‘People don’t have that kind of problem in
‘I wish I could say the same,’ said Dewar.
‘That sounded like it came from the heart,’ said Karen.
‘I’ve got such a bad feeling about things here.’
‘So there’s no chance of you getting back by the week-end?’
‘Shouldn’t think so but there’s no way of knowing for sure. I’m just playing it by ear. I’m convinced one of Ali Hammadi’s friends knows more than he’s letting on. That doesn’t mean to say it’s anything relevant but I’d really like to understand why this man, Hammadi took his own life when he seemed to have so much to live for.’
‘Maybe he didn’t.’
‘The police are convinced it was suicide and his behaviour had changed in the weeks leading up to his death.’
‘While the balance of his mind was disturbed …,’ intoned Karen.
‘It’s what disturbed it,’ said Dewar.
After a pause, Karen said tentatively, ‘Why not pop down to North Berwick while you’re up there, say hello to my mother? It’ll take your mind off things for a wee while.’
‘Could do,’ agreed Dewar slowly.
‘Not a good idea?’
The prospect of spending an evening with Karen’s widowed mother did not fill Dewar with enthusiasm. A few drinks and a bit of light conversation in the hotel bar might have been a preferred option however, he didn’t want to offend Karen. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘Could do.’ He hoped he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt. ‘Any messages?’
‘I was actually hoping to get up to see her this weekend but I’m not sure how long the Salmonella thing will take to resolve. In theory we should have seen the last of the new cases by tomorrow. Maybe I should plan for the week after next instead. I don’t suppose you’ll feel like a return trip to Edinburgh that soon?’
‘Why not. It would be fun to spend some time together up here,’ said Dewar. ‘Maybe we could run off to the highlands for a day or so?’
‘That would be nice. Of course, you may still be there!’ laughed Karen.
‘If I am it means I’ve hit
‘Give Mother my love and tell her I’ll be up the week after next.’
Dewar’s laptop bleeped as he reconnected it to the phone socket to put it on stand-by. There was a message waiting for him from Sci-Med. A man named Tariq Saadi had called. He wanted to meet with him. The suggested place was James Thin’s bookshop in South Bridge, the time eight o’clock that same evening. Dewar wondered why Saddi had called the Sci-Med number. He deduced that he had probably tried his mobile number first and found it engaged with his call to Karen so he had called the other number on the card rather than wait and try again. That inferred a sense of urgency. A limited window of time in which to make a call.
Dewar looked at his watch. It was just after 7.30pm. Karen’s mother would have to wait for another day.
The taxi dropped him off in South Bridge outside the entrance to Edinburgh University’s Old College building and opposite Thin’s bookshop. He crossed the street, dodging the evening traffic and entered the shop to find it pleasantly quiet. It was also deceptively large, occupying several floors of an old building that had seen many internal conversions in its time, leaving it a warren of rooms, corridors and staircases. Dewar moved slowly round the groundfloor getting a feel for the place and pausing occasionally to examine a book. At that time in the evening there were less than a dozen other customers browsing the shelves. Saadi was not one of them.
Dewar opted to try a lower floor and thought he was all alone there save for a member of staff — a student working part time, he guessed, — reading a text book by her till. He was suddenly startled to feel a tap on the shoulder and turned to find Saadi who’d materialised from the shadows of an alcove. ‘Thank you for coming,’ he whispered nervously.
‘So there
Tariq nodded. ‘I don’t know everything but they wanted him to do something for them. Ali didn’t want to have anything to do with it but they threatened him. They said it would be the worse for his family.’
‘They?’
‘Our … advisors.’
The man at the student association?’
Tariq nodded.
‘They’re government?’
Another nod.
‘How many are there?’
‘Two. Professor Siddiqui and a man named Abbas, the man you saw.’
Dewar made a mental note of the names. ‘Have you any idea at all what they wanted Ali to do?’ he asked.
‘He wouldn’t say but he was very frightened. He said … ‘
‘What did he say?’ prompted Dewar.
‘He was afraid many people would die.’
Dewar felt himself go cold. He could feel the pulse in his temples start to beat harder. He was listening to a nightmare becoming a reality. ‘Are you sure he told you nothing more than that?’
Tariq shook his head. ‘Nothing. He said it was too awful but I know they gave him something.’
‘Do you know what?”
‘Pieces of something. I overheard a conversation one day. Ali was upset. He said something about not wanting the pieces. It was too dangerous.’ Tariq shrugged to suggest it didn’t mean anything to him. ‘He said the pieces should be destroyed but Siddiqui said he had to do what they told him or it would be the worse for him and his family.’
‘Pieces?’
‘Yes … ‘
Tariq froze suddenly. Dewar watched him turn pale before his eyes and realised that he was looking past him, his eyes wide with fear. He turned round to see a face staring at them through a gap that had opened up in a row of books behind them. It was the man from the Iraqi student association, his black beard brushing shelf, his spectacled eyes unblinking as they stared at Tariq. A shorter, more academic looking Arab appeared at the end of the shelves.
Tariq looked as if he might pass out. ‘I have to go,’ he stammered.
‘You don’t have to go anywhere with them,’ insisted Dewar in an urgent whisper. ‘They can’t do anything to you in this country. If you’re afraid, I can help. We can sort it out. Stay here with me. Tell me what they wanted Ali to do.’’
‘You don’t understand … my family …’
Tariq moved meekly towards the two Arabs and didn’t look back. Dewar felt helpless but he had the feeling he’d only make things worse for Tariq by making a scene. He caught the eye of the bearded Arab and hoped he could suggest with a look that should anything happen to Tariq it might be bad news day for him but the man remained impassive. After a short, muted exchange in Arabic Tariq was ushered upstairs with the other Arab leading the way.
Dewar, filled with frustration, hit the palm of his hand against the end of a bookshelf causing the girl by the till to look up sharply. ‘If we don’t have what you’re looking for, we can always order it,’ she said helpfully.
Dewar looked at her then realised what he’d done and apologised. He made for the stairs and left. He started to walk back to his hotel, knowing that he needed time to calm down and get his thoughts in order. He walked up Chambers Street and followed GeorgeIV Bridge up to the Royal Mile which led from the castle down to the royal Palace of Holyrood. He crossed and paused at the head of The Mound, the steep thoroughfare that joined old Edinburgh to its so-called Georgian new town. The lights of Princes street were strung out like pearls below him. To
