The Fig Tree Murder Read Online Free PDF Page A

you.’
    ‘Yes,’ she said quietly.
    ‘He left you early. Did he say where he was going?’
    ‘He said he was meeting someone.’
    ‘Ah! Did he say who?’
    ‘No. And,’ said the woman, bold again, ‘I did not ask. I knew it wasn’t a woman and that was all I needed to know.’
    ‘How did you know it wasn’t a woman?’
    ‘Because it wouldn’t have been any good,’ she said defiantly. ‘Not after what he’d done with me. I always took good care to see there wasn’t much left. For Leila.’
    ‘Leila?’
    ‘That so-called wife of his.’
    ‘Why so-called?’
    She was silent.
    Then she said vehemently: ‘He should have married me. Right at the start. Then all this wouldn’t have happened.’
     
    The tabernacle was now empty. The pile of shoes had gone. The square was almost empty. The heat rose up off the sand as if making one last effort to keep the advancing shadows at bay. The smell of woodsmoke was suddenly in the air. The women were about to cook the evening meal.
    Owen wondered how late the trains back to the city would continue to run. Asif, too, was evidently reckoning that the day’s work was done, for he said:
    ‘Tomorrow I shall question the wife’s family.’
    They turned aside for a moment to refresh themselves at the village well before committing themselves to the long walk back across the hot fields to the station.
    ‘It could be a question of honour, you see,’ said Asif, still preoccupied with the case. ‘The wife has been dishonoured and so her family has been dishonoured.’
    ‘You think one of them could have taken revenge?’
    Revenge was the bane of the policeman’s life in Egypt. Over half the killings, and there were a lot of killings in Egypt, were for purposes of revenge. It was most common among the Arabs of the desert, where revenge feuds were a part of every tribesman’s life. But it was far from uncommon among the fellahin of the settled villages too.
    ‘Well,’ said Asif, ‘he was killed by a blow on the back of the neck from a heavy, blunt, club-like instrument. A cudgel is the villager’s weapon. And, besides—’
    He hesitated.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘It looks as if it was someone who knew his ways. Knew where to find him, for instance. Knew he would not be staying. Knew him well enough, possibly, to arrange a meeting. That would seem to me to locate him in the village.’
    Owen nodded.
    ‘And if that’s the case,’ he said, ‘you’re going to have to move quickly. Otherwise the other side will be taking the law into their own hands.’
    The trouble with revenge killings was that they had two sides. One killing bred another.
    ‘Tomorrow,’ promised Asif.
    A man came round the corner of the mosque and made towards them. He was, like Asif, an Egyptian and an effendi and wore the tarboosh of the government servant. Unlike him, however, and unusually for the time, he wore a light suit not a dark suit and was dressed overall with a certain sharpness. Everything about him was sharp.
    He recognized Owen and gave him a smile.
    ‘Let me guess,’ he said; ‘the railway?’
    He turned to Asif.
    ‘Asif,’ he said softly. ‘I am sorry.’
    Asif looked at him in surprise.
    ‘They have asked me to take over. Why? I do not know. But it is certainly no reflection on you.’
    Asif was taken aback.
    ‘But, Mahmoud, I have only just—’
    ‘I know. Perhaps they have something more important in mind for you.’
    Asif swallowed.
    ‘I doubt it,’ he said bitterly.
    He got up from the well.
    ‘I will put the papers on your desk,’ he said, and walked off.
    Owen made a movement after him but Mahmoud put a hand on his arm.
    ‘Let him go,’ he said. ‘It’s better like that.’
    ‘He was doing all right,’ said Owen.
    ‘I think he’s promising,’ said Mahmoud. He sighed. ‘I wish they wouldn’t do things like this. It hurts people’s pride.’
    Mahmoud El Zaki was a connoisseur in pride. That was true of most Egyptians, thought Owen, but it was especially true