Deception on His Mind
hadn't spoken, everyone living in the vicinity of the Nez was being questioned by a team of detective constables to determine what might have been seen or heard on the night of Mr. Querashi's death. Additionally, appropriate measurements had been made at the site, clothing had been bagged, tissues would be taken from the body for microscopic analysis, blood and urine samples would go to the toxicologist, background information—
    “She's stalling, Azhar.” Emily had to give Muhannad credit for the observation. He was very nearly as quick as his cousin. “She doesn't want us to know what happened. Because if we know, we'll take to the streets again and this time we won't clear out till we have the answers and justice. Which, believe me, is exactly what they do
not
want at the beginning of their tourist season.”
    Azhar raised a hand to silence his cousin. “And photographs?” he asked Emily quietly. “You took them, of course.”
    “That's always done first. The entire site is photographed, not only the body.”
    “May we see these, please?”
    “I'm afraid not.”
    “Why?”
    “Because as we've determined the death is a homicide, no element of the formal investigation can be shared with the public. It just isn't done.”
    “And yet information is leaked to the media quite frequently in the midst of an investigation of this kind,” Azhar pointed out.
    “Perhaps it is,” Emily said, “but not by the officer in charge.”
    Azhar observed her with large, intelligent brown eyes. If the room hadn't been insufferably hot already, Emily knew she would have flushed under his scrutiny. As it was, the heat was her alibi. Everyone in the building—save the Asians—was crimson with discomfort, so her own colouring was indication of nothing.
    “In what direction do you go from here?” he finally asked.
    “We wait for all of the reports to come in. And we place everyone who knew Mr. Querashi under suspicion. We'll begin interviewing—”
    “Everyone brown who knew him,” Muhannad concluded.
    “I didn't say that, Mr. Malik.”
    “You didn't have to, Inspector.” He made her rank too polite a title to indicate anything other than his scorn for it. “You have no intention of pursuing this murder into the white community. If you had your way, you probably wouldn't bother to pursue it as the murder it is. And don't bother to deny the accusation. I've a bit of experience associated with how the police treat crimes committed against my people.”
    Emily didn't rise to this additional baiting, and Taymullah Azhar gave no indication he'd even heard his cousin. He merely said, “Since I didn't know Mr. Querashi, may I have access to the photographs of his body? It would set my family's mind at rest to know the police are hiding nothing from us.”
    “I'm sorry,” Emily said in reply.
    Muhannad shook his head, as if he'd expected this answer all along. He said to his cousin, “Let's get out of here. We're wasting our time.”
    “Perhaps not.”
    “Come on. This is bullshit. She's not going to help us.”
    Azhar looked thoughtful. “Are you willing to meet our needs, Inspector?”
    “In what way?” Emily was immediately wary.
    “Through compromise.”
    “Compromise?” Muhannad echoed. “No. No way, Azhar. If we compromise, we'll end up watching the carpet being lifted and Haytham's murder being swept—”
    “Cousin.” Azhar glanced his way. It was the first time he'd even looked at him. “Inspector?” he repeated, turning back to Emily.
    “There can be no compromise in a police investigation, Mr. Azhar. So I don't understand what you're suggesting.”
    “What I'm suggesting is a way to assuage the community's most pressing concerns.”
    She decided to read the implication at its most potentially efficacious: He could be suggesting a way to keep the Asians in line. That would certainly serve her interests. She replied carefully. “I won't deny that the community's foremost in my thoughts,” she said,

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