Читать книгу The Mamur Zapt and the Girl in Nile - Michael Pearce - Страница 6

Unusually, there was a meeting on the British side about how to handle it. Garvin was there, Commandant of the Cairo Police and Owen’s nominal superior; McPhee, Deputy Commandant, earnest, concerned and straightforward—too straightforward by half to be a Cairo policeman and far too straightforward for something like this; Paul, an aide-de-camp of the Consul-General’s; and Owen.

The Consul-General usually steered clear of too direct an involvement in Egyptian policing. Garvin reported formally to the Khedive—and the Consul-General was punctilious about the forms. He was particularly careful of any involvement with the Mamur Zapt, which was why Owen not only reported formally to the Khedive but was nominally subordinate to Garvin.

It was, therefore, unusual to have a meeting of this sort. But then, as Paul, chairing the meeting on behalf of the Consul-General, made clear, the circumstances were unusual.

‘It’s not every day that an heir to the throne gets involved in something like this.’

‘Is he an heir to the throne?’

‘One of many. The Khedive has a number of sons and all of them see themselves as potential heirs.’

‘Where does this one fit in?’

‘He is the son of the Khedive’s third wife, so not high up in the stakes. On the other hand, his mother is still a favourite of the Khedive’s, which is often significant. He is able and energetic, which makes him stand out among the Khedive’s progeny. And front runners in a thing of this sort are unfortunately prone to accidents.’

‘He seemed a bit of a playboy to me,’ said McPhee.

‘That car, of course. But look at it another way: as an indication of Narouz’s interest in things modern and things Western.’

‘I see.’

‘Yes. I thought you would. The Consul-General, and Al-Lurd before him, see him as a man England could do business with.’

Al-Lurd was Lord Cromer, the man who had run Egypt for over twenty years before the present incumbent. If two such people, the one popular with Conservatives, the other a nominee of the new Liberal Government in London, took that view, the Prince had a lot going for him.

‘It would be unfortunate,’ said Paul, ‘if he were to be derailed at this point.’

There was a little silence.

‘Is that a directive?’ asked Owen.

‘A hint, rather. Call it: putting you in the picture. Alerting you to the position of His Majesty’s Government.’

‘As strong as that?’ said Garvin.

‘I can relax it a bit, provided you’ve got the general idea. If he’s done anything really wicked I don’t think HMG would be prepared to go out on a limb on his behalf. There are, after all, other possible candidates. But if it’s only mildly wicked we would feel it a pity to be too legalistic.’

‘What counts as only mildly wicked?’

‘I don’t think I’d like to give you a general answer. These things have to be decided in the light of circumstances.’

‘I’m not sure I find that very helpful,’ said Garvin. ‘What exactly is to be our position?’

‘Aloof,’ said Paul. ‘Aloof, but watching.’

‘Not get too close to it? Well, that’s probably sensible.’

‘Should be manageable,’ said Garvin. ‘After all, it’s Parquet business really.’

‘Quite. The police will assist the Parquet and work under their direction as usual. But that’s at the local level. There’s no need for senior involvement.’

‘I quite agree,’ said Garvin. ‘No point in that at all.’

No fool he.

‘McPhee’s involved already,’ said Owen.

‘I think he can drop out now.’

‘The Prince thinks he’s involved.’

‘The Prince, I believe, has changed his mind.’

‘Since yesterday?’

‘Yes.’

‘I see.’

Someone else been making telephone calls?

‘I think that’s very reasonable,’ said Garvin. ‘McPhee’s got enough demands on his time already. When all is said and done, this is just a straightforward crime and we wouldn’t normally put him on to something like this.’

‘We don’t even know it is a crime,’ Paul pointed out.

‘No, no, of course not,’ said Garvin, hurriedly changing tack. ‘Could be just an accident.’

‘It’s for the Parquet to decide how it wants to treat it. Crime or accident.’

He looked at Owen.

‘They’ve put Mahmoud on to it, haven’t they?’

