Selected Detective
COMMANDER EHAB ALI MAHFUZ

Khalifa emerged from the back of the truck, passed it and caught up with it again and returned to her lane, honking her car horn as she maneuvered. Far to his left stood a yellow hill in the distance that was undulating and large like a row of fragile sand castles; on his right side, closer, behind a plot of land filled with sugarcane and banana plants, he said, the Nile flows slowly northward with its black and smooth surface, like a polished metal ribbon. He lit a cigarette, pressed the gas pedal and turned on the radio. Shaaban Abdul-Rahim sings his hit song, “Ana Bakrah Israel” “I hate Israel”. Khalifa listened for a while, then switched to another station.

A traffic signal passed indicating that there were still about sixty kilometers to edfu. A week has passed since the discovery of Jansen's body in the malqata, and during that period he has no new information about the mysterious Piet Jansen.

He admitted that he had to run the investigation secretly without the knowledge of Chief Hasani, come to the office early in the morning, work late at night, make some important phone calls at lunch, adjust as best you can to the police work. Even without this limitation, he hesitates to be able to reveal more about the subject of the case. Everything about Jansen's life, from the obsessive security in his villa to the lack of information about his past, seems intentional to keep his life private. More than privacy. Secret. Wall-caged. Inaccessible.

He applied and was granted Egyptian citizenship in October 1945. That's at least what Khalifa found from an old friend at the Interior Ministry. After that Jansen lived in Iskandaria, running a fairly successful bookbinding business from a house in Sharia Amin fikhry, before moving to Luxor in March 1972, he bought his first villa and after that, seven months later, the hotel (changed its name to menna-Ra from the more proselytized Good Welcome hotel). His bank documents reveal that he, if not wealthy, was at least financially inadequate. According to his medical records he had hemorrhoids, rheumatism, inflammation of the toes, and seizures, as well as severe prostate cancer, which had been diagnosed since January 2005.

His leg is the legacy of a car accident in 1982 that destroyed his right knee. There are some random bits of information Jansen is a loyal visitor to the egyptological library in Chicago house, happy gardening, has no police record just that. When it first arrived in Egypt, why and from where, and when it came to Schlegel's hannah, all remained lost in the fog of obscurity. Many people knew him, it seemed so, but when urged, no one seemed to really know anything about him.it was as impressive as if he had no past, no past, it was as if there was nothing beneath the surface. Even Carla Shaw's opinion that she is from the Netherlands has come to a dead end. The Dutch Embassy informs us that Piet Jansen is one of the most common names in the country and that without the year of birth or location it is impossible to trace its origins.

There's one potentially interesting clue, and it comes from the dead man's phone bill. Jansen has never made many phone calls, and it is usually a call to menna-Ra. Just one other number on his bill, in Cairo, was indicated several times contacted nine times over the past three months. Khalifa had checked with Egypt Telecom, thinking it might have been one of the friends Carla Shaw mentioned when they interviewed her last week. Finally, this also proved to be a distracting fact, as the number did not belong to a private address but rather to a pay phone in the city's Al-maadi district.

In short, there is hardly any significant progress. That's why he's in this car right now. Khalifa sped up the speed of her car, passing through small, dilapidated villages, hills and rivers on the left or right that were sometimes so close to the road, and sometimes far from the road as if frightened by the rapid traffic.The sun rises on its left side, floating in the air like an egg poking out in boiling water. Its warming rays cause the earth's moist soil after re-emergence to sparkle and evaporate like a baked cake.

He reached Edfu thirty minutes later, crossing the Nile via a four-lane bridge in the city and tracing his way through the dusty and densely creeping streets before proceeding southward, on the west side of the river. After six kilometers, he stopped his vehicle on the side of a roadside tavern to ask about directions. Two kilometers from it he turned left from the main road to the sandy road that led to the onion and cobak gardens, sometimes slammed into the dense grooves of falak trees, before finally arriving in front of a whitewashed house with ornaments, standing by the river. The house of Ehab Ali Mahfuz, Khalifa's former superior, the man who had led the investigation into Schlegel's murder. He stopped and turned off the engine.

