The young man looked down solemnly at his hands, before slowly shaking his head.

‘Then I’m afraid I can only go on the evidence before me.’

Manolis didn’t want to say what was really on his mind, which was the reliability of the evidence found in Ahmed’s possession. Could it have been a guard who planted it, or was there a conspiracy that went all the way to the top…? Manolis couldn’t prove anything as yet, and he feared that if he tried to question Onions, he would be kicked out of town and replaced on the case.

‘I scared,’ Ahmed said. ‘I cannot tell between a nightmare, dream and awake. I have difficulty talking about yesterday, today and tomorrow. From when I arrive till now feels like one day.’

Sparrow scoffed. Manolis felt torn. The electric fan droned on.

‘Ahmed, I know this isn’t easy, but you can help us by telling us truthfully what you know,’ Manolis said. ‘Where were you the night your teacher died? Do you have a family?’

An uneasy silence filled the tightly packed container. The only sound was insects colliding with the floodlight, making noises like tiny circular saws. Ahmed’s pupils jittered with shock, panic, fear. His hands were clasped together like he was holding a gun, his lips pressed tight in a hard, straight line. When he finally spoke, it was to his hands.

‘When a Muslim makes pilgrimage to Mecca to ask Allah for forgiveness, they pass Mount Arafat. On top is small cement pillar. The bottom is dark from human touch, handprints. Muslims see pillar as Satan. Between sunrise and sunset on last day of pilgrimage, under the hot burning sun, we throw stones at pillar to banish Satan. It brings us closer to God and virtue.’

As if feeling that desert sun’s very rays, Ahmed wiped the slick from his brow. Manolis saw a tear running down his cheek.

‘One day, in future, mountains will be flattened. There will be no shade, and people will walk through heat to present their deeds before Allah. Everyone will be equal and same, no kings or presidents or businessmen. We can make amends now, when we pass Arafat, but not later.’

With tired eyes, he looked up at the officers, one by one, and added:

‘This is what I know, and my soul is at peace.’

He stood, walked to the door with a slow, assured gait, and bashed on the wall three times. His weighty fist produced a clamour that reverberated off the metallic interior.

The guards appeared promptly with attitude and impatience, faces like granite. Ahmed bowed lightly and gestured to Manolis and Sparrow, who were hastily accompanied from the grounds; short of making an arrest, they were powerless inside the facility. Ahmed was led back to his chair. His restraints and hood were reapplied.