The Ultimate Truth (7 page)

‘So, Travis Delaney,’ she said, ‘how come you’re so interested in Bashir Kamal?’

I kept my explanation as brief as possible. I didn’t really want to tell her about Mum and Dad, but I couldn’t see how to avoid it. So I told her they were private
investigators, and I told her they’d been looking into Bashir’s disappearance, and then I told her they’d both been killed in a car crash.

‘They’re both dead?’ she said, staring wide-eyed at me. ‘When did it happen?’

‘A couple of weeks ago.’

‘
God
,’ she whispered, putting her hand on my arm. ‘I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have put you through all this crap if I’d
known—’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Of
course
it matters.’ She shook her head. ‘How can you even
talk
to me after what I said about having a rich mummy and daddy?’

‘You weren’t to know, were you?’

She sighed. ‘I’m really sorry, Travis.’

She stared silently at the floor for a while.

I rubbed tentatively at my ribs. They still ached.

‘I didn’t really know Bashir very well,’ Evie said thoughtfully. ‘He was pretty quiet, you know? Never really said much to anyone.’

‘Did you ever talk to him about anything?’

‘Not really. I mean, we always said hello to each other, and he gave me a few words of advice about boxing now and then. You know, little tips about footwork and training, stuff like that.
But we never talked about anything personal.’

‘Did you notice anything unusual about him before he disappeared?’

She looked at me. ‘Well, there was
some
thing . . . I mean, I don’t if it’s “unusual” or not, but I remember thinking it was kind of odd at the
time.’

‘What was it?’

She rubbed her face, thinking about it. ‘It was the Friday before he went missing. I’d spent most of the evening in here, and I’d seen Bash working out earlier on. He was doing
a lot of sparring at the time, getting ready for his big fight. By the time I’d finished my training, I noticed that he wasn’t in the gym any more. Which was a bit strange, because he
was usually the last to leave. But I guessed he was talking to Mr Ruddy about something, going over his tactics maybe, or they might have gone to see a fight together somewhere . . .’ Evie
shrugged. ‘I didn’t really give it much thought, to be honest. It was only later, when I was on my way home, and I saw Bash sitting in a parked car with a couple of guys in suits, that
I began to wonder what he was doing.’

‘He was in a car?’ I said.

She nodded. ‘In the passenger seat.’

‘Where was this?’

‘Colehouse Avenue. It’s a little side street just off Slade Lane. It’s a dead-end road, you know, a cul-de-sac. So nobody uses it much, apart from the people who live there. I
was visiting a cousin. She’s got a place at the end of the street. I passed the car on the way to her house.’

‘And it was definitely Bashir you saw?’

‘Definitely. Like I said, he was in the passenger seat. There was a guy in the driver’s seat and another one in the back.’

‘What were they doing?’

‘Nothing much. Just talking.’

‘Did you recognise the two men?’

‘Never seen them before.’

I took out my mobile and showed her the picture of the man from the funeral. ‘Was he one of them?’

She studied the photograph. ‘No.’

I showed her the printout of the other men. ‘What about them?’

She had a good look, then shook her head. ‘They kind of looked similar, you know, the same
type
of men. But that’s probably just because they’re all wearing
suits.’

‘I don’t suppose you know what kind of car it was, do you?’

‘I’m just a girl,’ she said, smiling at me. ‘I don’t know anything about cars.’

‘Right . . .’

She laughed. ‘It was a silver Audi S6. Do you want the registration number?’

I couldn’t help looking surprised. ‘You remember the number?’

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again and reeled off the number. ‘Do you want me to write it down for you?’ she asked. ‘Hold on . . .’ She reached into
her rucksack, pulled out a pen, then took hold of my hand and wrote the number on my palm.

‘How come you remember it?’ I said.

She shrugged. ‘I’m good at remembering stuff.’

I looked at her, frowning.

‘What?’ she said. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

‘No . . . I mean, yeah, of course I believe you. It’s just . . . well, you know. It’s pretty unusual to be able to remember something like that.’

‘It’s just a few numbers and letters.’

‘But you only saw it once, and that was quite a while ago.’

She sighed. ‘It’s just something I can do, OK? I have a freakishly good memory. It’s no big deal.’

