The Ghost Runner (36 page)

Mutawali hesitated. He sniffed and then said, ‘I believe there was an objection to the claims of one of the investment companies involved.'

‘How does this relate to the land Luqman was claiming belonged to him?'

‘Luqman disputed the ownership of the land. He said it belonged to him.' Mutawali sighed. ‘Of course he was wrong. It's all legally documented. Luqman had no claim to that land whatsoever. It was just a pet obsession of his that he wouldn't let go of.'

‘But Luqman was against the gas deal.'

‘Oh, yes. He wanted to leave it as it was. He had some idea about tourists preferring things to be undeveloped. Like that absurd shack he has out there. Romantic nonsense.'

‘Can you show me on a map exactly where this land is?'

Mutawali looked highly irritated. He glanced at his watch. ‘I really shouldn't be speaking to you at all, especially after that business with the Qadi's wife. She's thinking of pressing charges, you know.'

‘We both know she would never do that. She has too much to lose, as you well know.'

The deputy considered this for a moment and then got up and went over to a cupboard from which he produced a large-scale map that he spread out on the desk.

‘Where is Luqman's land, the piece he was contesting?'

‘That would be around here.' Mutawali drew an arc with his finger on the south-eastern side of the town.

‘And where exactly is it in relation to the old Abubakrs' land?'

‘They were adjoining. In fact, they used to be joined together. Luqman and the Abubakr family were related by blood. Look, if you are really looking for someone with a reason to do the Qadi harm why don't you talk to our respectable doctor?'

‘Doctor Medina?' The day seemed to be full of surprises.

‘The very one.' Mutawali nodded. ‘I know for a fact that the Qadi was planning to expose him as a charlatan. It seems our friend has no more right to practise medicine than you or I. He was involved in some sordid business, practising abortions, which is an abomination not only in the eyes of the law but in the eyes of the Almighty.' His eyes seemed to glow with delight. ‘Isn't that reason enough to take another man's life?'

‘You'd have to take that up with the Almighty. Let's stick to the matter in hand. Now, the Qadi stood to gain a good commission if the deal went through, is that right?'

Mutawali shrugged. ‘He was simply the middleman. He would gain a commission, but the main benefactors were a large investment company in Cairo.'

‘How do I find them?'

‘I'm sure I have it somewhere.' Mutawali rummaged through the heaps of paper. ‘The lawyer was . . . ah, here it is.' He held up a business card with a name printed on it. ‘Nadir Diyab.'

‘May I keep this?'

‘If it's of use to you, although I really can't see why.'

Makana pocketed the card. ‘If the Qadi had an important meeting out there on the lake with investors, surely he would have driven there in one of his fancy cars?'

Mutawali gave a gesture of exasperation. ‘How could I possibly know?'

‘Well, let's say the Qadi didn't want to be seen. Those cars of his are pretty distinctive, aren't they?'

‘I suppose so,' said Mutawali gloomily.

‘So how could he have got out to the lake then, without his car?'

‘I don't know. How should I know?'

‘Just take a guess.'

‘Well, I suppose he could have taken a karetta.'

‘Very good, now, one last thing. Luqman went to Captain Mustafa shortly before he was killed and complained about what was going on. He was trying to raise a case against the Qadi, wasn't he?'

Mutawali's eyes roamed around the map as if searching for an object of great significance.

‘I'm afraid you would have to ask Luqman about that.'

 

The sun was a soft, floundering ship, burning up on the distant horizon. At the telephone exchange the dull white strip lighting buzzed angrily, regardless of the hour. Magdy Ragab was surprised Makana was still in Siwa.

‘I'm beginning to wonder at the wisdom of your being there. Do you really feel it is necessary? I don't wish to sound unappreciative, but it seems to me that you have played out this particular hand. There is no need to let it drag on if there is no progress to be made.'

