The Ghost Runner (39 page)

Doctor Medina was looking at Makana as if he expected him to somehow express his understanding, or even his tacit approval.

‘You turned Musab down. That took courage.’

‘Well, it made no difference. Musab did it himself. He took off two fingers with a cleaver. It was lucky Wad Nubawi didn’t lose his whole hand.’ Makana offered the cigarettes, but they were brushed aside as Doctor Medina reached for the flask again. ‘Drink with me. I don’t trust a man who won’t drink.’

Makana watched him fill another glass and set it before him. The raw spirit burnt a hot trail down through Makana’s insides. He put the glass down. The doctor was pouring it down his own throat so fast tears sprang from the corners of his eyes. It looked like a form of punishment.

‘I was a fool. I should have known that Musab would never forgive me. I had stood up to him in front of his men. Nobody did that. You did what he asked without question. He had to teach me a lesson. Something I would never forget.’

‘What happened next?’ Makana asked quietly.

A sob escaped Doctor Medina as he choked back his tears. ‘Some men took her out into the desert and did terrible things to her. They raped her and left her out there for the scavengers.’ He sighed heavily and pressed his hands to his eyes. ‘I don’t know how many of them there were. They took everyone along, even poor Ayman. They made him watch.’

‘How many people knew about this?’

‘It’s a small town, nothing stays secret for very long.’

‘So Safira’s disapearance was simply a convenient story.’

‘Musab encouraged his men to behave like animals.’

‘And Nagat? Did she know that the man she was to marry had arranged the rape and murder of her sister?’

‘I don’t know.’ A shudder went through the doctor. ‘There was a complex relationship between them. Nagat was jealous of Safira. Once the news got round, Nagat was shunned. People avoided her. They would spit on her in the street. She had no choice but to flee. And when Wad Nubawi turned the tables on Musab he had to run as well.’

‘This matter never came to the courts?’

‘Of course not,’ Doctor Medina laughed bitterly. ‘People disappear. The Qadi wouldn’t order an investigation. The police did nothing. Nobody wanted any trouble.’

‘The body was never found.’

‘Well, that’s not completely true,’ sighed Doctor Medina. ‘A few years later a herdsman was travelling through the area and he came across some human bones and clothes. When he brought them back to town it woke up the whole business again. People had looked for Safira when she went missing. A young, innocent girl. There was a lot of concern.’

‘But they never found anything?’

‘Not until that herdsman appeared with his sack of bones.’

‘Did you ever examine them?’

‘No.’ The doctor shuddered. ‘I couldn’t. I didn’t need to anyway. There were other things. Items of clothing. A ring. They were identified as belonging to Safira.’

Makana watched the doctor pouring himself another drink. The room was silent for a time. In the distance the sound of a motor scooter died into the night.

‘The funny thing is I would give anything to go back to those days. Before it happened. I felt alive. Just thinking about her now, remembering her eyes, makes me feel capable of anything.’

Doctor Medina seemed an unlikely advocate for love but then again, why not? He was no different from anyone else in the world. Love was by nature absurd. How could you go from living your life quite happily to being unable to imagine your existence without the presence of one single person? Makana had to concede that he himself was not exactly an expert on the subject. But he did have a better understanding of why people were convinced that Musab would never come back here.

‘Where are you staying, by the way?’ Doctor Medina asked. Makana shrugged. He hadn’t thought that far ahead. ‘Well, you can sleep on the sofa upstairs if you want.’ He rose slowly to his feet. ‘How’s the hand by the way?’

‘Right now I can hardly feel it.’

‘It does the trick every time.’ The doctor raised his glass in salute before draining it. With that he staggered off into the darkness, the sound of his steps gently scuffling their way up the stairs, flask still in hand. Makana switched off the lights and made sure that the taps on the gas burners were closed. The door to the storeroom that had once served as a garage stood open. The blue glow emanated from the freezer compartment where the Qadi lay. Not so much a beloved leader lying in state as the dark lord of an underworld into which Makana had unwittingly stumbled. The question was, how was he going to find his way out? Wisps of condensation leaked gently into the air between the sheets of styrofoam.

