Ken McClure - Resurrection

‘So why did Ali kill himself?’ asked Dewar softly.

Tariq paused, his eyes misting over as he thought of his friend, then he said simply, ‘It was so sad.’

Dewar needed more. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But no one seems able to come up with any reason why he did it? There must have been one. Something must have gone terribly wrong in his life. Ali’s colleagues at the institute tell me that he was obviously upset about something. They say he became very depressed during the weeks before he died. You were his friend; he must have confided in you, didn’t he?’

The boy shrugged uncomfortably and Dewar got the impression that it wasn’t just what he’d said that had produced the reaction. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that a new man had entered the room and was standing looking across at them. He seemed older than the others, an Arab, tall and bearded with heavy, dark-rimmed spectacles. He remembered Inspector Grant saying something about older men being part of the set-up.

‘No, Ali told me nothing,’ said Tariq, obviously unsettled at the appearance of the newcomer. ‘I don’t know why he did it. It’s a mystery. Maybe he was ill. It can happen, you know.’

Dewar looked him straight in the eye and knew that he was lying. The presence of the bearded man was intimidating him.

‘Look Tariq, maybe this isn’t the best place to talk?’ he suggested quietly.

‘I don’t think there is any more to say,’ replied the boy but he spoke the words like an automaton.’

‘I think there is,’ insisted Dewar but keeping his voice low. ‘Maybe you owe it to your friend to tell me exactly what you know? I understand how difficult things are for you so I’m going to leave now but I’ll leave my card on the seat. Call me when you feel it’s safe. If I’m not there leave a message.’

The boy nodded uncertainly.

‘Well, thanks for your help Tariq, I’m sorry about your friend’s death. It was very sad,’ said Dewar in a louder voice that invited overhearing. He got up and was shown to the door by Tariq. To get there they had to pass the older man who didn’t acknowledge them as they passed but Dewar took a good look at him anyway. Maybe Inspector Grant could come up with some pictures. It would be nice to know who and what he really was. As he walked out on to the street he decided that he would stay on in Edinburgh for the time being..

He booked into a city centre hotel and made his report to Sci-Med using his lap top computer and a phone link. There wasn’t that much to report, just that he wasn’t quite happy about the Edinburgh situation as it stood. He’d be staying on until he knew more. After that, he phoned Karen. She was at the lab.

‘You’re where?’

‘Edinburgh,’ Dewar told her again. ‘I’m going to be here at least another day. How’s Kensington? Is the world still falling out of its bottom?’

‘People don’t have that kind of problem in Kensington ,’ laughed Karen. ‘They have “upset stomachs”. I think we’re on top of the outbreak. We’ve traced the problem to a cold meat supplier and closed him down for the moment. In theory it’s all over bar the sh … shouting.’

‘I wish I could say the same,’ said Dewar.

‘That sounded like it came from the heart,’ said Karen.

‘I’ve got such a bad feeling about things here.’

‘So there’s no chance of you getting back by the week-end?’

‘Shouldn’t think so but there’s no way of knowing for sure. I’m just playing it by ear. I’m convinced one of Ali Hammadi’s friends knows more than he’s letting on. That doesn’t mean to say it’s anything relevant but I’d really like to understand why this man, Hammadi took his own life when he seemed to have so much to live for.’

‘Maybe he didn’t.’

‘The police are convinced it was suicide and his behaviour had changed in the weeks leading up to his death.’

‘While the balance of his mind was disturbed …,’ intoned Karen.

‘It’s what disturbed it,’ said Dewar.

After a pause, Karen said tentatively, ‘Why not pop down to North Berwick while you’re up there, say hello to my mother? It’ll take your mind off things for a wee while.’

‘Could do,’ agreed Dewar slowly.

‘Not a good idea?’

The prospect of spending an evening with Karen’s widowed mother did not fill Dewar with enthusiasm. A few drinks and a bit of light conversation in the hotel bar might have been a preferred option however, he didn’t want to offend Karen. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘Could do.’ He hoped he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt. ‘Any messages?’

‘I was actually hoping to get up to see her this weekend but I’m not sure how long the Salmonella thing will take to resolve. In theory we should have seen the last of the new cases by tomorrow. Maybe I should plan for the week after next instead. I don’t suppose you’ll feel like a return trip to Edinburgh that soon?’

‘Why not. It would be fun to spend some time together up here,’ said Dewar. ‘Maybe we could run off to the highlands for a day or so?’

‘That would be nice. Of course, you may still be there!’ laughed Karen.

‘If I am it means I’ve hit big trouble and everyone might be running off to the highlands,’ said Dewar.

‘Give Mother my love and tell her I’ll be up the week after next.’

Dewar’s laptop bleeped as he reconnected it to the phone socket to put it on stand-by. There was a message waiting for him from Sci-Med. A man named Tariq Saadi had called. He wanted to meet with him. The suggested place was James Thin’s bookshop in South Bridge, the time eight o’clock that same evening. Dewar wondered why Saddi had called the Sci-Med number. He deduced that he had probably tried his mobile number first and found it engaged with his call to Karen so he had called the other number on the card rather than wait and try again. That inferred a sense of urgency. A limited window of time in which to make a call.

Dewar looked at his watch. It was just after 7.30pm. Karen’s mother would have to wait for another day.

The taxi dropped him off in South Bridge outside the entrance to Edinburgh University’s Old College building and opposite Thin’s bookshop. He crossed the street, dodging the evening traffic and entered the shop to find it pleasantly quiet. It was also deceptively large, occupying several floors of an old building that had seen many internal conversions in its time, leaving it a warren of rooms, corridors and staircases. Dewar moved slowly round the groundfloor getting a feel for the place and pausing occasionally to examine a book. At that time in the evening there were less than a dozen other customers browsing the shelves. Saadi was not one of them.

Dewar opted to try a lower floor and thought he was all alone there save for a member of staff — a student working part time, he guessed, — reading a text book by her till. He was suddenly startled to feel a tap on the shoulder and turned to find Saadi who’d materialised from the shadows of an alcove. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he whispered nervously.

‘So there was more to Ali’s death?’ said Dewar quietly.

Tariq nodded. ‘I don’t know everything but they wanted him to do something for them. Ali didn’t want to have anything to do with it but they threatened him. They said it would be the worse for his family.’

‘They?’

‘Our … advisors.’

The man at the student association?’

Tariq nodded.

‘They’re government?’

Another nod.

‘How many are there?’

‘Two. Professor Siddiqui and a man named Abbas, the man you saw.’

Dewar made a mental note of the names. ‘Have you any idea at all what they wanted Ali to do?’ he asked.