Diamond in the Blue: D.I. Simpers Investigates (19 page)

'Limousine for you, sir,' said a familiar voice.

Simpers turned to see the old man standing at the curb-side, holding one of the old Rover's passenger doors wide open. Simpers concluded that had the old man let go of the thing, it would have fallen off. The detective considered his options. He wanted to take a quick look around the city centre before checking into his hotel. Trouble was, the centre of Cairo was around 20km from where he now stood. Did he take up the offer from his erstwhile professional driver? Or did he hail a taxi, whose driver might posses even more eccentric driving habits than the old man.

Decision made.

'Is your air-conditioning still working?' asked Simpers with a smile.

'Working very well. Just for you,' replied the old man with an even broader grin.

Simpers hadn't bargained how long it would take to cover the 20km. By the time the car came to a standstill in the metal mayhem of the traffic, the detective thought his kidneys would explode if he failed to find relief imminently. After several failed attempts, and some distinctly odd looks from his driver, he finally made the old man understand what he wanted. A few minutes later the car came to a spluttering halt. The old man pointed to a small, square, dishevelled brick building in the middle of a paved concourse. Unwilling to waste time negotiating the taxi fare, he threw several notes at the driver, who, seeing the denominations of the money wafting towards him, appeared extremely pleased with himself.

Unseeing, Simpers entered the public lavatory to be confronted by a hot, airless space around ten square feet. Three walls were lined with urinals that had seen better days. The remaining wall cradled several wash hand basins that had also seen happier times. Simpers was oblivious to this detail as he headed for the one space available. His relief was exquisite as he exhaled with a deep, throaty groan, interrupted by an occasional wince as his kidneys protested at having been worked so hard.

As the detective emerged from his semi-unconscious state of momentary bliss, he realised that, amongst the throng of men in the tiny space, he was the only one wearing a suit. All others wore the Galabeya, a long shirt type covering traditionally worn by men in the region.

As he approached one of the wash hand basins, he noticed a young boy handing out tiny pieces of soap to the men with one hand, and an equally small crushed ball of tissue paper with his other hand. After use, the men handed back the soap square and gave the boy some loose change in thanks for his service. It was only then that it dawned on the detective that he didn't have any coins.

His mind raced. The boy was already thrusting a piece of soap into the detective's palm, escorting Simpers to a wash hand basin and turning a tap on for him. The boy watched Simpers intently as he went about his ablutions, turning the tap off for him as the detective shook his hands free of excess water. Now came the paper tissue, which he felt obliged to take, before discarding it in a rickety metal bin.

The young boy stared at Simpers with expectant eyes. The detective also noticed some of the other men looking at him. He didn't know whether it was because he was a stranger, or how the detective would now treat the youngster.

Simpers felt the panic that, he supposed, most other inexperienced travellers went through, in not wanting to misjudge the local culture. He had no coins to give the boy and knew he couldn't just walk out. The alternative, he thought, was to offer the youngster folding money, but would that draw the ire of the men? Would they think Simpers was flaunting wealth in the face of the young lad's poverty? The detective knew he was in danger of over-thinking the problem. The few seconds he had already spent deliberating the conundrum felt like a week. Eyes continued to burn into him.

He decided to bite the bullet and took out his wallet. Simpers looked for the lowest denomination of note. Handing it to the young boy, who looked suitably spellbound, the detective exited the tiny space without risking a look at his adult companions. As he left the building he heard faint laughter. Looking the fool, he thought, was a price worth paying.

He spent the next few minutes gazing at nothing in particular amid the chaotic scene around him. Emptying his head of anything approaching police work, he sucked on a pineapple chunk, and started to relax.

'Mr Simpers, what a small world it is,' said Amelia.

The detective almost choked on his boiled sweet as the familiar tone of his table companion dragged him back to the present.

'What are you two doing here?' replied Simpers.

'I told you back at the docks. Jonathan and I are off to the pyramids. We checked in at the hotel and came into the city to buy our tickets and hire a taxi for the afternoon. Look, the ticket office is just by that square brick building thingy,' said Amelia.

Simpers didn't want to be reminded of the square brick building thingy.

'Why don't you come with us? You'll enjoy it, I'm sure. Think of all that history! By the way, where's the Purser?'

The detective thought for a moment, before concluding company in a strange place mightn't be a bad thing.

'The Purser. Oh, he's met a couple of blokes who are looking after him,' replied Simpers, pleased that he'd managed to head off further questions on the subject.

Tickets bought and taxi hired, the three intrepid historians set off for Giza.

'How far are the pyramids from here?' asked Amelia, as the enthusiastic taxi driver sped off across the 15th May Bridge, then zigzagged across two lanes of the ring-road.

'Not long,' said the young man, brightly. 'If the traffic is not too bad, it will take us about half an hour, that's all.'

'You speak good English,' offered Jonathan.

'I have an uncle and cousin that live in Manchester. I go there sometimes,' replied the taxi driver.

'Manchester, eh. Do you follow United or City?' asked Jonathan.

'No, Liverpool, for me,' said the driver, before chanting Shankly, Shankly, then launching into a spirited rendition of
You'll Never Walk Alone.

Not wishing to dampen the young man's enthusiasm, Amelia and Jonathan entered into the spirit of things by humming along. Simpers sucked on the last remnants of his boiled sweet.

***

'How old did you say that big one is?' asked Jonathan as the three companions surveyed the sand blown complex of pyramids.

'The guidebook says it's about four and a half thousand years old,' replied Amelia. 'Apparently, it's called the Pyramid of Khufu, or Pyramid of Cheops – and before you ask, it's about 500 feet tall.'

'Flaming 'eck,' replied Jonathan, 'I wouldn't like to have been a bricklayer back then, would you?'

