“I told him about you and why you’re here,” Halil explained.
The sheikh said something.
“He told the police everything they needed to know,” Halil translated.
“We read his statement. It would help if he tells us more about Knut. What kind of man was he? What were his intentions? Who were his friends?” said Irina.
Halil translated sheikh Mussa’s answer. “He was a sincere, wise man. He was open to receiving knowledge. The sheikh valued him highly because of his personal qualities and took pleasure in meeting him. The death of Knut hurt him a lot. Knut didn’t have friendships here in the ordinary sense.”
“He didn’t have friends because he kept himself to himself?” Irina asked.
“Because he didn’t care about things most people consider valuable.”
“Maybe he had a disagreement with somebody. Was he worried about something?”
“No. The sheikh has told the police all that already.”
“Maybe sheikh Mussa can remember something odd about Knut Vebber’s behaviour, something which a true Muslim wouldn’t approve of?” James asked.
“No. He says that Knut discussed with him the possibility of becoming a Rahmania murid …” Halil struggled to find the right word in English. “Er … an apprentice.”
“He wanted to join the Rahmania Sufi Order as a novice. The sheikh’s school belongs to that Order,” James explained in response to Irina’s questioning look. “Rahmania is the most widespread Sufi Order in Algeria. It was founded around 1770 by Mohamed Ibn-al-Rahmani from whom its name is derived.”
The sheikh stared at James for a while and then exchanged a few sentences with Halil.
“Sheikh Mussa says that you know a lot of the prophet’s message,” said Halil.
“The sheikh estimates my humble knowledge of that vast matter too highly,” James responded. “I’d like to talk about Knut’s intention to join the Order. He would have needed to be converted to Islam before that could happen.”
“He had considered making that step and didn’t hide his intention.”
“So the motive for his murder was not fate,” Irina noted.
“Nobody who had known him here would have had grounds to kill him. People liked Knut. Baraka – the spark of God’s grace – was shining within him.” Halil raised his eyebrows in astonishment at the sheik’s next words. “The sheikh says that Baraka shines in you, too, Mister Whiteway.”
“I’m flattered. It’s my understanding that we’re all children of God and carry a spark of Him.”
The sheikh turned to Halil and spoke quickly.
“Sheikh Mussa has duties. It’s time for us to go. He asks if you want to see Knut’s notebook. The police checked it but didn’t show further interest.”
“Of course,” said Irina.
“You must come tomorrow at the same time. The notebook is not with him now.”
“We’ll be here. Thank him, please,” said James.
* * *
Halil left Irina and James at a French restaurant not far from the hotel. Irina asked him if he could be available again later that afternoon. She wanted to discuss with James alone the information they had gained so far and a plan for future action. They sat at a table near a window with a view of the sea and the port.
“Knut Vebber could have been killed by Islamic xenophobes who accidentally came across him,” Irina began.
“Or by cult members,” James added.
“Yup. The first hypothesis seems the less likely one.”
“The police report says that Knut spoke Arabic very well. He didn’t look like a typical German – he had black curly hair and dark eyes. He could very well pass as a local on the street. Hence, it’s unlikely he would have been picked up by chance,” James reasoned.
“The second hypothesis makes most sense if the killers were local cult members. They would officially be Muslims but would in reality hate Islam. They may have chosen Knut Vebber with opposite motives to what we thought. Although, indirectly, what sheikh Mussa said about Knut Vebber’s personality supports that.”
“I think both murders – Vebber’s and Costov’s – are quite tangled. Also, in both cases the perpetrators covered their traces very well.”
“Let’s say that both were done by the same organization. The similarity in style is logical.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t believe we’d obtain any serious evidence against the cult here. We’re dealing with a cold case in a foreign country where our hands are bound.”
“We’ll crack the Costov case. That’ll lead us to the cult. However, I’ve a feeling we’ll get something here, too.”
“We’ve already done well linking the two cases.”
“More than well. It gives me access to more Interpol resources—” Irina stopped because James’ mobile phone started ringing.
“Sorry,” he said.
His face paled as he listened to the voice on the other end. “I’ll take the first flight … I’ll be home tonight. Don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll have called by then.” He was trying to sound confident. He ended the call and turned to Irina. “My fiancée has disappeared,” he said with a hollow voice and stood up. “I’m going home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Surrey and Hampshire, UK
From early morning until afternoon, James and Lao hung Elizabeth’s picture with a caption reading ‘Missing person – please help!’ in as many places round the Whiteway Estate as they could. The night before, James had called all of her acquaintances. He and Lao had driven along all the possible routes she could have used between Haslemere and their home. They had checked side roads, roadside parking areas and ditches alongside the roads. They had walked in torchlight in the forest and had checked every parked car. Malee, who had come from London immediately after Elizabeth’s disappearance, had stayed near the phone. She and James had periodically contacted the police, who were also looking for Elizabeth. So far, they had found nothing.
