by [Kamal
D
octor Bassimal-Shaer lumbered away from the dual-lensed microscope and invited Ben to take his place.
“See for yourself.”
Ben moved stiffly toward the stool that creaked as he dragged it forward from the strain of having held al-Shaer’s weight. He focused on the left-hand lens first.
“The first Jericho victim,” the medical examiner said from behind him. “Leila Khalil.”
Ben knew he was looking at a blood sample corrupted by some foreign matter, though the specifics were beyond him. He studied the slide briefly and then shifted his eye over to the right-hand lens.
“The second Jericho victim,” al-Shaer narrated. “Unidentified male.”
Ben tightened his stare, finished his inspection, and returned his eye to the first lens. He shifted back and forth, doing his best to discern a difference in the two slides. But the tissue sample on the second slide had been corrupted as well.
“Now look at this one,” the medical examiner said, replacing one of the slides with another. “This is from the woman killed two nights ago, Dalia Mikhail.”
Ben reluctantly forced his eye back against the lens. Once again there was no discernible difference.
“All three are virtually identical,” al-Shaer confirmed. “Whatever that oil is, I can say without question that it was present in the wounds of all three victims found in Jericho.”
Ben raised his head, realized his eye was sore from pressing against the lenses too hard. His head began to throb at the temples, the ache extending deep into the skull itself. He’d thought he had everything figured out, but al-Shaer had destroyed his theory with a trio of laboratory slides.
“I thought you’d be happy,” the fat man said, when Ben just sat there dumbly. “Once I identify this oil, it might be the clue that helps us catch him.”
“You’ve done excellent work,” Ben responded, his eyes on Danielle. She wasn’t gloating, maybe even looked a little disappointed herself. “Now tell me about the knives.”
Al-Shaer snickered and pulled a cigarette from a rumpled pack in his back pocket. He lit it, inhaling deeply. “Your damn knives . . . We are dealing with microscopic readings here. First, I stab the side of beef, then I have to cut the section with the wound off and study it under a microscope to get the precise measurements. Officer Tawil brought me over fifty different knives. It’s taking forever.”
“How many so far?”
“Almost twenty. A few have been close, but nothing that’s call for excitement.”
Ben lifted himself stiffly off the stool. Exhaustion was catching up with him, quickened by his feeling of disheartenment. He was trying to refocus on the matter at hand, shove his theories aside in the face of al-Shaer’s revelations.
“I need some air,” Ben heard himself saying.
Danielle trailed him through al-Shaer’s office and out into the street, keeping her distance until Ben was ready to talk.
“One killer, then,” he said, yet his tone suggested he still wasn’t convinced.
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you?”
“I know how strongly you believed there were two.”
He looked at her. “And did you?”
“What you said made very good sense.”
“Shanzi’s death could have been an unconnected accident, but not the attack on the boy in Jerusalem last night. They came looking for him, just as we did.”
“Maybe not.”
Ben stopped and faced her. Before them, drivers on the narrow side street battled pedestrians for control of the road. This part of the old city was not equipped with sidewalks.
“I seem to recall you being there last night and getting shot at just like me.” Ben directed his eyes toward the bulky bandage on her arm, clearly pushing against the sleeve of her blouse. “Unless I’m mistaken.”
“We were both shot at. But do we know for sure that Radji was? Think back now. They shot up that BMW and then we started shooting at them. They fired back.”
“They went after the boy!” Ben persisted.
“Maybe because we did and they had turned their attention upon us after we disrupted the attack on their true target.”
“The driver of the BMW . . .” It hurt as much for Ben to think it as say it.
“Something we never considered. Simply a different interpretation of the same events. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time, just as the boy was. And what if the boy had nothing to do with it? What if they had been sent to kill us?”
“By who, Pakad?”
“The same party that kidnapped you Monday night.”
“Hamas? What would they have to gain from killing us at this point?”
“What did they have to gain by kidnapping you?”
Ben knew he was grasping now. “And Officer Tawil?”
“Hamas again, because they didn’t like him snooping around.”
“He only had time to tell me there was something I needed to see.”
She moved a step closer to him, remaining silent as if her point had been made.
“You wanted me to be wrong. You’re glad I was wrong.”
“Because I would hate to consider the ramifications of your being right.”
