City of Jackals Read online

  He’d missed his calling as a game-show host on television. In another setting he might have become one of those hellfire evangelists who enjoyed nothing more than setting a Quran ablaze. ‘Estrella had a couple of friends, Beatrice and Jonah.’

  ‘They were definitely on the programme,’ Father Saturnius piped up, encouraged perhaps by Reverend Corbis’s obvious confidence in him. The reverend flashed him a withering glance.

  ‘I would have to check our records.’

  ‘It’s possible they might know where Estrella is.’

  ‘Do you mind if I ask you the reason for your interest? I’m not sure you fully appreciate the kind of resistance we face in this country. People are not overly enthusiastic about the idea of Christians trying to help other Christians to leave.’

  ‘I think I understand.’

  ‘One false move and the authorities will be overjoyed to show us the door. We do not come here to evangelise, to convert people of the Muslim faith, but there are those who would claim that that is the purpose of our mission.’

  Makana glanced around at the others. Fantômas had pulled himself into a corner and was following the conversation with his eyes on the floor. Liz Corbis also held herself in the background, silent, observant. Unconsciously she wrapped and unwrapped a stethoscope, wound about her hand like an asp. When she noticed Makana watching her she cleared her throat.

  ‘Preston, I believe that Mr Makana would not be here if he did not feel there was an urgent need to find this girl. I think we should help him.’

  ‘And there was me thinking you were being too rigid.’ Reverend Corbis looked at his sister and then he beamed. ‘My sister is invariably wiser than I am, and so consider us at your service. Come to the Hesira Institute. We’ll get out all the files and you can look to your heart’s content.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Makana. ‘I appreciate it.’

  ‘We all have to help each other in this life. Heaven knows those kids have seen little of that.’

  ‘Amen,’ said Father Saturnius.

  ‘Amen,’ whispered the others. Makana thought it was time to take himself off.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Makana climbed out of a taxi to find Aziza waiting under the big eucalyptus tree. How long she had been sitting there it was impossible to say. She didn’t waste time with greetings, but quickly fell in step beside him. There was a missed call on his phone from Okasha. He pushed redial and got an engaged tone.

  ‘When are you going to buy me a telephone?’

  ‘What do you need a telephone for?’

  ‘So I can call you when I need to tell you something urgent.’ Head down, she strode along with purpose. Makana pulled up, turning to her.

  ‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’

  Her eyes widened. The picture of innocence. ‘Why do you assume that it should be trouble, and that I could not deal with it myself?’

  ‘So what exactly is it?’

  ‘You have a guest.’

  ‘Aziza, there’s nothing unusual about that. It happens all the time.’

  ‘This one is different.’

  ‘Different how?’

  ‘He’s crying.’ Her mouth twisted in disapproval. ‘I don’t know what to do with men who are crying.’

  Not a hopeful sign for the men who might come into her life in the future. At the top of the embankment, he paused to gaze down at the awama in all her ramshackle glory. A crumbling relic of past glory. A ghost ship from a forgotten age.

  ‘How long have you been waiting up here for me?’

  ‘Every since he turned up.’

  Her face had begun to resemble that of her mother, Umm Ali. For a fleeting moment, Makana imagined all that was remarkable about the girl being extinguished by time, leaving a ponderous woman, weary with age and confused by the world around her. It was a depressing thought, and not to be further entertained. Aziza was not her mother. She would become a doctor and go on to do great things.

  ‘I showed him up to your office and asked him if he wanted tea or coffee. He didn’t.’

  ‘He didn’t want anything?’

  ‘He just sits there wiping his eyes. I went up three times. In the end I just couldn’t bear it any longer, so I came up here to wait. You see now how I need a telephone? Then I could tell you about these things.’

  ‘You’re right. I’ll think about it.’

  ‘You won’t regret it. Any news on the head we found?’

  ‘The victim was a Mundari. That’s a tribe from South Sudan. Not a tribe,’ he corrected himself. ‘A group of people. Something like that. Anyway, that’s all we know so far.’

