Babel (36 page)

‘Yes, that’s what Brock said.’

She turned the pages over and noticed a passage describing the Arabs.

‘“They were a people of spasms, of upheavals, of ideas . . .
Their largest manufacture was of creeds . . .” ’

‘I think that’s what Springer meant by truth—the absolute truth of creeds, whether religious or scientific.’

‘But they’re completely different, scientific truth and religious truth.’

‘All the same, Springer saw them both as opposed to freedom. At least, according to Briony Kidd.’

Her eyes skipped down to another phrase, ‘“Dry souls ready to be set on fire.” Not exactly how I’d describe Qasim Ali, but you never know, I suppose. Let’s go back and see what he’s got for us.’

They ran back through the drizzle and found Fran Said, head covered by a black scarf, waiting for them at the table where they had previously been, drinking a cup of tea. Kathy introduced Leon and they sat down. The pale family at the central table was still there, finishing off large helpings of burgers and chips, but no new customers had been lured in by the amplified voice of Umm Kalthoum.

‘I was telling Leon about your background, Fran. I think it’s really interesting.’

Fran shrugged. ‘Not really. I’m not sure I want an interesting life, just one that I can feel certain about.’

‘Well, I think it’s interesting how you opted for an arranged marriage, for instance.’

‘It worked for me.’

‘But not for Nargis.’

‘It wasn’t the fault of the system,’ Fran said defensively. ‘Her life here and the ways of the old country were just too far apart.’

‘Yet the marriage in Kashmir was valid? So what could Nargis do, if, say, she wanted to marry someone else, like Abu?’

‘That would depend on her husband. Under Islamic law, the wife can’t initiate a divorce. If she did that through a British civil court, and her husband in Kashmir didn’t want the divorce and didn’t pronounce the talaaq, that’s the divorce formula, then in the eyes of Islamic law they would still be married. Nargis hoped . . . hopes that her husband will divorce her so that he can marry again, only . . . she doesn’t want it to be to her sister Yasmin.’ Fran’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

‘No, and she’s only fourteen, isn’t she? So Nargis is still married, and that means that she and Abu were living in adultery . . .’ Kathy saw the look of alarm flare in Fran’s eyes and added quickly, lowering her voice, ‘I’m sorry, Fran. I just need to understand the situation that Nargis and Abu were in. Islamic law is very strong on adultery, isn’t it?’

‘“Surely, it is a foul thing and an evil way.” That’s what the Qur’an says.’

‘So they were faced with the alternative of separating and Nargis remaining faithful to a husband she detested, or living together as outcasts from their faith, not to mention under threat of dire retribution from her father and his brothers. That’s about it, is it?’

‘Yes.’

‘It must have been a terrible dilemma. They must have been tempted just to disappear, and start again somewhere else. But where could they go where they could rejoin the Muslim community without being found out? What sort of resources would they need to do that? And then Abu comes home one day with thirty thousand pounds.’

Fran glared at her. ‘You think it was blood money, don’t you? You think someone paid him that money to commit a murder.’

‘What else can we think, Fran? When we spoke to Nargis a week ago she said he’d brought it home about two weeks before. Max Springer was shot exactly two weeks before.’

‘No! The only reason I agreed to talk to you is to tell you that you’re wrong. That money belongs to Nargis and her baby. You can’t take it from her.’

‘Convince me. What do you know to make you so sure?’

‘Suppose . . . suppose the money was a genuine gift, but it’d come from abroad, and the person who gave it didn’t want it known about, maybe for tax reasons or something, in their own country.’

‘Which country?’

‘Lebanon.’

‘Go on.’

‘When Nargis came back from Kashmir and took shelter here, her friendship with Abu began again. They loved each other, and after a little while they became lovers—they couldn’t help themselves. But Nargis was now married to someone else, and carrying that other man’s baby. They were frightened to go to the imam for advice, because they were afraid he would denounce them. They began to dream of going abroad, to the Lebanon perhaps, where Abu’s family live, or the United States where he has a cousin. But meanwhile Nargis’ father had taken out the warrant against her, and they were afraid that they would be arrested if they tried to leave the country under her own passport, or if they tried to marry here and leave under his name. And all the time the baby was growing.