‘Yes.’

‘How will be play it?’

‘Straight.’

‘Mahmoud’s a good chap,’ said McPhee.

‘Mahmoud’s going to have to take some hard decisions,’ said Paul.

He finished his coffee.

‘Which brings me to the final thing we need to discuss. You asked me about the stance we were to adopt. I said aloof. I also said watching.’

‘We wouldn’t want it to go wrong,’ said Garvin.

‘We couldn’t afford for it to go wrong. We’ve got to have someone in there.’

‘I thought you said you didn’t want any senior involvement?’

‘Overt. No overt involvement at the senior level.’

Another little silence.

‘This is hardly straightforward policing,’ said Garvin slowly. ‘I would say it was more—political.’

‘You said it was straightforward policing a moment ago. When you wanted to shift it to the Parquet.’

‘A straightforward crime. Not straightforward policing. There are other dimensions here. Political ones.’

‘I think Owen’s the chap,’ said Paul.

‘I don’t like it.’

‘Who does?’

‘I’m not going to get involved in any cover-up.’

‘I don’t think Owen should be asked to cover up anything,’ said McPhee.

‘We’re not asking him to. Not yet, anyway. And I don’t think it need come to that, not if it’s handled in the right way. With a bit of dexterity, I mean. The Press, the politicians, the Prince himself. Mahmoud. The Khedive, too, perhaps.’

‘It’s a tall order.’

‘I’ve every confidence in the boy,’ said Paul, watching him.

‘I still don’t like it. I’m not going to get involved in any covering up.’

‘I hope it won’t be necessary. But this is politics. You know, you policemen are lucky. If you meet a bad guy, you lock him up. If I meet a bad guy I usually have to shake hands with him and do a deal.’

‘I’m not shaking hands,’ said Owen.

Paul smiled.

‘You’re in politics now,’ he said, ‘whether you like it or not. And I think you’ll find you’re going to have to take some hard decisions. Like Mahmoud.’

‘And, of course, there was the harem,’ said the eunuch.

‘The harem?’ said Owen, startled.

‘The Prince always travels with one.’

‘Even to Luxor?’ asked Mahmoud.

‘Certainly to Luxor. The Prince has an estate there.’

‘And that’s where he had been this time?’

‘Yes.’

They were sitting in the cabin of the dahabeeyah. It was a modern one, specially fitted out for the Prince, and had windows. Through the window beside him Owen could see a large rat sunning itself on a mooring rope.

‘I had gathered the impression that the Prince had intended to be away only for a few days,’ said Mahmoud.

‘That is true.’

‘How long did he spend at the estate?’

‘Two days.’

‘Only two days? That is a very short time, especially when you have to travel all that way.’

‘The Prince does not like his estate.’

‘He was principally interested in seeing Luxor, then?’

‘The Prince does not like Luxor, either.’

‘What does he like?’ asked Owen.

‘Cannes.’

In the old days, before the advent of Mr Cook’s steamers, when tourists used to sail down to Luxor by dahabeeyah, the port had been full of the old-fashioned, native sailing craft. The tourist would come and choose one. It would then be towed across the river and sunk—temporarily. This was to get rid of the rats. The trick was, though, to sail away immediately that dahabeeyah had been raised. Otherwise it would be reinfested—along the ropes—at once.

‘What, then, was the purpose of his visit?’ asked Mahmoud.

The eunuch shrugged.

‘I wouldn’t have thought the Prince was one to wish to spend a week admiring the beauties of the river bank.’

‘The Prince spent his time in the cabin playing cards with the Prince Fahid.’

‘Ah? The Prince Fahid was on the boat, too?’

‘Yes.’

‘Had he, too, brought his harem?’

‘The Prince Fahid is too young to have a harem.’

‘He is Prince Narouz’s son?’

‘Nephew.’

‘The Prince was perhaps showing him the sights?’

‘What sights?’

‘Luxor?’

‘The Prince is not interested in antiquities.’

