Clara was breakfasting alone at the sunny table in the corner. The staff at the hotel had finally stopped trying to link her up with other guests. The Fitzgilberts, Clara noted, with only the tiniest twinge of guilt, had pointedly ignored her when they arrived for their morning victuals. She sighed and committed to finding them later to apologise for her detour to Saqqara yesterday. She resented feeling she ought to, but she knew that a woman with the influence of Lady Gertrude Fitzgilbert could ensure she be ostracised by the European guests of Shepheard’s, at least those with social aspirations. That would not do, as Clara needed to be able to speak to people freely in the course of her investigation. So, she resolved to put things right with Lady Gertrude.
But not right now. She had far too much to think about. Clara, with a freshly poured cup of tea, had her notebook open and was working through what she had learned so far. How, she wondered, did what Dr Rahman told her yesterday progress the case and how was she to proceed?
Rahman had said he would spend the next few days speaking with some of his contacts from the old Guardians. He was also intrigued to hear what Clara had to tell him about the man called Yorke/Pilkerton and Maryam’s father. He said he had contacts in the Qufti community here in Cairo and would find out what he could. ‘I will also travel up to Quft to speak to the extended Hassan family. Perhaps they know something they haven’t revealed yet.’
‘Should I go with you?’ asked Clara.
Rahman shook his head. ‘Best I go alone, Miss Vale. They are more likely to talk to me without a European lady in my company.’
Clara frowned. Why had he suggested they should work together when he appeared to be going off on his own? He read the subtext in her expression.
‘I think you will be more useful here in Cairo, Miss Vale. I have strong suspicions that some of the European archaeologists might be involved in this. A local would not be able to access international black markets without help.’
‘Might Reginald Yorke be that person?’ asked Clara.
‘He very well might, but I don’t think he was working alone. I think you are best placed to investigate that. See what you can find out at Shepheard’s. And Daphne will need someone to telephone if she finds out anything further in England. I won’t be that easy to reach in the desert.’
Clara was not entirely pleased that she was being left behind, but, it did give her an opportunity to take the lead in her own part of the investigation. Otherwise, she’d just be tagging along as Dr Rahman’s assistant. Clara wasn’t cut out to be anyone’s assistant. Speaking of which … Clara brightened at the thought that Bella would be arriving today. The ship was docking in Alexandria this morning then the passengers would make their way by train to Cairo. They were due around lunchtime. Clara had pre-booked the room next to hers for Bella and was very much looking forward to seeing her again. What had she learned on the ship?
There was not much else Clara could do for now. Rahman said he’d arrange for Clara and Bella to meet the remaining two female students on Monday at the university. She wanted to get a clearer picture of Maryam’s life from when her Uncle Bob last saw her in September 1928 and when she disappeared in the summer of 1929. These girls had stayed in the same dormitory.
Clara closed her notebook and drank the last of her tea. She would go back upstairs and then perhaps for a swim in the indoor pool, or exercise in the gymnasium. But before she could get across the foyer to the stairs, she was hailed by the receptionist who indicated a man in police uniform.
The man – who was in his early forties, athletically built, sharp-chinned, dark-eyed and clean shaven – gave a cursory bow. ‘Miss Vale? I am Sergeant Mackenzie of the Cairo Police.’ Clara was surprised at his British-sounding name, but then considered that he might be Anglo-Egyptian like the guide at Saqqara. His accent was Egyptian, but his English fluent.
‘Good morning, Sergeant Mackenzie. How may I help you?’
‘Well, miss,’ said the sergeant, taking off his hat and holding it under his elbow, ‘we have received a telegram from Scotland Yard asking us to make contact with a Miss Clara Vale at Shepheard’s Hotel and to ensure you do not leave here until their man arrives from London.’ He looked around and then lowered his voice. ‘You are apparently a crucial witness in a murder investigation.’
Clara’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Are you arresting me?’
Mackenzie looked startled. ‘Good heavens, no, Miss Vale. I am just ensuring you do not leave Cairo.’
‘Then I’m under house arrest?’
‘No, no. Nothing of the sort. But I must ask you not to leave town. We need to know where you are when the detective from Scotland Yard arrives.’
Clara pursed her lips. She currently had no immediate plans to leave Cairo but expected to be free to do so if the opportunity arose. However, getting into an argument with this seemingly pleasant policeman would not advance her cause. So she smiled and said, ‘I have no plans to leave town.’
Mackenzie looked relieved. She wondered if he’d expected a bit more of a fight.
‘Well, thank you. We’ll be in touch when the Scotland Yard man arrives.’ He placed the hat on his head.
Clara wondered if she might get some more information from him without provoking his suspicion. She adopted her most innocent and concerned expression and asked: ‘Did Scotland Yard tell you what it was about? I must say, I’m shocked to hear it involves a murder and I’m not entirely sure what I am supposed to have witnessed. Am I—’ she allowed her voice to quiver a little ‘—in any danger?’
Mackenzie’s face softened. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more. We just received the telegram. Further information will follow and I’m certain the Scotland Yard man will explain everything when he arrives.’
‘And when might that be?’
‘He’s coming on the Orient Express. Due in on Friday, I believe.’
‘But am I at risk? While waiting for him?’ Clara ensured she still looked fearful.
