City of Jackals

by Parker Bilal

  ‘She’s not in the sweetest of moods today,’ murmured Okasha as he came over.

  ‘Why, what happened?’

  ‘My fault, I suppose. When we arrived I said to Shaddad that this was really just a training exercise.’ Okasha sniffed. ‘She didn’t like that.’

  ‘Why would you do that?’

  ‘I got cold feet.’ Okasha looked pained. ‘Supposing we go to all this trouble and nothing turns up?’

  ‘She’s a senior forensic officer.’

  ‘Of course you’re right. But it’s easy for you, you don’t have to answer to anyone.’

  ‘And you’re the senior investigating officer. Maybe you don’t need to explain your decisions.’

  ‘I know.’ Okasha swatted the air to dismiss the subject. ‘Anyway, I need to go back in there now and try to make peace with Shaddad. You want to come?’

  ‘You think that’s a good idea?’

  ‘He seems to like you.’ Okasha heaved a sigh. ‘Keeps asking about the other officer. He can’t even remember your name.’

  Out of the corner of his eye Makana caught a glimpse of a dirty yellow Mazda parked at the end of the sidestreet with two men leaning on it. He held Okasha back.

  ‘Do you know who those two are?’

  Okasha glanced over his shoulder. ‘Yes, I’ve seen them before. They’re from Giza section. I’m not sure what they’re doing here. How do you know them?’

  ‘I’ve seen them around.’ Makana wondered what connection there was between their interest in the church and Shaddad, or had they just heard something amusing was going to happen?

  Makana followed Okasha in through the front of the building to the pharmacy. Omar Shaddad was wearing a white lab coat and consulting a sheet of printouts with a similarly dressed woman wearing a headscarf. He looked up and took off his glasses.

  ‘There he is. Now, tell me your name again because I was trying to explain to your colleague.’

  ‘Makana.’

  ‘That’s it. I knew it was something odd. Now look, I don’t know which of you is the senior and I don’t much care, but I think you need to coordinate things a little better.’

  ‘Perhaps I should explain that Mr Makana is here in his capacity as an independent investigator.’

  ‘Independent? You mean he’s not a police officer?’

  Okasha sniffed and shook his head apologetically. ‘He has helped us on a number of occasions, with some quite important cases.’

  ‘Since when has the police force needed to hire investigators from the private sector?’

  ‘Oh, we often consult specialists. Their work can corroborate our findings.’ Okasha tied himself in knots trying to get the words out. He coughed before falling silent. Omar Shaddad turned to Makana.

  ‘And you let me go on believing you were a police officer.’

  ‘A simple misunderstanding, I assure you.’

  ‘Perhaps you can explain what your interest in this matter is?’

  ‘The course of an investigation can be difficult for laymen to understand,’ Okasha weighed ponderously in. Shaddad gave him a wary look.

  ‘I still don’t understand why you have to search my garage.’

  ‘As I tried to explain on the phone, this exercise simply gives us an opportunity to offer trainees experience in conducting a proper forensic sweep. Doctora Siham is a senior forensic officer. She also lectures at the university.’

  ‘I see, and you believe you’ll find something that connects this dead man to my basement?’

  ‘We like to approach these things with an open mind.’

  ‘Do we even know that the people driving the van worked for me?’ Shaddad’s gaze bounced back and forth before settling on Makana. Consultant specialist or not, he seemed to sense he would get more answers from him. ‘Certainly there is no evidence they were carrying out my orders at the time?’

  ‘The driver who went missing is yours – Mustafa Alwan. How well do you know him?’

  ‘Only vaguely. I mean, I know all of them more or less.’ Shaddad released a long sigh. ‘I don’t really know anything about him.’

  ‘Is it possible that Alwan was using your facilities, your vans, to run some private enterprise of his own?’

  Shaddad stared at Makana. ‘What kind of enterprise?’

  ‘I don’t know, you tell me.’

  ‘You mean that he was selling things on the side?’

  ‘Is that possible?’