‘What, then, was the point of the journey?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps you had better ask the Prince.’

Mahmoud sighed. He had warned Owen beforehand to expect this. The Prince’s entourage wouldn’t say anything. He was finding it difficult to extract even the names of the people who had been on the dahabeeyah.

‘Let us go back to the harem,’ he said. ‘How many wives has the Prince?’

‘Four.’

‘And they were all there with him?’

‘Except Latfi, who is having a baby.’

‘Three, then. There were three in the harem quarters?’

‘You spoke of wives only.’

‘There were others, then? How many?’

‘Seven.’

‘Can you give me their names?’ said Mahmoud, taking out a pencil and notebook.

‘I am afraid not.’

‘Are you sure? You knew Latfi’s name.’

‘I know all their names. But it would not be proper for me to tell you the names of His Highness’s wives and concubines.’

‘But I need to know! I am conducting an investigation!’

‘That’s as may be, but a man’s harem is his own affair.’

‘Not when part of it disappears overboard.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know very well what I mean,’ said Mahmoud, exasperated. ‘I told you! His Highness has reported that a passenger on the dahabeeyah with him—’

‘But she wasn’t in the harem.’

‘She wasn’t?’

‘No!’

‘What was she doing on board, then?’

‘Well …’ The eunuch hesitated.

‘You may speak,’ said Owen encouragingly. ‘Mr el Zaki puts these questions with the knowledge and agreement of His Highness,’ possibly stretching the truth a little.

‘She was helping to entertain the princes.’

‘Helping?’

‘There were two others. They came on board at Beni Suef.’

‘On the way up to Luxor or on the way back?’

‘On the way up.’

‘Have you any objection to telling me their names?’

‘I don’t know their names,’ said the eunuch.

The incident had happened on the return journey. The dahabeeyah had moored for the night and the three girls had been up on the top deck enjoying the evening breeze. They had stayed up there with the princes until it had become dark, early, of course, in Egypt.

Prince Narouz, bored, had descended first. About half an hour later, according to the eunuch, Prince Fahid had followed him, accompanied, possibly reluctantly, by two of the girls. The third had remained on the top deck.

And it was from the top deck, apparently, that she had disappeared. Late, quite late, someone had called up to her, asking when she was going to come down. Some time after, not having received a reply, they had sent the eunuch to fetch her. He had found the top deck empty.

At first he had assumed that she had climbed down to the lower deck and gone forward. Some members of the crew had been sitting in the bows and it was only when they denied having seen her that he began to search seriously.

‘The steersman?’ said Mahmoud. ‘Surely the steersman must have seen?’

On a dahabeeyah the steersman was placed aft, immediately behind the cabin. He usually stood on a little platform raised high enough to enable him to see over and past the cabins when the boat was moving.

After the boat had stopped for the night there was always some work still to be done on the platform. The rudder bar had to be lashed and the ropes stowed. The eunuch said, however, that the steersman had finished his work and gone forward before all this happened.

The eunuch had made a cursory search and then had reported the matter to Prince Narouz. Narouz had been angry, first with the girl for playing the fool and then with the eunuch for not finding her.

He had searched the boat himself. Gradually he came to realize that something was seriously amiss.

By now, of course, it was dark and hard to see anything on the water. The Prince had had all the men up on deck scanning the river with the aid of oil lamps. Meanwhile the eunuch had been concluding a search below.

When he had gone up on deck again he found that the Prince had lowered two small rowing boats and was systematically scouring the river. This had continued all night. As soon as it was light the dahabeeyah had sailed down river with everyone on deck keeping an eye out. They had seen nothing.

In the end they had abandoned the search, set the Prince down so that he could report the incident at once, and sailed on to Bulak.

‘I shall need to speak to the Ship’s Captain, the Rais,’ said Mahmoud. ‘Also to the crew. One by one. Also to the servants. Those girls, of course. Then the harem.’

