derisive laughter.
'This is getting more ridiculous by the minute. That guard, if I remember right, was half fucking blind. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, let alone someone fifty metres away. You're clutching at straws, Khalifa! Or feathers, more like. A funny little bird? You're losing the plot, man!'
Khalifa took a last puff on his cigarette and, leaning forward, tamped it out into an ashtray on the edge of the desk.
'There was one other thing.'
'Oh, please tell me,' cried Hassani, clapping his hands together. 'I haven't had a laugh like this in ages.'
Khalifa sat back again.
'Before she died, Schlegel managed to say two words: Thoth, which is the name of the Egyptian god of writing and wisdom—'
'Yes, yes, I know!' huffed Hassani.
'And tzfardeah, which is apparently the Hebrew word for frog.'
Hassani's eyes narrowed.
'So?'
'Jansen had a genetic condition that gave him webbed feet. Like a frog.'
He spoke quickly, trying to get the words out before the expected hoot of ridicule. To his surprise Hassani said nothing, merely crossed back to the window and stood looking out, his back to Khalifa, hands clenched at his sides as if he was holding a pair of invisible suitcases.
'I know that individually none of these things means very much,' Khalifa continued, trying to press home his advantage, 'but when you take them all together you have to stop and think. It's too much of a coincidence. And even if it is all circumstantial there's still the matter of the antiquities in the man's basement. Jansen was dodgy. I know it. I can feel it. He needs to be investigated.'
Hassani's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white. There was a long pause, then he turned towards Khalifa.
'We are not going to waste any more time on this,' he said slowly, deliberately, the controlled fury of his voice more threatening than any amount of shouting. 'Do you understand? The man is dead, and whatever he was involved in, whatever he's done, it's over. There's nothing we can do about it.'
Khalifa looked at him incredulously.
'And Mohammed Gemal? An innocent man might have been wrongly convicted.'
'Gemal's dead too. There's nothing we can do.'
'His family's still alive. We owe it—'
'Gemal was found guilty in a court of law, for fuck's sake. He openly admitted he'd robbed the old woman.'
'But not that he'd killed her. He always denied that.'
'He committed suicide, for God's sake. What more of a fucking admission do you want?'
Hassani came forward another step.
'The man was guilty, Khalifa! Guilty as sin! He knew it and we knew it. We all knew it. All of us!'
His eyes were wide with fury. There was something else there as well, however. An edge of desperation, fear even. It was not something Khalifa had seen before. He lit another cigarette.
'I didn't.'
'What? What did you say?'
'I didn't think Genial was guilty. I had doubts then, I've had doubts ever since, and now they're stronger than ever. He might have robbed her, but Mohammed Gemal did not murder Hannah Schlegel. I knew it at the time but to my lasting shame didn't have the guts to say so. I think deep down we all knew it – you, me, Chief Mahfouz—'
Hassani stepped forward and slammed his fist on the edge of the desk, sending a sheaf of papers tumbling to the floor.
'That's enough, Khalifa! Enough, do you hear?' His entire body was trembling. Flecks of froth had gathered at the corners of his mouth. 'Your psychological problems are your own business, but I've got a police station to run and I'm not going to re-open a fifteen-year-old case just because some spineless idiot is having a crisis of conscience. You've got no evidence, nothing whatsoever to suggest that Mohammed Gemal did not murder Hannah Schlegel, except in your own mind, which from what you've just been saying about feathers and frogs would appear to be in a far from stable condition. I always knew you weren't made of the right stuff, Khalifa, and this just confirms
'This is getting more ridiculous by the minute. That guard, if I remember right, was half fucking blind. He could barely see his hand in front of his face, let alone someone fifty metres away. You're clutching at straws, Khalifa! Or feathers, more like. A funny little bird? You're losing the plot, man!'
Khalifa took a last puff on his cigarette and, leaning forward, tamped it out into an ashtray on the edge of the desk.
'There was one other thing.'
'Oh, please tell me,' cried Hassani, clapping his hands together. 'I haven't had a laugh like this in ages.'
Khalifa sat back again.
'Before she died, Schlegel managed to say two words: Thoth, which is the name of the Egyptian god of writing and wisdom—'
'Yes, yes, I know!' huffed Hassani.
'And tzfardeah, which is apparently the Hebrew word for frog.'
Hassani's eyes narrowed.
'So?'
'Jansen had a genetic condition that gave him webbed feet. Like a frog.'
He spoke quickly, trying to get the words out before the expected hoot of ridicule. To his surprise Hassani said nothing, merely crossed back to the window and stood looking out, his back to Khalifa, hands clenched at his sides as if he was holding a pair of invisible suitcases.
'I know that individually none of these things means very much,' Khalifa continued, trying to press home his advantage, 'but when you take them all together you have to stop and think. It's too much of a coincidence. And even if it is all circumstantial there's still the matter of the antiquities in the man's basement. Jansen was dodgy. I know it. I can feel it. He needs to be investigated.'
Hassani's fists were clenched so tight his knuckles had turned white. There was a long pause, then he turned towards Khalifa.
'We are not going to waste any more time on this,' he said slowly, deliberately, the controlled fury of his voice more threatening than any amount of shouting. 'Do you understand? The man is dead, and whatever he was involved in, whatever he's done, it's over. There's nothing we can do about it.'
Khalifa looked at him incredulously.
'And Mohammed Gemal? An innocent man might have been wrongly convicted.'
'Gemal's dead too. There's nothing we can do.'
'His family's still alive. We owe it—'
'Gemal was found guilty in a court of law, for fuck's sake. He openly admitted he'd robbed the old woman.'
'But not that he'd killed her. He always denied that.'
'He committed suicide, for God's sake. What more of a fucking admission do you want?'
Hassani came forward another step.
'The man was guilty, Khalifa! Guilty as sin! He knew it and we knew it. We all knew it. All of us!'
His eyes were wide with fury. There was something else there as well, however. An edge of desperation, fear even. It was not something Khalifa had seen before. He lit another cigarette.
'I didn't.'
'What? What did you say?'
'I didn't think Genial was guilty. I had doubts then, I've had doubts ever since, and now they're stronger than ever. He might have robbed her, but Mohammed Gemal did not murder Hannah Schlegel. I knew it at the time but to my lasting shame didn't have the guts to say so. I think deep down we all knew it – you, me, Chief Mahfouz—'
Hassani stepped forward and slammed his fist on the edge of the desk, sending a sheaf of papers tumbling to the floor.
'That's enough, Khalifa! Enough, do you hear?' His entire body was trembling. Flecks of froth had gathered at the corners of his mouth. 'Your psychological problems are your own business, but I've got a police station to run and I'm not going to re-open a fifteen-year-old case just because some spineless idiot is having a crisis of conscience. You've got no evidence, nothing whatsoever to suggest that Mohammed Gemal did not murder Hannah Schlegel, except in your own mind, which from what you've just been saying about feathers and frogs would appear to be in a far from stable condition. I always knew you weren't made of the right stuff, Khalifa, and this just confirms
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