Thirteen in the Medina Page 24

  Peevishly, I replied that I could not, as I had been unable to find my scrunchy after someone had been in my room while we were out on the town. He looked at me a little askance. ‘Are you suggesting voodoo now?’ he asked. ‘In lieu of hair clippings they took your scrunchy? Why?’

  I had no idea why and listening to him voice the suggestion out loud it did sound ridiculous but I had hunted all over the bedroom and the bathroom and it was nowhere to be found. I even checked that it had not fallen into the waste bin or been inadvertently kicked under the desk. It had vanished into thin air.

  ‘It will turn up,’ he announced confidently as Abdul called us to take our seats on the bus.

  For our final sightseeing day we drove the short distance towards the town centre where Abdul once again handed us over to the little wizened local guide Hicham, or Hamish as our group had christened him, who was going to escort us through the souks of the old medina, which back onto the Jemaa el Fna square, the location of our previous evening’s jaunt. Free of many of the food stalls and the mass of people it looked sadly deserted in the light of day, with just the odd scrap of litter and paper scattered around by the breeze. It was hard to reconcile it with the area that had previously disconcerted me.

  Before he left us Abdul directed us to stay together in a group, not to wander off – and here he had fixed each one of us with a steely eye – and if we desired to stop and buy anything, or just to browse, to direct Hicham to stop and the whole group would stop and wait until the purchase had been completed. Cynically, we had decided amongst ourselves that the organisers of the tour had arranged it so that now, when nearing the end of our holiday, we were taken to the souks in the medina and finally allowed to stop and look around, in order to spend whatever money we had left.

  The medina was much like the other medinas that we had walked through previously at great speed with Abdul, only now – without Abdul – we were allowed to dawdle, to handle the merchandise, to haggle if we dared. We had no idea why Abdul had left us with another guide or where he had gone. As a tour manager/guide he had been rather lax at times, however Hicham was a genial replacement, and he patiently waited while Nancy looked at handbags, Carole contemplated the tagines and Diane drooled over the jewellery.

  There was nothing I particularly wanted and I browsed along with the others but only half-heartedly, my mind still on the possible intruder in my room the previous evening, and the realisation that I have been wrong about Larry; he had not been the person to push me into the path of the horses. So, I pondered, gazing around at my fellow travellers as they mooched through the medina, browsing amongst the merchandise on offer, if not Larry, then whom?

  Or, as there had been an innocent explanation for Larry and Diane’s chats in the bar with Keith, was there also a simple reason for my mishap? Had I just imagined the feeling of a hand on my back and the pressure of it giving a sharp push? Had I merely tripped and stumbled after all?

  After lunch we viewed the Medersa Ben Youssef, an Islamic college, from the fourteen century, the largest Medrasa in the country. In the usual sort of postprandial stupor we sauntered around the courtyard decorated with cedar, marble and stucco carved panels of geometric designs; human or animal representations not being permitted in Islamic decoration. Then our sightseeing completed, our purchases made, we returned to the hotel to consider packing before our final evening meal.

  As Keith and I walked across to the bar for a celebratory end of tour evening drink something about the man by the pool caught my eye. He did not look quite so slim and sinister as previously, appearing slightly portly, or perhaps he was just a bit more muscular. Anyway, I doubted that the same man stood guard every night; two or more guards might share the duty and I doubted they would all be tall and slim.

  Then as we walked past he hissed at us.

  ‘Psst…’

  I looked at Keith and then at the man, then stood stock still. I could not believe it. It was Graham. But not Graham. It was a different Graham; this one appeared taller and slimmer (although not as slim as another man in black who stood behind him ready to resume his normal position). He looked very different dressed in a smart black suit as opposed to his baggy shorts, Phil Harding hat, and without his glasses.

  He beckoned urgently to us to follow him through the back door leading into the poolside bar, now closed and in darkness. After inviting us to sit down he raised a hand to stop our questions.