  ‘No, of course not. We have everything under control.’ Shaddad caught the sceptical look on Okasha’s face. ‘All right, I admit, some of our methods are a little short of perfect, but overall the system works.’

  ‘We’ll take your word for that, shall we?’ said Okasha.

  ‘I’m not sure, Inspector. Perhaps I should call some of my friends in the Ministry of the Interior?’

  ‘I’m sure that won’t be necessary.’ Okasha sniffed and looked at Makana, throwing the ball back as it were.

  ‘Alwan’s wife insists that the dead man they pulled from the van is not her husband. It is very possible that someone else was driving the van. The driver remains unidentified.’

  ‘Then you have nothing to tie our drivers to the van and the body you found?’

  ‘That would be correct,’ admitted Okasha.

  ‘That’s what all this is about, isn’t it? Finding something to connect me to that body.’

  ‘Your van does that,’ Makana pointed out.

  Shaddad was losing patience. ‘Look, Inspector, you need to clean this mess up as soon as possible. I can’t have my business disrupted by people scouring my basement for who knows what.’

  ‘The team is led by Doctora Siham, one of our country’s most eminent scientific investigators.’

  ‘I don’t care,’ blustered Shaddad. ‘I want this over and done with. What are people going to say? Imagine the damage to my reputation, my business.’

  ‘I assure you, we will be out of your way before you know it.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ said Shaddad impatiently. ‘Just make sure you are.’ With that he stamped away.

  From the ramp the basement looked like a bizarre theatrical production. Figures moved back and forth in their disposable blue suits. With their goggles and hoods it couldn’t have been more absurd if they had been playing saxophones, or juggling pineapples. There was an air of festivity to the proceedings. For the students it was a day out, a picnic almost. Conversations went back and forth. Advice was called for and given. Humorous remarks, muffled by the face masks they wore, were also exchanged.

  ‘They’re having a party,’ muttered a rumpled grey-haired police officer on the ramp.

  ‘It’s the only way this could have happened,’ Okasha muttered. ‘A nameless boy like that. Who cares? I’d never have got permission for a proper forensic examination. Shaddad’s too well connected. Where are you going?’

  ‘I’m not much help here,’ Makana said. ‘I think I’ll try and catch up with a couple of the other drivers.’

  As he was about to turn away, Makana heard a shout from below that might have been his name. He saw a shapeless figure in nylon that he realised was Doctora Siham. They made their way down to her side.

  ‘You’ve found something already?’ Okasha asked.

  ‘Put your hands in your pockets.’ She gestured to the small utility room at the far end of the building where the keys were kept. The students lined up to one side, like a welcome committee. The interior of the room was lined with bare walls.

  ‘Shut the door behind you.’

  Hands firmly in his pockets, Makana used his foot to nudge the door closed, so as not to touch anything. He didn’t want to be the one to contaminate the crime scene, especially one under the control of this particular pathologist. With the door closed hardly any light got in. With a click a handheld ultraviolet light came on. Jehan held the lamp high until they could both see it plainly. A handprint on the wall.

  ‘Is that blood?’

  ‘Somebody tried to wash
it off.’ She moved the light to the left. ‘There’s another fainter one here. It’s like they were standing with their hands on the wall.’ The three of them stared at the prints. Makana looked around the small space.

  ‘Somebody was held in here.’

  ‘Maybe more than one person.’ Jehan pointed upward towards a hatch fitted into the wall. ‘Could one have helped another to climb up there? We should find out where it leads.’

  Okasha swore under his breath. He gave orders and a few minutes later a couple of uniformed officers appeared with a ladder. Orders about not touching anything were now duly cast to the wind. The rest stood back as one of them climbed up and disappeared through the hatch. As they waited, Doctora Siham spoke Okasha’s thoughts aloud for him:

  ‘Now you’re going to have to ask for a search warrant.’

  Okasha muttered something, then turned his wrath on the policeman who was above them.

  ‘Are you coming back, or have you decided to live up there?’

  The officer reappeared, his uniform now covered in grey dust and pigeon droppings.

