The Last Cut Page 10

  He had been trying to retrace her footsteps that night, without, so far, much success. Even as they were talking, however, one of his men came over and said that he had found a woman who claimed to remember seeing her on the night she disappeared.

  ‘It stuck in my mind,’ she said, ‘because it was so unusual. And then what with her disappearing—I couldn’t help wondering.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘Well, she was talking to someone. A man. Well, she hardly ever talked to anyone, never mind a man! I was that surprised!’

  ‘Did you see who it was?’

  ‘Well, no. It was getting dark, you see, and I just caught a glimpse of them, just as they turned the corner. And I thought: “That’s never Leila!” But I think it was, you know, she’s such a slight little thing, and she wasn’t walking too well, you know, not after—’

  She wasn’t able to add much more.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell someone else?’ demanded Mahmoud sternly.

  ‘I did tell someone!’ protested the woman. ‘I told my husband. But he said: “You stay out of this!” So what could I do?’

  ***

  ‘I’ll check the husband later,’ said Mahmoud, pleased, as he and Owen walked back together, ‘but I think we’ll find she’s speaking the truth.’

  Owen nodded.

  ‘It makes a difference. Up till now I’ve been thinking that the chances were that this was, well, you know, the usual kind of attack. But now—’

  ‘It looks as if she knew him,’ said Owen.

  ‘Exactly!’ Mahmoud looked at his watch. ‘In which case,’ he said, ‘it makes my next meeting even more interesting.’

  ***

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the boy, ‘I was down there quite a lot.’

  ‘I thought you said you weren’t seeing her,’ said Mahmoud accusingly.

  ‘I wasn’t. It’s my job.’

  ‘You work down there?’

  ‘Sometimes. I’m an inspector with the Water Board. We’ve got some pipes out that way. I was looking for leaks. Still am, for that matter.’

  ‘In the Gamaliya.’

  ‘We’re not out that far yet. In the Quartier Rosetti.’

  ‘Was that how you came to see her in the first place?’

  ‘Yes. And why I was able to go on seeing her. I work on my own and have a lot of freedom. I put the hours in,’ he said anxiously, ‘but I can take time off during the day if I want to.’

  ‘So you were able to meet her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘More or less when you wanted?’

  ‘At lunch, mostly. When she was on her way to her father to take him lunch. Or on the way back. Not at other times. She was very strict.’

  ‘Did you ever see her in the evening?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Or at the end of the afternoon? Just, say, when it was getting dark?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘But you were in the area?’

  ‘Not, really, after dark. I need to be able to see. We’ve been looking for holes in the pipes. There’s been quite a water loss.’

  ‘I’d like to ask you about one specific date: the 27th of June.’

  Suleiman took out a diary.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I was over there that day.’

  ‘Evening?’

  ‘All I’ve got down is that I had to be over there that day. I wouldn’t have thought so.’

  ‘Did you see Leila?’

  ‘No. It was after she’d said—well, that we couldn’t see each other any more. In fact—‘he looked at his diary again, ‘that must have been about the time that—’

  ‘Yes.’

  He put the diary away.

  ‘I didn’t know they were going to do that to her. It happened after—after we’d said goodbye. I didn’t know till later.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘I asked someone. When I hadn’t seen her for some time, I thought she might be already married.’

  ‘I thought you said that you didn’t see her?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have spoken to her. I just wanted to see her. And then when I didn’t see her, I—I became desperate. There was an old woman, the wife of another carrier, who I knew quite liked her, so—so I asked her.’

  ‘What did you ask her?’

  ‘Where Leila was. I hadn’t seen her. And then she told me. She said that women usually had it done when they were younger—that Leila had really been too old—and that it had gone wrong. I can’t understand it,’ said the boy, ‘that they should do these things!’

  ‘Did she tell you where Leila was?’

