The Exodus Quest

II

Inspector Naguib Hussein was usually good at forgetting his police work once he'd closed his front door for the night. Normally, his wife and daughter were a tonic to his spirits. But not tonight, not even as he stooped low for Husniyah to throw her arms around his neck so that he could lift her up. He tried not to let her see his anxiety, however, as he carried her through the bead curtain into their kitchen, kissing her surreptitiously on her crown, noting with a warm stab of pain and pride how springy and black her hair was, the thin pale valley of scalp that showed through beneath.

Yasmine looked up from her cooking, eyes tired, complexion shiny with vapours. 'That smells good,' he said. He tried to pinch a morsel from the pot, but she smacked his hand and made him drop it. They shared a smile. Thirteen years of marriage, and still he could be surprised by the freshness of their affection. Husniyah sat cross-legged on the floor, a pad of paper on her lap, drawing pictures of animals and trees and houses. He watched over her shoulder, praising her skill, asking questions. But soon he fell into a reverie, brooding on the evils of the world, and it was only when Yasmine touched his shoulder that he realized she'd been talking to him. He shook his head to clear it, mustered the warmest smile he could. 'Yes?' he asked.

'Something's on your mind,' she said.

'Nothing particular.' But he couldn't prevent his eyes from swivelling to his daughter.

'Husniyah, beloved,' said Yasmine gently. 'Could you please leave us a moment?' Husniyah looked up, puzzled; but she'd been brought up to be obedient, so she gathered her things and left without a word. 'Well?' asked Yasmine.

Naguib sighed. Sometimes he 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.'