a thin grey ponytail dropped his cigarette, ground it out on the step and came over to collect the docket. When he'd gone, I pointed to the computer. ‘Have you got all Behrouz's jobs on there?'

‘Of course. The police took copies of them going right back to the day he started.' Corella made a snorting noise. ‘What are they going to do, interview every punter he ever picked up?'

‘Was there anything strange about the jobs he did just before the explosion?' I said.

She pressed her knuckles to her mouth, thinking hard. ‘There was one thing.'

‘Yeah?' I tried not to look desperate.

‘I had an airport run come in, Tuesday morning, pick up at nine from Luton. That's good money. I rang him at six-thirty to offer it to him and he turned it down, said he was in Tottenham and wanted work that would keep him in that area till lunchtime – Finsbury Park, Seven Sisters,
anything out that way.'

Aliya was frowning as if she was having trouble taking this in. ‘Why was my brother in Tottenham at six-thirty in the morning if he was not working?'

‘You tell me,' Corella said.

‘Why did he want to be round there at lunchtime?' I asked.

‘Didn't say.'

‘Did you find him a job up there?'

‘Yes.'

‘Can you give us that address?'

Corella looked doubtful. ‘I don't—'

‘And a list of all the other jobs he did this week?' Aliya said.

‘Mr Khan wouldn't like it.'

Aliya was getting agitated. ‘Please. I have to find out where he went.'

Corella hesitated, glanced at the door, then starting tapping the keyboard with her crazy nails. ‘This might take a minute or two.'

The back door banged open and a heavyset man with close-cropped grey hair and a bristly black moustache stomped into the office.

Corella jumped. ‘Oh, Mr Khan—'

The man's eyes flew from my face to Aliya's and lingered on her clothes for a couple of seconds before he exploded, yelling at her in some language I didn't understand. Aliya looked petrified, so I said, ‘Look, Mr Khan. We
don't want to make trouble. We just want to know what jobs Behrouz did this week.'

Khan's lips curled back in a snarl. ‘Why? Why do you want to know this?'

‘We think he is innocent.'

‘I'm not giving you anything. All this trouble happening to me and my drivers because of Behrouz Sahar. Police here, people writing filthy words on my windows. He has brought shame on my community and my business!'

He was a pretty scary guy but I managed to keep calm. ‘I told you, Mr Khan, we think he's innocent. If we knew where he went and who he picked up, it might help us find out what really happened to him.'

A vein bulged on his forehead. He moved towards me, jabbing the air in front of my chest. ‘You stay away from my office and my drivers. Do not mess with this or there'll be trouble for you!'

Corella touched his arm. ‘Come on, Mr Khan. It's just a few addresses. Where's the harm?'

He smacked her hand away, hissing through yellow teeth, ‘You keep out of this!'

He stepped back to the door and called, ‘Karim!' A young, hard-faced bloke ambled in, the one who'd run off in such a hurry when Aliya said who she was. He moved towards us, flexing his fingers.

‘You heard Mr Khan,' Corella said, slipping her plump body between us and Karim. ‘He wants you to leave.' Her
bracelets clicked as her arms swept us out into the waiting area. Khan lumbered after us, still ranting. We pushed through the staring drivers into the street and broke into a run, cutting through a twisting pathway, down past a churchyard, through to another street, round the back of some scabby flats till we got to a park. I pulled Aliya through the iron gates. There was a cafe in a building that looked like it used to be a big posh house. We ducked under one of the dripping umbrellas outside and flung ourselves down on the chairs.

‘I cannot believe that man was my father's friend,' Aliya said gasping for breath. ‘He cares only about his business and the “shame” for his community. Nothing for Behrouz. I hate people who think their stupid honour is more important than truth or people's lives.'

I got out my phone and did a search for a number.

‘Who are you calling?' Aliya said.

‘Khan's.'

‘Are you mad?'

Corella's voice rasped through the speaker. ‘Khan's Cars, how can I help you?'

‘It's Dan.'

There was a split-second pause. Then she said, ‘Where are you now, sir?'

‘The caff in the park down the road.'

‘No problem. I'll arrange for the item to be picked up and brought to you at twelve-thirty.'

‘OK. Thanks.'

I thought Aliya would be impressed. Wrong. She glared at me. ‘I don't understand. How did you know she would send someone?'

I made a ‘phone me' sign with my thumb and little finger. ‘She was doing this when she chucked us out.'

‘What does it mean?'

‘Call me. People do it on telly when they want viewers to ring in and vote for them.'

