Michael Pearce - The Mamur Zapt and the Camel of Destruction

Owen called the doctor in. He was a small, shabby man with worried eyes and a lined, anxious face.

‘How did you come to miss it?’

‘I didn’t miss it.’

‘You wrote the certificate knowingly?’

The doctor shrugged.

‘You know, of course, what this means?’

The doctor shrugged again. ‘You do it all the time,’ he said quietly.

‘Sign certificates you know to be false?’

‘It spares the family.’

‘You know why we have the system of certification?’

‘Of course. To prevent abuses.’

Egypt was a country of many abuses.

‘And you still thought you would sign the certificate?’

‘The parents are old. He was their only son. The shock of that was enough without the other.’

‘The other?’

‘Suicide.’

‘Are you sure it was suicide?’

‘What else could it be?’

‘The Under-Secretary,’ said Nikos. ‘The Ministry of Agriculture.’

Owen picked up the phone.

‘Captain Owen? I understand you’re handling the Fingari case?’

‘Well, of course, the Parquet–’

‘Quite so, quite so. But – I understand you’re taking an interest?’

‘Ye-es, in a general way.’

‘Quite so. I was wondering – the circumstances – a bit unfortunate, you know.’

‘Yes?’

‘The Office. The Ministry.’

‘I don’t quite–’

‘Bad for the Department. A bit of a reflection, you know.’

‘Well, yes, but–’

‘I was wondering – just wondering – if it could be moved. Out of the office, I mean.’

‘Surely it has been moved?’ said Owen, startled. ‘It was taken for post-mortem. And before that, the funeral. I saw it myself–’

‘No, no. I don’t mean that. Not the body. The – the incident, rather.’

‘I don’t quite follow–’

‘Moved. Out of the Ministry altogether. Somewhere else. Into the street, perhaps. Or at any rate another Ministry. Public Works, perhaps.’

‘Finance?’

‘Yes. No, on second thoughts. The follow-up could be, well, unfortunate. No, no. Public Works would be better.’

‘Well, yes, but–’

‘You will? Oh, thank you.’

‘An apéritif, perhaps?’

He had met them, as they had suggested, in the bar at the Hotel Continentale. There was an Egyptian, who must be Abdul Khalil, a Greek, Zokosis, presumably, and someone harder to place but definitely a Levantine of sorts, who would be Kifouri.

The waiter brought the drinks: sweet Cyprus wine for Zokosis and Kifouri, a dry sherry for Owen and coffee for Abdul Khalil.

‘As I mentioned over the phone, Captain Owen, we’re businessmen who have quite a lot of dealings with Government Departments. I think you’ll find that Mr Stephens would be prepared to vouch for us–’ Stephens was the Adviser at the Ministry of Finance– ‘and I think it is a mark of our standing that the Minister invited us to join the Board. I mention this so that you will know we are bona fide and also that we are not the sort of men who would want to waste the time of a busy man like yourself.’

Owen bowed acknowledgement.

‘In any case, our concern is, what shall I say, marginal, peripheral, which is why we thought it best to meet informally rather than call on you at your office.’

Owen muttered something suitably non-committal.

‘You are, we understand, taking an interest in a recent sad case of suicide. A man in one of the Departments.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, now, we naturally wouldn’t wish to interfere in any way, believe me, in any way, with your conduct of the investigation – that would be quite improper – and our interest is, as I have said, marginal. However, we knew Mr Fingari and quite recently have been having a number of dealings with him–’

‘Dealings?’

‘A businessman’s way of talking. Conversations, rather. Yes, conversations. Mr Fingari, you see, represented the Ministry on the Board. And naturally, in view of recent developments–’

‘Yes, recent developments,’ echoed the others.

‘That, actually, is why we wanted to have an informal word with you. You see, negotiations are at a critical stage–’

‘And it’s important to carry the community with us. The business community, that is.’

‘And with confidence so low–’

‘It is really a very inopportune moment for him to die.’

‘Most difficult.’

‘Now if only he could have died a day or two later–’

‘You don’t think that could be arranged by any chance, Captain Owen? After all, it makes no real difference. He’s dead anyway, isn’t he?’

‘The family–’ Owen began.

‘Leave that to us. I’m sure that could be arranged. We’ll talk to them, Captain Owen.’

‘But–’

‘Look at it like this; it’s actually giving the poor chap a few extra days of life. Don’t be hard-hearted, Captain Owen. Don’t deny him that! Think of the poor fellow, think of his family–’

‘You want me to alter the date of his death?’

‘Well, that would be most kind of you, Captain Owen. Most kind.’

‘It’s the family, you see.’

‘Distressed, naturally.’

‘It is a very respectable family,’ said Ali Hazurat earnestly. ‘Otherwise Mr Hemdi would not wish his daughter to marry into it.’

‘But–’

‘The arrangements were all made. The wedding contract was about to be signed. My nephew was looking forward–’

‘A dowry?’

‘Considerable. It was a great opportunity for my nephew. And now, alas–’

‘But surely the wedding can go ahead? After a suitable period, of course. Your nephew was not that closely related to Osman Fingari.’

‘It reflects on the family, you see. It’s making Mr Hemdi think again.’

‘Well, I’m sorry about that, but–’

‘It’s the shame, you see. Suicide! No one will want to marry into a family with suicides.’

‘I’m afraid I really don’t see what I can do–’

‘Couldn’t you,’ pleaded Ali Hazwat, ‘just call it something else? An accident, perhaps?’

‘He took prussic acid.’

‘By mistake! Couldn’t it be by mistake? He thought it was something else. The wrong bottle–’

‘Well, at least there’s going to be no doubt about the circumstances,’ said Paul.

‘No?’

‘Alone? Certainly not!’ Mr Istaq was shocked.

‘I do not wish to trouble Mr Fingari, you see.’

‘Well, no, there’s been enough trouble as it is.’

‘And he’s very frail, so I thought–’

‘Well, yes, but – alone! What can you be thinking of, effendi? She is a decent Muslim girl.’

‘It was just that in the circumstances–’

‘Why do you want to see her, anyway, effendi? What can a woman know? Why not ask me? I will do what I can to help you.’

‘Well, thank you, it is very kind of you, Mr Istaq. But then, you see, you would not be able to help me in quite the same way. After all, though a relative, you did not actually live in the house and therefore would not know–’

‘Yes, but alone! With a man! No, really, effendi–’

Mr Istaq, hot, bothered and worried in equal proportions, took some time to be persuaded. He was, when all was said and done, the relative who had shown Owen the body and felt that he bore some responsibility for the consequences.

But then, he was also the closest and most senior male relative and, given old Mr Fingari’s frailty, it all devolved on him anyway. He was a simple journeyman tailor and all this was a bit much for him.

He knew, however, what was proper. And it was not proper to let his niece talk to strange men. Aisha was inclined to be headstrong, anyway. His brother had always given her too much scope. That was all very well, things were not, perhaps, what they used to be, but who would want to marry a woman used to having her own way? And it was likely to be him, Istaq, who would be left with the problem of marrying her off.