Michael Pearce - The Mamur Zapt and the Night of the Dog

She bent over Yussuf and splashed water on his face. He opened his eyes, saw her and struggled to sit up.

“Away, woman!” he said. “I have no need of Copts.”

“You have a need of someone,” she said, “whoever it be.”

“Was your husband with you?” asked Owen.

“No. He was keeping vigil at the church.”

“And you were at the houses. Were you with Andrus when he went to the tomb?”

“No.”

“So you did not know about the dog?”

“Not till later. I was with Sesostris when one ran and told us.”

“And you told your husband?”

“When I got home.”

“And did he speak with Andrus?”

“Not then. Later. When Andrus came to visit me.”

“Thank you,” said Owen.

“I’ve done the checking you wanted,” said Georgiades, “and it’s not been easy, I can tell you. I went first to his business premises. It’s not a bad little business. He does all right. Nothing huge, small to medium. Nowhere near big enough for him to finance the war on his own, especially as he gives such a lot to charity. And he does give it to charity. There’s no doubt about that. I’ve talked to his personal clerk. Steady sums, increasing over the years as he’s become more pious. The clerk is secretary to the charity programme of the church and knows the recipients.”

“Zoser?”

“I don’t think so. Not in money. In kind, perhaps. Favours, maybe. He does people quite a lot of those.”

“And they do him some. Go back to the money. Does he finance the charitable programme himself?”

“The church’s? No, they all chip in. Andrus put in a fair amount but bigger boys give more.”

“OK. So after living expenses and charity there’s not a lot left over. Not enough to finance all the agitation on the Coptic side, let alone the Moslems as well.”

“Nowhere near enough.”

“So the money he gives to Osman must come from somewhere else. Does he have a bank for his business or does he just use cash?”

“He’s got to have a bank. His business is international, remember. He sometimes needs quite sophisticated credit arrangements.”

“Do you know which one?”

“Yes. He is a small businessman and he likes to deal with small bankers. They’ve got to be Coptic, of course, and preferably someone he’s met through the church. He goes to Sesostris.”

“So he could be getting the money there?”

“Don’t rush me. Next, I checked on his movements on Fridays. That’s the day, remember, when he takes the money to Mordecai. It’s the Moslem Sabbath, of course, so a good day for Copts to do business on. Well, it’s hard to check the whole day, as you can imagine. But that is the day, it appears, when he regularly goes to his own bank. He’s been doing it for years. So far as I can tell, and that’s not as far as I’d like, on the last few Fridays he’s not been going to any other bank or finance house. Nor is there any single person whom he’s been visiting regularly.”

“Anyone come to see him?”

“Not at the business. Nor at home, as far as I can tell from his servants. Possibly at the church house, where, as you know, he’s been spending a lot of time recently.”

“So it could very well be the bank?”

“That’s what I thought too. So then I went to the bank and asked politely in the name of the Mamur Zapt if I could check Andrus’s account. Sesostris said no.”

“He can’t say no. Not if it’s the Mamur Zapt.”

“Well, I said it was the Mamur Zapt and he said no. He wants proper legal notification.”

“I’ll bloody notify him. Deliver it personally. In the cell.”

“He’s an awkward bugger. Andrus and he are two of a kind.

Difficult sods, both. However, mere refusal does not stop me. I talked to the tellers. They said yes, Andrus did come on Fridays and had been doing so for years. Any especially big drawings lately? Well, they said, they wouldn’t know, since he always went straight in to Sesostris. Again, his pattern for years. No change here. Also it’s the way the bank works. Sesostris does it all personally. The Copts like that. It’s always man-to-man stuff with them. Funny, considering how they also like to put it all down on paper.”

“Are you saying Sesostris hands over the cash personally?”

“No. The cashier does that. Andrus just pops in to see Sesostris and they have a bit of a chat, not a long one, they don’t even have a cup of coffee, mean bastards, both of them, and then Andrus goes on to the cashier presumably with Sesostris’s authorization and the cashier takes the money out of the safe and gives it to him. I tried to have a word with the cashier but he wasn’t talking. More than his job’s worth, I suppose, though these Copts are always tight-mouthed as well as tight-fisted. Well, not all of them. I got something out of the tellers. One of them said that Andrus normally took his money away in a small bag, one he could conceal under his gown, it’s safer that way. But for the last week or two he’s had to use a bigger bag. The charity programme’s been growing. Actually it has, though whether by enough to require a bigger bag I haven’t been able to make out.”

“It would be interesting to see the account.”

“That wouldn’t tell you much. It will either show he’s overdrawn or that money has been credited. If it’s been credited, then the only person who will be able to tell you where it comes from is Sesostris.”

“Is he involved, do you think? Personally, I mean?”

“They’re all involved. You see, the way the Copts work is that if they decide on something, like a campaign of trouble-making and agitation, the first thing they do is set up an organization. Then they set up resourcing arrangements, just as they would do for any other business operation they undertook. They would arrange drawing facilities, appoint a local agent, etc. Sesostris may be just another mechanism, like Mordecai.”

“Like Andrus?”

“Could be. The local agent. On the other hand, if you were Andrus and for some reason you decided to start a campaign of your own, and you were, like him, a Copt, the first thing you would do would be to go to a bank and make proper financial arrangements. And when I say proper, I mean proper. You wouldn’t go to anyone else, because banks are where you go for finance, and you wouldn’t go to a shady one, because that’s not sound business practise.”

“You think he might be doing it on his own?”

Georgiades hesitated.

“Well, it could be. He’s strong enough, he’s got a grudge, he’s doing something about it. He’s the one who’s actually masterminding the campaign.”

“I agree with all that,” said Owen. “But.”

“But what?”

“Remember what Nikos said: apply the analysis not to the Moslems but to the Copts. Not Osman, but Osman plus money. Not Andrus, but Andrus plus money. Where does it come from?”

“Sympathizers. There are a lot of Copts who agree with him. They’re subscribing.”

“Using the bank as a collecting point? Well, you might be right. But I’m sticking with the analysis.”

“Test it out,” Georgiades invited. “Talk to him.”

“Andrus? I might just do that.”

“After all,” said Georgiades, “you’ve got an excuse.”

“What?”

“Zoser. He talked to Zoser the night before the killing. Remember?”

Mahmoud leaned forward in his chair. Since it was ostensibly in connection with the Zoser case, it was his business, and they met in his office.

“So on that night,” he said, “the night before the Zikr was killed, you talked only about the money she was to give out?”

“Why do you ask me these questions?” asked Andrus. “What have I to do with the Zikr?”