I was intrigued, and I wanted to ask her more about it, but I got the feeling that she’d rather I didn’t.

‘Did you tell my dad about any of this?’ I asked her.

‘I never saw him.’

‘Mr Ruddy said he talked to everyone here.’

‘When?’

‘About three weeks ago.’

‘That was probably when I was sick. I had a really bad stomach bug for three or four days. I was off training for a week.’

‘So you haven’t told anyone about seeing Bashir in the car?’

‘No one’s asked me about him.’ She looked at me. ‘What do you think’s happened to him?’

‘I don’t know. His parents are saying he’s in Pakistan.’

‘Yeah, that’s what I heard.’

‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Just around, you know – rumours, gossip. Is it true?’

I glanced at my watch and stood up. ‘That’s what I’m trying to find out.’

‘Why?’

‘Why what?’

She got to her feet. ‘Why are you bothering? I mean, you don’t know Bashir, do you?’

‘No.’

‘So what does it matter to you where he is?’

‘It was my mum and dad’s last case. It might have something to do with what happened to them.’ I sighed. ‘I don’t know . . . it just feels like something I’ve
got to do.’

Evie put her hand on my arm. ‘Well, good luck with it.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What’s your mobile number?’ she asked, taking out her phone.

I gave her my number. She keyed it into her phone, waited for my mobile to ring, then ended the call.

‘You’ve got my number now,’ she said. ‘If you need any help with anything, just call me, OK?’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

She smiled. ‘I’d better get going.’

‘Me too.’

‘I’ll see you later.’

‘Yeah.’

It was just gone three o’clock when I got back to the office in North Walk. Courtney was still there, still trying to get the place cleaned up, and she didn’t seem
too surprised to see me.

‘I thought you were going home,’ she said, giving me a knowing look.

‘Well, yeah,’ I muttered. ‘I was going to, but . . .’

‘You changed your mind?’

I smiled sheepishly. ‘I just wanted to have a quick word with John Ruddy. You know, the man who hired Mum and Dad?’

‘Right,’ she said, nodding. ‘So you went to the boxing club and talked to him, even though I asked you not to do anything without telling me first.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t help it.’

‘You couldn’t help it?’

I shrugged.

She sighed. ‘You’d better tell me all about it then.’

After I’d told her everything I’d found out about Bashir Kamal, and showed her Dad’s preliminary report, Courtney spent a few minutes reading through the
file, and then she just sat at her desk thinking quietly about things for a while. I didn’t interrupt her, I just waited.

Eventually she looked up and said, ‘What’s the registration number that Evie Johnson gave you?’

I read it off the palm of my hand.

Courtney took out her phone and said, ‘Why don’t you go and make us a cup of tea?’

I left her to it and went into the kitchen area at the back of the office. The cupboards had been emptied, the kettle was smashed, and all the teabags and coffee and stuff was scattered all over
the floor. I crunched my way through the mess and went into the little bathroom at the back of the kitchen. The door had been kicked in, but everything else was still intact.

By the time I’d come out and gone back into the main office, Courtney had finished her phone call and was looking troubled about something.

‘What’s the matter?’ I said.

She sighed heavily. ‘That number you just gave me. The silver Audi . . .’

‘What about it?’

‘The registration record is restricted.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘All sorts of things, unfortunately.’

‘Like what?’

She blew out her cheeks. ‘Well, firstly, it means that the Audi isn’t registered on any of the normal databases, so it’s virtually impossible to find out who owns it. And the
most likely reason for that is that it’s either a special operations police vehicle or it belongs to one of the security services.’

‘Like MI5, you mean?’

‘MI5, MI6, Special Branch, a Counter-Terrorism Unit . . . it could be any of them.’

‘So just before he went missing, Bashir was seen talking to two men who could be some kind of spies.’

‘Well, possibly, yes. But we’ve only got your friend Evie’s word for it that she saw him in the car. We’ve also only got her word for it that she’s got an
incredible memory. And even if she
has
, and she
did
see him with the two men in the car, we don’t know for sure that they’re spooks.’ She sighed again. ‘The
trouble is, if they
are
spooks, they’re going to know that someone’s been checking out their car.’

‘How are they going to know?’

