Dogstar Rising (16 page)

‘This was a professional execution. If they were meant for you, they would have hit you instead of her.’

‘But why would anyone want to kill her?’ Ridwan Hilal was sitting on the edge of his seat now, his hands gripping the armrests. His stomach heaved as he tried to draw breath. Sweat was beginning to form damp patches on his shirt. ‘Please,’ he wheezed impatiently, ‘whatever you have on your mind, I want to hear it.’

‘If she was the intended target then there has to be a reason someone wanted her dead.’

A heavy paw lifted and dropped to the armrest. ‘Meera’s only crime in life was to marry me. She could not offend anyone. Look outside. Her former students have come to guard her home.’

‘There was nothing controversial about her work?’

‘She taught literature.’ Hilal looked pained. ‘Shakespeare, Virginia Woolf. Things that are too complicated to offend people. They would need a modicum of intelligence.’ His hands still gripped the arms, as if he couldn’t decide whether to break the things or fling them across the table.

Makana took a moment to study the man who had been branded an apostate. His detractors claimed he had taken the sacred book and treated it like a historical dissertation that had not aged well. Was it any surprise some people wanted him dead? Another thought occurred to him. Was it possible that Hilal could have arranged to have his wife killed? He would have needed a strong flair for the dramatic to attempt it this way. A man of his intellectual prowess could surely have worked out a dozen quieter ways of getting the job done. Besides, the sad figure before him told its own story. Makana found himself distracted by the question of what had drawn Meera to this man in the first place. An intellectual attraction of like minds? Now that she was gone, Makana found himself wishing he had had a chance to get to know her better.

‘Violence marks our complete failure as human beings,’ mumbled Hilal. ‘Physical brutality makes us no better than dogs.’

‘Unfortunately, there are still enough dogs about to complicate matters for the rest of us.’

The professor gave a brief, concessionary nod. He passed a hand over his eyes.

‘I’d like your permission to look into her murder.’

The heavy-lidded eyes jerked open. ‘Money? Is that what you are after?’

‘I don’t need your money. I am still employed by Mr Faragalla, which means I am obliged to inform him of what I find. But I would feel better knowing that I had your consent.’

‘I can’t see what good can come of this. I would prefer Meera to be left to rest in peace. Can you understand that?’

‘Certainly. But until we understand why this happened other people might be at risk.’

Hilal’s mournful eyes darted around the walls, as if expecting them to cave in on him at any moment. ‘Mr Makana, if I understand correctly, you blame yourself in some way for what happened to Meera. I understand. Speaking for myself, I am convinced that you proved your bravery by trying to go to her aid during the attack. You cannot be held responsible for the actions of a mad man.’ He handed Makana a card. ‘That is my private number,’ he said, pointing to the telephone on the desk. Call me at any time, day or night. I am willing to cooperate in any way.’

Makana left him there, holding the picture of his wife in one hand and copies of the letters that might have killed her in the other. A shipwrecked man clinging to the debris of his life. As he made his way back across the city, Makana wondered if Hilal was right, if maybe he was taking Meera’s death too personally. It was one of those questions to which he had no particular interest in finding an answer.

Chapter Fourteen

‘I don’t know why I came in today. Allah knows there isn’t any work to do.’

Surprisingly, it was Arwa, the headscarf-wearing, gum-chewing sceptic who appeared to have been most touched by Meera’s death.

Meera’s desk was now buried under a small hill of flowers. They had arrived from people in the office, the building and even beyond, from the entire city even, judging by the cards and little messages that had been delivered. Strangers turned up at the door holding fancy cellophane-wrapped bundles. Others strode in carrying wilting handfuls of grey roses, plucked from an exhausted roadside park nearby. The desk had otherwise been completely cleared. No files, folders, even the computer had been unplugged and disconnected. Arwa gave another loud sniff.

‘My husband says they all should go. The country would be purer without them, but he is an idiot and doesn’t even say his prayers regularly.’