He adopted a placating tone, as if talking to startled animal. ‘Don’t worry, Miss Vale, I’m sure you are not in any danger. Not here at the hotel. But please don’t travel around Cairo alone. And if you are concerned about anything, call the police and we’ll be here.’
‘Righto,’ she said, still playing the innocent. ‘That’s a relief. Thank you for the reassurance, Sergeant.’
‘You’re most welcome, Miss Vale. Good day to you.’
‘Good day.’
As he withdrew, she wondered if he’d been entirely honest with her. She considered how much the police might know about what Dr Rahman had told her yesterday. Was there an official investigation afoot? Rahman had not been clear about that – nor how he had acquired the photographs of the corpse from the river. And now he was heading off into the desert, she couldn’t ask him. But her curiosity was piqued. Was Rahman acting with official sanction or as a vigilante? She didn’t know. But she did know that her own time was limited. She had less than a week now before the Scotland Yard man arrived.
Rahman had suggested she spend her time investigating the European angle. Is that all she could do? And then she noticed a porter crossing the foyer pushing a trolley of luggage. Her heart quickened. No, that’s not all I can do …
She approached the receptionist who, she noticed, had been trying to listen in to her conversation with Sergeant Mackenzie.
‘Is everything all right, Miss Vale?’ he asked.
‘Yes, yes,’ she said. ‘The sergeant was just passing on some information from the police in England. You see, I work with them.’
The receptionist was startled. ‘You work with the police?’
She smiled. ‘Yes, I do.’ This wasn’t entirely a lie. She hadn’t said she worked for the police, just with them. And in her professional life as a private detective, she certainly did work with them on occasion.
The receptionist was clearly intrigued. Clara had seen this response before. The public had a salacious interest in criminal investigations – whether fictional or in the real world – and everyone liked to play detective.
‘So, you see, nothing to worry about,’ Clara said breezily. ‘I don’t expect you have the police around here often …’
He shook his head. ‘No, not often. We are a respectable establishment, Miss Vale. We rarely have need for the police.’
‘Then that business about your porter who drowned a year or so back must have been a real shock to you.’
The receptionist’s eyes narrowed. ‘You heard about that?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘I remember reading about the case. What was his name again?’
‘Yusuf Sayeed.’
She raised her finger. ‘That’s right. The Sayeed case. We heard back in England that the Cairo police did an excellent job with that.’
The receptionist mouth gave a little twist. ‘Hmm.’
‘No? I thought they’d solved it quite quickly.’
The receptionist shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you were misinformed, Miss Vale.’
‘Is that so?’ she asked. ‘Perhaps you can tell me why.’ And then she slipped an Egyptian pound note across the desk.
He covered it with his hand. ‘What would you like to know?’
Back in her room Clara made notes of her latest conversations. The receptionist – with the help of a couple more pound notes – had been very helpful. Yusuf Sayeed had worked at the hotel for around five years. He had previously been a digger on archaeological digs but couldn’t continue that line of work due to persistent back ache. He was given a good reference by one of his former employers and used it to get the job at the hotel. Clara noted, with some surprise, that she knew the former employer: it was Dr Heinrich Stein, from the Neues Museum in Berlin. She would definitely be having a word with the Herr Doctor when he arrived.
Sayeed was considered an asset because he could speak English, French and German, and was familiar with the foibles of Europeans. Clara asked the receptionist if he knew anything about Sayeed’s moonlighting in illegal antiquities dealing. She was met with an averted gaze and a discreet cough. Another pound note was exchanged. ‘No’ was the unconvincing answer. Such an esteemed establishment as Shepheard’s Hotel would never knowingly employ someone involved in illegal activity. However, there were rumours that Sayeed was working for the Department of Antiquities as a snitch. He was about to reveal the names of people involved in antiquities smuggling – some of them European – when he was killed. And yes, despite what the police had originally told the hotel guests when they were interviewed, they knew that he’d been murdered.
‘And has the murderer been caught?’ asked Clara.
‘No, Miss Vale, he has not.’
‘And do you know who was in charge of the investigation?’
The receptionist smiled. ‘You’ve just met him. Sergeant Mackenzie. But he wasn’t a sergeant then. He was an inspector. I heard he was demoted.’
‘Do you know why?’
The receptionist shrugged. ‘I do not. But I suspect he upset someone.’
‘Do you know who?’
The receptionist gestured with his hands in the air. ‘The powers that be, Miss Vale. The powers that be.’
Clara circled the names Mackenzie and Stein in her notebook. She needed to speak to them both. She would have welcomed the opportunity of talking to Rahman about it, but he was already on his trip to the desert. It would have to wait until he got back. Stein, she thought, would be easy. He would be arriving with the other Olympic passengers at lunchtime. Mackenzie would be more difficult. Could she just wander into the police station and ask for him? Should she ask the receptionist to call him and invite him to come see her? What would she ask him? And what might her excuse be? She’d have to give that some thought.
Clara leaned back in her chair as the Muslim call to prayer swelled through the open window. She had begun to mark time by it. This was the Zuhr prayer – or noon prayer. She checked her watch. It was indeed twelve o’clock. Time to freshen up. Bella and the passengers would soon be here.