Dishonour. Helen Black

allow.

      The WPC’s eyes couldn’t resist a flicker towards Lilly’s girth. It was quick but Lilly clocked it. When she’d been pregnant with Sam she’d bloomed. The apples of her cheeks had a rosy glow and she’d worn her jeans until the sixth month. This time, she felt like the bloated corpse of a humpback whale.

      ‘Can I help you?’ The WPC’s smile was as perky as her chest.

      ‘I’d like to speak to DI Bell,’ said Lilly.

      ‘Is he expecting you?’

      Lilly tried a smile. ‘I called to say I was on my way.’

      The policewoman nodded and skipped away. Lilly lowered herself into one of the metal-framed seats. She could feel the steel tubes tattooing their pattern onto her bum.

      At last the WPC returned and ushered Lilly through. She gave a puzzled look at Lilly’s shopping, shrugged and led her through the corridors at such a sprightly pace Lilly could barely keep up. When they arrived at the foot of a steep staircase Lilly let out a groan. Plastic bag in one hand, she grabbed the banister and hauled herself up. By the time she arrived at the inspector’s room she was gasping for air.

      ‘Good grief,’ said DI Bell, leading Lilly to a chair, ‘are you OK?’

      Lilly took a deep breath. ‘The stairs…’

      The DI frowned at the WPC. ‘Why on earth didn’t you show Miss Valentine to the lift?’

      ‘I didn’t think.’

      DI Bell waved her away with an impatient flap of his hand. ‘Young people these days can’t put themselves in anyone else’s shoes, can they?’

      He didn’t wait for Lilly’s reply but turned instead to pour her a glass of water.

      Despite the fact that it was her own wellbeing in discussion, Lilly didn’t like his tone with the young woman and gave her an apologetic smile as she left. Everyone had been young once, hadn’t they?

      ‘So…’ DI Bell smiled and displayed perfect, even, white teeth. ‘What can I do for you?’

      Lilly clamped her lips over her own crooked teeth and wished her mother had made her wear a brace as a child. Sam and all his friends sported matching train tracks; some even had the hugely expensive ‘invisible’ ones that turned a disgusting brown when they drank Coke. When they came off they would all troop back to their dentists for the obligatory bleaching.

      ‘I understand you’re overseeing the death of Yasmeen Khan,’ she said.

      DI Bell nodded and handed her the glass. His fingers were surprisingly small, the nails clean and buffed.

      ‘I’ve been instructed by the family to ascertain when you intend to release the body.’ Lilly sipped her water. ‘I’m sure you understand that they are very keen to bury their loved one.’

      DI Bell nodded again. ‘It’s natural for any family to want to make arrangements.’

      His accent was public school. In the past this might have grated, but Sam sounded exactly the same.

      ‘And as Muslims, they would be expected to carry out the necessary prayers and ablutions as soon as possible,’ she said.

      DI Bell raised an eyebrow. ‘And as a police officer I would be expected to carry out an investigation into any death for as long as necessary.’

      ‘I’m not suggesting otherwise,’ Lilly smiled. ‘I’m just asking you to take into account the family’s religion.’

      ‘I will of course take that into account,’ DI Bell straightened his back, ‘whilst continuing with my investigation.’

      Lilly gathered her patience. She was tired and uncomfortable. Her feet were bursting out of her shoes. Why did coppers have to turn everything into a row?

      ‘The girl killed herself. What exactly is it you need to investigate?’

      ‘I simply want to assure myself that this matter is as cut and dried as it seems,’ said DI Bell. ‘And I would assume Yasmeen’s family would want the same. Whatever their religious affiliations.’

      Lilly levelled the man in her sights. Now she listened carefully, his voice was all wrong—too stilted, trying much too hard. He said all the right things but it was as if he were reading from a script.

      ‘Why don’t we speak again in two days?’ she said. ‘I’m sure that will give you ample time.’

      The plate of pakora smelled so delicious Lilly’s stomach lurched. She could almost taste the chilli and coriander.

      ‘Please,’ said Anwar, and gestured for her to take one.

      Lilly’s smile was rueful. ‘Spicy food is a bit of a problem at the moment.’

      This was an understatement. A month ago, when Lilly had cracked and had a takeaway delivered, she had barely swallowed three spoonfuls of chicken korma and a nibble of chapatti when the heartburn kicked in and she’d been up all night chugging on a bottle of Gaviscon.

      Anwar gave a polite smile and passed the plate back to his mother to be returned to the kitchen.

      After a momentary rattling of crockery and cupboard doors she resumed her place next to her son. On a chair to the side of the room sat a man in his early fifties. He wore white cotton kurta pyjamas and kufi cap. He scowled at Lilly from behind a long grey beard.

      ‘This is my uncle,’ said Anwar.

      Lilly held out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

      The man looked from Lilly’s face to her hand and back again before finally taking it in his. ‘Mohamed Aziz.’

      Lilly cringed at the sweat on his palm and surreptitiously wiped her hand against her leg.

      ‘Have you spoken to the police?’ asked Anwar.

      ‘Yes,’ said Lilly, ‘I met with the officer in the case about half an hour ago.’

      ‘“Officer in the case”?’ Mohamed sneered. ‘The sad passing of Yasmeen is not a case.’

      ‘It’s a figure of speech,’ said Lilly. ‘The officer who has been assigned to look into Yasmeen’s death.’

      Mohamed shook his head, clearly dissatisfied with Lilly’s explanation.

      Then the the door burst open and a teenage boy and girl burst in.

      Anwar jumped to his feet. ‘What are you two doing back here?’ he said. ‘I told you to stay at Auntie’s for the afternoon.’

      The girl straightened her hijab. ‘She felt ill so we came home.’

      ‘OK then,’ Anwar was still on his feet, ‘why don’t you go upstairs?’

      The girl looked at Lilly and knitted her brow.

      ‘Listen to your brother,’ said Mohamed.

      The girl frowned but turned as if she might head for the stairs.

      The boy, however, was not so easily persuaded. He squared his shoulders, openly aggressive. ‘Who’s this?’

      ‘We’ll talk about it later,’ said Anwar.

      The boy folded his arms across his chest. ‘I want to talk about it now.’

      Anwar pursed his lips but Lilly caught his glance towards his uncle, who gave an almost imperceptible nod. Evidently, Anwar did not make all the decisions for the family.

      ‘Fine. This is Miss Valentine,’ said Anwar. ‘A solicitor.’ He turned to Lilly. ‘This is my brother, Raffique Khan.’

      ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said Lilly, and held out her hand.

      Much like his uncle, the boy looked at her hand as if there was nothing he would less like to do than shake it. But Lilly had dealt