  ‘I’m going to try to be brief as I know the others are waiting for you in the bar and I don’t want any search parties instigated. But,’ he smiled at us both, ‘I am fine. I know that you are dying to ask me, and I’m fine. I just needed to get away for a day or two and as always happens, I am sure the rumour mill hit overload.’

  He went on to explain that whilst rocks and fossils were, as he had claimed, a hobby of his, they were also at present connected to his job. He was an investigator for an Art and Antiquities department currently on the trail of smugglers. Word had reached his employers that a smuggling ring was operating out of the country using tourists as cover and he had been sent in to investigate.

  An organised tour being ideal, he explained, as the same sites are visited with every group and normally each party stays in the same hotels, as outlined in advance in the brochures. It is easy to follow as it has an established route, and messages can be left and picked up at pre-arranged spots. Hence the consternation when our hotel had been changed with no notification.

  He had signed up for the tour with his wife. ‘She really is my wife, and she has had to put up with a lot. I know she would have hated lying to anyone by trying to claim I was unwell; I’m sure she has been suitably vague and allowed other people to make their own conclusions. But,’ he smiled fondly, ‘she does get a free holiday, of sorts, out of all of this.’

  He continued by saying he had believed one of the key operators was on our tour. He looked up in surprise as Keith started to laugh.

  ‘When we arrived,’ Keith explained, ‘I said to Carrie it was like being in an Agatha Christie story and we looked around to see who the bad guy was; everyone appeared so suspicious.’ Graham looked a little affronted to be included as a “bad guy” until Keith pointed out that perhaps that was a compliment on his disguise but he still seemed a little unsure.

  ‘But you were right about one thing,’ he told us. ‘Everyone appeared suspicious.’ He gazed intently first at Keith and then at me. I gave a little shiver. Keith’s jokey whodunit was one thing but Graham seemed in deadly earnest. ‘It could be anyone,’ he continued. ‘Including Abdul, especially as he had a habit of handing us over to Hicham and disappearing when I suspect he was supposed to be showing us the delights of Marrakesh. I don’t know, but do Moroccans keep a girlfriend on the side?’

  He smiled but neither Keith nor I responded so he continued. ‘I discounted our driver as I was really after someone who was free to leave the country at the end of the tour. It could be someone on their own, like Bob, or someone operating as part of a couple, as camouflage, like I was. They did not even need to be a married couple; they could just be travelling together.’

  He stopped and waited.

  ‘Us?’ I cried. ‘You think we are fossil smugglers?’ I was aghast. I knew Keith and his brightly coloured shorts would attract all the wrong attention. And sure enough, Graham professed suspicion of Keith.

  ‘You talked about having made the booking at short notice, being lucky that there had been a cancellation,’ the older man said, looking intently at Keith. ‘We knew about that but it could have been a sort of double bluff, although at present I am working on the theory that there were in fact two passengers whose flight bookings were transferred to a second person – the man whose place you took, which also included a place on the touring holiday, and a second man who is part of the smuggling team.

  ‘The original courier – or one of a pair I should say – was a young man who was taken ill after his last flight and died in hospital; an unforeseen side effect
of a little ruse of his and his cohort. He used Ipecac syrup to induce vomiting, but took too much and became dehydrated. He developed a fast heartbeat, low blood pressure and collapsed outside the airport. Unfortunately for him, he had a previously undiagnosed heart condition.

  ‘They usually travel separately but it was feasible that the company would break with that habit and this time employ a couple. I had to consider whether you were an innocent tourist, lucky to get a last minute seat – or whether you were a replacement felon. Unfortunately, the original young man was too ill to interrogate before he died; all we know is that his last woman accomplice was blonde.’

  I instantly thought of Diane. I knew she was up to no good. But that was not my immediate problem.

  ‘So,’ Graham continued, eyes locked on the young man whom only a few months ago a mutual friend had pointed out to me that I actually know very little about, a young man to whom I was attracted but whose own feelings appeared ambivalent. Again, as when I feared he was in fact Colin’s father and not his uncle, I had to face the fact that the Keith I thought I knew could turn out to be a stranger.