It sounded as if he was beginning to get cold feet. His commitment to the pursuit of justice appeared to be waning. Another reason for Makana to finish this case as soon as possible. Promising to keep him informed Makana hung up and dialled Sami's number but got no reply. He then tried Zahra and got a disconnected tone. All in all not a particularly successful session. He went back to Sami's number again and let it ring. As he waited, Makana lit another cigarette and slipped the photograph Madame Fawzia had given him from his pocket. Used to large classes, Makana had assumed he was looking at a single year of students. Now he realised that in a school that small what he was looking at was probably several forms in one picture. There had to be almost a hundred girls all arranged on the steps in front of the main entrance with the school's name on the sign overhead. They were lined up in rows with the eldest at the top and the youngest at the bottom. On one side of the group stood a tall, grey-haired man wearing tortoiseshell spectacles and a suit that was too big for him. This, Makana assumed, had to be one of Madame Fawzia's predecessors, back in the days when you needed a man as headmaster, even in a girls' school. On the other side were two teachers standing close together. The photograph had not been marked and there was no note or anything on the back or inside the envelope to tell him what to look for. With the receiver clamped between ear and shoulder he studied the faces of the girls one by one. Nagat was in the top right- hand corner of the picture. Her face ringed by a circle in ink. Now he wondered if her sister Safira might also be in the picture. He studied each face carefully, beginning in the lower left-hand side. It wasn't until his third sweep that he saw her.

‘Hello?'

‘Sami?' Makana set the picture down on the shelf in front of him.

‘Ah, is that our emissary to the distant corners of the empire?'

‘Have you any news?'

‘The country is in a state of turmoil. The anti-Israeli protests are putting the government in an awkward position. They don't want to antagonise the Americans, but they are beginning to realise there is a limit to how much their own people will take. There is a lot of support for the Palestinians and this thing in Jenin is horrific. Whole families are being bulldozed in their homes. How about you, don't you miss Cairo?'

‘Don't worry, I have a feeling I shan't be here much longer.' Makana tried to keep his voice down, as he recounted events, not wanting to share everything with the others in the place, but Sami appeared to be in a car and kept asking him to speak up.

‘Where are you?'

‘We're stuck in a taxi downtown. Rania is with me. She says hello. I'll bet you don't miss the traffic.'

In an odd way he did. The delights of this peaceful idyll were beginning to wear thin.

‘Maybe it's time to call it a day. There are other cases, you know?' Sami sounded concerned.

‘They've arrested the wrong person and have no intention of admitting it. The killer is still out there and unless I do something it's going to stay that way.'

‘Sounds like you've got your work cut out. Was there something specific you wanted?'

‘No,' said Makana. ‘I just wanted to remind myself that there are people who know me not to be insane.'

‘Well, don't count on me as your only witness,' Sami joked.

‘There is one thing you could do for me. A lawyer named Nadir Diyab.' Makana read the telephone number off the business card Mutawali had given him.

‘What do you want to know?'

‘Anything and everything. He's connected to some kind of gas deal that's happening here.'

‘I'll do what I can. Listen to me, Makana. You need to finish your business out there and get back to civilisation as soon as possible.'

‘I'm not sure how easy that's going to be.'

The receiver dropped from his shoulder into his hand. He hung up and stared at the photograph again for a long time before tucking it away carefully. He paid the bearded man and had just stepped into the street when Bulbul went racing by, standing up in his karetta.

‘Luqman's escaped and they've got him cornered. They say they are going to kill him.'

Chapter Twenty-eight

The mob had Luqman trapped inside Hamza’s coffee shop. Even as Makana ran up he could see him climbing out onto the wall that ran around the veranda on the first floor. He looked weak and his clothes were dirty and torn. He was trying to edge around a corner pillar, clutching the brickwork with one arm while trying to fend off the hands that were reaching for him with the other. A small audience had gathered below waiting to see the outcome. Bulbul was stirring them up like a seasoned ringmaster.