Coming here was a big gamble for Khalifa. Although mahfuz had resigned from the union three years earlier, he still had influence. If he feels attacked on this visit then he will easily issue a statement that will bring down Khalifa by immediately becoming a police guard stationed at the cursed station deep in the middle of the Western Desert. That's it, or at the same time kicked out of the unit. If Khalifa wants the case to be officially reopened and he has reached a point in his investigation where he cannot work any further under unofficial circumstances then this is gambling where Khalifa does not you have another choice but to take it. Chief hasani doesn't seem to be helping him. If he passes the figure of hasani say to the regional commissioner then this will prevent him in kusututan biropetiis which could take months to complete. mahfuz has the power to make things move immediately. The question is, will he be ready to use that power? Khalifa does not remember him as a man who would admit wrongdoing.

Khalifa tapped her fingers nervously at the steering wheel, then grabbed a neatly typed report of her invention so far, got out of the car and headed for the front door and rang the bell. There's a pause for a few moments. Then there were footsteps approaching. The door opened, looking at a dark-skinned middle-aged woman dressed in a black robe and tarha. It must be the housekeeper, Khalifa guessed.

“Shabahul Khair,” said.

“I came to meet the chief inspector.”

“Mahfuz commander does not want to accept anyone at this time,” said the woman while emphasizing the word “komandan”, the last rank of mahfuz when he retired from the union.

“For a few minutes only. I'm coming away from Luxor. It's very important.”

“There has been an appointment before?” Khalifa admitted that he had not made a pact to meet.

“then he won't want to see you.” He was about to close the door, but Khalifa stepped foot over the narrow span.

“Please tell him that Inspector Yusuf Khalifa is here,” he said firmly. “Tell him this is important once.” He looked at her angrily, then asked her to stay there, and disappeared into the house.

Khalifa leaned against the door frame and lit her cigarette, sucking it deep. Despite his habit of always arguing with hasani, he is basically not the type of person who is confrontational, and this kind of situation does not happen easily to him. He was thinking about his time at university first when he was opposing his teacher in front of all the students in the class, telling him that he found the reality wrong, and that he was, and the fear that made the stomach ache he felt as he raised his hand and spoke out loud. The same feeling of fear he felt at this moment— was like a poor man who was creeping up through the stairs and was afraid to do anything that would make him descend again down, to where he came from.

He again smoked his cigarette, turned around and looked far away at the spaciousness that had been passed, watching him from afar, a half-naked figure there with a touria, and, his body appeared and sank with rhythmic silvery and slowly toy children.

“What do I do?” he thinks to himself.

“What am I working on?”

The woman returned a few minutes later. He half expected that the woman would say mahfuz would not be pleased to see him. And indeed yes, the woman asked him to turn off the cigarette and cast a glance at her as if saying “this goes against my best judgment”, delivering her to a cool inner room.

“Commander is unwell,”

It was obviously short as they passed through several rooms towards the back of the building.

“He just got out of the hospital two weeks ago. Doctor says he should not be disturbed.”

It came to a large, sun-lit waiting room, with a ceramic floor and ornate candle holder hanging from the ceiling. On the far side was a series of glass doors leading to a garden full of flowers.

“She was there,” said.

“I will provide tea. Don't smoke ya.”

He stared at Khalifa long ago to make sure that the man received his message, then turned around and disappeared. For a moment Khalifa stood staring at a large photo of a mahfuz in a frame shaking hands with President Mubarak, then stepped closer to the door that led to the park.

In front of him, in a well-maintained grassy area bounded by a grove of pink and yellow roses, a small wooden courtyard jutted into the river. On top of it, turning her back, was attached a protective umbrella of the sun with white and green stripes. He prayed and began to walk on the grass, reaching the wooden courtyard and ducking under the umbrella.

