Blood Wedding (20 page)

‘Not really, sir. My job’s about maintaining good relations with our Muslim community.’

‘Okay then. They’re in the basement. Get down there and make yourself useful.’

Max’s legs felt heavier and heavier as he took the stairs down to the basement. He needed another coffee. He heard voices, angry voices. Linda sounding tired, frustrated, insistent. He knocked. Linda came out.

‘Max. Thanks for coming.’

‘You okay? How’s it going?’

‘Shitty. Getting nowhere. I need a coffee. Come and join me. See if you have any ideas.’

They sat in a corner of the police canteen. In the bright morning light, Linda had aged ten years.

‘Max. I’m half dead. Have to get some sleep.’

‘Any progress?’

‘No. None. Found nothing so far in all that stuff we took. These guys are tough bastards. We’re getting zilch out of any of them. Nothing on the ETA connection. Some of the bastards say they’ve never heard of ETA. Can you believe it?’

‘That’s not surprising – most of them are foreigners. Why should they know about Basque terrorists?’

‘I don’t get it. It’s like they’d rehearsed what to say. They admitted the lot: the shit their dads got up to, the anti-war stuff, the works.’

‘Why wouldn’t they? Maybe they’ve got nothing to hide.’

‘Are you a fool or just bloody naive? Of course they’re hiding something. I don’t buy their line, too many bloody coincidences. I could swallow one or two of them being involved in stuff. But all of them? No way. Peace and justice types? You must be joking.’

‘Maybe. But it could be. What do you make of Javeed Dharwish?’

‘Gives nothing away. Doesn’t seem to need sleep. So damn polite and reasonable it turns my stomach. Says his financial contributions to HosPal are just for medical aid for the suffering poor of Palestine. What a load of crap. Did you know, he was in the Chatila refugee camp, but only doing youth work. What a saint!’

‘What happened there? The massacre was really terrible.’

‘Huh. Oh, Max – did you see the press this morning?’

‘No. I haven’t seen a newspaper or watched the TV.’

‘You should. We’re front-page news. They’re all running the ricin connection.’

‘Any reports back on that?’

Linda looked away, her shoulders sagging. ‘No. Nothing definitive yet.’

‘Hmm.’

‘Some of the hacks are talking up an ETA link.’

‘Can’t imagine where they got that from, can you?’

‘So we’ve got to get something out of them. Any bright ideas, Max?’

‘Not really my scene.’

Linda managed a smile. ‘Oh.
Sí,
I forgot.
Señor
yes but, and but yes. Really have to get some sleep. Can hardly stand. Over to you. Maybe a friendly smile will get a result. Find their weak spots, Max. We’ll take it from there. I’ll be in first thing tomorrow. Let me have your report then.’

‘I’ll try. But have you considered they might be telling the truth? That we made a mistake?’

Linda stood up, and looked Max firmly in the eye. ‘I haven’t made a mistake. They’re guilty as hell. They’re involved somehow. So is ETA. We just have to get it out of them. It’s your job now. That’s an order.’

She walked slowly out of the door. Max had to admire her tenacity, her drive. But her refusal to even consider that she might be wrong was worrying. He finished his coffee slowly, and then poured another. He could do with fresh air, but an order was an order. Best begin with Javeed Dharwish. If he cracked then all the others would.

Javeed had not slept much either. But he was still in control. Hardly a crease on his well-cut suit. He turned towards Max.

‘Ah. Sub-Inspector Romero. Any news of Rizwan Ahmet, the man you shot?’

‘I phoned this morning. They’ve removed the bullet. He’s lost a lot of blood, but the medics think he’s stabilizing.’ Max thought it best not to add he was still in a critical condition.

‘I hope so. Any chance you’re here to sort out this mess? No. So it’s the bad cop, good cop routine. And which will you be this time?’

‘I am here solely to get the truth.’

‘What is truth, said jesting Pilate, and would not stay for an answer. I know your Christian literature. But do you know ours?’

“‘
Ana al haqq
,’” replied Max. ‘“Truth is me” to quote Al Hallaj. And he was beheaded for his claim.’

‘Indeed he was. For only Allah can claim that.’

Both men relaxed a little.

‘I’ve told your ill-educated police here everything there is to know. You have made an embarrassing mistake, and when it all comes out I hope heads will roll.’

‘They never do. At least not at the top.’

‘That’s true.’

