Jenny White - The Abyssinian Proof

“Malik wore that all the time,” Balkis said, stretching out her hand. “A friend gave it to him, an Irish monk. Where did you get it?”

“The pin wasn’t on Malik’s body, so either the killer took it or someone took it from his house. Whoever killed him was after something much bigger and I doubt they would have bothered with a pin. I think someone went to Malik’s house that night after Malik had already taken the pin off and stole it. Was that you, Amida?”

“What would I want with a cheap pin like that?” he grumbled.

Kamil took it back from Balkis. “I found this in the Covered Bazaar. A dealer named Gomidian had it.”

“We’ve done business with him for thirty years,” Balkis said. “He’s always been fair. What was he doing with it? Did he kill Malik?”

Amida looked wary.

“He said he bought the pin from Amida.”

Amida’s eyes shifted rapidly around the room. “If I tell you, what’ll happen to me?” he asked.

“We’ll arrest you for theft.”

“The theft of a pin?” Amida scoffed.

“Not just that. We can start with the reliquary.”

“You can’t prove I took it.”

“You were seen leaving the mosque, and in your house you have the carpet that was stolen along with the reliquary.”

“I borrowed that carpet from the storeroom at the mosque.”

Omar had returned and stood blocking the door. From the look on his face, Kamil knew he had found the tunnel. He caught Kamil’s eye and nodded.

Saba came to stand before her brother. “I know you took the reliquary, Amida,” she said sadly. “How else could you have known it was empty? Uncle Malik told only me about the Proof of God. You overheard us, didn’t you? But you thought he meant the reliquary. You didn’t know there was a manuscript inside.” Saba’s voice rose. “You have no idea what the Proof of God is and you’re not worthy of being its caretaker.”

“I’m not saying anything,” Amida said, folding his arms.

“Then we’ll arrest you for murder.”

“What? I had nothing to do with that.”

“We think otherwise,” Omar said pleasantly. “You can talk now or you can come with me and talk later. You’ll need bigger shoes, though.”

Amida clearly understood the reference. Beating the bottom of the feet made them swell, sometimes permanently. “Alright. Alright. This man wanted the reliquary, so I took it. I gave it to him. He paid me. That’s all.”

Kamil felt his pulse rise. A crack in Amida’s defenses. Much as he hated to admit it, Omar was right. The bastinado worked. “You stole it,” Saba corrected him.

“It was going to be mine anyway. It’s not stealing when it’s your property.”

“It belongs to the community,” Saba insisted. “It belongs to the world. You have no rights over it.”

“What’s this man’s name?” Kamil asked.

“I don’t know. I gave it to his go-between.”

“What’s this go-between’s name?”

“How would I know? He always contacted me.”

Kamil let the lie go. What he wanted right now was an explanation for Malik’s death.

Kamil lifted the Abyssinian cross. “Did you take this?”

“He’s the only one besides me and Mother who knows where it’s kept,” Saba confirmed.

“So maybe you took it,” Amida suggested. “Malik knew where it was too. Maybe he borrowed it and took it to the mosque for some kind of ritual.”

“How did you know it was in the mosque, Amida?” Kamil asked softly.

Amida was flustered. “It was just a guess.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Saba exclaimed. “Uncle Malik would never take the scepter out and carry it around town. It’s a sacred object. It has to stay here.”

“I went to ask Malik about it and I left it in the mosque by mistake. So what? I’d have had it back in the box by Friday service. No one would have noticed it was missing.”

Kamil lifted the scepter. “Malik was killed with this.”

There was a shocked silence, then all eyes turned to Amida.

“You killed Uncle Malik?” Saba asked, aghast. “Why?”

“I didn’t kill Malik,” he cried out. “I would never do that. He was my uncle.”

Balkis tried to stand, but fell back onto the divan. Her face was a deathly white and she was breathing with difficulty. Saba brought her mother some water, then sat beside her, holding her arm.

“I believe you, Amida,” Kamil said.

Amida looked at him in surprise.

“We can help each other, but I need you to tell me the whole story. What happened the night Malik was killed?”

“Otherwise we arrest you for theft and murder,” Omar interjected pleasantly.

Amida got up and began to pace, arms folded protectively across his chest, his jaw working compulsively. When he walked toward the door, Omar blocked his way.

“Just make sure no one’s out there,” Amida appealed.

Omar shrugged and stepped outside. He came back a few moments later and nodded. “No djinns, no demons.”

“He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

“Who?”

“I told you, I don’t know,” Amida said in an anguished voice. “They call him Kubalou. The man you asked me about, Remzi, is his go-between. I sold the reliquary through him to Kubalou, but then Remzi came back and told me it was empty and accused me of trying to cheat his master. They made me go with them to the Tobacco Works that night, but I swear I had nothing to do with killing those policemen. That was Remzi. He did this too.” He pushed up his sleeve and thrust out his arm.

The raw edges of the wound were in the shape of an M. Kamil was certain now that it stood for Magnus.

“Remzi told me this was a message from Kubalou, although I think he says that to cover up his own crimes. He’s a vicious son of a bitch.” Amida’s eyes found the door. He looked hunted. “I didn’t know there was supposed to be anything inside the reliquary. Saba’s right. I overheard them talking and Malik referred to it as the Proof of God. Kubalou wanted it for an English buyer.”

“You fool,” Saba said softly.

“If I don’t get him the real Proof of God now, I’ll end up like…” Amida leaned his forehead against the wall.

“Who?” Omar inquired impassively.

Amida shifted and looked nervously at his mother. “He knew some things about me.”

“That you lie with boys?” Saba suggested.

Omar raised his eyebrows in amusement. Kamil glanced at Balkis, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was staring straight ahead as if she had nothing to do with the conversation.

Amida stared angrily at Saba.

“There are no secrets in a village.” She became subdued, as if realizing what she had said.

“Was that your boyfriend we found in the graveyard this morning behind the Fatih Mosque?” Omar asked.

Amida nodded miserably.

“Bilal?” Saba exclaimed. “Bilal is dead?” Kamil thought he heard a note of compassion. He remembered the polite, dark-skinned boy who had served him whisky at Amida’s house.

“Yes.” Amida’s voice broke.

“You saw the body?” Omar stepped to the door and glanced outside.

“Bilal left me a note to meet him there at the first ezan, that he had something important to show me.” Amida’s voice was strained. “I thought it was odd. I see him every day and he could have shown me anytime. But I went anyway and when I got there, I found him dead.”

“How did you know the note was from him?”

“I recognized his hand. Or…I thought I did.”

“So someone happened to find him alone in the graveyard, waiting for you, and decided to rob him?”

“No,” Amida groaned. “No, I don’t think that’s what it was. I saw his back.” He held out his wounded arm. “It was the same.”