Driving slowly through Haslemere’s streets, James peered at the people and at the passing cars. He hadn’t slept a wink since he had returned from Algeria, but he didn’t feel tired. He was trying to ignore any bad thoughts as they appeared. He wanted to believe that Elizabeth had been kidnapped. Yet he found it increasingly difficult to continue to ignore other possible outcomes. He knew that every minute that passed worked against the assumption that she had been abducted for a ransom.
In the next half hour, first Lao – who had already gone back to the estate – then Malee called, asking him to come back home. James decided to listen to them. It made sense to stop for a while for a rest and rethink the situation.
* * *
He headed straight for his study, rejecting Pema’s call for him to have some lunch on the way. The last thing he could think about was eating. In the study, he picked up the phone and called detective Stockton, who was in charge of the investigation. There was nothing new. James got one more dose of assurance that the police were working intensively. The second conversation he had was with Elizabeth’s parents.
He had just hung up when Pema and Malee entered the study. Pema was carrying a bottle of mineral water.
“I worry about you. No food. When did you drink water last?” Pema filled a glass and handed it to James. He automatically gulped it, realizing how thirsty he was. “I left a meal for you on the kitchen table. Eat it,” Pema added.
“Mama, would you leave us alone, please,” Malee asked. She waited until her mother had gone and closed the door. She then stepped towards James, her eyes lowered. She fidgeted her hands as if she didn’t know where to put them.
“What is it, Malee?” James asked. He recognized her typical gesture of embarrassment, but couldn’t understand what was making her feel like that.
“I don’t know how to tell you, James.” She started to interweave her fingers. “I’m afraid.”
For an instant, James started. He thought she knew something about Elizabeth. “Whatever it is, y
ou can tell me. You know that. Please, take a seat.” He sat and offered her the chair next to him. “Tell me.”
Malee sighed deeply as she sat down. “Some days ago I had a premonition about her, but didn’t tell her.”
“You saw a threat to her in the future? Is that it?”
“Yes. It was unclear, dubious. I was afraid to go further into it, but maybe I should have. Maybe I would have seen something more concrete. I …” Malee suddenly tailed off and started crying.
James gave her a hug. “No need to torture yourself like that. You’re not responsible for … this.”
“I told her to be careful but didn’t explain why. If I’d told her about that bad sign she would have taken it seriously.” Malee was sobbing.
“Calm down, Malee. You’re a good friend of hers. You did what a friend would do,” James said softly.
“I hope she’s well wherever she might be,” Malee whispered.
“She knows we’re looking for her. Try to remember something that could give us a lead. Even the smallest thing. Something unusual she may have said to you. We need to be focused on that,” James said.
“I’m thinking constantly, but nothing comes up. There are many police officers and friends looking for her. I pray somebody finds her.”
“I’ll talk with your parents again. Maybe they can remember something. Lao and I must map more routes and check them.”
Both stood up and walked towards the kitchen, where Lao and Pema were waiting. The doorbell rang, echoing loudly in the silent house.
“I’ll see who it is,” said James.
Malee watched him walk to the door and open it. Her face went pale when she saw detective Stockton and a female police constable standing on the doorstep. The detective spoke to James in a low voice. James listened in silence, interrupting him just once with a short question. When they had left, James slowly and carefully closed the door and turned around. The question Malee wanted to ask him stuck in her throat. She already knew the answer. The worst had happened.
“They’ve found a woman answering Elizabeth’s description in the forest. Several miles away. Dead.” James spoke lifelessly.
Malee let out a moan and leaned against the wall. “Oh no! Maybe it’s not her.”
“Her car was found nearby. There’s no hope,” James added in a low voice.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Eastbourne, UK
Elizabeth’s mother wept bitterly when James embraced her to say goodbye. The touch of her cool wet cheek created a powerful imprint on James’ memory. Before walking through the door, he turned back and saw her looking at him. Her eyes – which were very much like Elizabeth’s – were dimmed by grief. He felt she wanted something from him; something which neither he nor anyone in the world could give her.
Elizabeth’s father and brother walked with him to his car. They bade each other farewell, which now carried a different, deeper and more intimate meaning.
Before leaving, James looked for some time at the house where Elizabeth had grown up. Through the wide windows, he could see the figures of her relatives and friends in dark clothes gathered there in her memory. He felt the anguish pushing unbearably inside his chest as if it would explode, and drove away.
He wanted to cry but he couldn’t. He had not shed a tear since he had been told of her death. His eyes burned painfully in sorrow and lack of sleep, yet they stayed dry. This was not usual for him. He was not the ‘iron macho’ type nor had he ever tried to pass as such. He had sometimes even been moved to tears by sentimental and romantic films. Elizabeth had always become emotional when she ‘caught’ him in such moments, and those situations had normally evolved into lovemaking. James instinctively knew what was behind his state of mind. Within him, side by side with the sorrow, a dark mass was lurking and that was what had dried his tears. This mass consisted of deep, heavy anger; desire to seek vengeance for the murder of Elizabeth and their unborn daughter and other negative emotions, which he was feeling for the first time in his life.