Max smiled. ‘Okay. Can we start from the beginning?’

‘You seem to have a full file on me. The Israelis, I suppose. What is it you want to know?’

‘Start with the Ibn Rush’d Centre. How it was set up, how you chose the applicants for your course . . .’

Javeed went over all the details. Like Linda, Max thought there was something odd about the young entrepreneurs on the course. How could a convicted drug dealer have got on to it?

‘Did you know Faslur Hashim had been in jail for drugs?’

‘Yes, we did. But he’s a reformed character. As with many Muslims he rediscovered his religion in jail. The EU funders were keen we had a social inclusion element in our programme. I was also keen on the idea.’

‘What was his proposed business plan?’

‘He had a detailed proposal to set up a business importing traditional pottery from Morocco. He has good contacts in Fez.’

‘What! You must be joking! Spain’s full of trinkets from Morocco.’

‘Yes. But much of it is of poor quality. So he was planning to get the best from Fez, and work with local craftsmen to improve the quality and variety of products as the business developed.’

‘And go bankrupt in a week?’

‘Well, he might modify his plan. It was not fully developed as he was accepted late in the day.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Three of our original group unfortunately had to drop out at the last minute, and most of the waiting list had got fixed up.’

‘And who was the other last-minute candidate?’

‘That’s Omar Rahmin.’

‘He’s the French Algerian, isn’t he?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what was his great business plan?’

‘He wanted to set up a construction firm with immigrant workers.’

‘What? That’s got even less chance of success than importing Moroccan rubbish.’

‘It’s not rubbish. That’s just your prejudice.’

‘Go on. Tell me about the others.’

‘Hakim Lasnami had an excellent proposal to buy second-hand medical equipment in Europe, and then sell it to the Middle Eastern countries. Thanks to Western and Israeli policies, there is an enormous demand for artificial limbs . . . and any equipment to treat the wounded.’

‘And the others would make good businessmen as well, you think?’

‘Yes. Their proposals were well thought through. Rizwan Ahmet, the man you shot, is very competent. Just needs more confidence. He thinks there is a niche for the Muslim equivalent of the Body Shop. After all it was we Muslims who invented soap, cleanliness, natural perfumes and body products.’

‘And Hassan Khan’s plan?’

‘It needs more work. But he’s a natural with computers. And I also needed an administrative assistant. He had worked with me in London so I knew I could rely on him. But he’s less robust than the others. I wasn’t too sure he could take the hard physical training, so he only does part of the course.’

‘Useful to have a hacker on-site if you are planning something, isn’t it?’

‘Back to that again. We weren’t planning anything.’

‘Hassan Khan looks up to you, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes. He’s had a difficult family life . . . and I never had kids. I’m fond of him.’

‘How does Leila Mahfouz fit into all of this?’

‘Leila Mahfouz? She doesn’t fit in at all. Just saw young Hassan a couple of times. Nothing to do with us.’

‘But you knew her though?’

‘Only to nod to.’

‘Then how come she went out with Hassan Khan? How come she ended up at the bottom of a ravine?’

‘Look, I don’t know anything about that. Sure, I initially agreed Hassan could go out with her. But he was finding the work and the course tough. So I advised him to end the relationship before it started to interfere with his work. We’ve cooperated fully with you on this. I even let you take in Hassan for questioning. And then look what you did. Beat him up.’

‘He tried to escape, and had to be restrained.’

‘Who are you kidding? We both know what really happened. But are you really suggesting any of us had anything to do with her death?’

‘Could be. Hassan had been out with her. He had a fight with her. You and he were both in the vicinity. Maybe she had learnt something. Something you’re planning. You had to shut her up.’

‘Don’t be absurd. You’ve seen too many American films. This famous terrorist plot is just a figment of your imaginations. I’ve been over everything with your bosses, and they’ve got nothing because there’s nothing to find.’

‘Okay. Let’s begin again at the beginning, shall we?’

Max began at the beginning. Date of birth, place of birth, parents, education, political involvement. The Israeli file was accurate. Nothing new to add.

‘Can you tell me about your time in the Chatila refugee camp?’

‘What more do you want to know? Look, I was a youth organizer for Al Fatah in the camp. You must have read about conditions there. They were atrocious. No sanitation, shortage of clean water, families in temporary shacks for years, no jobs, no hope. We had to keep some sort of order otherwise our people would kill each other over a loaf of bread. We needed to give a focus to the anger and the resentment. Yes, against the Israelis. They were responsible for our suffering. And yes, we fought back. I don’t apologize for that. The right to resist tyranny and oppression. Isn’t that part of the great British tradition – John Locke, I believe?’

