“Is someone planning to put a bullet in my spine?”
Khamis Zeydan’s jaunty bedside manner disappeared. “It’s quite possible.”
“Did you come here with a message from them?”
“I’m not their messenger boy.” The police chief was angry now.
“You seemed content enough after you carried the message to them that got Dima Abdel Rahman killed.”
“Are you still thinking that way? I can’t believe it. Do you really think I’d pass information from you to people who would commit murder? Even if I knew for sure who murdered Dima Abdel Rahman, I would never have led her killers to her.”
“You know who the killers are.”
“No. If I had proof, I’d arrest someone. As I told you, I suspect it might be an honor killing. The father or brother may have believed she was sleeping with someone and killed her to prevent her dishonoring her dead husband. Or she might have been meeting a man in the woods at night; someone whose lust got a little out of hand. But I can’t prove any of that. Not yet.”
“You told me when we went to see her body that there was more to this than I knew. What is it you aren’t telling me?”
“Only what’s not good for you.”
“Get out of here. If you can’t be honest with me, I don’t want you in my house.”
Khamis Zeydan stared at the bedridden schoolteacher. Quietly, he spoke again: “I came to tell you that the president signed the order for George Saba’s execution. They’ve set a date.”
Omar Yussef was silent and still.
“George will be executed at noon, the day after tomorrow.”
“No, that’s too soon.”
“Too soon for what? For you to clear his name? You can’t help him, Abu Ramiz.” Khamis Zeydan put his good hand on Omar Yussef’s leg. “You need to think of yourself, to protect yourself and your family. George is beyond your help.”
“You need to get fit and go back to the school.”
Omar Yussef looked curiously at Khamis Zeydan. “Didn’t you hear I’m retiring?”
Khamis Zeydan shook his head. “Your boss the American, Steadman, has been telling everyone that he wouldn’t dream of letting you retire. I mean, really, he’s telling absolutely anyone who’ll listen. He even came into the police station this morning to announce it. I don’t know what you said to him, but if he wanted you to resign before, he sounds now like he’d do anything to keep you on the job.”
“Steadman even said that your temporary replacement was no longer working and that he was teaching your classes himself until you returned.” Khamis Zeydan stood and slapped Omar Yussef’s leg. “Well, I have to go. May Allah help you to feel better. And go back to work at the school.”
“I will,” Omar Yussef said. “I will be at my old desk in the morning.”
Khamis Zeydan smiled and left.
Omar Yussef willed his back to recover. He had less than two days to save George Saba. Perhaps he could persuade the judge to change the verdict. He would take the old Webley pistol and the MAG cartridge cases to the judge. He had his vague personal connection from their meeting at that UN function a few months back. Maybe the judge would remember him.
The president already had signed the order. No one except Omar Yussef appeared to want to stop the execution. But he had to try.
It was dark and cold. The digital clock on the bedside table glowed red through the gloom. It was 7:00 P.M. precisely. George Saba was condemned to die in forty-one hours. It seemed a matter of seconds, so short was the time Omar Yussef had to work with. He rubbed his face and looked back at the clock. It was 7:01 P.M., and yet it seemed as though the executioners must already be preparing George for death. At 7:02 the crowd would have gathered, a drum roll sounded at 7:03, and by 7:04 Omar Yussef felt it was all over for his friend. Every minute of the next two days he knew he would live through George’s judicial murder, again and again. Those would be the last minutes of George Saba’s life. Unless Omar Yussef could stop the clock.
He wondered how he might push on with his investigation. Perhaps there would be a clue in the way George was arrested, something that would definitively show that Tamari was responsible for framing him. He’d been told repeatedly that George had confessed. That couldn’t be. So far Omar Yussef had heard only the girl Khadija Zubeida’s twisted account of the arrest on that first morning in the schoolroom. What truly was said when the policemen went to George’s house? Khadija’s father was a part of the arresting squad. Omar Yussef would go to the school in the morning and ask the girl where he might find her father. Then he would go to Mahmoud Zubeida and get him to recount the story of George’s apprehension. He must piece together the details of what happened, and who had led the operation.
Chapter 19
The rain threatened, darkening the dawn and squeezing cold licks of ice onto Omar Yussef’s face as he hunched along the main road to the UNRWA Girls School. He had fallen asleep early and without