‘A couple of weeks ago—and yes, it was the time of the murder of Professor Springer, but that was a coincidence— Abu came to me for advice. He had been able to obtain a sum of money from his father to assist them. Thirty thousand pounds, in sterling notes. With some of it he was hoping to buy a false passport for Nargis. But he was worried at having so much cash, and didn’t know what to do with it to avoid suspicion. He wanted the money to be in Nargis’ name, and he asked my advice. Should he open a bank account for her, or buy travellers’ cheques, or jewellery, or a bank draft? I suggested a range of things, but a few days later he was dead.’

Fran’s sincerity was plain, as was her sympathy for the tragic circumstances of her friends, yet she didn’t seem to realise how incriminating for Abu her story was. His desperation to save Nargis, and his insistence that the money should be held in her name only strengthened the case against him.

‘He said the money came from his father? Those were his words?’

Fran frowned. ‘Not exactly. Abu was adopted, you see. He said something like, the money has been given to me by the man who has been a father to me. Something like that.’

‘Is Khadra his adopted name, do you know? Will that be the name of his adopted father in Beirut?’

‘I think so.’

‘Well, we can try to check.’

Fran heard the doubt in Kathy’s voice and said dully, ‘You don’t believe me, do you?’

‘I believe you’ve told me what you believe to be the truth, Fran, but it won’t help Nargis unless we can find some documentary evidence of where the money came from. Have you any idea how it came into the country? There must be bank records somewhere.’

Fran shook her head glumly. ‘No, that’s what I meant earlier, about Abu’s father not wanting the money traced. Abu told us once that his adopted dad is a bit of a crook, a dealer in the black market. When I asked him why he’d been given the money in cash, he said he thought that was so it couldn’t be traced. I assume his dad got someone to bring it into the country by hand.’

‘So the father isn’t going to be keen to talk to us about it, even if we do track him down.’

‘I suppose not.’ She sighed. ‘I haven’t helped, have I?’

‘I don’t know, Fran. The more we can piece together the better. Maybe you’ll think of something else. What about your husband? Would Abu have talked things over with George?’

‘Don’t think so. Abu was secretive, and only told me about the money because he needed advice. George is hopeless with money.’

Later, walking back to the car, Leon glanced at Kathy, deep in thought.

‘She’s bright. Too bad she’s given up the merchant banking. But I suppose that must be a tricky occupation for a Muslim.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, they don’t believe in interest. If they earn any, on bank accounts for instance, they’re supposed to give it away to charity, as zakah.’

‘What’s zakah?’

‘Alms. It’s one of a Muslim’s obligations. You can give zakah to the poor, or the needy, or . . . there’s a third category, with a funny name. I forget. What were you thinking so hard about?’

‘The gun. The money was intact, thirty thousand exactly. So he didn’t use it to buy the gun.’

‘Maybe dad in Beirut sent it over with the cash.’

‘Then why use it to kill Springer? If he was going to shoot anybody it’d be more likely to have been old man Manzoor.’

‘Guns! That was the third category.’

‘You can give alms to buy guns?’

‘Sort of. Feesabeelillah, it’s called. Money spent supporting the Muslim cause. Money for Jihad.’

The following day, Sunday, Kathy drove down to Battle to make her peace with Suzanne. They sat in the conservatory and drank coffee, just as she had done three weeks before, reading Max Springer’s obituary.

‘You’re looking so much better, Kathy,’ Suzanne said. ‘Are you sleeping?’

‘Yes, thanks.’ Kathy smiled at hearing the brisk tone again that Suzanne adopted when discussing the health of one of them, her brood of grandchildren, Kathy, Brock— potential problem children all. ‘I’m just sorry that I haven’t been in touch more.’

‘Oh, we’re all busy. You were ready to go back, weren’t you? I thought it was too soon, but you must have felt it was right.’

‘I didn’t think so at first, but, you know, you get caught up . . .’

‘Mm. And David, he’s very caught up at present too, I gather.’

‘Yes. We’ve reached a point . . . it’s hard to describe, where we seem to have most of the bits we need to wrap the thing up, but somehow it refuses to gel.’