  He had booked at short notice, or so he claimed. He said he had been lucky enough to have been given another passenger’s cancellation with a minimum of fuss and paperwork - but what if all that really did involve was a change of name and details, as Keith was known to the previous smuggling ring? So, Keith worked in a stationary store – didn’t Clark Kent work in an office when he was not out saving the world?

  ‘So,’ repeated Graham, a very serious Graham, ‘if I suspected you - so might another person, the partner to the original “tourist” whose place you took; has anyone been particularly friendly towards you?’

  Despite this being rather a silly question; the whole tour group, not forgetting Abdul and probably even our driver, must have known that Diane has been very outgoing where Keith was concerned, no-one so much as raised a smile.

  ‘Diane.’ Keith uttered the name reluctantly; whether reluctant to admit their friendship or a more professional relationship I was unsure.

  Graham nodded. He seemed pleased at the admission. ‘Diane,’ he repeated. ‘Whose husband is a vet.’ He paused again as if waiting for Keith to make some sort of confession. ‘Did I mention that the woman in this partnership whom we are trying to track down, not only was she blonde, but must also have some medical knowledge, at least some basic first aid? She came forward as a retired nurse -’

  Well that lets me out, I thought. I know this holiday has not exactly been as relaxing as it was intended to be, but do I really look to be of retirement age?

  ‘- and would have needed some basic knowledge to back up her claim, just in case she was challenged. As I said,’ Graham resumed, ‘Larry is a vet and Diane who I suspect, before she married him and gave herself all those airs and graces, worked as his receptionist. She may even have helped out with a little basic nursing.’

  I knew it was Diane, I thought oddly pleased to discover that not only did I believe her to be a nasty woman but she might be a criminal as well.

  ‘Also,’ Graham continued, ‘one of the avenues of our investigation was looking at possible ways of transporting the items; from sources such as the fossil factories who may come across a unique specimen in their day to day work, to the illegal diggers excavating in the desert and transporting the artefacts via camel trains.’ He paused and grinned. ‘I think you might have guessed that actually I did not participate in our little camel trek purely for pleasure. I needed to follow up a lead in that area. Diane and Larry also went on that little excursion, but at the last minute backed out of riding the camels. Diane threw some nice dramatics – but it could have been carefully staged. While we went on our little camel ride who knows where they actually went or if they had arranged to meet anyone.’

  I so wanted the bad guy to be Diane. I cast my mind back to when I thought I had seen her behind the monumental arch at Volubilis. I just had a fleeting glimpse of what had appeared to be a blonde woman in a sundress and I had just assumed that her companion in the shadows had been Keith – but she could easily have been meeting up with an accomplice to make arrangements, hand over documents or some sort of illicit contraband.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Graham was saying, ‘I could find nothing, other than his profession, to hold against Larry – he has done nothing suspicious, missed no trips - which almost makes him a perfect suspect!

  ‘Ann, I seem to remember, casually admitted to knowing just a little basic first aid and she was careful just to emphasize how little this was. She is also blonde.’ Here Graham stopped and ran his hands through his own thinning locks. ‘Ann and Phil, a couple who seem to be continually at loggerheads. They cannot agree on anything. But is this all a bluff, their constant bickering? Are they really an astute criminally minded couple? Or could it be Ann working alone but who brought her husband along as cover, in much the same way as I brought my wife? Is Phil really an irritable alcoholic driven to drink by his wife’s unlawful lifestyle; or is it all an act? A very clever act, if he is indeed just pretending to be a drunken buffoon.’

  Graham shook his head as if he could not decide on their innocence or guilt. ‘And they did miss the horse carriage ride, ostensibly through illness but that could have been an excuse while they engaged in some other activity.’ If this last comment was said as a joke no-one laughed.

  ‘So, who else is blonde, possibly of retirement age – but with women who knows? She may have “retired” at a young age from nursing in order to bring up a family - with a little medical knowledge?’ He continued, proceeding to ask and then answer his own questions. I felt back in the realms of Agatha Christie, when Hercule Poirot rounds all his suspects up and it appears that each one has a motive and an opportunity to do the deed.