‘The harem!’ said the eunuch, shocked. ‘Certainly not! What sort of boat do you think this is?’

The dahabeeyah was moored across the river from the main port. This was the traditional mooring place for dahabeeyahs and in the old days, before Mr Cook had come with his steamers, there would have been over two hundred of them nudging the bank. They were the traditional way for the rich to travel by water—and in Egypt everyone travelled by water. The Nile was the main, the only, thoroughfare from north to south and the dahabeeyah was its Daimler.

It was a large, flat-bottomed sailing boat rather like a Thames barge or, as tourists were over-prone to comment, a College houseboat, except that its cabins were all above deck and all aft. This gave it a weird, lop-sided look and might have made it unstable had that not been compensated for by putting the hold forward.

From the point of view of the tourist the arrangement had an additional delight. There was a railed-off space on top of the cabins which served as a kind of open-air lounge, sufficiently high to allow passengers both to enjoy the breeze and to see over the bank. This was important, as in some stretches of the river Mr Cook’s customers might not otherwise have benefited from the remarkable views he had promised them.

Owen himself rather enjoyed the views but he had been a little surprised to learn that they had also drawn the Prince.

‘How long was he up there?’ he asked the Rais, the Ship’s Captain, disbelievingly.

‘Two hours.’

‘Of course, it was cool up there.’

‘Yes.’

‘And he was keeping the women company.’

‘They were already up there,’ said the Rais. There was a note of disapproval in his voice.

‘Really? By themselves?’

Mahmoud clucked sympathetically.

‘By themselves.’

‘That’s not right!’

‘They shouldn’t have been up there at all!’ said the Rais. ‘There’s a place for women. And it’s the harem.’

‘Ah, but these weren’t—I mean, they weren’t properly in the Prince’s harem.’

‘They ought to have been. And they ought to have stayed there.’

‘Were they flaunting themselves?’ asked Mahmoud, commiserating.

The Rais hesitated.

‘It was enough to be there, wasn’t it? My men could hardly take their eyes off them.’

‘Unseemly!’ said Mahmoud.

‘It wasn’t proper,’ said the Rais. ‘The Prince should have known better. Though it is not for me to say that.’

‘Have you captained for him before?’

‘He’s never been on the river before. At least, as far as I know.’

‘So you didn’t know what to expect?’

‘All he told us was that he wanted to go up to Luxor. With the Prince Fahid. He was very particular about that. The Prince had his own room, of course, and Narouz wanted a cabin next to him. He didn’t even want to be with the harem.’

‘Strange! And then, of course, there were those other women.’

‘He didn’t say anything about them. Not until we were nearly at Beni Suef.’

‘They were foreigners, weren’t they?’

‘I’m not saying anything.’

‘They must have been. Our women wouldn’t have behaved like that.’

‘Indecent!’

‘Did they wear veils?’

‘They wore veils,’ the Rais conceded grudgingly. ‘But they showed their ankles!’

‘Oh!’ said Mahmoud, shocked.

‘How could Hassan be expected to steer when they were flaunting their ankles in front of him?’

‘Impossible,’ Mahmoud agreed. ‘Impossible!’

They were standing in the stern of the vessel looking up at the back of the cabins. The steersman’s platform, with the huge horizontal rudder bar he used for steering, was right beside them.

‘But I don’t understand!’ said Mahmoud. ‘The woman who stayed up there alone—’

‘Shameless!’ said the Rais.

‘Shameless!’ agreed Mahmoud. ‘But she was right in front of him. Surely he would have seen if she had—well, fallen off.’

‘Ah, but it was dark, you see. We had stopped for the night.’

‘So the steersman wasn’t there?’

‘No.’

‘Where was he?’

‘I don’t know,’ said the Rais. ‘You’d better ask him.’

‘And where were you?’ asked Mahmoud.

‘I was up here,’ said the steersman. ‘We’d finished for the day, so I tied the rudder and then came up forward.’

