a team comprising mostly men. She and Akram Malik - despite his professed love of the country he'd adopted - may as well have been from different universes.
He got to his feet. "This way," he said.
Barbara jounced along the cratered lane and found a place to park her Mini at the far side of a prefabricated building with a sign that announced its business ambiguously as Hegarty's Adult Distractions. She noted the air conditioner set into one of its front windows, and she gave some moments' consideration to the idea of staggering inside and planting herself in front of it.
That would be an adult distraction well worth the effort, she thought.
The heat on the coast was beginning to feel worse than the heat in London, which was borderline inconceivable. If England was going to turn into a tropical environment as part of the global warming that scientists had been predicting for years, Barbara decided that it would be nice to have some of the accoutrements of the tropics as well. A white-jacketed waiter carrying a tray of Singapore slings wouldn't have gone down badly at all.
She looked in her rear view mirror to see how Emily's make-up job on her face was holding up to its exposure to sweat. She expected to see her countenance dissolving a la one of Dr. Jekyll's transmogrifications. But both foundation and blusher were where they were supposed to be.
Perhaps, after all, there was something to be said for playing about with pots of colour each morning in the quest for devastating beauty.
Barbara made her way back over the uneven lane to Malik's Mustards & Assorted Accompaniments.
A stop at the Malik residence had allowed her to glean that Sahlah worked at the factory with her father and brother. This information had been passed on by a dowdy, plump woman with one child on her hip, another by the hand, a wandering eye, and a feathery but nonetheless noticeable growth of black hair on her upper lip. She'd looked at Barbara's warrant card and said, "It's Sahlah you want, then? Our little Sahlah? Oh my goodness, whatever has she done that someone from the police should want to talk to her?" But there was a certain delight to her questions, the sort of excitement experienced by a woman who had either little diversion in her life or an axe to grind with her sister-inlaw.
She'd informed Barbara of their relationship up front, via the announcement that she was the wife of Muhannad, the elder child and the only son of the household. And these - she indicated the children with pride - were the sons of Muhannad. And soon - and here she nodded meaningfully in the direction of her stomach - would be a third son, a third in three years. A third son for Muhannad Malik.
Yadda, yadda, yadda, Barbara thought. She decided that the woman needed a hobby if this was the extent of her conversation. She'd said, "I need a word with Sahlah, if you'll fetch her for me."
But that wasn't possible. Sahlah was at the factory. "It's always best to keep busy when one's heart is broken, don't you agree?" the woman pronounced. But once again, there was an enjoyment in her expression that was at odds with the statement. She gave Barbara the creeps.
So Barbara took herself off to Malik's Mustards, and as she approached the brick structure now, she removed the jewellery receipt from her bag and slipped it into the pocket of her trousers.
She swung inside the factory, where the air was stale and a potted fern next to the reception desk appeared to be about to give up the ghost. A young woman sat at a computer terminal, looking remarkably cool despite the fact that she was fully clothed from head to foot, her arms covered to the wrists and her dark hair mostly hidden beneath a traditional shawl. This was long hair, though, and a thick braid of it hung down the woman's back to her waist.
There was a name plate on her desk, so Barbara knew she had to look no further for Sahlah Malik.
She produced her warrant card and introduced herself. "Could I have a word?"
The girl looked towards a door whose half-glass construction revealed some sort of interior office.
"With me?"
"You're Sahlah Malik, aren't you?"
"Yes, but I've spoken to the police already if this is about Haytham. I spoke to them the very first day." On her desk there was a long computer print out which