She said, “I’m so sorry you must bear this pain, Abeo,” and Tani knew she’d made her choice.
He couldn’t really blame her for taking Abeo at his word. Two children and another on the way? She needed Abeo more than she needed to hear or accept the truth. Tani had thought he could win her to his side, and he’d been wrong.
But he had a final card to play. He said to Abeo, “I’ll marry the girl.”
Abeo’s eyes narrowed. “What is this?”
“As long as Simi is left alone to be herself and to grow up, I’ll go to Nigeria and marry Omorinsola. That was her name, wasn’t it? Omorinsola, the guaranteed breeding virgin? I’ll marry her. I’ll give her babies. I’ll bring her back to London. Your daughter-in-law and your grandchildren, Pa. I’ll do what you want. I’ll take over Into Africa as well.”
Abeo chuckled. “Since what you’ve said about Simisola being sold is a black-hearted lie in the first place, why would you offer to do anything at all?”
“Oh, there’ve been plenty of lies told round here, Pa. But what I said about Simi wasn’t one of them.”
Abeo snorted. He said, “Get out,” but in his eyes Tani saw that Abeo intended to consider his offer.
BELGRAVIA
CENTRAL LONDON
Lynley had always loathed the political part of police work, and this first day of investigating the murder of Detective Sergeant Teo Bontempi stood a very good chance of becoming political. Unlike the politics that related to governing, however, where opposing sides met, debated, discussed, argued, and pounded out a compromise in the form of legislation, the politics that related to policing generally involved controlling whatever information was given to the press. In his morning meeting with Assistant Commissioner Sir David Hillier and the head of the Press Office, Stephenson Deacon, the political concerns of both men had been writ large enough and dark enough for a mole in sunlight to have read them. To wit and per the carefully worded explanations of Hillier and Deacon, Teo Bontempi was not only a police detective, she was a Black police detective. Not only was she a Black police detective, she was a female Black police detective. The last thing the Metropolitan Police needed to have hurled at them was an accusation that not enough was being thrown into the investigation because the officer in question was Black or a female or both. Racism, sexism, misogyny . . . There could not be a whisper of any of this during the investigation and did the Acting Detective Chief Superintendent understand what was being said?
Before Lynley could offer his thoughts on the topic of treating this investigation no differently than he’d treated any other, Deacon whipped two tabloids from his briefcase and held them up for Lynley’s perusal. On the front page of each, the story of a missing child was featured. She had been gone from the care of her parents for a number of days, there had been a significant hue and cry, the father was a barrister, the mother was a physician, and the daughter had last been seen with two teenagers in Gants Hill underground station. There were pictures accompanying the story, which made the jump to the inside pages. Lynley knew about the missing child since he’d seen the story featured—with far less garish panoply—in his own morning newspapers when the girl had first gone missing. He wasn’t sure what the girl’s disappearance had to do with Teo Bontempi’s death, and he asked that question of the two other men.
Their answer was nothing at all, but the moment the tabloids decided to put a full stop to the story, they would be onto Teo Bontempi’s murder like rats on a rubbish tip, and when they made that switch, the Press Office wanted to be sure that DCS Lynley would have mountains of information available, the sort of information telling the press that the Metropolitan Police were holding back not a single resource in order to bring to justice the person who murdered one of their own, no matter the gender or race.
“Speaking of resources . . .” Lynley explained that they were probably going to need more officers involved.
Deacon assured him that he would have exactly what he needed. Hillier shot Deacon a look that mixed outrage and incredulity. His was not to assign manpower. That was the outrage. Who the hell do you think you are giving that assurance? That was the incredulity.
Lynley left them to battle it out.
He was unlocking the front door of his house in Eaton Terrace when his mobile rang. He had hopes that Daidre might be phoning after the way they’d left things on the previous night. But he saw it was Barbara Havers, and as he opened the door and stepped inside, she launched a rocket of information.