Chapter Thirty

Makana slept uneasily that night. The struts of Doctor Medina’s rather battered sofa dug through the skinny mattreess and into his side like sharpened bones. It was also far too short. His feet hung over the end. The doctor though appeared to have an even worse night. Makana was woken several times by the sound of his shouts. He lay there in the dark wondering at the demons that were plaguing the man. In the morning, however, when Makana woke up, he found him fully restored. Seated at the big dining table, Doctor Medina appeared to have washed and shaved. He wore a clean set of clothes and was tucking into a large breakfast spread before him while reading the newspaper. The window behind him was open to reveal the palm trees in all their splendour. The birds were singing.

‘Ah, there you are,’ said the doctor as he looked up. ‘I’m sure you are hungry. I was famished. Sit down and help yourself.’

A small, familiar figure appeared in the kitchen doorway.

‘We have guests, Umm Hamida,’ said the doctor.

‘He knows my cooking,’ said the little woman whom Makana recalled from her restaurant.

‘Umm Hamida comes in to cook for me once a week,’ said Doctor Medina. ‘Without her I would have withered away years ago. She is undoubtedly the best cook in this miserable town.’

She gave a little bow. ‘We are honoured by your presence. Will our guest be wanting breakfast?’

‘Certainly. Please bring another cup for him.’ Doctor Medina was transformed into the perfect host. ‘How would you like your eggs? Fried or scrambled? Umm Hamida does them with basturma. You can’t resist.’

While Umm Hamida went back to the kitchen to see about eggs Makana marvelled at the change in Medina. It suggested a previous life, affording a glimpse of the doctor as he was perhaps years ago.

‘I’d like to thank you,’ smiled the doctor. ‘I haven’t talked so much for years. I feel the better for it. Did you sleep well? That sofa is worse than lying on a dead donkey.’ Doctor Medina smiled and tapped his newspaper. ‘The Americans have discovered a new life as the policemen of the world. This business in Palestine threatens to tip everything in the region into a crisis.’

‘The war on terror,’ said Makana, thinking of Musab.

‘Exactly. War on terror,’ snorted the doctor. ‘We’ve been fighting against terrorists for years. Nobody ever thought of paying attention. What could they possibly learn from a bunch of stupid Arabs, eh? And now look, they all need our help.’

Umm Hamida appeared at Makana’s elbow and set a glass of tea in front of him.

‘You can stay here as long as you like,’ said Doctor Medina, folding the newspaper and putting it aside.

‘That’s generous of you, but you need to consider your own situation.’

Doctor Medina smiled. ‘You don’t understand. Last night, I felt I was being honest for the first time in longer than I care to remember. I like this feeling. I want to keep it. I’m not going back to hiding under a stone.’

‘I understand,’ said Makana.

‘Dignity. You gave me back my dignity, or what’s left of it. I thank you for that.’ Doctor Medina sat back and splayed his hands out. ‘Now, what is the plan for today?’

‘I’d like to talk to a couple of people, but before that I need to make a few calls.’

The first was to Zahra. He wasn’t sure why this was his first priority. It would be the quickest call to make, he decided, since he had no wish to spend too long with the doctor and whoever else might be eavesdropping on the conversation. He was spared in that the call went straight to voicemail. Makana tried to think of something to say and then, at something of a loss, he hung up without uttering a word. He would try again later, he told himself. The next person he called was Sami. The line was bad. Sami might have been on the other side of the moon.

‘The lawyer you asked about.’

‘Nadir Diyab. What did you find out?’

Sami said something that dissolved into scratching and buzzing.

‘Say that again. I didn’t hear.’

Again more interference on the line and then, ‘. . . interesting background. The man is very well connected.’ Once more the voice was drowned in static noise.

