She rises from the mat upon which she’s knelt while praying. She carefully rolls the mat, places it on the second-highest shelf in the bedroom wall. She lifts her leatherbound Qur’an and places it on the highest shelf, above the mat. She sits at her desk, writes down the questions that, later, she’ll discuss with her mother and her father as she reviews her religious study of the day. She picks up a folder marked ‘Legal Studies’, eyes it for a moment but decides to drink a glass of cold water before starting her homework. When she opens her bedroom door she is surprised to see that her father is waiting outside in the hallway, seated on a chair from the kitchen. ‘Dadda,’ she says. Mr Hindouie is a big man with dark facial skin, eyes nearly black, oily dark hair swept back across his skull. ‘I was waiting,’ he says. ‘I thought you might be at prayer.’ ‘I was.’ ‘There are two policemen come.
