Following a request from Mac, Nagpal had gathered all the local Well Diggers staff in the large open-plan office that doubled up as their meeting room. There were three engineers, Nagpal’s assistant, Vinke’s assistant, and assorted drivers, household staff and translators, including Darab. All of them were men. When Ginger and Mac went into the room, there was already a heated discussion going on between Nagpal and a dark-eyed young man in a grimy green peraahan and baggy trousers.
Nagpal shut down the conversation on their arrival.
‘This is Pasoon,’ he said. ‘He was Lars’s driver, and he’s scared now that he’ll be out of a job.’
Mac shrugged. It wasn’t really their problem, but he could sympathise with the young man. ‘Look, Vinke will have to be replaced and the rest of the staff will be back from Kabul soon.’
Ginger nodded. ‘Tell him his job’s safe for now. Tell all the staff that.’
Nagpal relayed what Ginger had said and the vibe in the room became instantly more mellow.
The purpose of the meeting was to question the staff to see if they knew anything at all about what had happened.
‘We need to find out why Well Diggers is being targeted,’ Mac had said, over breakfast. ‘If we know why, it’ll give us a steer on who it might be.’
His plan was to initiate a group discussion in the hope that a consensus might arise, and after that he and Ginger would talk to each staff member individually, in case any of them had any sensitive information that they wouldn’t want to mention in front of the group. They would use Nagpal to translate, rather than Darab – as a member of the Sikh community, Nagpal stood apart from the tribal and family loyalties that could have a bearing on what one member of staff might say in front of another.
Now, once everyone was seated and those that wanted it had a cup of tea in front of them, Mac got Nagpal to ask them if they could think of any reason for the attacks or, indeed, any links between them.
Nagpal translated their answers.
‘They are westerners and this is a western NGO – that in itself is enough for some people to target Well Diggers,’ said one of the engineers.
‘What people?’ said Mac.
The man shrugged. He wasn’t a local – he’d moved down from Kabul to take the job. ‘Southern Afghanistan has always been less accommodating to foreign occupation,’ he said. In other words, he had nothing specific to offer.
‘We’re no different to the rest of the country,’ said Vinke’s assistant, who was a native of Lashkar Gah. ‘Mostly this is a welcoming place, but the growth of the opium trade has attracted criminals and gangsters.’
‘Do you think this could be linked to the narcos?’ said Mac.
One of the other engineers shook his head. ‘What we were doing was helping the narcos – the poppy growers were benefiting from the restoration of the karez system. It wouldn’t make sense for them to frighten us away.’
He had a good point. It was difficult to limit the advantages provided by Well Diggers to the legitimate farmers, when more and more of them were turning to the lucrative crop of poppies. Since it sold for nearly four hundred dollars a kilo, growing wheat or okra simply couldn’t compete. And the drug barons were more than happy to provide impoverished farmers with the poppy seeds on credit.
‘Yes, but when you help one narco, you make an enemy of another,’ said a colleague.
One of the drivers spoke up, grinning, and Nagpal laughed.
‘He said an old Afghan proverb might help – don’t dig wells for others, for you will fall into one yourself.’
‘Too right,’ said Ginger, with a wry smile.
An engineer shook his head in disagreement.
Nagpal summarised his words. ‘He doesn’t see that the two incidents are linked. Vinke was a confrontational man – he often argued with staff here and with the people the project came into contact with. He could have insulted someone important.’
‘Christ,’ said Mac in Ginger’s ear. ‘That’s quite an accusation.’
‘Who does he mean by that?’ said Ginger, directing the question to Nagpal.
Of course, the guy went quiet. He was in a room full of colleagues. Anything said in here would no doubt get churned through the local rumour mill, and that could have consequences.
Mac made a note of the man’s name, Tanvir. He would be one of the first they would want to talk to. Mac’s general impression was that Vinke was not well-loved by his staff, but that Bakker was. They were definitely more anxious about finding the head engineer than they were over who had murdered their boss. That in itself was interesting, but none of it had given them any leads.
‘If anyone can think of a person or people who might have reason to hold a grudge against Vinke, please let us know. Were there any disciplinary actions taken? Have there been members of staff let go or sacked for any reason?’