He had undergone another change during the last few days. He had started seeing visions. Sometimes they came during the day when he was plunged deep into his thoughts. Sometimes they came just as he was about to fall asleep or right after waking up. He was fully conscious during the visions. He saw them like transparent holograms overlapping reality. They lasted only seconds. Most were related to Elizabeth: her corpse on a morgue table with evidence of cruel blows to her head, scenes of her being kidnapped and killed. Forensics had determined the cause of death as a ‘blow to the occipital area with a blunt metal object’. In one of the visions, he saw her receiving a blow of something like a hammer thrown by an invisible hand. He had also had visions of an alien place – rocky scenery submerged in semi-darkness. In the twilight floated strange, hardly discernible serpent-like forms.
Absorbed by the pain in his soul, James drove mechanically through the streets of Eastbourne. He passed the Royal Hippodrome Theatre on the way to the A27. The early afternoon traffic was unusually slow. There were road works at the crossroads ahead and the traffic lights didn’t stay green long enough to prevent a traffic jam. James estimated that he would get through the third time the lights turned green. He lowered the window and breathed in the fresh air which was loaded with a sea tang. He looked at the neighbouring row of cars passing in the same direction, which were for some reason moving more quickly. He saw a gold-coloured Peugeot, also with the windows down. He recognized the faces of the two men sitting in it. He had seen them that morning at the cemetery after Elizabeth’s funeral. He thought it strange to see them again here.
His mobile, fixed to the dashboard in front of him, rang. It was Irina. She expressed her condolences. She had come back from Algeria and wanted to talk to him and to give him something. She said she was flying to her country in a few days. “Sorry for bothering you. I’d understand if you don’t want to meet me right now. I could leave the package for you in your office in Brighton.”
“I’ll meet you, of course,” James responded without hesitation. There were very few people he wanted to speak to these days. Surprisingly, this Bulgarian lady-cop he hardly knew was one of them.
“I’m available. Any time,” said Irina.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Whiteway Estate, Hampshire, UK
Rays of the spring sun penetrated the opened blinds of the reception room. James was sitting in an armchair staring aimlessly at the window. He had been doing this for some time and multi-coloured spots were dancing in the air in front of him. On the table next to him was a glass of whisky from which he had sipped once and then forgotten. The house was quiet. Malee had gone to London after the funeral, and her father, Lao, had gone with her.
James heard Pema’s soft footsteps. She appeared at the door and said in a weak voice, “The policemen are here. Shall I invite them in?” James looked at her, unable at first to understand what she was talking about. “The police officer who called before – detective Stockton. He’s here with another gentleman,” Pema explained.
Only now did James remember. About an hour ago, Pema had told him that a police officer wanted to visit him. “Let them in,” he said.
Superintendent Peter Oliver was the other visitor. Pema served tea for the guests and left them alone.
“We’re advancing with the investigation. Now we’re clarifying key facts. This will soon bring results—” Stockton began.
“Do you have any concrete leads? Who did it and why?” James uttered the last sentence in a low voice.
“I still can’t go into detail,” Stockton responded. “Apologies for our intrusion at such a painful time, but there are a few pressing questions I need to ask you.”
“Anything I can help with,” said James.
“Would you define how close you and your fiancée were? I don’t mean intimacy; rather, the level of trust between you.”
“We didn’t have secrets,” James answered.
“Are you sure? No secrets? You had k
nown each other for only two years.” Stockton stared at him without blinking.
James cast him a sharp look. “We’ll save time and energy if I only answer once per question,” he said irritably.
“I’d like to have precise answers,” Stockton insisted.
Superintendent Oliver jumped in. “Let’s not get excited.”
“Elizabeth was completely open with those she was close to,” said James.
“Was there any case when she demonstrated … let’s say unsound interest regarding your work for the security services?” Stockton asked.
James felt a wave of irritation rising within him. What was the detective trying to insinuate? He did not hide his feelings. “No. I don’t understand why the hell you asked me that question.”
The detective did not look piqued by this outburst. “Was your fiancée religious?” he asked.
“She belonged to the Anglican Church.”
“Does the name Allina Muratova ring any bells?”
“First time I’ve heard the name.”
“Allina Muratova is a Chechen refugee with British citizenship. She works as a social worker, helping newly arrived immigrants to adapt here. She also collects and sends aid to countries with problems. Allina Muratova was a student of Miss Elizabeth Eden seven months ago in Haslemere. She called Miss Eden after she finished the course. Does anything from that sound familiar?”
“This woman wasn’t Elizabeth’s friend. Elizabeth knew many people like her through those courses. I still don’t get the point,” said James.
The superintendent intervened. “Allina Muratova is on the International Watch List. People on this list are watched for connections with international terrorist organizations. They’re a potentially risky contingent.”
“Not risky enough if she’s not been arrested,” James opposed. “Anyhow, Elizabeth had nothing to do with that.”
“We just handle the facts while looking for answers,” said Stockton.
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