They were sitting in the shade of the cook’s galley. It was a small shed, rather like a Dutch oven in shape, set well up into the prow to remove it as far as possible from the passengers’ cabins. The cook stood up on the forward side, so that the shed protected him when there was a favourable wind. They could hear him there now.

The spot was clearly a favourite one with the crew and there had been several men dozing there when Owen and Mahmoud had appeared. They had gone aft to leave them to talk to the steersman in private, but one of them, the cook presumably, had disappeared into the galley.

‘She was still up there at that point?’

‘Yes.’ The steersman’s wrinkled face broke into a smile. ‘I reckoned the midges would soon drive her down.’

‘It was dark by then?’

‘Just. They were up there admiring the sunset but I wanted to stop while there was still a bit of light. There are one or two things you have to do and you can always do them better if you can see what you’re doing. Besides, the Prince didn’t want us to go too far. He wanted another night on the river!’

‘Oh, he did, did he? And why was that?’

‘Why do you think? Perhaps he likes it better on the water.’

‘That’s what is was about, you think?’

‘What else could it be? He goes down to his estate and doesn’t stay there a moment, we call in at Luxor and he doesn’t want to go ashore. We go straight down and straight back and the only thing we stop for is to pick up some women at Beni Suef!’

‘Those women,’ said Mahmoud, ‘what were they like?’

‘Classy. But not the sort you’d want to take home with you.’

‘Foreign.’

The steersman hesitated. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I don’t know. Two of them were, certainly. The other—that’s the one who finished up in the river—I’m not sure about.’

‘You’re sure about the others, though?’

‘Oh yes. You could hear them talking. Mind you, she was talking with them. I don’t know, of course, but it just seemed to me … well, and then there were the clothes.’

‘What about the clothes?’

‘Well, they all wore the tob.’ The tob was a loose outer gown. ‘And the burka, of course.’ The burka was a long face veil which reached almost to the ground. ‘But from where I was you could see their legs.’

‘Yes. The Rais told us.’

‘I’ll bet he did! He oughtn’t to have seen that, ought he? I mean, he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking. You’d have thought a man like that, strict, he’s supposed to be—’

‘The women,’ said Mahmoud patiently.

‘Yes, well, the thing was that—I mean, I couldn’t see clearly—but I reckon those two had European clothes on underneath their tobs. You could see their ankles. But the other one, well, I caught a glimpse. She was wearing shintiyan.’

‘Pink ones?’ said Owen.

‘Why, yes,’ said the steersman, surprised. ‘That’s right. How did you know? Oh, I suppose you’ve seen the body.’

‘Never mind that,’ said Mahmoud. ‘Let’s get back to when she was on the top deck. She was up there when you last saw her?’

‘Yes.’

‘Alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why didn’t she go down with the others?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Had they been quarrelling?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You heard them talking.’

‘Well, it was not so much quarrelling. I think the Prince was trying to get her to do something. Like, persuade her.’

‘And she didn’t want to?’

‘I couldn’t really tell,’ confessed the steersman. ‘I couldn’t understand the language, see? It was just the impression I got. He wasn’t nasty or anything, not even angry, really. He was just trying—well, to persuade her, like I said.’

‘He didn’t get anywhere, though?’

‘No.’

‘How was she? I mean, was she angry?’

‘I couldn’t really say. You never know what’s going on behind those burkas. You think all’s going well and the next moment—bing! They’ve hit you with something. My wife’s like that.’

‘Were there any tears?’

‘Tears? Well, I don’t know. Not so much tears but you know how they get sometimes, you think they’re going to cry and they don’t, they just keep going on and on. A bit like that.’

‘With the Prince? When he was trying to persuade her?’

‘Yes. And with the girls, too. A bit earlier. Going on and on.’

‘Did they get fed up with her?’

‘They left her alone after a bit. Then the Prince came up and had a try and he didn’t do any better.’ He broke off. ‘Is this helping?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Good. I like to help. Only—all this talking!’ He suddenly pounded on the back of the galley with his fist.

