She could see the effort it took him to keep his eyes from shifting. “What a man does in his home is his business.”
“What about the law, then, Officer Rahman?” Tears of rage stung her eyes. “Will you be there to maintain order?”
“As a matter of policy, we do not interfere with private family matters, hamshira.” “Of course you don't. When it benefits the man.”
He pushed back from his desk and stood up, straightened his jacket.
“I believe this interview is finished. You have made a very poor case.”
“Now, if you would wait outside I will have a few words with your... whoever she is.” Laila began to protest, then to yell.
Mariam's interview lasted only a few minutes. When she came out, she looked shaken.
“He asked so many questions, I didn't know the answers. I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault, Mariam,” Laila said weakly. “It's mine. It's all my fault. Everything is my fault.”
It was past six o'clock when the police car pulled up in front of the house. Laila and Mariam were made to wait in the backseat.
The driver was the one who got out of the car, who knocked on the door, who spoke to Rasheed. It was he who motioned for them to come.
“Welcome home,” the man in the front seat said, lighting a cigarette.
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