Dogstar Rising

Chapter Seventeen




‘What do I do with you?’

Okasha sat in the back of the car, hidden from the view of the pedestrians outside by curtains along the windows.

‘Since when did you begin to travel like a minister?’

‘These are dangerous times. I need to take precautions. And don’t change the subject. We were talking about you.’

‘Forgive me, I don’t find the subject particularly interesting.’

‘Why are you here, Makana? What is your involvement with this case and how did you manage to arrive before the investigating team?’

‘I just happened to be nearby.’

‘Coincidence? You’re asking me to believe in coincidence?’ Okasha barked at the man behind the wheel who started off like a racing driver who has just seen the flag go up.

‘Where are we going?’ Makana asked.

‘Nowhere, but it’s easier to talk like this, on the move. Less chance of being disturbed.’

‘I thought you weren’t interested in these murders?’

‘I had a phone call this afternoon.’

‘Who from?’

‘Who is not your concern. All you need to know is that someone high up in the order Allah imposed on this world wants me to oversee what is happening here, and what is the first thing I find?’

The driver was weaving the car through the traffic as if he had a death wish. Makana clutched the armrest on the door which naturally came away in his hand. Okasha didn’t seem to notice. There was a distracted air about him.

‘Does he have to drive this fast?’

Okasha ignored the question. ‘This is not coincidence? I’ll tell you what it is, it’s a bad sign, you showing up like this. First the shooting of that woman and now this.’

‘Are you being transferred to this from Meera’s case?’

‘Meera’s case is still in the hands of the so-called Counter-terrorist Unit. We have to wait for Sharqi to get bored before he hands it over.’

‘In the meantime, you are on these child murders? Are you supposed to solve them or keep things quiet?’

‘You’re walking a fine line, Makana. We have serious problems in this neighbourhood. A lot of tensions.’

‘Which are being increased by people like Sheikh Waheed and his men.’

‘You have no interest in Sheikh Waheed, and I tell you this as a friend. He is not someone you want to trouble.’

‘Are you saying he is not trying to stir up bad feelings towards the Christians?’

‘What is this? Conspiracy theory?’ Okasha circled his hand in the air. ‘Is that what you want to hear? Someone is trying to create chaos inside the country to take our minds off the political problems? You have been spending too much time with your dissident friends.’

The car lurched sideways across three lanes of traffic to come to halt with a screech centimetres from a lorry loaded with sacks of cement that was creeping along at a snail’s pace. Okasha was jerked forward in his seat and then back again.

‘Do you have to drive like a madman!? Can you not drive like a decent human being?’

‘A thousand apologies, ya basha.’

‘Where do they find these people? I have no idea.’ Okasha straightened his tunic. ‘I am advising you not to get involved in this case.’

‘Advising me or warning me?’

‘Listen to me, put your conspiracies aside. In this case it is pure common sense. We need to avoid a conflict.’

‘What about Meera?’

‘I told you. We have to be patient. When Sharqi and his men get tired of running around they will throw it back to me in the hope that I will fail. In the meantime’ – Okasha could not suppress a smile – ‘the motorcycle has been found.’ From a pouch, Okasha produced a thin folder which he opened to read: ‘Suzuki 350cc. Expensive machine. About ten years old. Off-roader model with reinforced frame. Somebody pushed it into a ditch. The plates are missing, and somebody was clever enough to file the serial number off the engine, only they didn’t do a very good job of it.’ Okasha beamed at Makana. ‘Always rely on the criminal mind to make mistakes. So we have a partial number and considering the rarity of the model we may have a chance of tracking it down.’

‘And you’re not thinking of sharing this information with Lieutenant Sharqi?’

‘He has informants everywhere, so I don’t doubt he will find out sooner or later. Probably later than sooner though, wouldn’t you think?’

‘And you don’t think it was political?’

‘A Christian woman married to a prominent intellectual and all-round controversial figure? Very possible. You can say what you like in this country, most people have heard it before, but this is not Europe where they are free to burn holy books and crucifixes as they please. Start insulting the Quran and you are touching people in a very private place.’

‘So his wife deserves to be shot?’

‘I didn’t say that. Consider the possibility that she had a lover.’ Okasha’s thick fingers dug into the upholstery as they swerved yet again. The interior of the car was olive green, probably passed on from the army who were never short of funds or equipment thanks to the Americans.

‘You’re not saying the husband carried this out? Then what, a jilted lover?’

‘The criminal mind is a twisted thing, Makana. You ought to know that.’

‘What about the weapon?’

‘Ah, now that is interesting. We have shell casings. Nine millimetre.’ Okasha looked thoughtful for a moment. ‘Sharqi’s men didn’t get all of them. It seems one of them fell into the pocket of a uniformed officer.’

Makana tried lighting a cigarette just as they went over a deep rut. It snapped in two, leaving the filter between his lips and the rest in his fingers. Tight-lipped, the driver said nothing. He clung to the wheel like a jockey with a runaway camel beneath him.

‘Now, listen to me. Sharqi will come to you and ask you to help him.’

Makana tossed the filter out of the window and lit the raggedy end of the cigarette. Flakes of burning tobacco launched themselves into the air.

‘Why would he need my help?’

‘He’s being groomed by Colonel Serrag of State Security Investigations. They are forming a new elite unit. High profile, playing to the crowd. Slow down before you kill us!’ Okasha snapped, brushing embers from his trousers as they were tossed ungainly up and down by yet another bump. The driver remained silent but he did manage to slow to a semi-normal pace. ‘Whatever he tells you, be careful. I can’t help you against someone like Sharqi, and he only cares about getting ahead, up where the air is sweet. So, whatever he promises you, don’t trust him.’

‘What if I give you something Sharqi would kill to know?’

‘Something like what?’ Okasha frowned.

‘The dead boy back there was older than most of the others. About fourteen. And he had a hole cut in his leg by a sharp object.’

‘He cut himself shaving.’

Makana ignored Okasha’s attempt at humour. ‘I think that wound was made by a sliver of window glass that he picked up when I fell over him.’

‘Which means . . . ?’

‘Which means I think he’s the one who shot Meera.’