Four hundred thirty-two students, fifteen faculty, twenty "ancillary" staff. Not a single match to his ten.
Four hundred sixty-eight surnames followed by first initials. None of them identified in terms of nationality. About half the names sounded Anglo-Saxon-that could mean British, Australian, New Zealanders, and South Africans as well as Americans. And, for that matter, Argentinians-some of them had names like Eduardo Smith. And some of the Italian, French, German, and Spanish names could have belonged to Americans too.
Useless.
He scanned the list for Arabic names. Three definites: Abdallah. Ibn Azah. Malki. A few possibles that could also have been Pakistani, Iranian, Malaysian, or North African: Shah, Terrif, Zorah.
Another waste of time.
He returned to his office, suddenly exhausted, forced himself to call Gabi Weinroth, the Latam man stationed atop the law building at the Scopus Hebrew U. campus with an infrared telescope focused on the Amelia Catherine.
"Scholar," answered Weinroth, in code.
"Sharavi," said Daniel, eschewing the name game. "Anything new?"
"Nothing."
The fifth "nothing" of the day. He reiterated his home number to the undercover man, hung up, and left for the place that matched it.
He drove around Talbieh and the neighboring German Colony, looking for Dayan, seeing only the luminescent eyes of stray cats, part of nocturnal Jerusalem for centuries.
After three go-rounds, he gave up, went home, opened the door to his flat expecting family sounds, was greeted by silence.
He entered, closed the door, heard a throat clear in the studio.
Gene was in there, using Laura's drawing table for a desk, surrounded by stacks of paper. The stretched canvases and palettes and paint boxes had been shoved to one side of the room. Everything looked different.
"Hello, there," said the black man, removing his reading glasses and getting up. "The Arizona and Oregon files came this morning. I didn't call you because there's nothing new in them-the local investigations didn't get very far. Your boys are sleeping over at your dad's. The ladies are catching a late movie. I just got a call from the night manager at the Laromme, very dependable fellow. Another package arrived for me. I'm going to run down and pick it up."
"I'll go get it."
"No way," said Gene, looking him over. "Take some time to clean up. I'll be right back-don't argue."
Daniel acquiesced, went into his bedroom, and stripped naked. When the front door closed, he gave an involuntary start, realized his nerves were frayed raw.
His eyes felt gritty; his stomach sat like an empty gourd in its abdominal basket. But he felt no desire for food. Coffee, maybe.
He put on a robe and went into the kitchen, brewed some Nescafe double-strength, then padded to the bathroom and took a shower, almost falling asleep under the spray. After dressing in fresh clothes, he returned to the kitchen, poured himself a cup, and sat down to drink. Bitter, but warming. After two sips, he put his head down on the table, awoke in the midst of a confusing dream-bobbing in a rowboat, but no water, only sand, a dry dock
"Hello, sweetie."
Laura's face smiling down at him. Her hand on his shoulder.
"What time is it?"
"Eleven-twenty."
Out for half an hour.
"Gene found you this way. He didn't have the heart to wake you up."
Daniel got up, stretched. His joints ached. Laura reached out, touched his unshaven face, then put her arms around his waist.
"Skinny," she said. "And you can't afford it."
"I didn't find the dog," he said, hugging her tightly.
"Hush. Hold me."
They embraced silently for a while.
"What movie did you see?" he asked.
"Witness."
"Good?"
"A police story. Do you really want to hear about it?"
He smiled. "No."
Finally they pulled apart and kissed. Laura tasted of peanuts. Cinema peanuts. Daniel reminded himself of the reason for the movie distraction, asked, "Where's Shoshi?"
"In her room."
"I'd better go talk to her."
"Go ahead."
He walked through the living room, down the hall toward the rear bedroom, and passed by the studio. Gene sat hunched over the table/desk, eating and working. With a pen in one hand and a sandwich in the other, he looked like a student cramming for exams. Luanne reclined, shoeless, on the couch, reading a book.
Shoshi's door was closed. He knocked on it softly, got no response, and knocked louder.
The door opened. He looked into green eyes marred by swollen lids.
"Hello, motek."
"Hello, Abba."
"May I come in?"
She nodded, opened the door. The room was tiny, barely room to walk, plastered with rock-star posters and photos cut out of tabloids. Above the bed was a bracket shelf crammed with rag dolls and stuffed animals. The desk was piled high with schoolbooks and mementos-art projects, a cowrie shell from Eliat, his red paratrooper's beret and '67 medals, a Hanukah menorah fashioned from empty rifle shells.
Incredible clutter, but neat. She'd always been a neat child-even as a toddler she'd tried to clean up her crumbs.
He sat on the bed. Shoshi leaned against a chair, looked down at the floor. Her curls seemed limp; her shoulders drooped.
"How was the movie?"
"Fine."
"Eema said it was a police story."
"Uh huh." She picked at a cuticle. Daniel restrained the impulse to tell her to stop."
"I know about the dog, motek. It wasn't your fault-"
"Yes, it was."
"Shoshi-"
She wheeled on him, beautiful little face suffused with rage. "He was my responsibility- you always said that! I was stupid, blabbing to Dorit-"
He got up and reached out to hold her. She twisted away. One of her bony knuckles grazed his rib.
She punched her thighs, "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"
"Come on," he said, and pulled her to him. She resisted for a moment, then went limp. Another rag doll.
"Oh, Abba!" she sobbed. "Everything's coming apart!"
"No, it's not. Everything will be fine."
She didn't answer, just continued to cry, drenching the front of his clean shirt.
"Everything will be fine," he repeated. As much for his benefit as hers.
Sunday noon, and all was quiet at the Amelia Catherine, medical activities suspended in honor of Christian Sabbath.
Up the road, at the Scopus campus, everything was business as usual, and Daniel made his way unnoticed through throngs of students and professor, up the serpentine walkway, and through the front door of the Law Building. He traversed the lobby, took the stairs to the top of the building, walked to an unmarked door at the end of the hall, and gave a coded knock. The door opened a crack. Suspicious eyes looked him over; then the crack widened sufficiently to admit him. Gabi Weinroth, in shorts and T-shirt, nodded hello and returned to his position across the room, sitting at the window. Daniel followed him.