“I was just wondering when you were coming,”

Said a raucous and hoarse voice. “I was so expecting your presence for over a week.”

Mahfuz was lying on pillows, one hand leaning against an armpits, the other holding a plastic oxygen mask from which a thick intestinal-like pipe connected to a metal cylinder under his body. Khalifa was so surprised by the changes in her appearance.

The last time he saw this commander, more than five years ago, he was still so gallant, broad-shouldered, muscular and physically strong, like a heavy-weight wrestler (Edfu bull, he was commonly called). Now it is almost difficult to recognize, its body withered and shrunk into something reminiscent of a strip of skin that has been used, with a face like a skull and fleshy limbs. almost all of his hair and teeth fell out, and his brown eyes, which Khalifa remembered as glowing and fierce eyes, had faded into a stagnant water color. Behind the white djellaba is a bubbling bag of urine.

“Not many of me are still left.”

He was restrained, understanding the expression on Khalifa's face.

“The urinary, large intestine, one lung, all are gone. I feel like an empty suitcase.”

He began to cough and, by lifting the oxygen mask on his face, pressed the button in front of him and began to suck.

“I'm sorry,”

Khalifa muttered slowly.

“I don't know.”

Mahfuz shrugged weakly, drawing in oxygen, while staring at the tangled raft of ward-i-Nil slowly speeding down the river.

Almost a minute before his breathing stabilized, he was able to lower his mask again, nodding at Khalifa to sit in the chair next to him.

“I'm almost a month,” He said raucously.

“Two months outside, With morphine almost resolved.” Khalifa did not know what to say.

“forgive me,” he repeats. Mahfudz smiled without a sense of humor.

“punishment,” he hissing.

“What's gone, can come back. Opportunities will always be there when be patient.” Before Khalifa could ask what he meant, the housekeeper brought a tray of two cups of tea. He placed the two cups on a low wooden table, raised his master's pillow and, with a sour look at Khalifa, stepped away again.

“Umm muhammad,” says mahfudz.

“Women suck, eh? Do not put it in your heart. He behaves so in everyone.”

He tilted his body to one side and extended his trembling hand to the teacup. He could not reach for the cup, and Khalifa helped to get the cup and gave it to him.

“Mrs mahfuz?” Ask, trying to open up the conversation.

“Have died. Last year.” Khalifa shy. He did not expect this at all.

“You think you shouldn't have come here, ’right?” Whisper, while trying to read the detective's mind.

“That's enough of this old man's suffering.why add more to his problem?” Khalifa shrugged, staring down at the bottom floor of the wooden courtyard, at the muddy water flowing underneath.

“You said you were expecting my arrival,”

He said quietly after a moment of silence. Mahfuz shrugged his shoulders.

“Hasani called. told me what was going on. That you're now sniffing out the Schlegel case. If you were the Khalifa I remember, I knew that you would eventually come.” He smiled at himself, his expression more pain than joy, and coughed, the glass in his hand swaying, the drops of tea splashing about his djellab. He signaled Khalifa to take the glass in her hand, lift back her mask, and breathe in the length of oxygen. The detective turned his eyes across the river.

The magnificent view of the dark blue water, the whispering grove of reeds, the felluca flowing near the opposite shore, its surging screen challenging the sky like cheeks stuck to a pillow. mahfuz looked at the direction of his gaze and shifted his mask to the side.

“One amusement for me,” He said in a raucous voice.

“At the very least I will die with a beautiful view.” He removed the mask, put it back in his face, inhaled oxygen like a fish stranded on a mud-brimmed edge.

Khalifa sipped her tea and picked up her cigarette, and then remembered what the housekeeper had told her not to smoke. So he just put his hand on his lap. Back in the garden, a bee-eating bird was circling the rose grove, looking down at the flowers below.

Eventually, the mahfuz recovered enough to shift back its mask. Khalifa pulled her body forward and gave the typed report to her.

