Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

on the doorstep of that farmhouse or whatever the hell it is and saying, ‘Yoo-hoo, surprise, I’m here to collect the daughter you snatched.’ If you knew the school, you could have gone to the school. You could have shown up in the market yourself. You could have done a dozen different things, but instead—”
    “You do not see. Angelina had to
feel
. And none of those things would have allowed her to feel. She had to see what she had done to me. She had to feel in equal measure. It was the only way. You must know this, Barbara, as you know Angelina.”
    “You’ve bollocksed everything up.
You
must know that.”
    “What I did not know was that this Italian detective would hire someone else to carry the plan off. I still do not know why he did that. But so he did, and that person was killed as he went to fetch Hadiyyah from the Alps. And then none of us knew where he had taken her. And then I saw how badly I had gone wrong with this plan. But what was I to do at that point? What would you have done? Had I told the truth . . . Have you any idea what Angelina would have done then, had she learned that Hadiyyah’s father had arranged for her kidnapping? You cannot think she would have dealt with me in a way that indicated a sudden understanding of how much I wanted and was desperate for my daughter’s return.”
    “There are trails, Azhar,” Barbara said. Other than numb to her soul, she wasn’t sure what else she felt and, worse, she found herself wondering if she would ever feel anything again other than numb to her soul. “There are trails between you and Doughty. And who paid Di Massimo? You? And what about the other bloke? Who the bloody hell paid him? You can’t be thinking that all of this mess was handled without a trace of your involvement, and once the Italians sort this out—which they will, let me tell you—then how exactly are you going to commune with Hadiyyah from inside a bloody Italian prison? And how the hell is Angelina going to feel when she learns you were behind the whole thing? And what sodding court in the world is going to allow you shared custody or even visitation or
whatever
else when it’s proved you were behind her kidnapping?”
    “Mr. Doughty told me of a man,” he said. “He spoke of his skills with computers and the trails they leave.”
    “Of course he bloody well told you because what Bryan Smythe really did—and you c’n bet your life on this—was wipe out any connection between Doughty and Di Massimo, not between you and anyone. And as to the rest . . . ? As to your connection with any of these blokes . . . ? What the hell did you think? That once Hadiyyah was restored to her mum, the Italian cops were going to let everyone kiss and make up and there would be no further investigation? You can’t have been that bloody mad, Azhar. Don’t ask me to believe that you were because—”
    And then she knew. She stopped herself. All of the facts spread out in front of her like a map of the world and she recognised every country depicted. She breathed, “Oh my God. Pakistan. That was it all along.”
    He said nothing. He watched her. She wondered if she’d ever really known him. A chasm seemed to exist between who she’d thought he was and who he was turning out to be, and in that moment what she truly wanted was to fling herself into the void created, so stupid had she been, such a dupe, such a fool.
    “Doughty was right,” she said. “He found those tickets, Azhar. I expect he didn’t tell you that. SO12 found them as well, in case you’re interested. One-way to Pakistan and yourself a Muslim? That sort of purchase is like lighting firecrackers on a carriage in the Underground at half past five in the afternoon. It gets you noticed. It gets you investigated. Didn’t you think of that?”
    Still, he said nothing although she saw his jaw shift. He fixed his gaze on hers, but other than his jaw, he didn’t move a muscle.
    She said, “You’re taking her there. You bought the tickets in March because by then all the kidnapping plans were in place, weren’t they? You knew when and you knew how and you knew what Angelina would think and would do and by God she did it. She came to London, you returned with her to Italy, and everything played out according to plan except that one unfortunate car wreck and a dead man, but at the end of the day, you got her back and all was well. And you had—you
have
—no bloody intention of sharing Hadiyyah with Angelina