Going by the blank look she gave me, I guessed she wasn't a big fan of TV talent shows, but the explanation calmed her down a bit.

‘Do you want a drink?'

‘I don't have much money.'

I shrugged. ‘I'm buying. What do you want? Tea, Coke?'

‘I will have tea.'

She followed me inside and sat down at one of the tables while I went over to the counter. When I got back she was checking the screen on Behrouz's phone and writing on one of the napkins.

‘What are you doing?'

She turned the napkin so I could see it. She'd drawn a kind of grid and filled in all the stuff she knew Behrouz had been doing from the moment he started acting strangely at the Meadowview fundraiser till the moment that lock-up exploded: the times and dates of the phone calls he'd made and received, the texts he'd been sent, the photos he'd taken.

We drank our tea staring at the blanks on the grid, not saying much at all.

Corella had seemed trustworthy enough but I didn't want to take any chances. At twenty past twelve, even though it was raining, I made Aliya leave the cafe and we huddled under a tree to one side of the entrance so we could see who Corella had sent before they saw us. Aliya was nervous, chewing the cuff of the hoodie I'd lent her, the brand-new Hollister one that had cost me a fortune. Did I say anything? No. She could trash everything I owned and we'd still never be even.

We were getting soaked, watching mothers hurrying past with buggies, kids wobbling along on rollerblades and old people walking ratty little dogs in tartan coats. Then a scrawny guy came down the path, tugging the collar of his jacket. He was young, seventeen maybe, ginger hair, spots. He glanced nervously over his shoulder before he walked up the steps of the cafe. We followed behind, skirting the busy seating area, while he bought a can of Coke at the counter and took it over to one of the tables. We still weren't sure he was the right person till he started turning a bright-orange Khan's Cars card in his fingers.

I started forward. Aliya pulled me back. ‘I don't trust the look of him,' she whispered.

So we hung around a bit longer, checking to make sure he really had come alone, before we went over to his
table and sat down.

‘Here.' He kept his eyes on his Coke and pushed a printout into Aliya's hand. ‘That's all Baz's jobs for this week. Anyone asks, you didn't get it from me.' He pushed his chair back and stood up. I wanted to keep him talking. ‘You're young to be driving a cab, aren't you?' I said. Feeble, but the best I could do.

‘I'm not a driver,' he snapped. ‘I'm an apprentice mechanic. It's a good job and I don't want to lose it. So keep your mouth shut.'

Aliya was frowning at him, probably thrown by his broad Scottish accent.

‘Course. What's your name?'

‘What's it to you?'

I shrugged and held my hands up. ‘Just being friendly.'

He hesitated, as if strangers being friendly wasn't something he was used to. ‘Connor,' he said grudgingly.

‘I'm Dan. She's—'

‘I know who she is.'

‘Are you a friend of Behrouz?' Aliya said.

He scowled in her face. ‘Not any more.'

She held up the job list, her eyes cold with fury. ‘Then why did you bring me this?'

‘Corella made me. I owed her a favour. If you ask me, your brother deserves everything he gets.'

Aliya's head jerked back as if he'd slapped her. ‘No!'

Connor dropped his fists on the table and hissed at her, ‘I used to think he was all right, but bad stuff's
happening to good people because of him.'

‘No! This is not true!'

I kicked her foot to shut her up. ‘What people?'

‘My mate Arif, for starters,' Connor went on, staring Aliya down. ‘He's been letting me kip on his floor and he was doing fine, sorting his visa, getting a bit of money together, never been in any trouble till Behrouz turned up.'

Aliya lifted her chin. ‘If Arif is in trouble, it is not because of Behrouz.'

‘Oh, no?' Connor dropped his voice and hunched forward. ‘Tuesday afternoon he turns up looking shifty as hell, drags Arif behind the workshop and they're talking together for ages, yackety bloody yack.'

‘What were they talking about?' I said.

‘How do I know? They weren't speaking English, but Behrouz kept pointing to something on his phone.'

I glanced at Aliya then back at Connor. ‘Was it a photo?'

‘Maybe, I couldn't see.'

‘Did he say anything that might have been a name?'

Connor frowned. ‘I dunno, it was all gibberish to me, but maybe . . . Aerobi, something like that . . . no . . . Sarobi. That's right. Sarobi. Next thing I know, the two of them have disappeared and Arif doesn't come home till three in the morning. Following day he's all agitated, checking his messages every two minutes, and there's no sign of Behrouz. I know something's up but
Arif won't tell me what. That evening we're nipping out to get a takeaway and suddenly there's four blokes in black, flashing IDs in Arif's face and hustling him into their van.'