The Abyssinian Proof

12

When he saw Kamil, Omar jumped up from his chair in the corner of the police station and greeted him. The room was subdued. The desk by the door was unoccupied, the ledger lying open, seemingly untouched since Ali had sat there yesterday noting down other people’s misfortunes.

“Thanks for the gift,” Omar grumbled. “Wrapped like a butcher’s portion. Where did you find that scum?”

“He followed me from the Tobacco Works. Did you find out anything?”

“He squealed like a calf when we used the bastinado. The tougher a man’s hide, the thinner the soles of his feet. Allah is just.”

For once, Kamil had no qualms about Omar’s method.

“Ali?”

Omar frowned, flung his cigarette onto the floor and stamped on it. “Nothing. He said he didn’t know anything about it. I think that’s a bad sign. If Ali were still alive, this motherfucker would have tried to bargain.”

Kamil slapped his riding gloves on the table in frustration. An officer brought tea, but the men let the glasses sit untouched between them. Kamil told Omar about his conversation with Amida, the carpet that proved Amida had stolen the reliquary, and his fruitless search for the tunnel.

“Amida looked pretty rough, like he hadn’t slept. And he was holding his arm stiffly, as if he’d been wounded. He denied knowing Remzi, but I’m sure he recognized the name. He’s involved, but I don’t see him as a killer.”

“No, his main vice is chasing ass, which I couldn’t care less about. I kind of like the kid, pathetic as he is. Growing up in that strange family, all that weird sect crap, then being sent off to some mountaintop in Africa for eight years. That would screw up anyone.” From Omar’s red eyes and chin thick with stubble, Kamil was sure he had neither gone home nor slept.

Kamil shook his head. “It doesn’t add up.”

“You’re right. There’s something wrong with Remzi’s holier-than-thou story. He didn’t look scared enough, even after I let some of the men take out their disgust on him. It’s like he knows he’s got Allah on his side.”

“What else did he say?”

“That Amida had hired him and some other men from Charshamba to run the shipment that night.”

“So he’s deflecting attention away from his real boss by pinning everything on Amida.”

“Which is like trying to pin an elephant on a flea.”

“What about the tunnel?”

“He claims he wasn’t there on the docks when the men were killed. He was the innocent lookout at the other end of the tunnel.”

“You found it?” Kamil’s voice betrayed his excitement.

Omar looked disconsolate and shook his head. “He said it was in a house in Sunken Village, but they went there at night, so he couldn’t tell us where, just that it was dark and you had to go down a stairway into the ground. That’s all we could get out of him. Believe me, we tried.”

“How did he get there if he doesn’t know where it is?”

“Apparently Amida led them there.”

“Why would he do that? From what I’ve learned, the Habesh are very protective of their secrets. And it puts his whole family at risk. I can’t believe Amida wouldn’t know what kind of men these are.”

“The young look at a desert and see an oasis.”

“Any way we can loosen their tongues?”

“I think they’re more afraid of their boss than the bastinado. He must be the devil himself!”

“Amida is giving away Habesh secrets and attracting busybodies like us snooping around. Someone must want to stop him enough to talk to us.” Kamil picked up his riding gloves. “I think I know who that might be. I just need to find a way to speak with her privately.”

Omar raised an eyebrow and gave Kamil a knowing look.

Irritated, Kamil asked, “Don’t you ever think about anything else?”

Omar shrugged. “I’m a married man,” he said. “Imagination is my only refuge.”