Free The Ultimate Truth by Kevin Brooks Page A

into a small front room, and she asked us to sit down. It was a neat and tidy little place, everything spotless and clean, but it felt peculiarly lifeless. The net curtains
filtered out most of the sunlight, and as I looked around, my eyes adjusting to the gloom, I realised that everything was old and worn out – the furniture, the wallpaper, the carpet. Even the
net curtains were yellowed with age.
    As Courtney took out a small notepad and a pen and began asking some questions, I sat there quietly and concentrated on Mrs Kamal. She was about forty, I guessed. Dark eyes, dark hair, a
tired-looking face. She was wearing a traditional Pakistani dress and silky trousers.
    Although she’d become a little less wary since Courtney had assured her that we weren’t here to talk about her son, she was still far from relaxed, and I could tell she was worried
about something. Courtney was aware of her anxiety too, and she was being very careful not to push her too hard. When she asked her what Dad had been to see her about, and Mrs Kamal told her that
it was all a misunderstanding, and that Bashir wasn’t missing at all but had simply gone to Pakistan to look after his grandmother, Courtney didn’t take it any further. She just made a
few notes and pretended to accept Mrs Kamal’s story.
    ‘I see,’ she said. ‘So in this case there wasn’t actually anything to investigate.’
    ‘Nothing at all,’ Mrs Kamal said. ‘As I said, it was just a misunderstanding.’
    Courtney smiled. ‘Was that the only time Mr Delaney came to see you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘He didn’t contact you again?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘What about your husband?’
    ‘What about him?’
    ‘Was he here when Mr Delaney talked to you?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Where is he now?’
    ‘At work.’
    Courtney made another note in her pad. ‘Do you know if Mr Delaney ever contacted him again?’
    ‘No, he didn’t.’
    ‘OK,’ Courtney said, nodding. ‘Well, I think that’s about all for now, Mrs Kamal . . . oh, just one more thing.’ She turned to me. ‘Have you got those
pictures, Travis?’
    I gave her the printout, then took out my mobile, opened up the photo of the man at the funeral, and passed her the phone.
    Courtney turned back to Mrs Kamal. ‘If you wouldn’t mind having a quick look,’ she said casually, holding out the phone for her to see.
    ‘What is this?’ Mrs Kamal said, looking cautiously at Courtney.
    ‘Please?’ Courtney said. ‘It won’t take a second.’
    Mrs Kamal sighed, then lowered her eyes and looked at the photograph of the man at the funeral. She tried very hard to hide her surprise, but it was immediately obvious that she recognised him.
Her mouth opened then closed, her eyes went still, and her shoulders tensed.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, avoiding Courtney’s eyes as she passed back the phone. ‘I can’t help you. Now, if you don’t mind—’
    ‘What about the men in this picture?’ Courtney said, showing her the printout. ‘Do you recognise any of them?’
    ‘No,’ Mrs Kamal muttered, shaking her head. ‘I’ve never seen them before.’
    She hadn’t even looked at the picture. She was very edgy now – sitting up straight, her eyes darting all over the place. She wasn’t just nervous, I realised, she was
frightened.
    ‘Well, thank you very much for your time, Mrs Kamal,’ Courtney said, passing me the phone and the printout. ‘You’ve been very helpful. And I’m sorry about the
misunderstanding.’ She smiled. ‘We’ll leave you in peace now.’
    Mrs Kamal nodded.
    Courtney looked at me. ‘OK, Travis?’
    ‘Yeah,’ I said, grimacing slightly. ‘I just need to . . .’
    ‘What’s the matter?’
    ‘Nothing. It’s just . . .’ I turned shyly to Mrs Kamal.
    ‘Would you mind very much if I used your bathroom before we go?’
    She hesitated, clearly desperate for us to leave, but at the same time not wanting to be ill-mannered. ‘Up the stairs,’ she said, smiling awkwardly. ‘At the end of