The Ghost Runner by Parker Bilal Read Free Book Online

know yet. She had no source of income. I took pity on her.’ Ragab faltered. ‘I can’t explain why. My own father died very young and my mother struggled to bring us up, perhaps the sight of this young woman struck a chord.’
    Makana wondered if there was more to it than that, although it seemed to almost go against the grain, a man of Ragab’s standing to become involved with the wife of a common criminal, but human nature was nothing if not unpredictable.
    ‘So you helped her,’ he said.
    Ragab got to his feet and paced around the room as he spoke. ‘There were practical matters to do with the case which meant that I saw a good deal of her. She was distraught, as you can imagine. Being pregnant with her husband in prison was not an ideal situation. I did my best to reassure her.’
    ‘How exactly? Did you give her money?’
    ‘Yes, and with little chance of seeing it reimbursed, I might add. I also arranged for her to move into a cleaner, more comfortable place. I even found some work for her in the office of a colleague. It wasn’t much, but it provided some income. I used my contacts with a local mosque that provided medical assistance to make sure she received adequate treatment. When she decided to start a business of her own, I also helped her a little with that.’
    ‘You went to a lot of trouble,’ said Makana, ‘considering how you felt about her husband.’
    ‘That was precisely the reason I felt compelled to help his wife. She struck me as being a victim herself, having been taken in by this man at a young age. She had been blind to his faults, she said, but the pregnancy had opened her eyes. She wanted nothing more to do with him.’
    Ragab’s large eyes blinked. The way he told it, the story certainly didn’t do any damage to his reputation. Benevolence, after all, was a highly valued virtue. Although it seemed like a lot of effort for the wife of a client he didn’t even like. Maybe Nagat truly had stirred some measure of compassion from Ragab’s childhood memories of his struggling mother. On the other hand, maybe she had stirred something else.
    ‘You can call me a sentimental fool, but the fact is that I felt protective towards her.’
    Although in his fifties, Ragab dressed and carried himself like a somewhat older man. Now, silhouetted against the dying light, he appeared younger than his years. Makana wondered how much the domineering Mrs Ragab knew of this story.
    ‘Perhaps I allowed myself to go too far.’ Ragab licked his lips. ‘When the child came I was seized by feelings I was not familiar with. I wished to protect it, to take care of it in some way.’ There was a mournful slant to his eyes as they lifted to find Makana. ‘My wife and I did not have the good fortune to be blessed with children of our own, and I suppose all of those pent-up feelings found an outlet in this little girl.’
    ‘Karima.’
    ‘Yes, exactly, Karima.’ Ragab turned away and Makana saw him wiping a hand across his eyes. ‘She never had much luck, poor child. Her mother died a couple of years ago, after a long illness. Since then she has run the shop alone. Still a child and yet so grown up.’ He turned to face Makana squarely. ‘She didn’t deserve to die such a horrible death.’
    The conversation was interrupted as Aziza appeared carrying a tray on which stood a brass coffee pot and two small cups. Makana noticed that she had exchanged the worn and patched shift she had been wearing earlier for a bright dress covered in red flowers. She even had a glittery gold pin in her hair.
    ‘Anything else I can do, ya basha ?’ she asked as she set down the tray and poured the coffee.
    ‘No, Aziza, that will be fine.’
    The girl then managed to withdraw from the room backwards. Something she had picked up from the television no doubt. A documentary about ancient emperors and kings? Perhaps he ought to pay her something? So long as it didn’t go through her mother’s hands.
    ‘So Karima was born