‘Sounds like my attempts to make plum jelly. And of course, this is David’s moment, isn’t it?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘The stage in the investigation where the great detective discovers the truth that’s eluded everybody else.’ She smiled mischievously. ‘I’m not being sarcastic, but it is something like that, isn’t it? The enlightenment. It’s what David lives for, that moment . . . if you don’t get there first.’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. He described you once as quick on your feet. I think that’s what he meant. You’ve beaten him to it once or twice, haven’t you?’

Kathy suddenly felt herself under examination, Suzanne looking at her over the rim of her coffee cup.

‘You mean he resents it?’

‘No, no. I’m sure he doesn’t. I just think he’s been surprised. That’s good. You keep him on his toes. I know he was very worried that you might want to quit.’

All the same, Kathy had a vague sense that Suzanne was giving her a warning.

‘I feel bad about letting Tina down after she went to all that trouble for me. Is she annoyed?’

‘I honestly don’t think she ever really saw you escorting old ladies round the pyramids, but give her a call. And how’s your lovely Art Malik friend?’

‘Leon?’ Kathy laughed. ‘He doesn’t look like Art Malik, does he?’

‘Brock says he does, a younger version. I’m dying to meet him. Did he contribute to your recovery?’

‘He was part of the problem. You know we were, well, quite close, before Christmas.’

‘I got that impression, yes. I never learned what went wrong.’

‘A misunderstanding . . . no, a mistake, on my part. I missed an appointment. Only it was more complicated than that. There was a woman I was jealous about . . .’

‘Freud said we don’t really make mistakes like that. Maybe you missed the appointment on purpose, without realising it. Was he cross?’

‘Yes. Everything fell apart after that. Probably just as well. Having a relationship with someone at work only complicates things.’

‘Really? Only David happened to mention a Special Branch officer—oh, he didn’t say anything, but it was the
way
he didn’t say anything that made my ears prick up. Was I wrong?’

‘Yes,’ Kathy said firmly. ‘That was a figment of Brock’s imagination, I’m afraid.’

‘Well . . .’ Suzanne smiled quietly to herself. ‘Figments can be fun sometimes.’

21

D
espite newspaper reports that he was helping police with their inquiries, Haygill had been released on the evening of the Thursday on which he had first been interviewed following the discovery of the gun, pending further investigations. The searches of his premises had yielded plenty of documentary material, including bank statements and correspondence with backers in the Middle East, but nothing immediately incriminating. On the following Monday he was reinterviewed, this time by Bren and Kathy, with Brock observing from the adjoining room. Kathy’s role was to look sceptical but say little, Bren’s to be actively hostile and disbelieving. Brock was pleased to see that Haygill looked as if the weekend had not raised his spirits. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his speech had lost its former confidence and had become hesitant. Throughout the interview he looked frequently to his solicitor for guidance and, perhaps, reassurance.

‘Tell us how you recruited Abu Khadra?’ Bren asked, feeling more confident that Haygill’s decline might throw up some mistake or inconsistency.

‘It would have been about eighteen months ago, I think . . . umm, I can check the exact date . . .’ Bren waved a hand dismissively and Haygill continued. ‘I was on a visit to the University of Qatar. We’d recently lost our computer programmer, and the university provider wasn’t giving us the sort of service we needed, so I was on the lookout for someone.’

‘An Arab?’

‘Well, not necessarily, but we’re happy to recruit suitably qualified people from the region. Our sponsors like it, and we see it as part of our educational role. I think I explained to your Chief Inspector . . .’

‘Yes, yes. Go on.’

‘Well, Abu approached me. He’d heard of our project, and was very interested. He was just finishing a master’s degree at Qatar, as it happened, and was looking for opportunities. He was highly recommended by his supervisor, and after meeting him a couple of times during my visit I offered him a job.’

‘Just like that? No advertisements, interviews?’

‘His position is funded by our external research income, so I have discretion.’

‘So he owed his advancement entirely to you and to no one else.’

‘If you like . . .’

‘And this was the reason why he regarded you as a sort of father figure, is it? Or was there more to it?’

‘Your Chief Inspector used that phrase, but really, that’s putting it far too strongly. He was respectful, but no more than others.’

‘Oh, come on, Professor! He hero-worshipped you! That’s certainly the impression we’ve been getting.’