  ‘Sad to end up like that, don’t you think? I mean, it must be awful not having all your parts buried in one place.’

  An interesting thought. Was this something the dead were concerned with? In Egyptian mythology Isis searched the length and breadth of the land to gather the scattered parts of Osiris.

  ‘Does this mystery visitor have a name?’

  ‘Mr Hafiz. You mean that about the telephone?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it.’ Makana reached into his pocket for his money and counted a few notes into her hand. ‘Can you run over to the Komombo Kiosk and see if they received a fax for me?’

  ‘This is too much for a fax and too little for a phone.’

  Makana plucked a note out of the bundle. ‘This is for the fax. The rest is for you. I know somebody who can help with the phone.’

  ‘Okay, but watch out, because some of them are defective. People sell anything nowadays if they think they can get away with it. Like that idiot who sells taamiya under the bridge, he bought one and I swear he holds it to his head to pretend he’s speaking when he can only hear his own voice.’

  As she went on her way, Makana moved down the path towards the river. Over the years it had been improved. It was wider now, more stable, and had acquired bricks here and there, which meant that when it rained, as it had done now, you weren’t slipping and sliding on muddy inclines as you tried to negotiate the descent.

  Hossam Hafiz leapt to his feet as Makana appeared.

  ‘Did you find him?’

  ‘Mr Hafiz, I told you I would be in touch if I had any news.’

  ‘I know. I know. It’s just that my wife is suffering. Her nerves were never strong.’ His eyes were bloodshot and his face swollen.

  ‘All the more reason for you to remain by her side.’ Makana checked the electric heater was on, which it was, of course. Aziza wouldn’t leave a guest to freeze in the cold.

  ‘I know. I just . . .’ Hafiz paced over to the window to look through the slats at the river. He stared down for a long moment. ‘I feel so helpless. I wish there was something I could do, something I could tell her, just to raise her spirits.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Makana. He felt a twinge of guilt. No more. Four days had gone by, and although this might have felt like a long time to the Hafiz family, a missing person’s case could take weeks.

  Hafiz seemed hardly to register his words. His mind was elsewhere. ‘It’s hard to explain. She suffers so. I don’t know what it is, a mother and her first-born son. She spoilt him. Pampered him, kept him close to her skirts.’ A bitterness had entered Hafiz’s voice. ‘She wouldn’t let him play in the street with other kids. Always afraid he would have an accident. Too soft on him. In the end you’re not helping them.’

  Makana lit a cigarette and inhaled. ‘I asked you if Mourad was involved with a girl.’

  ‘I remember, but like I said, he never talked about anyone.’

  ‘How about a girl from South Sudan? Did he ever mention someone called Estrella?’

  ‘Not that I can recall.’ Hafiz looked worried. ‘Why would he do something like that and not tell us?’

  ‘Perhaps he was worried what you would think.’

  ‘It makes no sense. South Sudan, you say? Impossible. Where would he meet such a girl?’

  ‘He was working in a fast-food restaurant.’


  ‘A what?’ Hafiz’s face seemed to age in an instant, eyebrows drooping to both sides.

  ‘A hamburger place. Fried chicken, that kind of thing. Popular with youngsters.’

  Hafiz’s face was a picture of bewilderment. ‘But I don’t understand. He’s supposed to be studying. If he has time to work he can help us at the restaurant.’

  ‘Maybe this was something he needed to do for himself. Would your wife have known?’

  ‘My wife? You mean, without telling me?’ The look of incomprehension was complete. He saw conspiracies on all sides.

  ‘It’s possible his interest in the girl was political.’

  ‘Political, how?’

  ‘He may have been trying to help her.’

  ‘Help her how?’ Hafiz was growing more desperate with every word.

  ‘That’s what I’m not sure about.’

  The bell rang downstairs. Aziza moved so quickly that she was already at the top of the gangway before the bell chimes had faded away.