‘They monitor everything. If someone’s trying to trace one of their vehicles, an alarm’s going to go off somewhere, and it’s not going to take them long to find out
who’s been snooping around. And then they’re going to start asking questions.’ She looked at me. ‘The person I called will do his best to bluff his way out of it, but even
if he doesn’t give up my name, it’s possible they’ll track me down through the phone records. And then . . . well, I don’t know what’ll happen then.’

‘At least we’ll know they’re spooks,’ I said.

‘How’s that going to help us?’

‘Knowledge is power.’

‘Yeah, but it can also get you into a whole load of trouble.’

I almost didn’t bother asking Courtney if she wanted to go and see Bashir’s parents with me. I suppose I just assumed that she’d tell me not to be so stupid,
that we’d already got ourselves into enough trouble as it was, and that the only sensible thing to do was leave things alone and forget all about Bashir. But I was wrong. She didn’t say
anything like that. All she said, after I’d finally summoned up the courage to ask her, was, ‘Yeah, why not?’

‘You think it’s a good idea?’ I said, surprised.

‘Probably not. But if we’re going to do this – and it looks like we are – we might as well do it properly. And besides, whatever I say or do, you’re going to go and
see them anyway, aren’t you?’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Liar,’ she said, smiling. She picked up the preliminary report file, opened it up, and found Bashir’s home address. ‘They live at Beacon Fields. We’ll have to go
in my car.’

Beacon Fields is a housing estate at the west end of Slade Lane. It’s not quite as big as the Slade Lane estate, and not quite as rough, but you still wouldn’t want to go there on
your own.

‘Ready then?’ Courtney said. ‘We’ll lock up here and walk over to my place to get my car. You can leave your bike at my house.’ She looked at me. ‘Is
something the matter?’

‘No,’ I said hesitantly. ‘It’s just . . . well, I was just thinking . . .’

‘About what?’

‘Bashir’s parents.’

‘What about them?’

‘Well, they might be . . . I mean, if they’re very traditional, you know, they might . . .’

‘Travis?’ Courtney said impatiently, staring at me with her hands on her hips. ‘Just spit it out, OK?’

I sighed, bracing myself for her reaction. ‘They might not like the way you’re dressed.’

A flash of anger crossed her eyes, and just for a second I thought she was going to start yelling at me, but it only took her a moment to realise that I had a point. The Kamals weren’t
necessarily Muslim, but there was a fairly good chance they were. And if they were very traditional Muslims, and we wanted to talk to them in their home, it probably wasn’t a good idea for
Courtney to turn up looking like a dancer in a rap video.

‘I’ll get changed before we go,’ she said.

Courtney didn’t say a word as we left her house and drove off towards Beacon Fields. She’d changed her clothes and was now wearing a short brown jacket with a brown
knee-length skirt and a stuffy-looking light-grey blouse. Her hair was neatly tied back in a ponytail, and she’d even toned down her usually over-the-top make-up. She looked like a different
person. And it was quite obvious that she hated it.

I resisted the temptation to say anything for as long as I could, but as we swung round the roundabout at the bottom of Magdalen Hill, I couldn’t hold back any longer.

‘You look really smart,’ I told her.

‘Shut up, Travis,’ she said, not amused.

‘No, really,’ I went on. ‘It suits you. You should dress like that more often.’

‘You’re not funny, you know.’

I smiled. ‘You should have worn a pair of glasses too. You know, those smart designer frames they’re all wearing these days. They’d look
really
good on you.’

‘Do you want to walk the rest of the way?’ she said, slowing the car.

‘All right,’ I said, holding up my hands. ‘I won’t say anything else, I promise.’

As she speeded up again, I could see her trying to hide a smile.

I kept quiet for a while then, just looking out of the window at the passing streets, letting random thoughts float around in my head. It was a pleasant afternoon now. The heaviness and humidity
had lifted, the air was clear, and the sky was bright with a pale summer sun. It felt really nice for a minute or two – driving along in the afternoon sunshine, the windows open, the summer
streets busy with traffic – but after a while all I could feel was a big hole in my heart where Mum and Dad should have been. I wanted to be in a car with them, enjoying the sunshine with
them, going somewhere nice with them. I wanted to
be
with them. I wanted them more than anything else in the world. But they were gone. And there was nothing I could do to bring them
back.