‘What’s the matter?’ asked the cook, sticking his head out.

‘How about some tea? I’m so dry I can’t speak.’

‘It sounded to me as if you were doing all right. I’d have brought you some before only I didn’t want to interrupt you.’

He placed a little white enamel cup before each of them and filled it with strong black tea.

‘No sugar,’ he said. ‘You’d think we’d have sugar on board the Prince’s dahabeeyah but we don’t.’

‘It’s that eunuch,’ said the steersman. ‘The stuff never even gets here.’

‘It goes somewhere else, does it?’ asked Mahmoud sympathetically.

‘Into his pocket!’ said the steersman.

Mahmoud looked up at the cook.

‘You were here that night, weren’t you? The night the girl disappeared?’

‘Yes. I was just making supper when that stupid eunuch came along making a great commotion.’

‘You left the girl there,’ Mahmoud said to the steersman, ‘and then you came along here. Did you have a cup of tea at that point?’

‘Yes,’ said the steersman, ‘I always have one when I finish.’

‘Tea first, then supper,’ said the cook.

‘And you had a cup with him, perhaps?’

‘I did. I always do.’

‘Here? Sitting here?’

‘Yes. Several of us.’

‘And you were still sitting here when the eunuch came?’

‘I was,’ said the steersman.

‘I had just got up,’ said the cook. ‘To make the supper.’

‘So whatever it was that happened,’ said Mahmoud, ‘happened while you were sitting here.’

‘I suppose so,’ said the steersman. ‘Well, it must have.’

‘Yes, it must have. And you still say you saw nothing? Heard nothing?’

‘Here, just a minute—!’

‘We weren’t looking!’

‘We were talking!’

‘You would have seen a person. Or—’

‘We didn’t see anything!’

‘Two people. On the cabin roof. Together.’

‘Here!’ said the steersman, scrambling to his feet. ‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m asking,’ said Mahmoud. ‘Did you see two people?’

‘No!’

‘Up there together. Whoever they were.’

‘I didn’t see anything!’

‘None of us saw anything!’

‘Thirty feet away and you saw nothing?’

‘We weren’t looking!’

‘You took care not to look.’

‘We were talking!’

‘And nothing attracted your attention? Someone is attacked—’

‘Attacked!’

‘Or falls. And you know nothing about it? If she’d jumped into the water she’d have made a splash.’

‘A splash? Who hears a splash? There are splashes all the time.’

‘One as big as this? You are boatmen. You would have heard.’

‘Truly!’ said the steersman. ‘I swear to God—!’

‘He hears what you say!’ Mahmoud warned him.

‘And sees all that happens. I know. Well, he may have seen what happened to the girl but I didn’t.’

The steersman showed them off the boat. At the gangway he hesitated and then ran up the bank after them.

‘What was it, then? Was she knocked on the head?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Mahmoud.

‘I thought you’d seen the body?’

‘No. It’s not turned up yet.’

‘Oh.’ He seemed disappointed. Then he brightened. ‘Tell you what,’ he said, ‘I know where it will fetch up, more than likely.’

‘Yes?’

The steersman pointed downriver to where men were working on a scaffolding which stretched out across the river.

‘See that? That’s the new Bulak bridge. That’s where they finish up these days.’

They were sharing the boat with a kid goat, a pile of onions and the boatman’s wife, who sat, completely muffled in tob and burka, as far away from them as was possible.

It had been the steersman’s idea. They had been about to set out for the main bridge when he had said:

‘Are you going back to Bulak? Why don’t you get Hamid to run you over?’

He had pointed along the bank to where an elderly Arab was standing in the water bent over the gunwale of a small, crazily-built boat. The sides were not so much planks as squares of wood stuck on apparently at hazard. The sail was a small, tattered square sheet.

‘In that? I don’t think so,’ said Owen.

But Mahmoud, fired with enthusiasm for the life marine, was already descending the bank.