As Ben stood there looking at her, a white van darted through a stop sign and slammed into a car just up the street. The van’s rear doors flew open as it spun out of control, spewing buckets of fresh iced fish into the street. Bouncing and sliding as though they were still alive, the fish ended up atop hoods, lodged against windows, and upon the pavement along with masses of crushed ice. The whole section of the street seemed covered, as the van’s driver pried open his door and climbed out to confront the driver of the car he had hit.
The rest was predictable, the two men screaming, each blaming the other for the accident. The van driver wore a rubber apron that flapped in the wind as he spoke, gesturing furiously at the fresh catch that was spoiling on the pavement.
“All I’m saying,” Danielle started, “is we—”
Ben stiffened and grabbed her arm before she could continue.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“My God . . .”
“What is it?”
“Our killer,” he replied flatly.
* * * *
Chapter 35
T
hank youfor coming,Inspector,” GhaziSumaya greetedforty minutes later.
Upon his return to the police headquarters, Ben had found an urgent message that the mayor needed to see him. Commander Shaath sat in his customary chair, leering at Ben with a confident sneer.
Sumaya’s eyes fell briefly on Shaath before he continued. “The commander has briefed me on the events of last night.” His voice was low, almost sorrowful. “Your involvement in this case has become something of a problem for us. . . .”
“Chief Inspector Barnea is just outside,” Ben broke in. “Would you mind if I invited her in?”
Sumaya was taken aback by the question. “Inspector Kamal, do you understand the reason for me summoning you here?”
Ben ignored him. “We wanted to give you an update on the investigation. There are some new developments, a major breakthrough.”
The mayor gazed at Shaath briefly before responding. He looked relieved when he swung back toward Ben. “Show her in.”
Ben obliged, and Commander Shaath made a show of turning away from both of them as Danielle entered. The two moved to face the mayor, who beckoned them to be seated in the chairs set immediately before his desk.
“Very well,” the mayor said when they were settled. “What are these new developments? What breakthrough?”
Ben accepted the evidence envelope from Danielle and held it tightly in his hand.
“Although at present Chief Inspector Barnea and I don’t know who the killer is, we believe we know where he can be found.”
“You . . . do?” the mayor posed.
“I’ll start with the two major pieces of evidence the Jericho murder
s have yielded for us. Credit for that must go to Doctor al-Shaer.”
“Yes, yes. Go on, please.”
“The first piece of evidence was an oily substance Doctor al-Shaer found coating the wounds on all three Jericho victims. The second piece was the size of the entry wounds themselves, clearly indicative of an effective, but uncommon double-edged weapon.”
“Go on,” Sumaya urged eagerly.
“The other problem Pakad Barnea and I faced was reconciling certain facts not consistent with the events as they must have occurred. Most importantly, how did al-Diib come and go unobtrusively in each instance, in spite of the fact that these killings must have left him splattered with blood?”
The mayor looked at Shaath, who sat in his chair stone-faced, letting Ben continue.
“Answer: he was someone whose presence was so common at odd hours that witnesses failed to even remember him, just as the presence of blood on his person wouldn’t have stood out, even if it were evident.”
Shaath leaned forward. “Perhaps you are suggesting he was able to bathe after each killing.”
“No. He wore an apron.”
Shaath swallowed hard. The mayor’s mouth dropped.
“A fish merchant, sidi,” Ben finished, not about to explain the fortuitous accident that had led him to that conclusion. “Al-Diib is a fish merchant, a sight so common on the streets at odd hours that they simply blend into the scenery.”
“They are in the streets at all times, all hours,” the mayor affirmed.
“Doctor al-Shaer has identified the substance found in the wounds of all three Jericho victims as some sort of fish oil—actually, different sorts but from the same general family as the catch brought into the West Bank from Gaza every day. He has also positively identified the murder weapon as a scaling knife, used in both the filleting and skinning processes. One of these . . .”
Ben removed a plastic zip-lock bag from the evidence envelope Danielle had handed him and held it up so the mayor could see the squat-handled, double-edged knife inside. It looked like an ugly, thick stiletto.
The mayor rose slowly out of his chair and accepted the bag from Ben. He could scarcely contain his excitement, as he fingered the knife through the plastic. He held it out to Shaath, who made no motion to grab it.
“This isn’t the murder weapon, of course,” Ben explained, “but we believe it’s a reasonable facsimile.”
“Would it be possible for us to generate a list of such fish merchants, Inspector?” the mayor asked.
