‘They took him to the parking lot by the storage units. I saw them with my own eyes. That Brotherhood, if you do ’em wrong, they want you to suffer as a warning t’rest of us…’ He took a long breath. His voice trembled. ‘He’s a good kid, our Ben. Looks out for my dad. What they did to him was not human, man… I heard his screams… They just wouldn’t stop… They just kept revvin’ up those cars, man. Revvin’ ’em up and parking those fuckers on him. Reckon they only stopped cos they heard the Khan had got wind of what was goin’ on. They were gone before anyone showed up.’

CHAPTER 21

Jia emerged from the house to find Michael waiting for her at the bottom of the stone steps. He was empty-handed, his phone tucked away in his jacket pocket. He’d been admiring the valleys from this vantage point. The air was clean and crisp, filled with the smell of freshly cut grass. Jia looked at the grounds of her father’s house, the pathway weeded clean, the neat edges of the lawn. The wedding had left none of its mark thanks to the Khan’s men. The family never left business unfinished.

She had spent the rest of the morning handling the details of death. The post-mortem had been expedited, thanks to Bazigh Khan. He had pulled strings and ensured that the process would be completed quickly; even in death, Akbar Khan came first. The coroner’s office was not as easily persuaded. Its bureaucracy was as a heavy ship, difficult to change direction once its course was set, so the inquest date was in a few weeks. Men and women who deal with death on a daily basis do not fear much, and so bribery was out of the question. That said, the coroner was a fair man and had agreed to issue an interim death certificate so that the burial could take place within the three days recommended under Islamic law. It wasn’t an unusual request in this city.

Michael held the door of the Range Rover open, ready for Jia to take her seat. The Bentley was in the police compound, being examined for evidence. They were on their way to meet her father’s men. The car’s music system began playing old Rafi songs as the engine turned. Michael moved to turn them off but she stopped him, hoping her father’s favourite tunes would ease her discomfort. The old memories kept on coming.

Row upon row of small terraced houses came into sight, then the roads widened to open green fields. The landscape brought a mix of melancholy and nostalgia. With its dry-stone walls and winding roads, its green and grey and brown countryside, its cold, crisp air, this would always be home to Jia. And though the hills and valleys merged with ease, she knew that people who lived here stood apart.