whisper of voices trickled from the upper floor.
Elongated skulls, also of crocodiles, were set into little recesses along the staircase wall; more atmosphere for the tourists. Halfway up he could see over the walls. The beach was bathed in white moonlight. The river was like oil, dark and glistening with menace. He could make out the felucca Dena had arrived in. He felt disappointed that she had not trusted him.
The upper floor was a terrace where you could sit and look out over the river. There were chairs and tables and grubby divans along the walls. On the far side was a small bar that looked as though it had been knocked together in a day by a blind man. The bricks were uneven and the plaster had been inset haphazardly with angular shards of broken mirror for decoration. Makana stepped up and the voices went silent.
‘Hello Ramy.’
They were sitting over in the far corner, in the shadows, against the wall. A single oil lamp rested on the low table in front of them. Neither of them said anything. Dena lowered her head and clenched her fists together. Ramy’s face was partially hidden. There was something about it that seemed not quite right. As Makana drew closer Ramy pulled back, further into the shadows.
‘You’re not an easy man to find.’
‘Who are you? What do you want from me?’ he hissed.
‘It’s the man I was telling you about,’ said Dena.
‘I know that, ya beleeda. He followed you here.’
‘Why did you come?’ she implored. ‘Why didn’t you give me a chance?’
‘You mean, you arranged this?’ Ramy was incredulous.
‘No, no,’ protested Dena.
‘I’m not here to harm you,’ Makana said as he approached. Ramy was like a nervous horse that could bolt at any moment. ‘I just want to ask you a few questions.’
‘Questions about what?’
‘Well, for a start, what are you doing here?’ By now he had reached the corner where they were sitting. Ramy slipped a hand under a cushion and when it reappeared it was holding the Beretta.
‘I wondered where that had gone.’ Makana glanced at Dena who looked away.
‘Did Yousef send you?’
‘Yousef?’
As Ramy leaned forwards, the light from the lamp illuminated his face. In the flicker of the flame Makana could make out the curiously twisted surface of the right-hand side of his face. A long, curved welt ran down from his ear, and the flesh around this was covered with a scar that made it scaly and uneven. A gleam of satisfaction came into his eye at Makana’s expression.
‘Why are you here?’
‘I wanted to meet you,’ said Makana. ‘You’re an interesting man. What did you run away from?’
‘Who said I was running from anything?’
‘You know that Meera is dead.’
Ramy jerked the gun at Makana. ‘What have you got to do with Meera?’
‘I think you know who killed her.’
‘Why would you think a thing like that?’
‘I was there when she was shot. I tried to help her,’ said Makana quietly, easing himself down into one of the low chairs facing the divan they were sitting on. ‘I wasn’t fast enough.’
‘You’re the one who went for the gunman?’ Ramy asked. ‘And now you are here. Why? What do you gain out of this?’
‘Nothing,’ said Makana. ‘She was a good person. I don’t think she deserved to die like that.’
‘What has any of this to do with me?’
‘I think you know why she was killed. I think you were helping her.’
‘You seem to think a lot.’ Ramy’s hand opened and closed on the butt of the pistol as if it was becoming slippery from sweat.
‘You can help me out.’ Makana reached into his pocket for the photograph of the three soldiers and placed it on the table between them. ‘I found that in Meera’s study.’
Ramy leaned forward and peered at the picture. After a moment he began to laugh, the loose, crazy laugh of a man whose mind no longer makes sense to him. Makana and Dena exchanged glances.
‘Who is the man in the middle?’ Makana asked.
‘He was a conscript named Abdallah Hamid. A nobody.’ Ramy looked up. ‘He’s dead. Rocky killed him.’
‘Why?’
‘Why?’ echoed Ramy. ‘Because he’s insane. Because hurting people is what he does best. No, I’ll tell you why, because this man called him a name. A bad name, but nothing worse than you hear any day of the week in the streets. So Rocky killed him with his bare hands. We were in the desert. On a training exercise. There were only three of us. Navigation training. Moving in