Dogstar Rising by Parker Bilal Read Free Book Online Page B

The latest victim had been badly disfigured. Sami gave few details, no doubt at the request of the police investigators. A number of factors pointed to the possibility that the young boy had been living rough, one of the thousands of homeless children eking out an existence on the streets. This, Sami suggested, was one reason so few resources were being allocated to the case. The child’s body showed signs of extensive torture over a long period of time. ‘All the evidence points to someone exploiting these children for their own foul purposes,’ Sami concluded. ‘There are those who appear to want to use these killings to spread irresponsible talk of rituals and stir the flames of sectarian hatred.’
    ‘Makana, isn’t it?’
    He looked up to see a tall, uncertain man standing awkwardly before him. His prematurely thinning hair was combed back from his narrow forehead. His clothes while neat were too big for him. The eyes were a shade of grey, clouded with some murkiness that Makana could not quite decipher. In his hand he clutched a paper napkin. A spot of cream dotted the corner of his mouth.
    ‘It is you, isn’t it?’
    The eyes widened and the smile revealed teeth that were yellow and uneven. They stood out against his pale skin like discordant notes on a sheet of music.
    ‘I said to my wife, I was sure it was you.’
    The woman standing behind him hovered uncertainly. She was a rather plain young woman wearing make-up and clutching a shiny plastic handbag adorned with gold buckles big enough to sink a small boat. They made an odd couple, confused and out of tune with their surroundings. Gentle music was playing in the background over the clink and clatter of plates and glasses.
    ‘You don’t remember me, do you? Ghalib Samsara?’
    Makana did remember. A little over a year ago he had been hired by Samsara’s father. A long-time civil servant as honest as the day was long, but struggling to make ends meet. The family had once been wealthy, but over the years they had slipped down the scale and now lived in a building that was not only falling into ruin, but was about to be taken over by an unscrupulous speculator who was bribing local officials. Makana dug around until he found enough evidence to make the speculator back off. It had been a slow case but Makana could not recall having met the son on more than one occasion.
    Makana, on his feet now, folded the newspaper and stepped towards the tall man, trying to edge him away. Ghalib Samsara took offence, sensing that Makana was trying to get rid of him. His face reddened and his jaw clamped tightly.
    ‘How is your father doing?’ Makana enquired, edging around him, until he could see over Samsara’s shoulder.
    ‘He’s much the same, thank you.’ Samsara’s voice was flat with disappointment. Makana realised he had wanted something from him, recognition perhaps. Was he trying to show off to his wife? Now his voice took on another tone. He regarded Makana stonily.
    ‘I’ve been abroad,’ he said, ‘studying. In Germany.’
    ‘That’s nice for you. Where in Germany?’
    ‘Hamburg. I studied engineering.’
    The door through which Yousef had disappeared was now opening.
    ‘There’s no work here. You know how it is.’ The smile flashed with complicity, quick and far too bright. ‘It all depends on who you know.’
    ‘It’s not easy,’ Makana conceded.
    ‘Are you here alone?’ Samsara’s head turned to follow Makana’s gaze.
    ‘Actually, no, I’m meeting someone.’
    The woman was tugging his arm, but Samsara hung on, his eyes widening with realisation.
    ‘I understand!’ he whispered. ‘You are working on a case.’
    ‘I really have to be going,’ Makana said. The door yawned open to reveal Yousef and the man in the suit shaking hands.
    ‘Of course. I just wanted to . . .’ Samsara smiled his crooked smile. What he wanted remained unclear. ‘Perhaps, when it is convenient . . . I am sure there is much for us to talk