  ‘Excuse me, ya basha.’ She held up the sheets faxed over by Shaddad and gave a small bow. Hossam Hafiz made to leave. ‘I won’t take up more of your time. I can see you are a busy man. Is there anything you can give me, anything to give my wife hope?’

  ‘Soon, I hope. Believe me, when I have some firm news you’ll be the first to know.’

  When he had gone, Aziza said, ‘I’m not sure I like that man.’

  ‘He’s a client. We don’t have to like him. And besides, there are few enough of them about as it is.’

  ‘Okay, what is this?’ She held out a sheaf of papers.

  ‘A list of drivers working for Shaddad. They deliver instruments and medical supplies.’ He threw himself down into the big chair and read through the names. Mustafa Alwan was third on the list.

  ‘Now that’s a business where they have a licence to print money,’ said Aziza. Makana grunted and she went on, ‘When was the last time you bought some aspirin? It’s all so expensive. The thing about pharmacies is that people are always ill.’

  ‘I can’t argue with that.’

  ‘Is this connected to that man’s son?’

  ‘No, this is something else.’

  ‘The severed head?’ she asked excitedly. She seemed to take some proprietorial pride in the object.

  ‘A body was found in a van.’

  Aziza whistled. ‘No wonder he’s in tears.’

  Makana looked up but she had already disappeared down to the lower deck. The list of drivers was more extensive than he had expected, which suggested that not all of them worked full-time. This was borne out by the first ten calls he made; three confirmed that a number of the names on the list had not had anything to do with Shaddad Pharmacies for many years. Two others said they had found something better. The turnover of drivers working for Shaddad seemed high. Perhaps that was normal. Disconnected numbers indicated telephones that no longer existed. In the age of the free market people changed telephone companies and numbers as often as they did their shirts. He called Okasha back, and this time it rang. It took a while for him to answer, and when he did pick up the phone he was curt.

  ‘Is this a bad time?’ In the background Makana could hear voices.

  ‘We’re eating,’ said Okasha.

  ‘I can call later.’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. My wife’s family are here. Wait, let me go into the next room.’ Makana heard more voices and the sound of a hand being placed over the phone. Then a door slammed, bringing silence. Okasha kept his voice low.

  ‘Thank God you called. These people are driving me crazy. My wife’s mother and her brother, along with his wife and their four children. It’s unbearable. All they talk about is eating and their poor dying relatives. I find myself praying for someone to be murdered.’

  ‘I’m sorry to tear you away from all of that.’

  ‘No, believe me, every moment I’m out of their reach is a blessing.’

  ‘I’m looking at a list of Shaddad’s drivers.’

  ‘Why don’t I have that?’

  ‘Maybe he thought you had more important things to do with your time.’

  ‘Don’t start, or I’m going back to the madhouse in the next room.’

  ‘I think Mustafa Alwan was running some kind of operation of his own.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’

  ‘From this list I can see that drivers come and go, but he has stayed on. My feeling is that Shaddad is not generous when it comes to paying his drivers. Those who stay on do so for a reason. And Alwan’s home seems to be very well furnished.’

  Okasha sounded sceptical. ‘Maybe he has a wealthy uncle.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Makana remembered the look in the boy’s eyes. ‘Also, he has a son.’

  ‘There’s no crime against that, so far as I know.’

  ‘The son has some kind of health problem. He doesn’t look well.’

  ‘And all of this adds up to what?’

  ‘I’m not sure, but Alwan is running some scheme, and the old man there, Abu Gomaa, I think he’s in on it too.’

  ‘Maybe that explains Shaddad’s behaviour,’ Okasha said. ‘I got a call from someone high up. It doesn’t matter who. It seems that our friend Shaddad is unhappy with our investigation. He thinks that we’re trying to implicate him in something. Time wasting. Incompetence. All of these words were mentioned.’

  ‘I don’t think Shaddad is aware of what’s going on. He’s not the quickest boy in the class. He inherited the business and he’s had some luck, but all manner of things could be going on right under his nose and he wouldn’t have a clue.’