‘I can look into the records,’ said Nagpal. ‘There have been replacements made, and the previous staff members might bear looking at.’
Ginger held up the sneaker he’d found under Vinke’s body, now in a clear plastic bag. ‘Anyone recognise this? It was in the garden of Vinke’s house. Maybe it belongs to one of you, or one of the staff that came and went to the house.’ He wasn’t going to tell them that he’d found it right under Vinke’s body.
They all shook their heads and no one claimed the shoe. If it didn’t belong to any of the staff, then maybe it had belonged to one of the intruders. It could have come off in the struggle.
‘Does it belong to a man or a woman?’ said Vinke’s assistant.
Nagpal’s mobile rang and he glanced at the screen, then held up a hand to the assistant so he could take the call. He nodded and said something, then disconnected.
Mac looked his way.
‘That was Commander Gulwal’s assistant. He has some news for us.’
‘What news?’
Nagpal rolled his eyes. ‘Not something the assistant would say over the phone. We have to go to Gulwal’s office.’
‘Fucking power play,’ said Ginger. ‘We gotta dance to his tune.’
‘Of course we do,’ said Mac. ‘Okay, break up this meeting – we’ll talk to people individually when we get back.’
Nagpal said a quick word to the rest of the staff, then he, Ginger and Mac made their way downstairs.
When the three of them arrived at Police HQ, Gulwal was outside, deadheading the rose bushes with the care and attention of a proud parent. He bent towards a branch of blousy pink flowers and breathed in deeply, inviting them to do the same.
‘Salaam alaikum, Commander,’ said Mac. He turned to Nagpal. ‘Please tell him his roses are splendid. A labour of love in this heat.’
‘A memorial to fallen colleagues,’ came the reply. He beckoned them once more to follow him into his office.
‘I understand you have some information for us,’ said Ginger, once they were settled inside and the round of greetings had been completed.
The smile left Gulwal’s face and his expression became serious. He spoke for a minute, pointing and gesturing. Mac waited patiently for Nagpal to get a chance to translate. Every conversation took twice as long and of course was filtered. At least when he’d worked with the police in Kabul, the major had spoken English.
‘One of the commander’s men came to him this morning and said he’d heard a rumour about a westerner that had been seen, out alone, very early yesterday morning.’
‘Where?’ said Ginger.
‘On the empty land by the riverbank, to the south of the city.’
The Well Diggers house was south of the city centre.
‘Where was he going? Did he get a description of the man?’ Ginger’s rapid-fire questions had already flashed through Mac’s brain.
As Nagpal translated the questions for Gulwal, Mac turned away from the two Afghans and murmured to Ginger, ‘We need to talk to the policeman directly to get the details. This is like a game of bloody Chinese whispers.’
‘I agree,’ said Ginger.
‘The description that came back was just that the man was European. That’s enough here in Lash – you just don’t see westerners wandering about on their own, without drivers, interpreters or escorts.’
‘Ask him if we can talk to the policeman in question. We’d like to hear from him and see where the man was seen,’ said Mac.
He and Ginger didn’t need Nagpal’s translation to understand that this was going to be a problem. There was a lot of head shaking and hand gestures before Nagpal turned back to them.
‘That won’t be possible. The policeman in question has gone off duty now and returned to his village.’
‘What about the witness? Could we have his name and details?’
Gulwal practically laughed when this was put to him.
‘The man making the claims was an addict. He was down on the riverbank smoking opium. The commander thinks you should discount anything he says – after all, if this was your man, it wouldn’t seem that he has been taken. In which case, where is he now?’
That might be a valid point, but it simply meant they had to dig deeper.
‘We can’t totally discount it,’ said Mac. ‘It’s our only lead so far. Please ask the commander for the precise location, so we can make our own enquiries.’
Gulwal shrugged at this request, then gave Nagpal the information they wanted.
‘I know the place,’ said Nagpal, as they walked back to the Land Rover. ‘It’s a patch of wasteland, well known as a place where drug addicts congregate.’
‘Right, let’s go,’ said Ginger.
It didn’t make sense to Mac. A westerner wandering about by the Helmand River at dawn. No contact from whoever had taken Bakker. Could he have escaped his kidnappers? If so, they needed to find him before anyone else did.
They had no time to lose.