‘You have some news, Inspector?’ His hope was palpable. If he was covering up he was doing a brilliant acting job. ‘No, I’m sorry, Mr Akram. But I do need to speak to you again. I wondered if I could meet you at your home. You may prefer to speak to us without your wife.’ ‘Why would I want to do that?’ ‘I’d like to talk to you about an incident that occurred at your doctor’s surgery last week.’ Silence, then: ‘I see. I’ll meet you at the house.’ Akram’s Mercedes was already parked on the looped tarmac drive when Mariner pulled in behind it. He was surprised when the door was answered by a pretty young woman in purple and black salwaar kameez. ‘I’m Amira,’ she said. ‘Yasmin’s older sister. I flew in this morning to give some support to my parents until Yasmin is found.’ So the tired eyes in such a young face could have been jet-lag or worry. If this was some kind of scam, Mariner doubted that Amira was in on it. ‘My father is in the garden. I’ll take you to him.’ Mohammed Akram was sitting on a wooden bench in a shaded patch at the bottom of an expanse of lawn that was crowded on all sides with bulging shrubs.
