Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

hands. He met the gaze of Lo Bianco in the rearview mirror. He could see what the chief inspector was thinking: They needed to get their hands on that card Squali had given the child, and they needed to find the connection between him and anyone who knew Hadiyyah’s nickname was
khushi
.
    When they arrived at the hospital in Lucca, Angelina Upman rushed at the car. She flung open the rear door and grabbed her daughter, crying her name. She looked terrible, everything from her difficult pregnancy to her anxiety about her child having taken a grievous toll upon her. But at the moment, the only thing of import was Hadiyyah. Angelina cried, “Oh my God! Thank you, thank you!” and she ran frantic hands over Hadiyyah from head to toe, a desperate search for any possible injuries.
    For her part, Hadiyyah only said, “Mummy,” and “I want to go
home
,” and then she saw her father.
    Azhar was approaching from the hospital doors with Lorenzo Mura following him. Hadiyyah cried out, “Dad! Dad!” and the Pakistani man broke into a sprint. When he reached Angelina and his daughter, he swept both of them into his arms. They formed a tight unit of three, and Azhar bent to kiss Hadiyyah’s head. He pressed his lips to Angelina’s as well. “The best of all conclusions,” he said. And to Lynley and Lo Bianco as they got out of the car, “Thank you, thank you.”
    Lo Bianco murmured again that this was his job: to reach a successful conclusion to a bad situation. For his part, Lynley made no reply. He was, instead, watching Lorenzo Mura and trying to determine what it meant that his expression was black and his eyes mirrored fury.
    LUCCA
    TUSCANY
    Lynley was not long in the dark on this matter. While Angelina accompanied her daughter to be examined by one of the doctors in casualty, Lynley and Lo Bianco remained with Lorenzo and Azhar. They found a sheltered corner of the waiting room, where they could speak in private, and here the two police officers explained not only what had happened in the
mercato
on the day that Hadiyyah had disappeared but also where she had been taken and by whom and for what reason.
    “He has done this!” was Lorenzo’s reaction the moment that the police had reached the conclusion of the story. In case they didn’t know to whom he was referring, Lorenzo went on, indicating Azhar with a jerk of his head in the Pakistani man’s direction. “Can you not see he has done this?”
    Azhar’s dark eyebrows drew together. “What do you mean?”
    “
You
have done this to her. To Angelina. To Hadiyyah. To
me
. You found her and you want her suffering—”
    “
Signore, Signore
,” Lo Bianco said. His voice was calm and conciliatory. “
Non c’è la prova di tutto ciò
.
Non deve—
”
    “
Non sa niente!
” Lorenzo hissed. And what followed was Italian so rapid-fire that Lynley could follow none of it. What he did understand was Lo Bianco’s statement about proof: There was nothing to indicate that Azhar had been involved in this matter. He also understood that there might be, that the London connection between Michelangelo Di Massimo and the private investigator Dwayne Doughty did not look good. But this was a matter about which Lorenzo Mura knew nothing. At the moment he was operating on nerves alone, and God knew his had been strung out for weeks.
    Azhar was silent, his face immobile. He watched the heated conversation between Lo Bianco and Mura, and he did not ask for a translation. In part, Lynley could tell, no translation was necessary. The murderous looks Lorenzo was shooting the Pakistani man were enough indication that something accusatory was being said.
    Angelina approached them at this point, Hadiyyah’s hand in hers. Lynley could tell she took in the situation with a single glance, because she stopped and bent to her daughter. She smoothed her hair, took her to a nearby chair that was well within her sight, parked her there with a kiss on the top of her head, and came to join the men.
    “How is Hadiyyah?” Azhar asked at once.
    “Oh, he asks this now,” Lorenzo scoffed. “
Vaffanculo!
Mostro!
Vaffanculo!
”
    Angelina blanched, which was something to see as she had virtually no colour in her face to begin with. She said, “What’s going on?”
    “How is Hadiyyah?” Azhar repeated. “Angelina . . .”
    She turned to him. Her face was soft. “She’s well. There was no . . . She’s unhurt, Hari.”
    “May I . . .” He nodded at his daughter, who watched them