Bazigh Khan escorted Briscoe out. As he opened the front door, the police chief turned to him. ‘We’ve known each other a long time, you and I,’ he said. ‘Your brother’s death… It’s obviously very early on in our investigations, but our forensics experts have pointed to the possibility that Akbar Khan knew his killer. I know that’s not rare in your business. But the way he was found, and the lack of bruising or signs of physical restraint, suggest he had no warning of the threat, and that could be because he trusted whoever killed him.’

The butcher didn’t flinch. He put his hand on the policeman’s shoulder. ‘Come, let me walk you to your car,’ he said.

But as Briscoe went to get in car, Bazigh Khan stepped forward, holding the door firmly shut. ‘I’d like you to keep that information between the two of us. Do you understand?’ he said, fixing the police chief with his gaze. Briscoe nodded. ‘I need you to say the words,’ said Bazigh Khan. ‘The way you did when I helped out your son.’

The mention of Timothy and a long-forgotten deal with the Khan family left Briscoe cold. ‘Mr Khan, I promise to do what I can for as long as I can,’ he stammered. ‘But I can’t guarantee anything. It will come out sooner or later.’ Bazigh Khan nodded and stepped back, allowing him to open the car door.

CHAPTER 26

Jia pressed the small key into the large iron padlock. It jarred slightly and then clinked open. She unhooked it and put it to one side before lifting the lid of the wooden trunk. Everything inside was still neatly wrapped and labelled, just as she’d left it. She picked up the package marked ‘Ahad’ and unwrapped the tissue, pulling out a small blue blanket. It was brighter than she remembered, a midnight blue with pale stars all across it. It had been a gift from her father to Ahad on the day he was born. She couldn’t help but bring it to her cheek, the scent and softness of it evoking long-forgotten feelings. She hadn’t been in the attic of her dead father’s house for years, and the sight and smell of it brought on a wave of emotion that hit her hard and fast, bringing with it memories she’d rather not recall. Immense and intense feelings towards her son overwhelmed her and the tears came. Slow at first and then faster, they streamed down her face, over her cheeks, her lips, and she let them fall to the ground. For the first time since his birth, she mourned the little boy she had lost. She wept for the childhood years she had missed, and the teenage angst she was part of. This outpouring of grief was precisely what she’d been desperate to avoid all those years ago when she’d attempted the unspeakable.