‘Where are her things?’

‘Yousef cleared it all out. He enjoyed that.’ She dabbed at her eyes. ‘That dog was glad to see her go. She was the only one who took the work seriously and they couldn’t wait to get rid of her. Does that make any sense?’

‘It looks like someone cared for her.’

‘This is an Egyptian thing,’ she said, pointing at the heap of flowers. ‘Those crazy bearded men tell you it’s wrong. That this is all pagan tradition, nothing to do with Islam. Who cares what it is, it’s beautiful to see how people decorate the graves of their loved ones, right? We’re not animals.’ Another loud sniff followed by a vigorous rub of her bulbous nose. ‘I feel bad about some of the things I said to her. We’re all Egyptians,
mush kedda
? I mean, at the end of the day that’s what it’s all about. I should never have come in today.’

‘It’s probably good to keep yourself busy.’

‘Busy? In this place? That’s a laugh. There’s hardly enough to keep one of us occupied.’

Makana watched her as she pottered about, sniffing and sobbing, arranging the flowers on Meera’s desk, pausing to dab her eyes.

‘The sad thing is I barely knew her. She never talked about herself. Wild horses wouldn’t drag words out of her.’ Arwa broke off to lift a telephone that was ringing and barked into the receiver. ‘Who? No, he’s not here. We are not working today. Why? Don’t you read the newspapers, you donkey?’ She slammed the phone down and sniffed. ‘Even if she was married to that terrible man, so what? What can we do about the men we marry? If my husband was as smart as he thinks he is, we would be living in a palace instead of a hovel fit only for six-legged creatures. He said her husband lost his job because he was a blasphemer. I don’t believe it. She was a smart woman. Imagine, she could have been teaching at university, but here she was, working with us. That tells you a lot. She never looked down her nose at any of us, which is more than can be said for some. You know why people say those things? Because they can’t stand the idea of a woman making something of herself. Even my stupid husband. All men are the same.’

‘She never talked about being in trouble?’

‘She kept to herself. Well, except for Ramy.’

‘Ramy? You mean Faragalla’s nephew?’

‘They were friends for a time. Of course, that got everyone talking. People have evil tongues.’ Arwa raised an eyebrow. ‘What do we know about anyone, right? I mean, here am I talking to you like I’ve known you all my life, but I don’t even know that it’s true about you being here to help us.’

‘Why shouldn’t it be?’

‘You don’t look like an accountant. They have flat heads and narrow eyes.’ She twirled a length of red twine that had come loose from a bouquet of orchids. ‘My husband says you are probably with the police.’

‘Why would he say something like that?’

‘And that’s the other thing,’ Arwa jabbed a stubby finger at him. ‘You always answer a question with another question.’

‘It’s a bad habit, I’m sorry. You said she was close to Ramy?’

‘Like I said, there were a lot of malicious whispers.’ She gave another sniff. ‘Not that I had anything to do with that.’

‘Of course not.’

‘No, she was a decent person. Worked harder than anyone else. She was in here first thing in the morning and didn’t leave until last.’

‘What exactly did Ramy do to be sent away?’

‘Oh, he’s not a bad person, but he’s young and not too good about keeping away from trouble.’ She picked at a thread on her sleeve, as if absenting herself from this conversation for a moment, before bouncing back. ‘It’s that Rocky from downstairs.’

‘Rocky?’

‘You know, like the film? Honestly, anyone would think you had been living in a cave. I don’t know why they call him that, but everyone does. He’s the one who runs the
’ahwa
downstairs. He’s up to all kinds of mischief that one.’ Arwa lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘If you ask me, that’s why she was killed.’

‘Because of Rocky?’

‘No.’ Arwa glanced around her briskly. ‘Hashish.’

‘Hashish?’