  ‘There’s a vent of some kind. It looks like it opens onto the street.’

  ‘Satisfied?’ Okasha asked Makana, then he spun on his heels and stormed out.

  ‘Does he always blame you?’ said Jehan, tugging her mask down.

  ‘Only when things don’t seem to go his way,’ said Makana. ‘Is there a way of checking if that print matches our dead body?’

  ‘There was no blood, or an open wound of any kind. The blood would have to have come from someone else.’ She looked at Makana and then spoke their thoughts aloud. ‘I can check the DNA against the severed head. See if there’s a match.’

  ‘That might serve as a link between the two cases,’ said Makana.

  ‘Oh, but we already have a link.’

  ‘We do?’

  ‘Sorry, I was going to tell you, but with all this going on . . .’ Jehan nodded at the students eagerly crowding outside the door. ‘The lab tests came back. They show that both victims carried traces of sodium thiopental in them.’

  ‘Sodium thiopental?’

  ‘It’s a quick-acting barbiturate used in operations. Usually it is administered before a general anaesthetic. If injected it will render the patient unconscious in about thirty seconds. It’s probably better known as a truth drug.’

  ‘You found traces in both bodies?’

  ‘It sits in the fatty tissue. I found some stored in the back of the neck.’

  ‘Why would anyone be injected with a tranquilliser if they were going to cut his head off?’

  ‘Maybe they were trying to be gentle. In small doses it would weaken your resolve, lower your inhibitions, but in higher doses it knocks you straight out.’

  Now that there was a link between them, Makana was wondering what else the two victims might have had in common.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Of the drivers Makana had spoken to on the phone there was only one who seemed even remotely interested in talking to him. His name was Abdou and he was to be found, he said, most mornings between ten and eleven, having breakfast on Ahmed Orabi Street. An old-fashioned place named Zouzou’s. To confirm the man’s presence, a Shaddad Pharmacies van was parked outside. The interior was dreary and uninviting – walls the colour of dirty smoke, the air laden with a hint of butane gas from a low heater that hissed away at the centre of the room. Despite this, Zouzou’s clearly had a reputation that carried far and wide, for the place was crowded with what looked like low-grade office workers, public service employees, messengers, clerks, along with taxi drivers, casual workers, doormen and the like, all tucking into heavily laden dishes. A burly man was leaning on the counter adding up numbers with a pencil stub on a sheet of newspaper spotted with oil stains. Makana asked for Abdou and the man raised his voice without looking up.

  ‘Abdou, somebody wants you.’

  A thin man over in the corner called out, ‘Who wants me?’

  ‘We spoke on the phone,’ said Makana. Not the best of introductions. The table was littered with dirty plates and discarded scraps of flat bread. The five men who sat around it regarded Makana with a mixture of curiosity and contempt. The far end of the table was occupied by a large man whose neck appeared to have vanished into the collar of his checkered shirt. He sat with his back against the wall, smoking a sheesha and picking his teeth.

  ‘That was you? Well, here I am, what do you want?’ Abdou kicked the chair next to him. The long-faced, mournful-looking man sitting on it gave a start. ‘Where are your manners? Give the man a seat.’ Grudgingly the man got to his feet and moved away. Makana remained standing.

  ‘It’s about Mustafa Alwan.’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Well, I wanted to talk to him about something.’

  ‘You mean, something like business?’ Abdou’s eyes were red and bloodshot. He seemed to be speaking in a particularly loud voice.

  ‘Sure, you said on the phone you might be able to help me. He’s a friend of yours, I understand.’

  ‘I know him.’ Abdou raised his head from the waterpipe and narrowed his eyes against the smoke. ‘We all know him.’

  ‘So, have you seen him recently?’

  ‘Not for a few days now.’

  ‘Not since the accident,’ someone else added.

  Abdou’s eyes lifted to find Makana above the heads of the others. ‘You heard about the accident?’

  ‘I talked to his wife,’ said Makana.

  ‘Which one?’ somebody else at the table asked, breaking into laughter.

