Scare Me To Death, CJ Carver [nice books to read .txt] 📗

until she was taken away by the authorities. She called her almalak alsaghir. Her little angel.’

The Marrakech bombing had had far-reaching effects, Dan agreed. Kaitlyn and Josh had been orphaned and it was well-documented by the press that Kaitlyn would have given their £8 million inheritance away in an instant if it meant they could have their parents back.

‘This girl, the one you saved, is now the woman you are asking about? Kaitlyn Rogers?’

‘Yes.’

‘Eight million pounds is a lot of money,’ Naziha observed. ‘But I think she is right. I would miss my mother and father very much if they died.’

Dan bought Naziha his ice cream which they took to a low brick wall surrounding a large date palm. Two tan-coloured kittens played in a patch of sun, coating their fur with dust. Naziha devoured his treat before he proceeded to give Dan a blow-by-blow account of the police officers’ quarrel.

‘He lied, the first policeman.’

‘Mehdi.’

‘Yes, Mehdi. He knew the woman in the photographs you showed him. The other man, he didn’t want him to tell you this. He got really angry because they had been told not to talk about this woman to anyone.’

Dan didn’t ask a question or interrupt. He wanted Naziha to tell the story his own way. He kept his eyes on a man cutting coloured leather with broad scissors in the window of the shop opposite but his attention was totally on the boy.

‘Mehdi wanted to help you. The other man, he was shouting that it didn’t matter how many people died, it was a long time ago, couldn’t he just forget it? Mehdi said no, he couldn’t, but the other man got even angrier. He said Mehdi was foolish. He was endangering them both. How dare he?!’

The man in the shop window laid the leather flat and started on another piece.

‘That’s all.’ Naziha kicked his feet.

‘Were any names mentioned?’

The boy looked away, biting his lip.

‘Naziha?’

‘I don’t like to say it.’ His voice was small.

‘Why?’

Naziha was watching a donkey walking past, its male rider sitting side-saddle. ‘Because he can be an animal and overhear us.’

‘Who?’

‘Shaitan.’

Dan waited.

‘Shaitan is a bad djin.’

‘Ah.’

Dan had heard of djins, the most terrible of supernatural creatures in early Arabian mythology. Able to assume human or animal form and exercising psychic influence over people, djins were revered and feared in equal measure.

‘He is evil,’ Naziha whispered furtively.

‘And the police mentioned this name? Shaitan?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did the policemen say why they had been told not to talk about Kaitlyn?’

Naziha shook his head.

Dan watched a man in a long striped robe greet the leather cutter who nodded, then reached behind him and brought out a pair of shoes.

‘One more thing,’ Dan said to Naziha. ‘I’d like you to listen to this and tell me what you can hear.’ He brought out his phone. Played the recording he’d taken earlier at the Commissariat.

The boy listened intently. ‘It’s not very clear.’

‘I know.’

‘Can I hear it again?’

Naziha listened to it three times before he nodded. ‘The woman is on the phone saying there is a senior police officer for Inspector Khatabi. Then I hear your voice and a man replies… then the same man orders someone to sound the alarm, that you must be ejected from the building…’ Naziha’s eyes were wide. ‘The last thing he says is that he wants one of them to watch you. He wants to know where you go and who you see.’

He was being followed? Dan fought the urge to look around but with the great throngs of people jostling past with robes disguising their body shapes, hoods their faces, it would be almost impossible to know.

‘Thank you.’

Naziha bit his lip. ‘You are in trouble?’

Dan sighed. ‘I’m asking questions that are making them uncomfortable. I think Kaitlyn, the woman who visited them recently, believed there was more to the air crash than is generally known. I’m trying to find out what.’

Naziha digested this. ‘This is a good thing to be doing,’ he said decisively. ‘Perhaps I can be of more help?’

Dan didn’t think having an interpreter was such a bad idea. ‘Perhaps tomorrow. After school.’ Dan told him where he was staying.

‘I will be there!’ Naziha raised his hand, palm out, for a high-five.

Dan watched the boy go, half-walking, half-skipping and full of beans. Only when Naziha was out of sight did he go in search of a rental motorbike. Within the hour, Dan was astride a Yamaha Ténéré in pretty decent condition, although the engine wasn’t the smoothest. Nor did his helmet fit particularly well, but he wasn’t going to quibble.

He rode to the Tourist Police Office and took up position on the opposite side of the road. Both motor scooters were still outside, which he hoped meant that both policemen were still there. Pulling off his helmet he checked his watch: 17:10. He settled to wait. A woman in sun-dulled clothes tried to sell him a tray of eggs. Another offered him a woven basket and when he declined, offered him a plastic bucket.

It was past six o’clock when the shutters of the little police station were closed and the officers stepped outside. Mehdi locked the door while his colleague climbed aboard his scooter and buzzed away. Dan put on his helmet. Mehdi brought out his phone and spoke into it while he pushed his scooter off its stand and mounted. Dan started his Yamaha at the same time as Mehdi started his own engine. The policeman was still talking on the phone as he rode.

Mehdi headed south and out of the Medina. It wasn’t difficult to follow him. The road stretched itself into a dual carriageway busy with trucks and buses. Donkeys and carts trundled along the inside lane. Dan tried to see if anyone was following him but couldn’t be sure. Too many vehicles, too much dust.

The policeman eventually turned into a quiet street lined with date palms. Square houses with roof gardens and satellite dishes glowing pink in the lowering sun. Dan looked in his rear-view mirror to see