‘What?’

‘Arousa Resources is the name of the investment company. I’m trying to find out who is behind it.’ Sami’s voice rose and fell as if he were bobbing on the waves on a distant ocean. ‘There is one connection you might be interested in.’ Again he sank from sight, only to rise briefly. Makana caught the word ‘Ragab’ and then he was gone for good. Makana replaced the telephone on the hook and it buzzed again as though alive. He lifted it and heard a timid male voice.

‘Could I speak to Umm Hamida?’

Makana called the tiny woman from the kitchen. She wiped her hands carefully before touching the receiver. She listened for a moment and then hung up before turning to Makana.

‘That was my husband. He overheard some of them talking in the restaurant. They are out looking for you and apparently some of them are coming here.’

‘When?’

‘They’re on their way now.’

‘There’s no time to waste,’ said Doctor Medina. ‘Leave by the back. There is a path that leads through the trees and brings you out near the main square. Come back later. If I know these people they will take one look and then move on. They don’t have the patience to wait here.’

Behind the house Makana found a narrow path leading away from town. In a few metres he was completely hidden from view. It proved to be a pleasant walk. The ground was soft underfoot and there was an idyllic silence broken only by the sound of the birds. Twice he stopped, thinking he heard voices, only to realise it was the sound of men singing as they worked in the trees. It sounded as though they were performing some ancient rite.

The path delivered him to a spot just off the main square. Keeping close to the wall, Makana walked swiftly along and crossed the road without looking left or right. Another corner brought him to the rear entrance of the hotel.

When Nagy looked up to find Makana standing there his first instinct was to reach for the telephone, but Makana beat him to it, lifting the receiver and rapping Nagy sharply over the knuckles with it. With a cry of pain, Nagy pulled his hand back and staggered away from the counter.

‘I don’t think you should call anyone until we have a little talk.’

‘What do you want with me?’

‘How could you do that, sacrifice your own daughter?’

‘No,’ Nagy shook his head. ‘You’re crazy.’

‘Where is she, then? Where is Rashida?’

‘What does that have to do with you?’

‘How much did they pay you?’ Nagy backed away as Makana came round behind the reception desk.

‘Who? I don’t know what you are talking about.’

‘She’s dead, Nagy.’

‘She’s not dead. She’s visiting her cousin.’

‘She’s dead. I saw her in the water.’

‘You’re wrong.’ Nagy was angry. He clearly did believe his daughter was still alive.

‘What did they tell you?’

‘They didn’t tell me anything.’ Nagy was wild-eyed and staring, as if afraid that his world was about to cave in.

‘Who was it? Was it Sadig? Did he ask Rashida to arrange a meeting with me?’

‘What are you talking about?’ Nagy scuttled back, further into the shadows, but his eyes gleamed with fear, and finally, doubt. ‘Why would she lie to me?’

‘Maybe because they promised her enough money to leave, this town, this life, this place, to get away from you.’ Makana glanced around the dark and gloomy interior. ‘You can’t blame her for that, can you?’

‘She would never go behind my back,’ Nagy faltered, seeing the flaw in his argument even as he spoke. His face crumpled. ‘Why would they kill her?’

‘Because she’s not afraid to talk. If she and Kamal ran away this story might get out.’ Makana stepped back from Nagy, suddenly unable to bear the smell of the man. ‘She knows what happened all those years ago. She knows why her mother ran away. She knows what you did.’

‘No, she can’t.’

‘On the other hand, maybe they just hold women in contempt.’

Nagy shook his head from side to side. ‘She’s staying with her cousin.’

Makana regarded him for a time. When you looked beyond the bad temper there wasn’t much more than a small, frightened man.

‘You were the one who took Ayman along, weren’t you? You thought it would be funny to see his reaction.’

Nagy licked his lips. ‘I don’t have to talk to you,’ he said, making to move, but Makana blocked his way. Nagy reeled back against the counter. ‘What is it you want from me?’