  ‘Back with her father. I wanted to go and see her. I wanted to go and see him, and tell him—But she said no, no, I mustn’t, it would make it worse for Leila, that it was all over and done with now and that there was nothing I could do. I mustn’t see her, she said. So, well, I didn’t. But I hated him for it. For all he had done to Leila, for marrying her to Omar Fayoum, and then—then this!

  He looked at them passionately.

  ‘These old people,’ he said, ‘the terrible things they do! They are what is wrong with Egypt. They are killing Egypt. Just as they killed Leila.’

  ‘Killed her?’

  ‘It wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t insisted. She was too old for it. And it was wrong anyway. I have spoken to Labiba Latifa and she says it is wrong even for young girls. It is backward, these old people are backward, backward!’

  ‘You hate them,’ said Mahmoud. ‘Did you hate her?’

  Suleiman stared at him.

  ‘Hate who?’

  ‘Leila.’

  ‘How could you think that?’ cried Suleiman. ‘Leila was all that is good. It is these old people that I hate, her father—’

  ‘She did what her father wished. She would not come with you. She ordered you away. Did that not make you hate her?’

  ‘No, no! Never! I could never hate Leila! She—’

  He threw his head down on his arms and burst into tears.

  Mahmoud watched him impassively.

  Suddenly the boy started up.

  ‘Why do you ask me these things? Why do you say these things?’

  ‘Because the old people did not kill Leila. Someone else did.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Suleiman whispered. ‘Someone else did?’

  ‘She did not die because of the circumcision. She died because someone put a cord round her neck.’

  ‘No,’ whispered Suleiman, ‘no!’

  The blood drained from his face.

  ‘They throttled her and buried her in the Canal.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘On the evening of June the 27th!’

  ‘No,’ said Suleiman, ‘no!’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘What is this?’ said Labiba Latifa.

  ‘The girl was throttled,’ said Owen.

  ‘And Suleiman is suspected?’

  ‘I wouldn’t go so far as to say that. Mahmoud will be looking at date, time, place and motive, and will be checking a number of people against these. Suleiman is one of them.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Motive, primarily.’

  ‘But surely in Suleiman’s case that points the other way? What possible motive could Suleiman have for killing the girl he loved?’

  ‘Love is complex. He might have felt jealous.’

  ‘Of Omar Fayoum?’

  ‘Yes. Or angry.’

  ‘He certainly felt angry. But not at Leila. At about everyone else, I think: her father, Omar Fayoum, the women who had caused her to be circumcised. At everyone old. Suleiman is not a stupid boy, Captain Owen. He could see that it was not Leila’s fault, that it was all part of the pattern that women in this country are subjected to. He was angry at t
he pattern, Captain Owen, not at Leila.’

  ‘No doubt; but Mahmoud has to check all possibilities.’

  ‘Perhaps I can help? You mentioned dates. What dates had Mahmoud in mind?’

  ‘The 27th of June.’

  ‘I will just look in my diary. Time?’

  ‘I cannot say precisely. An hour either side of six o’clock.’

  ‘Then I can help. He was with me.’

  ‘I am sure Mahmoud will be interested to know that.’

  ‘I can be precise,’ said Labiba, who was never anything other than precise, ‘because I remember the occasion well. It was just after Suleiman had first come to me. I wanted him to see that the issue was not just his alone but something wider, so I took him to a meeting of the Assembly.’

  ‘The National Assembly?’

  ‘Yes. I wanted him to meet Hussein Maktar and a few other people. Mohammed Jubbara, Ali Hamad el Sid, Al-Faqih Mas’udi—You know them, perhaps?’

  Owen did. They were all Congressmen. And all Nationalists.

  ‘I would have thought their word counted for something.’

  ‘Your own, I am sure, would be sufficient,’ said Owen politely.

  Labiba laughed drily.

  ‘If I know Mahmoud, none of our words will be sufficient. He will want to check all.’

  ‘As I say, he is merely checking possibilities.’