With the two of them on board, the stern dipped until the gunwale was inches above the water. The bows, with the woman and the goat, rose heavenward. The boatman inspected this critically for a moment, but then, unlike Owen, seemed satisfied.

He perched himself on the edge of the gunwale and took the two ends of the rope in his hands. One he wedged expertly between his toes. The other he wound round his arm.

The wind caught the sail and he threw himself backwards until the folds of his galabeah were trailing in the water. The boat moved comfortably out into the river.

Now they were in midstream they could see the new bridge more clearly. There were workmen on the scaffolding and, down at the bottom, a small boat nudging its way along the length of the works.

The boatman pointed with his head.

‘That’s the police boat,’ he said. ‘It comes every day to pick up the bodies.’

‘Can you take us over there?’ asked Mahmoud.

The boatman scampered across to the opposite gunwale, turned the boat, turned it again and set off on a long glide which took them close in along the bridge.

‘Bring us in to the boat,’ said Mahmoud.

A tall man in the police boat looked up, saw Mahmoud and waved excitedly.

‘Ya Mahmoud!’ he called.

‘Ya Selim!’ answered Mahmoud warmly.

A couple of policemen caught the boat as it came in alongside and steadied it. Mahmoud and the other man embraced affectionately.

‘Why, Mahmoud, have you done something sensible at last and joined the river police?’

‘Temporarily; this is my boat.’

Selim inspected it critically.

‘The boatman’s all right,’ he said, ‘but I’m not so sure about the boat.’

He shook hands with the boatman.

‘Give me your money,’ said the boatman, ‘and I’ll have a boat as good as yours.’

‘And the Mamur Zapt,’ said Mahmoud.

Selim shook hands again and gave him a second look.

‘I don’t think we’ve met,’ said Owen.

‘No. I’ve met Mahmoud, though. We were working on a case last year.’ He looked at them again. ‘The Mamur Zapt and the Parquet,’ he said. ‘This must be important.’

‘It’s the girl,’ said Mahmoud. ‘You’ve received notification, I’m sure.’

‘Pink shintiyan? That the one?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Not come through yet. When did it happen?’

‘The night before last. About three miles upstream.’

‘She’ll have sunk, then. Otherwise she’d have come through by now.’

Owen looked out along the works. There seemed a lot of water passing through the gaps.

‘Could she have gone through and missed you?’

‘She could. But most of them finish up against the scaffolding. In the old days before we started building the bridge they used to fetch up on a bend about two miles down. That was better for us because it’s in the next district and meant they had to do the work and not us.’

‘Ah, but that meant they missed all the glory, too!’

‘I think the average Chief would prefer to do without the glory!’

Owen laughed. ‘We’ve known a few like that!’

‘Yes. We sometimes get the feeling that not all the bodies that come down to us need have done.’

‘You think so?’

‘Sure of it.’

‘It’s important to pick up this one,’ said Mahmoud.

‘Yes, I’m checking them myself. We’ve had two women through this week. One of them’s old and one of them’s young, but I don’t think the young one could be the one you’re looking for, not unless she changed her trousers on the way down.’

‘The trousers is about all we’ve got at the moment. I hope to add some details later. Keep the young one just in case.’

‘It’ll be some time before she’s traced and identified anyway. They don’t always come from the city. Sometimes it’s a village upstream.’

‘Well, keep her. Just on the off-chance.’

‘If she’s sunk, what then?’ asked Owen.

‘Oh, she’ll come up. Gases. In the body. It’ll take a day or two. Then the body comes up and floats on down to us. We get them all in the end.’

‘I hope you get this one.’

They pushed off. Their boat was now downwind and they had to tack. The boatman tucked up the skirts of his galabeah, hooked his knees over the gunwale and leaned far back over the side. Owen, more confident of his transport now, trailed a hand over the side and turned his face to catch the breeze. Beside him, Mahmoud, hands clasped behind head, was thinking.

In the bows the boatman’s wife sat muffled from head to foot, invisible behind her veil, anonymous.