“As you know, sir, these peddlers are required to be licensed now for tax purposes, but the law has not been strictly enough enforced to rely solely on such a list. However, the only merchants allowed passage between Gaza and the West Bank are based on the docks of the Gaza seaport. Our man will almost certainly be among them.”
“Hundreds of potential suspects,” Shaath chimed in derisively.
“We may be able to narrow it down some by studying passport applications.”
“Why?”‘
“Because since he travels between Gaza and the West Bank, he would probably want to be able to enter Jordan.”
“Even if you are fortunate, you’ll never be able to positively identify him.”
“I think we can,” Ben said, and looked over at Danielle. “You see, we have a witness in custody.”
* * * *
Chapter 36
W
hy didn’t youtell yoursuperiors theidentity ofthe second Jericho victim?” Danielle asked as soon as they were outside the mayor’s office.
“I sent the fingerprint card through the proper channels. We’ll wait until it yields the answer for them.”
“Only you don’t think it will.”
“No more than you do, or Brickland.” Ben paused, uncomfortable. “I was wrong about there being two killers. I accept that, and now I just want to wrap things up.”
“The boy says he can’t identify the killer.”
“I’m hoping something jars his memory.”
“You think it’s worth placing him in such danger while we wait for that to happen?”
“No,” Ben told her, “and that’s where you come in. . . .”
* * * *
T
here was a message for him when Ben returned to his office at police headquarters. Lieutenant Jack Tourcot from the NYPD had called and for a moment Ben wondered why, until he remembered the name and address he had asked Tourcot to check out for him:
Max Peacock
1100 AMsterdam Avenue
New York, NY 93097
Ben had met Jack Tourcot during the Sandman investigation when an ad hoc task force was assembled, comprising specialists in the lore of serial killers. Tourcot had been point man on New York City’s Son of Sam investigation and had ultimately nailed the killer with the help of parking tickets. The capture of serial killers was almost always due to such dronelike, methodical police work, such as Ben’s uncovering the fact that the Sandman was a locksmith.
Ben forgot about the time difference and only realized how early in New York it was when a groggy voice answered the phone.
‘Your case is getting major play on the news over here, Benny,” the New York City detective said. “A historical first, and all that sort of shit. Is it true? Are you really partnered with an Israeli? And a woman at that?”
“It’s true.”
“I’ll be damned. And I thought I’d heard everything. You got the third page of the Times yesterday. The reporter called it a ‘joint press release.’ They spelled your name wrong.”
“It figures.”
“Any luck, Benny?”
“We may have a lead,” Ben said unenthusiastically.
“Good thing, because I struck out on all counts. First off there’s no such address on Amsterdam Avenue, and nobody by the name of Max Peacock in the whole city directory. The really weird thing is, you might be looking on the wrong coast.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you notice the zip code? Nine-three-zero-nine-seven. That’s California, I think.”
With everything else that was going on, Ben had missed what should have been a very obvious clue. Not that it mattered at this point.
“Want me to look it up for you?” Tourcot asked him.
“Don’t bother. It must be a dead end. Go back to sleep.”
* * * *
W
hat isit I’msupposed todo?” Radjiasked suspiciouslyfrom the other side of Yousef Shifa’s kitchen table.
“Come with me to the docks in Gaza and see if you spot the man you saw from the alley.”
“I told you, I didn’t see anything!”
“I know, but we have to do this anyway.”
“Who says?”
Ben gazed around him. “You happy here?”
“What of it, cop?”
“When was the last time you slept with a roof over your head?”
“Do abandoned buildings count?”
“No.”
Radji frowned and stretched his arms out over the table. “Long time.”
He looked different with his hair washed and pulled back from his face. He was wearing the clothes of one of Yousef Shifa’s sons—still not a great fit, but far better than the rags he had learned to accept.
“So what?” the boy snapped.
“So we go to the docks every day starting tomorrow, and as long as we keep going, you keep the roof.”
Ben could see Radji’s eyes flashing like the lights of a computer. “I want to see my sister.”
“Bad idea for you to return to the camp.”
“Then I want you to bring her to see me.”
“An even worse idea, considering the condition she’s in. She shouldn’t be moved without medical attention.”
His head popped up. “Get it for her!”
“That would mean transferring her to the clinic here in Jericho.”
“Do it!”
Ben shrugged. “Difficult to arrange, maybe im
possible.”
“Then it’s impossible for me to go to Gaza and find your killer.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” He paused and made sure the boy could see him take a deep breath. “Of course . . .”