  ‘The point is that it’s only a matter of time before I am officially told to drop this case.’ Okasha sounded bitter. ‘If there’s one thing I really resent, it’s when people start telling me how to do my job. So I’ve decided to order a full forensic examination of Shaddad’s basement. See how he likes that.’

  ‘That might shake things up a bit.’ Makana took a moment to light a cigarette. ‘Has it occurred to you that maybe you’re taking this a bit too personally?’

  ‘I don’t like to be told my job. They can pull me off the case as a favour to their friend, but at least let me do things as I see fit. Otherwise, what’s the point?’

  ‘Your pride is wounded.’

  ‘Call it what you will. Our pathologist is on board and will bring a team of her students. We’ll make it into a little outing and Mr Shaddad will realise that going over my head is not the way things work.’

  ‘Sounds like you’ll have a lot of fun.’

  ‘That might well be, but don’t think you’re getting out of this. I think you should be there too.’

  ‘You’re forgetting something. I don’t work for you, remember?’

  ‘If you worked for me I wouldn’t even bother explaining why you need to be there.’

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Makana’s mind was not on Shaddad’s basement next morning. He was thinking about Mourad and where he might be. Hafiz’s visit the previous evening had been a reminder of the emotional cost of his absence. That basement was something of a distraction, which perhaps explained why Makana found himself in a pensive mood as Sindbad drove up the dual carriageway of the Dowal al-Arabiya. Everything seemed to be conspiring to direct him away from the search for Mourad. Deep down inside him was the feeling it was not going to end well for the Hafiz family. The image of Mourad’s friend Ihab cheerfully upturning tables as he skipped away from the riverside café returned to him. Makana was convinced that Ihab knew more than he’d let on. He was protecting Mourad and it was very possible that he knew where his friend was. What really intrigued Makana was what they were all up to. What was this revolution they were all so taken with? What form did their rebellion take? Whatever it was he doubted the answers would be found by a forensic sweep of Shaddad’s basement.

  They had reached the roundabout by the Mustafa Mahmoud mosque and the commotion on the other side of the street wrenched Makana from h
is thoughts.

  ‘Go around again,’ he told Sindbad.

  The refugee camp had grown in a matter of days. The police presence had swelled in reply. At the far end of the square a line of police trucks reached out nose to tail. Among them featured a number of high-sided blue prison vans. Bored-looking conscripts holding long batons and riot shields stood around like actors waiting for their cue. Makana spotted a group of officers in the black uniforms of the Central Security Forces. One of them he recognised. Then Sindbad swung the wheel and the Datsun lurched alarmingly before shooting off into Syria Street at a sharp angle.

  ‘I have something for you to do after you drop me off,’ said Makana.

  ‘At your service.’

  There were times when Sindbad sounded like a military cadet trying to impress. Still, Makana knew he couldn’t complain. He would never find anyone else even half as devoted as Sindbad. Makana explained about Mourad’s friend Ihab.

  ‘I need you to be discreet. Don’t let him see you, but follow him, find out where he goes.’

  ‘Follow him?’ Sindbad’s chest swelled with responsibility. ‘No problem, ya basha.’

  The thing about Sindbad was that he required precise directions for everything you asked him to do. Allowing him to improvise was inviting trouble.

  ‘I want you to find out where he goes, who he’s with, what he does. As much as you can. You have the pen and notebook I gave you?’ Sindbad tapped the dashboard. The two items were tucked safely under the strip of acrylic zebra-skin that ran along the top. ‘Good. Note down any details. Addresses. Anything that might be important.’

  ‘Hadir, ya basha.’

  Doctora Siham had her team lined up in the street outside Shaddad Pharmacies. There were a dozen or so of them, all looking excited at this outing, all clad in light blue nylon jumpsuits with hoods and gloves. A collection of amused bystanders looked on. The funniest thing they had seen in years. Doctora Siham – Jehan, as he was starting to think of her – acknowledged Makana with barely a glance as she led her team down the ramp into the car park.