smooth.
"Look," Mutlaq said with excitement. "A houbara was here."
Nayir saw the telltale claw prints in the sand and felt strangely comforted that at least something survived out here.
"So how can you tell the difference between a man's prints and a woman's?" Nayir asked.
Mutlaq lifted his head and regarded him.
"I mean"—Nayir waved his hand—"I'm sure women tend to have smaller feet, but what else?"
"It's not just the size of the feet," Mutlaq replied. "It's never one thing." From his canteen, he took a quick drink and looked out over the heat-distorted horizon. "I've been doing this for so long, I don't remember the rules anymore. I judge on instinct. When I see a woman's footprints, I just know it's a woman."
"They walk differently from men?"
Mutlaq squinted. "Well, yes. Their bodies are different. Their hips are different. But I would say they walk differently for other reasons as well."
The three men got back in their vehicles and drove on. They had gone only a few kilometers when Mutlaq stopped and leaned out his window, calling over to Nayir, "The rain fell here, so we won't find more footprints beyond this."
Disappointed, Nayir got out of the Jeep, leaving Suhail asleep in the passenger seat. Mutlaq was right: the sand had been smoothed down by the rain. Mutlaq got out and joined him. They went to the edge of the wadi and peered down. It wasn't very far—a three-meter drop to the bottom. Someone could have tossed her down there after hitting her on the head, in which case she would have woken up and started walking down the wadi, not realizing that it was going to rain...
Or perhaps she never woke up.
He and Mutlaq scanned the area one last time for footprints. They walked slowly, following the wadi. Fifty meters downhill they saw a lump of fabric lying by a shrub, but it turned out to be a man's scarf, and judging from the dust and the fading, it had been there much longer than Nouf. Beyond that, there was no sign of activity.
"I'm sorry I can't be more help," Mutlaq said. "I suspect that the shoe you found is hers. If you can verify that, I'll be glad to help you hunt around for more prints. She had to have left them somewhere."
Back at the Jeep, they found Suhail awake and fidgeting with the GPS. The investigator's fingers were shaking, and he seemed to be having trouble with hand-eye coordination. Nayir studied his skin; he wasn't sweating anymore. Reaching through the window, he took Suhail's wrist.
"What are you doing?"
Nayir took his pulse rate. It was 135.
"Something wrong?" Suhail asked.
"Yes. You're dying."
Suhail let out a sarcastic snort. Mutlaq went to the back of his truck and took out a two-gallon jug of water. He brought it back, opened it, and dumped it on Suhail.
"Damn you!" Suhail wiped the water from his face. "This was a nice shirt!"
Nayir gave him a bottle and told him to drink it, a little at a time, until they reached Jeddah.
The sun was setting as he said goodbye to Mutlaq, started the Jeep, and drove back down to the road. It wasn't very often that the desert depressed him. The day had brought back all the frustration he'd felt searching for Nouf, and it taunted him.
It wasn't until he was on the freeway that he realized Suhail was unconscious. Well, there was nothing he could do except take him to the hospital when they got back to Jeddah. Some investigator, this one, little Benson & Hedges. It was going to take a bigger man to find Nouf's killer; this shrimp couldn't find water in a cooler.
8
A LTHOUGH NAYIR'S UNCLE SAMIR had devoted his life to science and balked at superstitions that used possession by the djinn to explain and treat every ailment—"a regrettable heritage," he called it—he kept one conviction intact: he believed in the power of the evil eye.
It was much more than a malicious gaze. The effects ranged from ailments as innocuous as hiccups to those as deadly as an embolism in a healthy young man. Because Samir was a chemist, his friends and
"Look," Mutlaq said with excitement. "A houbara was here."
Nayir saw the telltale claw prints in the sand and felt strangely comforted that at least something survived out here.
"So how can you tell the difference between a man's prints and a woman's?" Nayir asked.
Mutlaq lifted his head and regarded him.
"I mean"—Nayir waved his hand—"I'm sure women tend to have smaller feet, but what else?"
"It's not just the size of the feet," Mutlaq replied. "It's never one thing." From his canteen, he took a quick drink and looked out over the heat-distorted horizon. "I've been doing this for so long, I don't remember the rules anymore. I judge on instinct. When I see a woman's footprints, I just know it's a woman."
"They walk differently from men?"
Mutlaq squinted. "Well, yes. Their bodies are different. Their hips are different. But I would say they walk differently for other reasons as well."
The three men got back in their vehicles and drove on. They had gone only a few kilometers when Mutlaq stopped and leaned out his window, calling over to Nayir, "The rain fell here, so we won't find more footprints beyond this."
Disappointed, Nayir got out of the Jeep, leaving Suhail asleep in the passenger seat. Mutlaq was right: the sand had been smoothed down by the rain. Mutlaq got out and joined him. They went to the edge of the wadi and peered down. It wasn't very far—a three-meter drop to the bottom. Someone could have tossed her down there after hitting her on the head, in which case she would have woken up and started walking down the wadi, not realizing that it was going to rain...
Or perhaps she never woke up.
He and Mutlaq scanned the area one last time for footprints. They walked slowly, following the wadi. Fifty meters downhill they saw a lump of fabric lying by a shrub, but it turned out to be a man's scarf, and judging from the dust and the fading, it had been there much longer than Nouf. Beyond that, there was no sign of activity.
"I'm sorry I can't be more help," Mutlaq said. "I suspect that the shoe you found is hers. If you can verify that, I'll be glad to help you hunt around for more prints. She had to have left them somewhere."
Back at the Jeep, they found Suhail awake and fidgeting with the GPS. The investigator's fingers were shaking, and he seemed to be having trouble with hand-eye coordination. Nayir studied his skin; he wasn't sweating anymore. Reaching through the window, he took Suhail's wrist.
"What are you doing?"
Nayir took his pulse rate. It was 135.
"Something wrong?" Suhail asked.
"Yes. You're dying."
Suhail let out a sarcastic snort. Mutlaq went to the back of his truck and took out a two-gallon jug of water. He brought it back, opened it, and dumped it on Suhail.
"Damn you!" Suhail wiped the water from his face. "This was a nice shirt!"
Nayir gave him a bottle and told him to drink it, a little at a time, until they reached Jeddah.
The sun was setting as he said goodbye to Mutlaq, started the Jeep, and drove back down to the road. It wasn't very often that the desert depressed him. The day had brought back all the frustration he'd felt searching for Nouf, and it taunted him.
It wasn't until he was on the freeway that he realized Suhail was unconscious. Well, there was nothing he could do except take him to the hospital when they got back to Jeddah. Some investigator, this one, little Benson & Hedges. It was going to take a bigger man to find Nouf's killer; this shrimp couldn't find water in a cooler.
8
A LTHOUGH NAYIR'S UNCLE SAMIR had devoted his life to science and balked at superstitions that used possession by the djinn to explain and treat every ailment—"a regrettable heritage," he called it—he kept one conviction intact: he believed in the power of the evil eye.
It was much more than a malicious gaze. The effects ranged from ailments as innocuous as hiccups to those as deadly as an embolism in a healthy young man. Because Samir was a chemist, his friends and
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