‘But where do you draw the line? A suicide bomber in a crowded restaurant?’

‘The weapons of the weak are never sanitized. A suicide bomber kills five, and there’s body parts all over the front pages. A guided missile kills fifty at a wedding party, but that’s a surgical strike with collateral damage, and your public never see the dead. A blown-up child is a blown-up child regardless of how you do it.’

‘So you do defend the suicide bombers?’

‘I know what you are trying to say. But I won’t condemn them, if that is what you mean. I will criticize them for not being politically effective. And it’s stupid to target civilians.’

‘Were you planning a terrorist attack here?’

‘What the hell are you talking about? Don’t be childish. I’ve spent too long trying to do something useful with European Muslims. Of course not. It would be great if the oppressed didn’t have to use violence. But recognizing that right doesn’t mean I would be involved in terrorism, which is what you think, isn’t it?’

‘Okay. So you organized youth into militias to attack Israeli targets and presumably Israeli allies in Lebanon.’

‘Your words, not mine.’

Max remembered the photograph of the beautiful woman on Javeed’s bedside table in the Ibn Rush’d Centre. ‘You were married, but then left the camp. But without your wife?’

Javeed visibly stiffened. Max had found a raw nerve. ‘Yes. Without my wife.’

‘Were you in love?’

For the first time Javeed’s shoulders sank. There’s something here, thought Max. Have to push it hard. ‘So you were in love. But you left her and never went back?’

‘No, I never went back. I have never been back.’

‘An odd sort of love, isn’t it?’

Javeed stood up, put his hands on the table, and shouted at Max: ‘You, you understand nothing. You sit in your comfortable, secure homes here in Europe, and do nothing to stop what happens to my people. Okay, do you want to know what happened? Do you want to know what life was really like for us? I wanted to stay. I was desperate to stay. The Israeli army had surrounded the camp. I knew I was on their list. My wife, six months pregnant, knew I was on their list. She begged me to leave.’

Javeed pressed his hand against his mouth. ‘She cried, she pleaded. She said they would not harm a pregnant woman. She wanted me alive, she wanted me to come back for her and our baby. In the end I agreed. It was risky. But with two companions I got out. The next night, the Israeli army let the Lebanese Christian militia into the camp. The Israelis laughed as they let them in, some hanging around to watch the fun. Do you know what happened next? Killing, raping, burning, and all the while the Israelis stood by, laughing.’

Javeed stopped, his voice choking. ‘My wife, my wife. They raped her, they cut off her breast, they then sliced open her belly, and took out the baby with a knife, and showed it to her, before they slit her throat.’

Javeed clenched his fist, shook it at Max, and moved towards him as if to hit him. ‘And you, you have the nerve to ask me what I think about suicide bombers.’

He sank back into his chair, put his head in his hands, and sobbed. Max froze, unsure of how to respond, wanting to comfort the man, but knowing any real sign of sympathy would be against interrogation rules. All he could do was get up, leave and order a cup of coffee for Javeed.

Max needed another coffee. He sat alone in the canteen. His hand shook. This was not a friendly cup of tea with an Iman. Javeed? There was black hatred and anger there. But could he be capable of a terrorist act? Had he the motive and discipline to plan a spectacular? Yes, if he thought it politically effective. But where was the evidence? None. But there was something odd about the guys on the course. He’d better tell Linda about Javeed’s outburst. She’d probably interpret it as proof he was hiding something. What would Linda do next? If there was nothing, that was her promotion down the pan.

Max went down the stairs for the next interview. He would have to go back and continue with Javeed, but best not now. The other interviews produced nothing new. They all had sound alibis at the time of Leila’s death. None of them had even spoken to her. Max had strong doubts about Faslur Hashim, the Spanish Moroccan. An ex-drug runner, a slippery character, evasive. Not the sort of person you’d like to meet on a dark night. Admitted he’d hung around with members of the GICM, but only because they were Moroccans and enjoyed a game of backgammon. Max disliked him, tired of his constant refrains to Allah, his born-again fundamentalism. But there was no evidence to link him to any potential terrorist act, though he was probably capable of violence. And when Max asked him about his famous business plan, he was so vague as to be laughable.