The Cairo Diary by Maxim Chattam

Author:Maxim Chattam
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780330539180
Publisher: Pan Macmillan
Published: 2012-08-12T12:47:43.428000+00:00

26

March 1928.

Alcohol fumes still hung in the air of the bedroom, heady and sickening. Jeremy opened one eye, and his consciousness attempted grimly to extract itself from the tenacious limbo of sleep. Little by little, light forced its way into his brain.

The smell overwhelmed the detective, and a violent spasm shook his stomach.

He lunged forward, so as to vomit on the floor and not on himself, but nothing emerged from his furred-up mouth.

The beating of his heart began to be echoed by the heavy, obsessive pounding in his forehead.

It was as if all the alcohol he had drunk the previous night had accumulated behind his eyes after drying out his body, swirling around until it sucked in his eyeballs and his brain in one uncontrollable movement.

He clawed at his hair, groaning.

A black patch appeared where he had expected only an expanse of fuzzy whiteness, facing the window. He blinked hard until he managed to focus on it.

A man was standing there, and had already been talking to him for some moments.

Jeremy propped himself up on one elbow.

The face acquired greater contrast, and features appeared against the backlighting.

“Azim?” asked the Englishman in a cavernous voice.

“Get dressed, we must talk.”

Jeremy grumbled.

“Come on, on your feet,” ordered Azim roughly.

“What time is it?”

“Time to talk.”

Jeremy raised an eyebrow, and straightened up. He disappeared into the bathroom where Azim heard him grousing as he took a cold shower.

A few minutes later, Jeremy was combing his hair clumsily while his companion sat at his desk.

“Well?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jeremy stopped, the comb still in his hair. “Tell you what?”

“Don’t take me for an idiot on the pretext that I’m not English—or worse, because I’m an Arab! I know why you wanted this investigation at all costs! I know!”

“Oh, no, Azim, you don’t know anything—”

“The murder in Shubra. The same violence, the inhuman rage, and the same manifestations of perverse pleasure. You were there, you conducted the investigation! I have read your report.”

Jeremy tossed the comb onto a lacquered table. He turned around, slowly, then went to fetch his cigarettes and lit one.

“Tell me why you’re angry,” said Jeremy, suddenly calmer.

“You had evidence that could be material to our investigation. You should have shared it with me!”

“Nothing conclusive. I had nothing that could help us. I would have told you; I needed a little time.”

The Englishman had recovered his serenity. He gazed at Azim through the cloud of smoke that enveloped him, trying to sound him out.

“Are we partners or competitors?” demanded the Arab. “If we are working together, I would like us to be able to share everything. I do not hesitate to keep you informed of my wildest deductions—this story of the ghul bears witness to that. In return, I expect the same openness, Mr. Matheson.”

Jeremy breathed out two tendrils of smoke. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He held out his hand, with the cigarette held between index and middle fingers, and indicated the sofa. The two men sat down facing each other.

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