‘Come on! Come and see him jump!’ He would have been selling tickets if he could have thought of a way of doing it. He worked the crowd into a frenzy. ‘
Yallah, yallah
, jump jump jump!’ he chanted, hopping from one foot to the other, clapping his hands to a lively beat.

Makana pushed through the crowd until he reached Sergeant Hamama who was looking upwards.

‘How could you let this happen?’

The sergeant turned slowly to look at Makana. He said nothing, but spat on the ground.

‘You need to listen more carefully when people give you advice.’

‘I told you I wasn’t ready to leave.’

‘It was for your own good. I was trying to help you.’

The barred gate that closed off the staircase leading up to the coffee shop appeared to have been ripped off its hinges. Nearby lay a chain that had been attached to a pickup. Luqman must have managed to lock himself in briefly.

‘How did he get out?’

‘A momentary lapse of security,’ Sergeant Hamama shrugged. ‘These things happen. You never know how desperate people can be.’

Upstairs, Luqman was pleading for his life. Makana saw a stick slam viciously into one of his hands. He let out a howl of pain and almost lost his grip.

‘They’re going to kill him. Aren’t you going to intervene?’

Hamama pushed back his hat and scratched the top of his head. ‘I can’t risk the safety of my officers until I assess the situation. It would be irresponsible.’

Makana pushed past him and headed for the stairs. Nobody tried to stop him. Everyone assumed he just wanted to get in on the action. The staircase was crammed with men and boys who seemed undecided. To go up and join in the kill or to hang back and not get involved. Makana managed to get past them to find himself on the veranda. Two men had climbed up onto the balustrade and were closing in on Luqman from either side. Makana’s way was blocked by a lean, bony face.

‘You have to stop them.’

‘Why?’ laughed Wad Nubawi. ‘What difference does it make?’

‘It’s wrong. He hasn’t done anything.’

‘How do you know that?’ Wad Nubawi’s smile faded, to be replaced by the blank look Makana had become familiar with.

‘Killing him won’t solve anything. This is something from a long time ago.’ Makana thought he detected a flicker of response. He gestured. ‘Luqman has nothing to do with it.’

A high-pitched scream announced that it was too late. There was a dull thud as Luqman hit the road below. There was a moment’s silence, then a rush of men trying to get down the stairs and get away. A cheer went up from a couple of the men on the balustrade. An answering chorus rose up from the dusty street. As they pushed by a few glances flickered in Makana’s direction. One or two of them stopped, forming a clot in the free flow of men past him. He had seen them before. They were young and hard looking and they clearly knew who he was.

‘Why are you here?’

‘What do you want with us?’

They pressed him back, clamouring in from all sides. It occurred to Makana that perhaps coming up here wasn’t the wisest course of action. Wad Nubawi appeared to have retreated, melting away into the crowd like a bad rumour. The men pushed Makana back, bristling with tension. All talking at once.

‘You killed him,’ Makana said.

‘We didn’t touch him.’

‘He fell. Just like that, he fell.’ The speaker smiled the smile of the innocent.

Another leaned in. ‘Just try and prove otherwise.’

‘Leave him alone, boys,’ called Wad Nubawi reappearing like a magician. They shoved Makana aside as they made their escape. He caught Wad Nubawi’s eyes.

‘Take yourself away from here while you can still walk.’

Makana remained there with his back to the wall listening as the clamour slowly diminished. He moved over and looked down at Luqman’s broken, lifeless body lying in the street. Blood pooled from his head, already turning black in the sun. A donkey was braying hysterically in the distance. The crowd was breaking up as people went on their way. The mob moved away with Wad Nubawi at their centre. There was an air of celebration about them. They had done what they came here to do. Sergeant Hamama ignored them, concentrating instead on directing his men to clear the area and let the ambulance through. The whole town was in the hands of a group of thugs. Men who made a living driving out into the desert and ferrying contraband across the frontier. They had nothing to fear. They had the protection of the law, after all.