The Gladstone Street shop was full of schoolkids who were being dealt with by old Mrs Patel. A younger woman, perhaps a daughter or daughter-in -law kept guard by the door and watched the adolescents like a hawk. The local school suffered from a reputation of schooling, if that were the word, some pupils who were quick of finger, deep of pocket and fleet of foot. Anglo Saxon was also their most common language after an understanding of the mere rudiments of their native language.
On seeing Ahmed old Mrs Patel's eyes opened wide with apprehension. Her body visibly stiffened and her ruddy brown face drained. Her English with the schoolkids was more than adequate. After spotting Ahmed her voice assumed a tremulous tone accompanied by a nervous stuttering.
'She seems a tad agitated by our presence Ahmed, I wonder why' Blunt said enquiringly.
'She is no different to when Cushion and I came. Although I got the impression that she could only grasp basic English'
'Seems that her comprehension of the language has come on apace since then' responded Blunt with a hint of sarcasm.
'Many of the less educated people in our community trust the police less and less, especially after the riots. They feel that we are on the side of the racists and drag our feet when it comes to prosecuting those who rob them and attack them.'
Blunt nodded in agreement. He had come across the sentiment several times over the years.
They waited for the rush of adolescents to abate and then approached an increasingly agitated Mrs Patel.
'Mrs Patel, is your son about? We would like to have another word with him.'
She replied in Pashtun, feigning a lack of knowledge of English.
'Mrs Patel I saw you dealing with the children and your English is pretty good. If I may be so bold, I would even say that it surpassed that of some of your native born customers. Now we can talk in English or Ahmed can translate into Pashtun and vice versa. I am easy so long as you co-operate. Now where is your son who provided us with a statement regarding a missing girl the day before last.' Blunt requested.
'He has had to go away to Pakistan on family business.' The nervous reply in Pashtun that Ahmed translated.
'He did not say anything about that when we spoke to him' Ahmed responded a little doubtfully.
'Death, like life is Allah's to give and take. Our duty is to live our lives according to his laws and any demands he may make on us. You...' the young woman had silently come up behind the policemen and as Ahmed turned around to face her she pointed her finger at him, 'you should know that, understand that and obey. Unless of course you are a traitor to your people and to Allah'. Her eyes blazed and then he recognised her. It was the young Mrs Patel without a Niquab. Maybe she didn't like wearing it when her husband wasn't about.
Ahmed visibly blushed
'Everyone is entitled to their beliefs in this country as long as the practising and preaching of those beliefs remains within the confines of the law. When did he go back to Pakistan and whom has died?
Blunt stepped in. He drew a withering look from the young woman.
'He went this morning. It was a distant uncle who has helped the family in England. It was Ashraf's duty to go and pay our respects'
'I understand' said Blunt gently, 'are you and your mother willing to give statements about the girl from Pitt Street'
'Of course but my mother in law doesn't often serve in the shop. I don't think that she can tell you anything' came the response in English whilst she looked at the old woman.' Also I hope it will not be too long as we have to pick up the children'.
'No thank you for your help. Sergeant Ahmed will take your mother's statement down here whilst you and I have a chat upstairs.'
'My mother in law is not well she should have me there when she gives a statement.' There was now a worried tone to the young woman's demeanour. It did not escape Blunt.
'No she will be alright. She looks quite sprightly for her age. What is her age by the way?'
The woman slightly hesitated before saying 'seventy six'.
The young woman gave Blunt a similar statement to that of her absent husband. Blunt noticed the photographs on a sideboard and asked if the children were hers. He asked whether the man in one of the photographs was her husband. She hesitated slightly before saying that the man was her brother in law. Blunt noted her eyebrows being drawn upwards towards the middle of her forehead, causing short lines to appear across the skin of her forehead. She then went onto volunteer that her husband didn't like photographs.
Blunt commented that she obviously shared that trait with her husband. She agreed adding that Niquabs didn't photograph very well.
On the drive back to headquarters Saeed informed his boss that the old lady had said very little and insisted that she spent most of her time looking after her grandchildren. Blunt had not said much. However, he did say that perhaps Saeed and Flint should return to London to sort out their affairs.