Inspector Lynley 18 - Just One Evil Act

English he possessed, he explained. “My sister live near this
mercato
. There we go always after, to her house. When Hadiyyah I miss from this place, I think she go there. To play.”
    “Why would you think that?” Barbara asked.
    “
Mio nipote
. . .” He looked to Angelina for help.
    “His nephew is there,” she said. “Hadiyyah and the boy play together.”
    Across the room Azhar closed his eyes. “All these months,” he said. And for the first time since his child had gone missing, Barbara saw the man’s lips struggle with the effort not to weep.
    “I finish with making shop,” Lorenzo said. “I think I see Hadiyyah when I go to the house.”
    “She knew how to get there?” Barbara asked.
    “There she go many times to play,
sì
. Angelina come to the
mercato
then, and—”
    “From where?”
    “Piazzale—”
    “I mean what was she doing? What were you doing, Angelina?”
    “Are you now accusing
me
—”
    “Of course not. Where were you? What did you see? How long were you gone?”
    She was doing her yoga, as it turned out. She went regularly to a class in the town.
    “She come to the
mercato
, we meet like always, we go to my sister. Hadiyyah is not there.”
    They’d thought at first she’d become lost somewhere in the large market. Or, perhaps, she’d become distracted on her way to the musician and now was back there in the market waiting for them in her usual place near Porta San Jacopo. They returned, this time with Lorenzo’s sister and her husband, and the four of them had begun to search.
    They searched the market. They extended the search outside the city wall, where the rest of Lucca—the modern part of the town—spread out in all directions. They walked the top of the huge wall itself with its
baluardi
, the great ramparts from which defences were long ago maintained. On these were now planted trees and lawns, and among them were places children could play. But Hadiyyah had been nowhere on the wall, nor had she been just beneath it at the playground near Porta San Donato, so close to her school as to be a natural destination for a little girl tired of waiting for her parents.
    Barbara looked at Azhar when the word
parents
was spoken. He looked as if he’d taken a blow.
    At that point they began to think the unthinkable and had phoned the police. But Angelina had also phoned Azhar. Gone for a few days from University College, she’d learned. Not answering his mobile, she’d then discovered. Not answering his landline here in Chalk Farm, either. And that was when she knew what had actually happened.
    “Angelina,” Azhar said desperately, “I was at a conference.”
    “Where?” she demanded.
    “Germany. Berlin.”
    “You can prove that, sir?” the constable asked.
    “Of course I can prove it. It was four days long. There were many sessions. I delivered a paper and also attended—”
    “You left Berlin long enough to take her, didn’t you?” Angelina said. “That would have been simple. That’s what you did. Where is she, Hari? What have you done with her? Where have you taken her?”
    “You must listen,” Azhar said, and then to her companion whom he had otherwise ignored, “You must ask her to listen. I could not find you once you left me, Angelina. I tried. Yes, I tried. I hired someone many months ago. But there was no trail. Please listen to me.”
    “Madam,” the constable said, “this is a matter to be handled at the source, not here. The Italian police need to instigate a wider search, beyond Lucca. They’ll also be able to make sure that his attendance at this conference—”
    “Do you know how easily he could have made it for himself to leave that bloody conference?” Angelina said. “He’s taken her from Italy, don’t you see? She might be in Germany. Why in God’s name won’t you listen to me?”
    “How could I have taken her?” Azhar countered. He shot Barbara an agonised look.
    She said, “Angelina, her passport. Her papers.
Think.
You took everything with you. I was here. I checked. Azhar came for me the night you left him. He couldn’t have taken her from Italy without documents of some kind.”
    “Then you’re part of this,” Angelina declared. “You’ve helped him, haven’t you? You’d know how to get a false passport for her. Identity cards. Everything you need.” And saying this, she began to weep. “I want my daughter,” she cried. “I want my little girl.”
    “On my life, I do not have her, Angelina,”