  ‘But why check this poor boy? He is shattered enough as it is.’

  ‘He has been spending a lot of time in the quarter, Madam Latifa. “Creeping around” is how they put it.’

  ‘Have you never been lovelorn, Captain Owen?’

  ‘Not to that extent.’

  ‘Ah, but you are English, Captain Owen. You do not like to show your feelings as we Egyptians do. But I have persuaded you, I hope, about poor Suleiman?’

  ‘It is not me you have to persuade, Mahmoud is in charge of the case.’

  ‘Ah, yes, but since I had spoken to you previously about Suleiman, I thought—Have you had a chance to have a word with him on that score? I am still worried about him—even more worried now that I know how she died. He will be very angry, I fear. I am afraid he may do something rash.’

  ‘That was not the occasion. I will, however, still try to see him.’

  ‘Please do. He means no harm. Yet he may do some.’

  ‘I will do my best. But the case is Mahmoud’s.’

  ‘Of course. I understand.’ She paused. ‘Have you spoken to Mahmoud lately?’

  ‘I spoke to him yesterday.’

  ‘Did you discuss with him—? You know I am interested in female circumcision.’

  ‘We did not, in fact, discuss that.’

  There was a little silence.

  ‘You see, I felt there was a chance of him taking a line sympathetic to us.’

  ‘I am sure he would not wish to take a line unsympathetic to you.’

  ‘It is just that now that the case has become one of murder—’

  ‘I am afraid that on that Mahmoud will have to speak for himself.’

  ‘Of course. Of course. And you yourself, Captain Owen, you are still taking an interest?’

  ‘In the wider sense, certainly.’

  ***

  Paul had convened another meeting, this time at the Consulate. Owen had assumed it was a continuation of the one on the gravedigger dispute but when he got there he was surprised to see Macrae and Ferguson. Paul was looking grave.

  ‘His Excellency has asked me to convene this meeting,’ he said. ‘It concerns a major complaint from the Khedive. We are to explore the circumstances and then draft a formal reply.’

  There were two Ministers present, junior but Ministers. One of them was the man from the Department of Irrigation whom Owen had already met. The other was unfamiliar to him. He appeared to have something to do with the Khedive’s Office.

  ‘I understand,’ said Paul, ‘that the Khedive wishes the Consul-General to raise this directly with the British Foreign Secretary?’

  ‘That is correct, yes,’ said the man from the Khedive’s Office.

  ‘I would hope it needn’t go so far. Perhaps if our meeting this morning is able to give the Khedive satisfaction—?’

  ‘That would be desirable,’ said the Minister, ‘but it may not be enough. In view of the international implications.’

  ‘International implications?’ said Paul. ‘But—?’

  ‘We view this as inconsistent with Treaty Obligations. Not to mention as constituting a grave insult to His Royal Highness.’

  ‘I cannot tell you how desolate we all are at the Consulate-General,’ said Paul. ‘Nor how shocked and saddened we feel that such an incident should have occurred.’

  ‘Plunder and pillage,’ said the Minister.

  ‘Exactly!’ said Paul.

  ‘Of the Khedive’s own premises!’

  ‘Incredible!’ said Paul, shaking his head. ‘Mamur Zapt?’

  Jesus! thought Owen, frantically racking his memory.

  ‘I understand you were there?’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘Not exactly there,’ put in Ferguson helpfully. ‘Nearby.’

  ‘I was hoping you would be able to tell us what happened.’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘The regulator burst,’ said Macrae. ‘We had to take action.’

  ‘Well, naturally,’ said the man from the Khedive’s Office.

  ‘We had to fill in the breach. So I sent my men out—’

  Light at last began to dawn.

  ‘I cannot say how much I regret—’ began Macrae.

  ‘But the Khedive’s own palace! The Khedive’s own furniture!’

  ‘A dreadful mistake!’ said Paul.

  ‘It was a wee laddie!’ pleaded Macrae.

