The Exodus Quest by Will Adams Page A

wished his wife didn’t know him so well. ‘We found a body today,’ he admitted.
    ‘A body?’
    ‘A young woman. A girl.’
    Yasmine’s eyes flashed instinctively to the bead curtain. ‘A girl. How old?’
    ‘Thirteen. Maybe fourteen.’
    It took Yasmine an effort to get her next question out. ‘And she was … murdered?’
    ‘It’s too early to be sure,’ answered Naguib. ‘But probably. Yes.’
    ‘That makes three in a month.’
    ‘The other two were down in Assiut.’
    ‘So? Maybe they moved here because things were getting too hot down there.’
    ‘We don’t know how long this one has been there. There’s no reason to suspect the cases are connected.’
    ‘Yet you do suspect it, don’t you?’
    ‘It’s possible.’
    ‘What are you doing about it?’
    ‘Not much,’ he confessed. ‘Gamal has other priorities.’
    ‘Priorities that come before finding the murderer of three young girls?’
    ‘With all this tension and everything, he doesn’t think this is the right time …’ Naguib drifted lamely to a halt. The other side of the curtain, Husniyah started singing, ostensibly to herself, but actually so that her parents could hear her, be aware of her, protect her.
    ‘Tell me you’re going to go after whoever did this,’ said Yasmine fiercely. ‘Tell me you’re going to catch them before they kill again.’
    For a moment, that wretched mummified mess reappeared in Naguib’s mind, still wrapped in her tarpaulin shroud. Who knew whose face he’d find next time? He met his wife’s eyes directly, as he always did on the important matters, when he needed her to know she could trust him. ‘Yes,’ he promised. ‘I am.’
    III
    ‘Any good?’ asked Omar, leaning over from the driver’s seat to check Knox’s photographs on the screen of his camera-phone.
    ‘Just watch what you’re doing, will you?’ said Knox, as Omar crunched the Jeep’s gears again.
    ‘Huh!’ said Omar. ‘They’re pretty dark, aren’t they?’
    ‘Maybe I should send them to Gaille,’ said Knox. ‘She’ll be able to make something of them, if anyone can.’
    ‘She’d better. We need more than that to show the police.’
    ‘Says the man who didn’t think we needed photographs at all.’ He started composing a text message, not easy as they bumped across the field, without even a seat belt to hold him in place. Took the attached at poss Therapeutae site! Light terrible. Can you help? All speed appreciated! Love, Daniel . He frowned in dissatisfaction, replaced Love with Much love then All love and finally All my love . None felt right. Everyone protested their love these days. The word had been cheapened into meaninglessness. He sat there feeling ridiculous. This was scarcely the time to fret over such things, after all. Yet he fretted all the same. He stabbed out some other words with his index finger, stared down at them for several seconds, unnerved by how plaintive they sounded. But he’d already wasted too much time, so he attached the photographs and sent them on their way before he could change his mind.
    Omar muttered a curse, slowed, came to a halt. Knox looked up to see headlights crisscrossing a main road a kilometre away. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
    ‘Down there.’
    Now Knox saw it, moonlight glowing on a pickup parked by the wooden bridge. ‘Bollocks,’ he muttered.
    ‘What now?’
    ‘There has to be another way out. Let’s keep looking.’
    The engine screeched as Omar tried to force it into gear. ‘Mine’s an automatic,’ he said with a wince.
    ‘You want me to drive?’
    ‘It might be best.’
    They switched seats. Knox belted up, thrust the Jeep into gear, headed off in search of another way out. The pick-up lumbered after them, obviously wanting to keep them in sight, but staying a wary distance behind, between them and the bridge.
    Knox crossed a rise, swung around. The moment the pick-up reappeared, he floored the pedal, accelerated towards it, jolting violently over