  ‘Hugh is a qualified acupuncturist and his wife Nancy dabbles a little with reflexology. Both of these types of alternative medicine require knowledge of the body. They are a recently retired couple who are now enjoying travelling the world. Nancy appeared to be very friendly towards you Carrie, trying to get you to confide in her about any problems you might have.

  ‘Also, Hugh bowed out of one excursion – at the time blaming an upset stomach but later admitting it was because he did not want to traipse around more shops. He has the medical experience; this time they could be using a man as their main operative and he may have missed that trip in order to make contact with either his employers or another agent in the field to collect documents or merchandise.

  ‘And not forgetting that time in Chefchaouen when a man brazenly walked up to him in the street. Ostensibly by Hugh’s reaction we were meant to believe that the man was trying to offer him some drugs, but it could have been an outrageous bluff, and an operative just making brief contact in order to pass along a message after we had changed hotels with no warning, and a possible link in the contact chain had been broken.

  ‘Similarly, the interloper on the bus in Casablanca could have been a brazen attempt to convey some sort of coded message that Hugh’s abortive attempt in Spanish to remove him signified he understood, or something; I just don’t know.

  ‘Then we have Carole, with her St John’s ambulance certificate,’ Graham smiled as if unable to take the thought of such an elderly lady as an international smuggler seriously. ‘She was able to communicate with our stowaway on the bus and lead him outside; also, as they spoke in German there was a good chance their conversation, if overheard, would not be understood by anyone else. And we did lose both her and Gordon on the very first day of this trip inside the labyrinthine Bahia Palace.’

  ‘And she trod on your hand,’ I reminded him, ‘when you were both scrabbling for that paper – what was on it, by the way?’

  ‘Oh, nothing, it was just padding,’ he gave a little hollow laugh and looked down at his hands in the gloom, turning them over as if checking that his wounds had healed. ‘Of course,’ he continued after several moments, ‘the blonde woman, of uncertain age, we have been sea
rching for could have worn a wig or dyed her hair.’

  I sensed him staring at my brunette roots and felt myself feeling guilty, even though I am not a fossil smuggler, just guilty of the vanity of colouring my hair.

  ‘And just because she was blonde last time, if she dyed her hair – or wore a wig - it could be a different shade now. So, I thought about you,’ admitted Graham, turning to me, Keith momentarily forgotten, with a smile. Or was that a wolfish grin and I was about to be arrested in a foreign country for something I had not done? An innocent drug or artefact mule. You read about it all the time in the papers. Perhaps sometimes it is actually true.

  ‘You fit so many of the criteria; the age, being young, free and able to travel without ties. You also professed an interest in fossils and even own an ammonite necklace. So, I checked into your background.’ He held an apologetic hand up. ‘And I spoke to Enzo,’ he added.

  ‘Enzo?’ queried Keith, ‘Who’s Enzo?’ He peered at me in the gathering shadows, a frown marring his handsome features.

  I smiled. It’s been a while since I have thought of Enzo.

  ‘Enzo is a work colleague of mine in Sicily,’ Graham explained. ‘He broke up a smuggling ring a couple of years ago with the help of a British girl and he says “Hi” by the way.’ Keith was still staring at me and I am sure that even in the dark I went a little pink.

  ‘So that left me with four blondes – Nancy, Ann, Carole and Diane, although I suspect Diane’s golden locks are dyed,’ and he chuckled to himself as if this was a joke. I so wanted it to be Diane, but I was not smiling.

  ‘So, Enzo cleared you, Carrie, and I thought that probably put you, Keith, in the clear,’ and the way that Graham seemed uncertain about Keith’s innocence hinted that just maybe Karen had suggested that he make Keith suffer a little about any allegations as penance for his philandering. ‘But then it struck me that if I had thought you were part of the ring, others might have also.’