  ‘New out here!’ put in Ferguson.

  ‘Dew still wet!’ said Macrae.

  ‘Have him beheaded!’ said the Minister.

  ‘Well—’

  Paul was the first to recover.

  ‘Certainly!’ he snapped.

  Ferguson and Macrae gaped.

  ‘At once!’ said the Minister.

  Paul rubbed his chin.

  ‘It would have to go to the Foreign Secretary. British.’

  ‘None of your weak liberal nonsense!’ warned the Minister.

  ‘The last thing I had in mind,’ said Paul.

  Macrae found his voice.

  ‘But, man, ye cannae—’

  ‘Perhaps beheading would be too quick,’ said the Minister thoughtfully. ‘How about garotting?’

  ‘The very thought that was going through my mind!’ cried Paul.

  ‘Jesus, man!’ began Ferguson. ‘Ye—’

  ‘But too easy!’ said Paul.

  ‘There is that,’ acknowledged the Minister.

  ‘It would be over too quickly.’

  ‘Torture?’ suggested the Minister.

  ‘It needs to be lingering,’ said Paul, deep in thought. Suddenly he brightened. ‘I know!’ he said. ‘The glasshouse!’

  ‘Glass House?’ said the Minister, interested. ‘Well, that certainly sounds promising. Fried, you mean?’

  ‘It’s an old military punishment.’

  ‘Ah, well, they would know. Judging from our experience of them.’

  ‘Experts,’ said Paul. ‘Experts. But, look, there’s a problem here. If it goes to the Foreign Secretary he may not agree.’

  ‘Too liberal, you mean?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ said the Minister, ‘on second thoughts, it might be best if it were handled locally.’

  ‘Do you think that would satisfy the Khedive?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said the Minister, ‘I think he would be very satisfied indeed. Glass House
? Lingering? Oh, yes. Very satisfied.’

  Macrae stayed behind after the Minister had left.

  ‘Look, man,’ he said to Paul, ‘I know you mean well, but I don’t trust those Army bastards—’

  ‘Army?’ said Paul. ‘Who’s talking about the Army? I’m thinking of him assisting the Consul-General’s wife in their greenhouse.’

  ***

  Owen could hear the pad-pad of bare feet coming along the corridor. A moment later the constable appeared with Babikr in tow. He pushed him into Owen’s room and then took up position outside the door.

  ‘I shall be standing here, little dove,’ he said to Babikr, ‘and if there’s any trouble, I’ll come in and beat the hell out of you.’

  It was plain, though, that there was going to be no trouble. Babikr, lost and forlorn, stood bewildered in front of Owen.

  Owen asked him how things were.

  ‘Pretty well, Effendi,’ he replied mechanically.

  And, indeed, they were probably not all bad. You got regular meals, you were free from the usual back-breaking work of the fellah, and you could spend the day chatting to the other prisoners.

  Babikr liked a good chat; but so far he had said nothing about his attempt to blow up the Manufiya Regulator. Owen knew that because he had put a spy in the cell with him.

  He had decided to try a different approach.

  ‘Your friends at the barrage are well,’ he said. Babikr nodded acknowledgement. ‘But they do not send you greetings. They will not come and see you. Why is that, Babikr?’

  In fact, the workmen would have come and seen him but Owen had prevented them.

  Babikr flinched slightly.

  ‘I do not know,’ he said.

  ‘It is because they do not understand you. They do not understand how you could have done a thing like this. Were you not one of them? Did you not work together? Had you not stood side by side when the sun was hot and the work hard? They thought they could count on you, Babikr. They thought they knew you.’

  He waited. Babikr shuffled his feet unhappily.

  ‘But they did not know you, Babikr. They could not have known you if all the time you meditated such things. Can this be the Babikr we thought we knew, they ask? And they are bewildered. They cannot understand how this could be. They say, if we only knew why he had done this thing, then, perhaps, we could understand.’