‘Rocky sells it and Ramy smokes it ’til it comes out of his ears.’ She nodded as she spoke as if agreeing with herself. ‘Also I heard he was messing with some of the clients. Women.’

‘Women? Tourists, you mean?’

‘I mean the kind young men have shameful thoughts about.’

‘How do you know this?’

‘Because men are all the same. No better than animals, most of them.’

‘No, I mean about Ramy being involved with them.’

‘I hear a lot of things,’ Arwa said confidently. ‘So did Meera. Maybe she told Faragalla. You think that’s why she was killed? That’s the other thing you do. Either you answer a question with a question or you go all silent. Where’s the fun in that?’

Before Makana could manage to process what Arwa had just told him, Yousef swept in. As usual, wearing his leather jacket and carrying the briefcase that seemed to go everywhere with him.

‘I thought we were going to clear this out?’ he snapped, staring at the heap of flowers.

‘Spoken like a man with a stone for a heart.’

Yousef turned to her. He looked as though he were about to say something, but then changed his mind.

‘We just had a tragedy here, a real tragedy,’ she went on, fiddling with the flowers.

‘That’s no reason for the whole world to stop, is it? Tragedies happen every day.’ Yousef marched over to his desk, shrugged off his jacket and began rolling up his shirt sleeves. ‘Unless you happened not to notice, this company is fighting for its survival. Now, I advise you to stop thinking about the past and concentrate on your future, because without this company you don’t have one.’

Arwa stared at Yousef’s back for a time and then idly started turning sheets of paper over. She exchanged a long glance with Makana, as if to say, this is how I pretend to be working.

Faragalla appeared and summoned Makana into his office immediately, closing the door quickly behind him.

‘You see now what I told you?’

Makana watched him trying to slide himself behind the desk, dislodging another avalanche of folders and papers, which fell to the floor and were instantly forgotten. The heavy bags under the sunken eyes seemed more swollen. Faragalla leaned his hands on the desk.

‘I was right. It was a warning.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘This, the killing. They shot that woman as a warning to me.’ Faragalla straightened up and moved over to peer out through the dirty, broken wooden shutters. ‘We have no idea who they are, or what they look like.’

‘I don’t think we need to panic.’

‘Oh, you don’t, eh? Then what should I do? I mean, have you found anything?’

‘It’s too early to say. The counter-terrorism unit are onto it, under a Lieutenant Sharqi.’

‘I know all that. That’s not why I am paying you. They’ll never find anything. You know what they are like. Like anyone working for the government, they do the least they can without getting fired. I hired you to get to the bottom of all this.’

‘I can tell you that there were more letters.’

‘More?’ Faragalla seemed to stagger. He put a hand to the desk to steady himself. ‘More of the same you mean? Where were they? Why didn’t I know about this?’

‘Meera thought they were meant for her.’

‘Poor woman. She didn’t deserve to die like that. I regret talking badly about the dead, but she should have told me who she was. I mean, imagine not telling me who her husband was.’

‘She was afraid you would fire her if you knew.’

‘Really? Well that’s just . . .’ He sank down into his chair with a thoughtful expression on his face and reached for his pipe. ‘She should have come to me about these letters.’

‘When you hired me I asked if you could think of anyone who might have an interest in seeing this company ruined. Have you had any further thoughts on the subject?’

‘Are you joking? All my rivals are sending me messages of sympathy. We all have to stand together, they say. If one of us goes down it’s only a matter of time before all of us do. Secretly, of course, they are hoping this will finish me off and they can close in and pick up my business.’ Faragalla puffed away nervously. ‘Who knows, maybe there is some way of turning this to our advantage. I’m calling a press conference this afternoon. Put a determined face on it. Let them know that we don’t scare easily. We have a tradition to defend. In my grandfather’s day there was respect for our profession.’

‘So, I take it you want me to carry on with the investigation?’

‘Why do you think I am paying you? Get to the bottom of this. And I want to be informed of any progress you make. Anything at all, you understand?’