Michael Pearce - The Last Cut

‘She went out?’ said Owen. ‘What for?’

‘To meet up with that boy,’ said the man.

‘No, she didn’t!’ said the woman angrily. ‘She went out to see if she could find any leavings of onions at the stalls.’

‘That’s what she said,’ retorted the man.

And that’s where she was going. She’d stopped seeing that boy.’ ’That’s what she said!’

‘That girl,’ said the woman, eyes flashing, ‘is as honest as an Imam. Which is more than could be said of you. And of Ali Khedri, for that matter!’

‘Enough, woman!’ said her husband, sheepishly.

And she didn’t come back?’ said Owen.

‘No. After a time I went out to look for her-I thought she might have fallen, you know, she wasn’t right yet, not after all that cutting-but I couldn’t find her. So I thought-’

‘What did you think?’

‘I thought, may I be forgiven, that she was with that boy. But then when she didn’t come home, I know she couldn’t have been.’

Her husband started to mutter something. The woman faced him down.

‘When it got on to night,’ continued the woman. ‘I knew that something must have happened to her. Because otherwise,’ she said, looking fiercely at her husband, ‘she would have come home. She wasn’t that kind of girl. Her heart was pure.’

‘If it was so pure,’ asked the man, ‘how did she get to be talking to him in the first place?’

‘Talking is nothing. It’s what all women do. It never got to anything more than that.’

‘But she didn’t come back?’

‘No. I went to the souk. I asked round the neighbours. I went to the hospital-I thought that maybe she’d collapsed. You know, after all that bleeding. I even,’ said the woman, with an edge to her voice, ‘went to Ali Khedri.’

‘More fool you,’ said her husband.

‘I walked all over the quarter. I knew something must have happened to her.’

‘The Jews got her,’ said the man.

Owen turned to him.

‘How do you know that?’

‘It’s obvious, isn’t it?’

‘No.’

‘Well, it’s where they found her. Under the Bride. That’s not accident, is it? She was put there for a purpose.’

‘She could have been put there by anyone. Anyone could have had that purpose. Muslims, Copts. Anyone.’

‘Ah, yes,’ said the man, unconvinced, ‘but the Jews.

‘Did she ever have anything to do with Jews? Was she ever seen with Jews?’ demanded Owen.

‘Well, no. But then she wouldn’t have been, would she? They’re too cunning for that.’

‘But then-’

It was useless, however, trying to talk to him. He couldn’t see it. It had to be the Jews.

‘They’re always creeping around,’ he said. ‘They’re worse than that boy.’

It was the same story as everywhere else.

Coming back through the souk he met Mahmoud. He was talking to one of the stall-holders.

‘No,’ the stall-holder was saying, ‘I don’t remember seeing her. I wouldn’t remember her anyway. She was that quiet! Like a mouse.’

‘You remember, though, that she used to come to the souk?’Oh, yes. Before her-well, you know, before it happened- she used to come most days. Always the same time, just when the stalls were closing. You can pick up a few things then, you know-I mean, if they’re going off, you might just as well give them away as throw them away. And the water-carriers’ wives-well, they’re not too well off. And God says, look after the poor, doesn’t he? And it’s well to have one or two things to your credit when the Angels come asking their questions.’

‘So she would probably have come late?’

‘Yes. We don’t close till dark. And then we close pretty smartly because if you’re not careful those thieving boys will have half your stuff before you can get it away!’

‘So she would have been walking home in the dark?’

‘She would. And if I could get my hands on-’

The news was already round the souk. People talked about it in shocked whispers. In one way it made Mahmoud’s task easier, for he had no need to recall Leila to their minds.

He, too, had discovered that when Leila had been thrown out by her father, Fatima had taken her in. He had been checking her story and, although it had all happened some time ago now, had been able to confirm much of it. Neighbours remembered her being ‘in a state’, as they put it, that night about ‘little Leila. Some of them had, in fact, gone out with her to help in the search. The hospital, surprisingly, had a record of her making enquiries; and Ali Khedri’s neighbours confirmed that Fatima had indeed called on him, recalling with relish the altercation that had followed on her rebuff.

The local police themselves could help. Leila’s disappearance had not been formally reported to them, but then, in that poor quarter it wouldn’t have been. One of the local constables, however, recalled being asked about her. Had a body been found? Several, but none of them Leila’s. When, weeks later, a female corpse had been found buried beneath the ‘Bride of the Nile’, he had wondered if it might be that of the missing girl and had mentioned the possibility to a friend, a gravedigger, who had in turn mentioned it to his brother, who worked at the mortuary. And so it was that long before identification had been officially made, everyone had known all about it. Which was, said Mahmoud, pretty well the usual course of things.

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.’