The Khan by Saima Mir (best thriller novels of all time .txt) 📗

He didn’t know how he managed to drive home, and when he got there, he didn’t tell anyone what had happened. He closed the door, climbed into bed and waited for sleep. If he didn’t tell anyone, then it hadn’t happened.

But a few days later, he was stopped again. This time the officer’s partner took the lead. Polite and apologetic, he was quick to let Zan go. ‘Sorry, mate, just doing my job, you understand?’ he said, handing back his driving licence. The fat officer with the body odour and wandering hands watched, his eyes sharp, his shoes clean and firmly planted on the pavement. His partner’s apology restored Zan’s faith and he breathed a sigh of relief. It was always best to do the right thing, he reminded himself, especially in a country where everyone’s rights were safeguarded. Maybe the last time hadn’t been as bad as he remembered. Maybe his brain had played tricks on him. He went home happy and relieved. His mother, who had been worried about her son’s sullenness, put his behaviour down to his teenage years.

But then it happened a third time, the fat policeman leaning over him again, his breath still stale and alcoholic, his hands travelling further, deepening the scars of shame. Zan could not bring himself to tell his family. He tried to talk to a teacher at school. But it turned out that his wife was a police officer, and he took it as an affront. He told Zan he was overreacting.

Zan, like many others, still believed the justice system was essentially fair; he thought his family and wider community would blame him for what had happened. He blamed himself. He was the Khan’s son, but wasn’t man enough to sort out his own problems. He told himself this was all a mistake, a blip, and it would all go away. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t a blip and it didn’t go away.

Things went from bad to worse and on from there. Zan found he couldn’t leave the house without being stopped and searched by the police. He lost weight, dark circles appeared around his eyes, and he became withdrawn, preferring to stay in his room. On days when he did leave, his face was set hard and questions were met with snapped answers and sharp words. It ended only when Jia Khan demanded to know why her father hadn’t stepped in to find out what was going on with Zan.

Akbar knocked on his son’s door, Jia a few steps behind. ‘Not you, beta,’ he said, telling her to wait outside. Akbar Khan came out an hour later, his face dark, his eyes burning with rage.

‘What happened, Baba?’ Jia asked.

‘Nothing for you to concern yourself with,’ he told her. ‘Your baba will fix everything. I will make it right. Get some chai for your brother.’

He’d kissed her and gone to his study to make a phone call. And he had fixed it, in a way. The stop and searches ended after that.

Then the CID arrived, bringing with them the two officers who had terrorised Zan. Seeing them walk in through the front door of his home without permission stripped the boy’s soul.

Those memories of the night they came to take her father and brother hadn’t faded at all. Twenty years on and Jia found that the old monsters hadn’t died, they had simply found new places to hide. The images ran like an 8mm film before her eyes, beginning with the door catching on the rug as Maria pushed it open, unable to speak, the words refusing to leave her mouth. ‘Some men are here…to arrest Baba!’ she’d cried.

Jia had rubbed her eyes, trying to clean them of sleep, and reached for her glasses. Her sister’s frightened face came into focus, signalling the severity of the situation. Jia remembered getting out of bed. It was cold that night, and she had pulled on a hoodie, zipping it high and hiding her hands in the sleeves.

‘It’ll be OK,’ she had said, guiding Maria down the stairs, her arm around her shoulders reassuringly. But her gut told her it wouldn’t.

From the staircase, through the open doors, Jia could see five men rummaging through their cupboards and belongings. There were three of them in her father’s office, and two went past them up into Zan’s bedroom. She followed them. Her brother was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head down. He looked small and scared.

The policemen finished their search and gathered in the hallway. Akbar Khan gently removed his wife’s hands from his arm when the officer in charge told him he needed to go with them. Zan, who had been staring down at his feet, looked up on hearing his name. For the first time in his life, Akbar Khan put his arm around Zan. ‘It is OK, beta. Just tell them the truth, my son,’ he said. Jia remembered Benyamin clinging to his mother’s leg as the door to Pukhtun House sucked shut behind them, like the closing of a vault.

CHAPTER 14

With the wedding party in full swing, Benyamin decided it was time. He looked around for his girlfriend, Mina. She was waiting patiently by the house. Catching his eye, she turned and began walking to the gate. Something about the way her sari clung to her hips, her waist pinched like a sixties Bollywood heroine, made Benyamin grin. He was one lucky guy, and he couldn’t believe she’d agreed to what they were about to do.

His mind flashed to Jia. She always thought she knew best. Well, she didn’t have a fucking clue. He quickened his stride, flicking her from his mind, and slipped his hand into Mina’s, leading her towards his car. Of course he needed to be there for the rukhsati; he didn’t need reminding. He checked his watch. They would be back in time to give the bride away.

Finding his car blocked in by the other guests’, he shouted to the valet, who threw