“I think you need to see this report, Sir.”

Mahfuz received the report and, frowning as he adjusted his position, he read slowly all the reports, turning the page with his trembling hands. As soon as he reached the end, he let it go and leaned his weakened head back onto the pillow.

“I always suspect.” His voice was so slow that Khalifa felt mistaken to hear it.

“Ya, Sir?”

“Jansen was the one who killed the old woman. I've always been suspicious.” Khalifa sat looking at him, surprised.

“Not something you expected, eh?” Mahfuz said in a stifled voice.

He moved his head slowly, throwing a glance at the distant riverbank where a group of water buffalo had submerged themselves in the water to drink, his bony hind legs swung like a pendulum from one side to the other. Khalifa touched and rubbed his temple, trying to gather his thoughts. He felt like a huge wave was sweeping over him, causing him to choke and lose his orientation.

“You know?” he tried to mutter.

“No for sure,” says mahfuz.

“But the evidence is definitely heading in that direction. Hats, walking sticks, houses near Karnak. The soles of his feet are very interesting. I don't know about it.” A small bubble of saliva formed at the corner of his lips and he wiped it with the tip of his djellab arm.

“I know him, you know that. Jansen. Not very well, but enough. We both love to be together, to be members of the horticultural Society. I used to attend the same meeting. Very unpleasant man. Cold. although it matches the rose.” He kept trying to wipe away the little bubble.

“When I saw the mark on Schlegel's body, heard the guard's story about the bird or whatever it was, then it seemed to be a strange coincidence. Especially with Jansen's attitude towards Jews, and his residence so close to the scene of the murder case. Admitted that it depends on the circumstances, but if we follow it, I'm sure we'll definitely be able to catch it.” He lowered his hand again, breathing heavily. There was a sound of water lurching quite loudly as a pair of geese descended into the river, their legs dabbling in front of them with their wings outstretched.

Khalifa saw the man's hand tremble.

“But why?” He asked, in a raucous voice, confused.

“If you think that Jansen is guilty, why indict Jamal?” Mahfuz casts a glance at the swan.

“Because I was ordered to it.” After a moment of pause, he added, “by al-hakim.” Once again Khlifa felt like he was hit by a big wave, rolling around. Everything around him seemed out of control, all of his reference points were erased. Until his death last year, faruk al-hakim was the head of Jihaz Amn al-Daulah, Egypt's state security service.

“I always knew this would come after me,” whispered mahfuz.

“All this is no exception. it is a relief. It has been with me for too long. Better uncover it in the open. face this.” A loud honking sound rang out on their right side, around a bend in the river. A giant Nile ship is sailing, loaded with sandstone. its bow shows a deep groove through the flat surface of the water, like a chisel that is shamed on fine, dark wood. The ship had already reached and passed through them before the mahfuz continued to speak again.

“Since the beginning I knew this would be a difficult case,” Complaints, his voice was no louder than a whisper.

“Then politics have interfered. Schlegel was murdered less than a month after the massacre in Ismailiya. You recall? Nine Israeli tourists were killed on the bus. And now the Israelites are dead again. Doesn't look good. Especially in front of Americans, they almost canceled some big loan programs. Millions dollars. You know what they like about Israel. Schlegel's problem can raise this issue. Trust me, there are so many worried people in Cairo there. Al-hakim took over personally. There is very strong pressure to get the defendant immediately.” He was silent for a moment, trying to reset his breath. Khalifa tapped her fingers on her knees, trying to get a grip on what she had just heard. From there he had assumed that he was merely dealing with justice that was killed by chance. Now it seems that he is involved in something much more complex and dangerous.

“But, if you know Jansenlah the culprit, why did Al-Hakim tell you to accuse someone else?” Maffudz moved his hand helplessly.

“Entahlah. I don't know, I don't know now. I told Al-Hakim about Jansen, but he said it was over the line. It is said that drawing Jansen into it would make matters worse, would eliminate the Jews even more. Those are his words. If we investigate Jansen, it means that more and more Israelis will be targeted. He asked me to find someone else to accept the punishment. So we pointed to Jamal only.”