  ‘He has more than one wife?’ Makana recalled the remark Alwan’s wife had made. Had she suspected something of the kind?

  Abdou, the man of the moment, blew a long stream of smoke at the ceiling. ‘Mustafa is a man of the world, if you know what I mean. He has women stashed all over the place.’

  The long-faced man who had given up his chair stood to one side staring at Makana. He had dog-like features and hair oiled back from his forehead. He didn’t join in the laughter and his eyes never left Makana’s face.

  ‘So no one has seen him since the accident?’

  ‘Maybe this isn’t about business,’ mused Abdou. ‘Is this about his wife? I can understand your concern. She’s a pretty one.’ Abdou pondered the matter for a moment. ‘Someone is going to have to take care of her, I suppose, if he doesn’t come back.’

  ‘She has two children,’ one of the others pointed out.

  ‘Sure, but a woman has needs, just like all of us.’ He grinned to a chorus of cackles. ‘I’d say she could easily bear another two, or three for that matter.’

  They all clutched their sides. The only one not laughing was the grim-faced man opposite, who kept up his unwavering stare.

  ‘What did you say your business with Mustafa was?’ he asked.

  ‘I didn’t,’ replied Makana. The man got to his feet and there was a general move to follow him. Makana knew he wasn’t going to get anything more out of them. So it was a surprise to come out and discover the dog-faced man standing by the corner of the building with his shoulders hunched. He had a lean, hungry look to him. Without looking up he waited for Makana to go by.

  ‘Keep moving,’ he muttered. ‘Round the back.’

  A narrow alleyway strewn with jagged oil-can lids and flattened cardboard boxes advertising Snowy Mountain Apples and Varentia oranges led away from the main street. The flare of a match lit the man’s gaunt face as he sucked in his cheeks around a cigarette.

  ‘You’re interested in doing business?’

  ‘I was interested in doing business with Mustafa Alwan.’

  ‘Well, he’s not around right now and he won’t be for some time.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ Makana wondered what he was being offered.

  ‘I’m saying, Mustafa may not be here but business goes on.’

  ‘Okay, so what have you got to offer?’

  ‘Whatever you need. The inventory is exactly
the same. If Mustafa got it for you, so can I.’

  ‘What kind of rates do you offer?’

  ‘Whatever arrangement you had with Mustafa should be fine.’ He grinned, showing a row of yellowed, sharpened teeth. ‘I’m not greedy.’

  ‘How about sodium thiopental?’

  The other man froze. ‘What would you want that for? Most people are after Viagra, Prozac, codeine . . . slimming pills are popular.’

  ‘Mustafa did well out of this. His place was pretty nicely furnished.’

  ‘He was tight about letting people in. Now that he’s not around that shouldn’t be a problem. Look, we can negotiate the prices if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  ‘I’m just a bit nervous with all this going on, after the accident.’

  ‘Sure.’ The man sucked more smoke into his lungs.

  ‘I mean, what were they doing out on that road?’

  ‘Who knows? I mean, Mustafa has his hand in all kinds of things.’

  ‘You mean he was in the van?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So where is he now?’

  ‘Who knows?’ The man shrugged his shoulders. If he knew he wasn’t saying. ‘If he’s smart he’ll wait till this all blows over.’

  ‘It would just reassure me to talk it over with him.’

  This drew a harsh laugh. ‘That’s not going to happen. Like I said, you don’t need him. I can get you whatever you need.’

  ‘I need to think about it.’

  ‘Suit yourself. You know what they found in that van? A dead body. Nobody is going to see Mustafa for a while.’ He looked up and down the road, suddenly unhappy about being here. ‘Look, if you want to reach me, you can call this number, but otherwise don’t come back here in person. That was stupid.’

  ‘Sure. I understand.’ Makana took the slip of paper. ‘Listen, one thing I never understood.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What’s with his son?’

  ‘His son? How should I know?’ The man was backing away now. He didn’t like questions.

  ‘I was just wondering. I mean, I heard he was ill.’