Chapter 4: Trustworthy
If Anemo Gale had ever been asked what his ideal police station looked like for the ending of one of his novels, he definitely wouldn't have described the building he was standing in right now. The Zamalek station reeked of cheap bleach, dodgy tobacco, and way too sweet black tea. Up on the ceiling, a massive fan with bent blades spun around, making a rhythmic squeaking sound like a tired pendulum ticking away for no reason.
Behind a chunky desk made of peeling wood, a massive police captain with a thick black moustache and heavy-rimmed glasses was taking slow, deliberate sips from a tiny glass. He stared at the two Gales with total boredom in his eyes.
"So, gentlemen..." the policeman said in heavily accented English, pulling a blank sheet of paper in front of him. "Let’s recap. You claim that last night, from your flat, there disappeared... a cat. A white cat."
"Not just any cat, Captain!" Anemo interrupted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
He had fallen asleep in his clothes, his hair was a total mess, and his usual daydreamy self made him wave his hands around as if conducting an invisible orchestra.
"We’re talking about Bise! A Turkish Angora of priceless value! She vanished from the balcony. Someone... someone must have taken her! Or maybe she was catnapped! Don't you see? It's a... mysterious hijacking!"
Professor Simoon let out a long sigh, feeling his blood pressure skyrocket. He subtly nudged Anemo out of the way and slammed a plastic folder stuffed with papers onto the policeman’s desk.
"Captain, my son is a writer and tends to be... dramatic," the Professor said with his ironclad logic, tapping his finger on the documents. "But right here you have the animal's European pet passport, proof of her microchip from Dublin, and the health clearance from Cairo Terminal 3, signed just last night. She spent fourteen days in quarantine, sir! Fourteen days just for a sneeze! She is officially registered under the name Anemo Gale. You must start a local search!"
The policeman set his tea glass down with a sharp thud. He glanced at the folder, then stared long and hard at Anemo.
"Mr Gale, Cairo has over twenty million people and probably just as many street cats. If I sent my men out to look for every white cat that jumps off a balcony in Zamalek, it would start World War Three. Don’t you get it? If I were you, I’d put up some posters, post on social media groups, offer a reward..."
"But she’s not a stray!" Anemo shouted, losing his temper. "She’s got a personality!... If you only knew who she really is..." he added, mostly to himself.
The Professor stamped hard on his foot, giving him a killer look. “Shut up, you idiot, do you want them to lock us up in a madhouse?” his dad’s eyes seemed to say.
The police captain took off his glasses and placed them slowly on the desk.
"We do what we can, within our limits. I hope you have photos of your cat..."
*
The morning sun cut through Cairo’s dusty haze like a hot knife, turning the lazy flow of the Nile into a mirror of molten lead. For Anemo and Professor Simoon, the air in the Zamalek neighbourhood brought no relief. They had walked out of the police station with their clothes stuck to their backs, holding a piece of lined paper scribbled in Arabic that wasn't even worth the petrol money for the black-and-white taxi that had brought them back. The Egyptian officer had smiled politely, smoked two cigarettes right in front of them, and promised a sympathetic "Inshallah". A missing Angora cat on a balcony just didn't make the cut in a mega-city of twenty million souls.
"We’re on our own, Dad," Anemo whispered, collapsing onto an iron chair at a shaded table under a giant fig tree on Shagaret El Dorr Street.
Professor Simoon didn't answer. He took off his glasses, wiping his forehead with a cotton handkerchief. On the wooden table between them, a waiter in a black waistcoat dropped off two small glasses of piping hot mint tea and a bottle of condensation-covered water. In Cairo, life flowed with a non-stop hum of car horns and revving engines from the 6th October Bridge—a background noise that only made them feel more hopeless right now. Remi was out there somewhere in the maze of sand-coloured buildings, trapped in Bise's body, wearing a relic around her neck that had missed her human transformation by just twenty seconds.
"What a small world! Tell me, darling, if this isn't our absolute favourite duo."
A familiar voice with an Irish accent made both father and son jump.
Just a couple of steps away stood Daniel Frost, alias Trench, and his wife, Margo. They had swapped their heavy layers for breezy, safari-style outfits, perfectly picked for an investigation under the blazing Cairo sun. Still, even in holiday gear, the two of them looked like explorers straight out of a classic adventure film, ready to crack some colonial mystery.
Trench, even though he’d left his famous coat at home, hadn't changed his habits. He was wearing a classic safari jacket made of thick, sand-khaki cotton, packed with pockets where he probably stuffed his notebook. His sleeves were rolled up casually to his elbows, showing a soft beige linen shirt left wide open at the neck because of the sweltering heat. His olive-green cargo trousers fit him unusually loose, and on his feet he wore suede boots already dusted with a fine layer of Egyptian dirt. On his head was a safari hat with a medium brim... The only thing missing was an unlit cigar to complete the look.
Margo had gone for a much more calculated, utility-chic look. She wore a one-piece jumpsuit made of pure cream-coloured linen, cinched at the waist with a thick reddish-brown leather belt and an antique bronze buckle. Her collar was popped slightly to shield her from the sun, giving her the vibe of a researcher from an old-school adventure novel. To brave the Cairo heat, Margo hid her face under a massive woven straw hat with a wide brim that showed only her smile. Around her neck, she had tied a small silk scarf in bright emerald green—the only splash of colour pointing back to Ireland.
"Detective Frost?" the Professor gasped, instinctively straightening his back. "What a coincidence! I thought you’d gone back home."
A flicker of hope had just lit up in the professor's eyes. Maybe fate had pushed this nosy man right into their path...
"Pull up a chair!" he said, immediately standing up to offer a seat to Margo, who sat down with a barely audible "thank you".
"Oh, a few days of holiday were never going to be enough! You see, because of me, we haven't been away for the last two years. The wife made all the bookings... everything. We’re staying until December. The tenth of December... isn't that right, dear?"
Anemo cleared his throat; he wasn't sure if what he was hearing from Trenchcoat was good news or bad news.
"Sounds like you've planned a proper holiday."
"We have, but I must admit, I miss the air back home. Especially in the evening—don't you two?"
"You’re absolutely right, the air... if only it could be bottled up, encapsulated somehow..."
Professor Simoon cut into the conversation much more firmly than his son, ready to spill their big secret.
"Mr Frost, we are in a spot of real trouble. Do you remember our white cat? She’s vanished."
Frost, who had just taken off his glasses and was using a large handkerchief to dab his face, froze with his hand mid-air.
"Vanished? That gorgeous cat? The cat Remi Storm left in your care... I can't believe it!"
Anemo cleared his throat again, as if the thick Cairo air was trapping the words in his throat.
"There’s... something much harder to believe at the heart of this. You see, she isn't Remi's cat... she is Remi!"
Trench stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and downed the rest of his mint tea, boiling hot as it was. Then, since no one else was saying a word, he stood up and said, completely outraged:
"No, that’s impossible! I personally investigated this, and the writer fellow here present assured me... he showed me emails..."
"Shush! Lower your voice, detective, or everyone around here will think we've completely lost our minds," the Professor urged under his breath.
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