His voice was getting worse, as he lifted his oxygen mask, inhaled several times, his frail chest jolting up and down like a bunch of leaking pupils, his hands trembling uncontrollably. With a hint of disgust, Khalifa noticed that the pouch under her djellab was slowly bubbling as urine flowed into it through the ducts in her stomach. There was another honking sound as Nile disappeared north at another bend of the river.

“The case raised my life,” said mahfuz, while lowering back the mask. “I was promoted, my name appeared in the media, there was a telegram from Mubarak. It's all nonsense compared to the accused. Not about Jamal. The man is just a piece of shit. Worth accepting whatever he got. But his wife and children..” He shook his head, raised his wand-like hand and rubbed his eyes. A strange encounter with Jamal's wife sneaks into his mind. The money came in the mail. Without a record, without a name, without anything.just three thousand Egyptian pounds, in a fraction of a fiber.

“And it is then who sends them the money constantly,” he said slowly.

Mahfuz raised his face, surprised, then dropped his head again.

“At least that's what I can do. help them survive. Not much.” Khlafia shook her head, stood up and walked to the edge of the wooden courtyard, looking at the splashing waters of the Nile that jutted into the shallows below.

“What hasani know?” Mahfuz shook his head.

“Not at the time. I told him afterwards, after Jamal hanged himself. He just wanted to protect me. Don't blame him too rough.”

“And this case archive? Already not in the archive storage space.”

“Hasani burned it. We think it's the best. Forget everything. It belongs to the past.” He smiled bitterly.

“But then that's the problem with the past, ’right? It never really became the past. He was always there. Depend. Like leeches sucking blood. Whatever you do, whatever you say, you'll never really get out of it. I've tried. Trust me. Like a goddamn leech, draining your life.” He moved weakly to pick up his tea, signaling that his chest cavity was dry and needed fluid. Khalifa stepped closer and handed the cup to her. He could not hold it steady, and it was the Caliph who finally held the cup for him. Mahfuz turned his body forward and sipped his tea. As soon as he finished, he leaned back, drooping helplessly like a rag doll.

“I am a good cop,” he whispered.

“Whatever you might think. forty years I served. Countless number of cases I've solved. The Aswan express robbery. Gezira Murder. Girgis Wahdi's. You remember him? Girgis al-Gazzar, butcher from Butneya. So many cases. But only this one keeps sticking with me. I let the killer pass with him.” He was quickly exhausted now, his breathing was short, his gusts were sharp, his limbs were trembling. He again grabbed the oxygen mask and sighed a few breaths, frowning as if in pain.

“OPEN BACK THE CASE,”

He muttered, shifting his mask to the side.

“That's ’kan you want? I'll talk to Hasani and whoever I need to talk to. There will be no practical effect. Al-hakim is dead. Jansen is dead. Jamal is dead. But at least you'll be able to find the truth. It's just a matter of time.” The sound of footsteps rang out as the housekeeper got closer to the grass field, while carrying a small surgical tray.

“You?” ask Khalifa. Mahfuz.

“What's wrong with me? I'll be dead in a few weeks. At least I'll find out that I finally did the right thing at the end of my day.” He lifted his oxygen mask again, inhaled it several times, then with strength still remaining, reached out and clutched Khalifa's arm.

“Find that truth,” whispered.

“For me, for Jamal's wife, for God if you want. But careful. He's a dangerous man. The Jansen had a number of friends in the upper class. A dangerous secret. I'm trying to protect you. But, be careful.” Dimmed eyes stared tiredly at Khalifa, then closed. The detective looked at him for a while, then let go of his hand. He walked past the housekeeper and across the park again. Half an hour ago he had prayed that the mahfuz would allow the case to be reopened.

After what he heard earlier, he now felt better hoping not to be opened again.