“He’s not going anywhere until he gets his hands on the Proof of God,” Omar went on. “He’s like a wolf that’s smelled blood. He thinks Amida’s a sheep and he’s got one claw through his hind leg. So we set the bloody sheep out, pinch it to make it squeal, and wait for the wolf to come for its meal.”
“Omar, you should have been either a butcher or a zookeeper.”
“Not a farmer?”
“Farmers don’t risk their sheep to catch a wolf.”
“Point taken. What do you think?”
“You mean we let Owen think Amida actually has the Proof of God?”
“Exactly. The problem is he knows someone tried to arrest him when he met with Amida, so he’s not going to trust him to set up another meeting. He’ll come to Amida, just as he said. At his home. Tonight.”
“Owen must know we’re on to him.” They still had no clues as to his whereabouts.
“Of course someone will have squealed that the great Magistrate Kamil came looking for him and discovered he was smuggling stuff through the diplomatic post. That kind of news spreads like wildfire. Even the embassy kitchen maid will know, and if she knows, everyone knows. That he killed Malik, Ali, and the boy in Fatih, those cards are still in our hands. We have him for smuggling. He doesn’t know we have him for murder too.”
“There’s no proof that Owen killed anyone himself,” Kamil reminded him. “You weren’t able to extract a confession from Remzi, even with your modern methods.”
“What about the murder weapon, that cross thing, right in his living room?”
Kamil shook his head. “The Tarla Bashou apartment was rented under another name and the descriptions we got of the owner are too vague to prove that it was him.”
“Remzi couldn’t have killed Malik alone. He couldn’t have walked two steps after the special treatment we gave him. He would’ve had to be carried out of jail. I bet Kubalou was there that night.”
Kamil considered this. “You’re probably right.”
He wondered about the buyer Amida said Owen had lined up in England for the Proof of God. Could it be one of the sects Ismail Hodja had warned him about? Arresting Owen wouldn’t be the end of the story and he worried about Hamdi Bey. Did the gentle old man realize how dangerous possession of the Proof of God could be? It would make the museum a lightning rod for unscrupulous people like Owen and fanatics willing to stop at nothing to get their hands on the treasure. He hadn’t shared this with Omar, who was still unaware of the contents of the Proof. Omar knew only that it had been placed in the museum with the other antiquities.
“Kubalou has no idea where the Proof of God is and Amida made a pretty good show of knowing where it was the other night, so let him think you still have it. That way he still believes he can lay his hands on it.”
“By attacking me or Elif Hanoum again.”
“So now you’re fainting at the first sign of danger?”
Kamil didn’t rise to Omar’s jab. Omar would understand he was concerned about Elif, not himself. “Let’s talk to Amida again.”
“Like I said, send a thief to catch a thief. One nail drives out another.”
It took several hours to track down Amida. He had spent the night in an apartment in Balat. A boy with a harelip answered the door and told them Amida had already left, but then they found him hiding behind a wall in the back garden. They brought him to the Fatih police station.
The ruse was simple. They made a deal with Amida. He would let Omar know if Kubalou contacted him again about the Proof of God, or they would throw him in jail for theft and murder.
“What do I tell him if he asks me?” Amida looked nervously at the window. “I don’t have it.”
Kamil smiled pleasantly. “Arrange a meeting where you promise to hand it over, then tell Chief Omar about the meeting. Didn’t Kubalou say he was going to be visiting you this evening?”
Amida gulped and nodded. “How do I tell you he’s there?”
“Send someone to the station with this.” Kamil handed him Malik’s sketch of a fox. Avi would also be watching and report back if the Frank appeared.
“If Kubalou finds out I’m lying, he’ll kill me.”
“Not as long as he thinks you know where the Proof is.”
“The minute you tell him you don’t, smart-ass, you’re a dead man,” Omar added. “And don’t think we’re blind. You won’t see us, but we’ll be watching you.”
Amida didn’t move. “What if there’s more than one guy. What about Remzi? And Kubalou has another man, named Ben. If you arrest one, the other one might still kill me.”
“We can lock you up,” Omar offered. “You’ll be safe here.”
“No thanks.” Amida buttoned his jacket and waited uncertainly.
“Go home.” Omar gestured toward the door.
Kamil and Omar stood at the window and watched him walk away.
“Do you think we should have told him about his mother?” Omar asked.
“No.” Kamil thought of how great Saba’s sorrow must be and wished he could comfort her. She was his sister, after all. And he was the better brother.
Amida hesitated in the square and looked around, then hurried down Kemer Altou Street. Behind him strode a tall man in a cloak and turban. A beggar boy ran up and tugged on his robe, asking for alms, but the man brushed him away.
37
Saba saw Amida stride into the compound. She also caught sight of a turbaned stranger behind him in the lane before he turned and disappeared. She walked stiffly across the courtyard, her bandaged legs rubbing against each other beneath her robe. She followed the oleanders to Amida’s cottage and, finding the door ajar, pushed it open and went in.
“Amida,” she called.
Amida came to the door, unbuttoning his jacket. “Hello, little sister,” he said, regarding her grim face. “Has something happened?”
“Mama is dead.”
“What?” Amida sank against the door frame. “What happened? Did someone…?”
Saba wondered what he suspected. Whatever it was, she was sure, was nowhere near as bizarre as the truth.
“Constantine thinks she was poisoned by something on that monstrance above the divan. It fell and she cut herself on it.”
“Poisoned?” Amida repeated in a disbelieving voice. “But she was strong and healthy.”
“She was ill, Amida. Very ill, even before the poisoning.” She paused. “We just didn’t see it.”
Amida sank shakily onto the sofa. He sat unmoving, head in his hands.
Saba sat beside him and waited.
“I should have known there was something wrong,” Amida admitted finally, lifting his head. “When Kamil Pasha brought the cross back, I thought maybe the shock had done that to her. I wish…” He choked down a sob.
Saba sat closer and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. When he didn’t react, she left it there.
“I wish I had a chance to explain things before she passed away. I can’t bear the thought that she died thinking I was responsible for Malik’s murder.”
Saba said nothing. He was responsible, she thought, but her anger had leached away under the onslaught of sorrow. There was room only for one measure in every cup, she mused, and hers was filled with grief. There would be no room for anger until she had drunk this cup dry.
She went into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and gave it to him. He stared at the glass in his hand, but didn’t drink. His shoulders heaved. She took the glass from him and laid a hand on his arm. There would be time for recriminations later.
38
Omar jumped up from sleep, fully alert. Avi was pulling at his arm. “Chief, Chief. The Frank is at the village. He followed Amida from the jail and then he left and came back again with two men.”
Omar was immensely relieved to see Avi. “Alright. Calm down and tell me what you saw.”
Mimoza had been asleep on a mattress in the corner. She sat up and asked drowsily, “Where’s the fire, husband?”