Evanly Bodies - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,69

are always protesting about something or other. You'd have to ask the gay/lesbian alliance. There's a very active group on campus. If you go to the Student Union Building, you'll see their notice board."

"Thanks," Evan said. "I'll do that."

Wingate's phrase "grasping at straws" came back to him as he battled the wind across the main quad to the Student Union Building. Students were trying to put up banners and stringing lights, and were having a tough time of it. Some kind of Celtic festival, he noted.

Just what did he possibly hope to gain from pursuing this? If Martin Rogers wasn't gay, then that whole theory was shot-bad choice of words, he chided himself. A member of a campus gay revolution would have had no interest in assassinating either a pizza parlor owner or an unemployed machinist.

Still, he had learned before now that sometimes the leanest of clues, the smallest of hints, could point a detective in the right direction to unlocking the case. He was about to join the swarm of students lining up to enter the Union Building when he spotted a figure crossing the quad-a swarthy fellow with a dark beard, dressed in the traditional Muslim dress, white robes billowing out around him as he strode out.

Rashid, Evan thought and changed direction. He didn't pause to consider the ramifications of following Rashid when he had clearly been told to stay off the case. He dodged around groups of students coming up the steps from the road. Rashid was moving fast, almost running now. Evan ran too. Down the steps, down the street, toward the town. Then he turned into one of the Victorian houses on College Road. Evan sprinted to catch up with him before he shut the front door.

"Rashid, wait!" he called and sprinted through the traffic.

The person spun around, and Evan saw that it wasn't Rashid at all.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I thought you were somebody else."

"That's okay. I suppose we all look alike to white people," the young man said with heavy sarcasm.

"Do you happen to know Rashid Khan?" Evan asked.

"Of course. There aren't too many of us who walk around looking like freaks, are there?" The young man stared at him coldly. "He lives here. Why do you want him?"

"I'm a policeman," Evan said.

"I thought as much. You're too late. The police have already been here and questioned him."

"Is he here now?"

"No, he's at a lecture."

"He just moved in yesterday, didn't he?" Evan asked. "Did he bring a lot of luggage with him?"

"Yeah. Quite a bit. Why?"

"Heavy, was it?"

"Why are you asking me stupid questions?"

"I wonder if I could take a look at his room," Evan said.

"Take a look at his room? What for?"

"In case you haven't heard, his sister is missing," Evan said. "Rashid has already threatened to kill his sister if she went against her family. For all I know, he's kidnapped her or killed her."

"Listen, mate," The boy stepped forward wagging a finger menacingly, "if you want to know the truth, Rashid was really upset about his sister. He drove around like crazy looking for her. It's the job of Muslim men to protect our women."

"And sometimes kill them when they disobey."

The young man looked amused. "In case you haven't realized, this is supposed to be a civilized country. We're all raised in Britain, you know. It's not an Afghan village."

"Then you won't object to letting me see Rashid's room."

"Do you have a search warrant?"

Evan laughed. "You've been watching too many American movies. I can search anything I like with just cause, and a girl who might have been killed or spirited away is just cause, I believe."

They stood there for a moment, eye to eye.

"What's your name, Copper? I don't believe you introduced yourself, or showed me your warrant card."

"And I don't believe you introduced yourself either."

"I'm Saleem Mohammed. Third-year engineering student. And you are?"

"DC Evans. Major Crimes Unit."

The boy's lip curled with scorn. "A constable? I'm wasting my time with a bloody constable? You go away, mate, and come back with someone with authority, and we'll let you in."

What might have happened next was avoided by the arrival of two other bearded men in traditional Muslim dress.

"What's going on?" one of them asked.

"This bloke, this police constable, wants to take a look at Rashid's room. He thinks Rashid might have cut his sister up into little pieces and brought her here in his trunk."

"I carried that trunk upstairs." This man was older, with more rounded features. "I can verify