Amelia and Simpers looked at Jonathan, both pondering how their young friend's brain worked.

Having successfully evaded half a dozen hawkers trying to sell them trinkets at every turn, and camel drivers imploring the three tourists to mount their beasts, they joined a queue of people waiting to access the Great Pyramid.

'I'm glad I'm not doing this in the middle of August, the heat would be unbearable,' said Amelia.

'I wish I wasn't doing this at all,' muttered Simpers.

'Don't be such a spoilsport,' replied Amelia in mock chastisement, 'it'll be fantastic in there.'

'Look at that fat bloke coming out of the pyramid. His face is purple, and it looks as though he's gasping for air. He could do with losing some weight, that's what I think,' offered Jonathan.

His two friends looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough there was an overweight gentleman fitting Jonathan's less than tactful description.

Ten minutes later and the three friends were at the small oblong entrance to the pyramid. Simpers immediately realised why the overweight man looked so ill when he emerged from the stone monolith. As a local guide helped him through the tiny entrance, he could see that the stepped floor disappeared at an alarmingly steep angle. To his left, a wooden handrail offered the only means of support on his descent.

The detective could hear Amelia and Jonathan grunting behind him as they, too, hung on for dear life during their descent. After what seemed like an age, the floor levelled out. In the dim light, they could just make out they were in a space measuring about fifteen feet long, by eight feet wide, and twelve feet high. At one end stood a stone sarcophagus, badly damaged on one corner and without its lid.

'I don't know about you, two, but I've had enough of history. There's hardly any air down here and I can't breathe,' said Simpers.

'Sounds like you've got a touch of claustrophobia to me, Mr Simpers,' replied Amelia.

'Well, I don't suppose this place was designed for visitors, was it,' added Jonathan.

For once, his two friends agreed with the young man's assessment.

As Simpers exited the Great Pyramid, he took in as much oxygen that the still air of the late afternoon would allow. Seconds later, Amelia and Jonathan joined him.

'You look like that fat bloke, Mr Simpers,' said Jonathan, 'your face isn't half red.'

The detective shot Jonathan a withering look.

'We could fallout, me and you,' said Simpers.

'Now, boys. Behave yourselves. Jonathan is only having a bit of fun,' said Amelia.

The young man turned and smiled at the woman.

'Your face is like beetroot as well, Amelia,' said Jonathan.

'Don't be so rude. Go find our taxi driver,' said Amelia, without a hint of a smile. 'Cheeky young sod. I wonder what he'll be like when he's our age.'

The two exchanged supportive looks as they continued their efforts to breath.

***

'Look at this, the Steak Diane is ninety… ninety quid!' said Jonathan, unable to believe what he was reading.

As the three friends scanned the evening meal menu in the hotel dining room, the young man's eyes bulged from their sockets as he mentally calculated the likely cost of the meal.

'Don't be daft, Jonathan. It's ninety Egyptian pounds, not sterling, you dozy crow. So your Steak Diane will actually cost you about eight quid. Not bad, eh?'

Jonathan gave Amelia a quizzical look, not sure whether to believe her or not.

'Amelia's right,' said Simpers, 'the conversion rate is about eleven to one at the moment. That means you can eat tonight, without the need to go busking.'

'But I've never been busking,' replied a quizzical looking Jonathan.

Observing the look his two friends were giving him, it eventually dawned that they were winding him up.

'You bas–'

'Never mind that. Watch your language, young man,' interrupted Amelia.

As the three of them erupted into a chorus of laughter, Simpers noticed a group of policeman entering the dining room alongside a familiar looking figure. As their laughter continued, the detective realised they were headed for his table.

'You must come with us, sir,' said one of three policeman as they took up position around Simpers in an arc. To one side and a few feet away from the table, stood the young taxi driver who Simpers and his companions had spent the afternoon with.

'Can I help you?' said Simpers. 'Is there something wrong?'

'As I have said, sir, you must come with us to the police station,' repeated the policeman.

'Are you arresting me? If so on what charge?' asked Simpers, trying hard to maintain his composure.

'You paid this man with torn money. He says you were trying to trick him. This is a very serious thing and you must come with us,' said the policeman.

Simpers racked his brain as he replayed the afternoon's events. The only money he'd given the young man was what he thought a generous tip.

'Wait, wait. This is all a misunderstanding. I apologise if I have offended this young man. If you wait here for a few minutes I can put this right. I need to go to my room; I will be back in a few minutes,' said Simpers.

'You are not going anywhere, sir.'

Simpers felt into his jacket pocket and pulled out the key to his room. He leant into Jonathan.

'For heaven's sake, Jonathan. Get into my room, quickly. You'll find my warrant card in the bedside cabinet. There's also a small box in there. Bring that back as well. Please, go quickly.'

Jonathan ran from the dining room, much to the bemusement of the three policeman. As all this was going on the young taxi driver stood rooted to the spot, looking at the floor. He made no attempt to engage Simpers.

'You must come now. There is no time to wait for your friend,' said the policeman as he gestured for Simpers to stand up. As he did so, Jonathan re-entered the room and scurried over to the table. He handed the detective a small leather wallet, together with the box. Simpers put the two items down on the table and retrieved his wallet from an inside pocket. Inspecting its contents, he withdrew a number of notes and checked them carefully for damage.

'Here, I'm happy to replace the money I gave the young man this afternoon. I say again, I'm sorry, I meant no offence,' said Simpers as he held the money out to the taxi driver. The young man failed to lift his eyes from the floor.

'Officer,' said Simpers quietly, as he showed his warrant card to the policeman who spoke English. 'You can see that I am a fellow policeman. Do you understand?'