Yes, she'd known the first two Butcher victims were Amelia Catherine patients-Hassan's patients. Had wanted to tell someone-Mr. Baldwin, at least. But Hassan forbade it, said their cover was more important, they couldn't afford police probing around the hospital.
She began weeping: "Those poor women!" Hassan hadn't cared, didn't care about anyone! He was a pig-the Arabs were all pigs. Filthy, sexist pigs, she hoped they all rotted in hell, hoped the Jews killed every single one of them.
One extreme to the other.
An unstable girl. Daniel wondered how she'd cope with prison.
Amos Harel was waiting outside his office, pacing and smoking. Unlike him to show nervousness; something was wrong.
Gauloise butts littered the floor. The door was closed. As Daniel came closer, he saw the look on the Latam chief's face and a flame ignited in his belly.
"One of my men is dead," said Harel hoarsely. "Itzik Nash, strangled in the alley behind the reporter's building. Your man, Cohen, is missing-no trace of the car we gave him. We found his radio near Itzik's body. They were supposed to maintain regular contact-Cohen was probably checking up on Itzik when he got hit. The reporter's also dead, bludgeoned to pulp up in his flat, swastikas painted in blood all over his bedroom walls-his own blood, according to Forensics. They're still there swabbing and dusting. The Canadian, Carter, is the only suspect who was out last night. No one knows where the fuck he is."
Daniel knew Itzik Nash-they'd attended Police School together. A roly-poly guy with a ready arsenal of lewd jokes. Daniel visualized him wearing the thick-tongued idiot's yawn of the strangulation victim. Thought of Avi in the Butcher's hands and found himself trembling.
"God. What the hell happened!"
Harel took hold of the doorknob, twisted savagely, and shoved the door open. Inside his office sat a Latamnik-the man who'd broadcast as Relic. He was staring at the floor. Harel's throat-clearing raised his face, and Daniel saw that his eyes were lifeless, filmed over. He looked withered, a husk of himself. The code name strangely apt.
"Get the hell out here and tell him what happened," ordered Harel.
"He faked us out," said the Latamnik, coming to the doorway.
Harel put his face close to his man's, sprayed Relic with spittle as he talked: "No vidduy, just facts."
Relic licked his lips, nodded, recited: "Carter took the predictable path, Ben Adayah to Sultan Suleiman, walked right by me. I picked up his trail the moment he passed the Rockefeller, followed him up Nablus Road and into the Pilgrim's Vision Hotel. Place was empty, just the night clerk. Carter registered, went up the stairs. I leaned on the clerk; he told me the room number-three-oh-two-and that Carter had ordered a whore. I asked if Carter had ever stayed there before-did he have any particular whore in mind? The clerk said no to both. There was only one roundheels working this late-she was up in one of the other rooms, would be free in fifteen minutes. He was planning to send her up then. I warned him not to let on anything was up, took a house key, and waited in the room behind the desk. When the whore showed up and picked up the key, I followed her to three-oh-two, let her go in, waited maybe fifteen seconds, then went in myself."
The Latamnik shook his head, still unbelieving. "She was all alone, Pakad, sitting on the bed reading a comic book. Not a trace of Carter. The window was bolted, dusty-it hadn't been opened recently. I looked everywhere for him, tried other rooms, the communal lavatory. Nothing. He must have slipped out the back way-there's a rear stairway leading out to Pikud Hamerkaz."
"Didn't you call for backup?" demanded Daniel. His hands were clenched at his sides, his abdomen searing. His body so tense the muscles threatened to burst through the skin.
"Sure, sure. I know the layout of the hotel-we watched it last winter on a dope surveillance. I radioed for help first chance I had-while waiting for the whore to show up, maybe, three minutes after Carter arrived. The closest guy was one of ours, Vestreich on Habad Street, but if he left, it meant no coverage for the Old City. So your Arab, Daoud, came over from Kishle, maybe five, six minutes later, and stationed himself out back."
"Could Carter have known you were following him?"
"No way. I stayed twenty meters behind, always in the shadows. God wouldn't have spotted me."
"Could anyone have warned Carter about you?"
Relic pressed himself against the corridor wall, as if trying to shrink. "No way. I had my eye on the clerk at all times; no one else around. I wanted to have him phone Carter's room to confirm the bastard was up there, but the Palace is a shithole, half a star, no phone service to the rooms, no way to send a message. I tell you, Daoud was out back in five minutes-he didn't see him leave."
"Plus the three minutes before you called makes eight," said Daniel. "Plenty of time."
"Four wouldn't have been enough-bastard never went up to the room in the first place! Never made it to the third floor, at all. He probably climbed one flight, walked through to the back stairs, and slipped out before Daoud arrived. He used the goddamned hotel as a tunnel."
"Where's Daoud now?"
"Looking for Cohen," said Relic. "If Carter had gone south, back on Sultan Suleiman, Daoud would have run right into him, so he must have headed north, up Pikud Hamerkaz, maybe west to Mea She'arim or straight up to Sheikh Jarrah. We alerted Northwest and Northeast Sectors-no one's seen a damn thing."
The Latamnik turned to his boss. "Fucking bastard faked us out, Amos. We were told he was probably unaware of the surveillance, but that's bullshit. The way he acted, he had to suspect something was up-he paid cash, didn't register in his own name-"
"Terrif," muttered Daniel. "He registered as D. Terrif."
"Yes," said Relic, feebly, as if another surprise would tax his heart. "How'd you know?"
Daniel ignored him, dashed away.
He ran down the four flights to subground, insisted, over the protests of the Mossad guard, that Deputy Commander Laufer be pulled out of the interrogation.
Laufer came out flushed and indignant, ready to do battle. Before he could open his mouth, Daniel said, "Be quiet and listen. Harel's itzik Nash is dead. Avi Cohen may be dead too." As he related the details of the surveillance disaster, Laufer deflated like a punctured tire.
"Shit, Cohen. Was the kid ready for something like this?"
Stupid bastard, thought Daniel. Even now, he's looking to pin blame. "Carter's out there somewhere," he said, ignoring the question. "Cohen's car is nowhere in sight, which could mean it's garaged. It supports our suspicion of a second place-a second kill spot, away from the hospital. I want authorization to go into the Amelia Catherine, go through Carter's room and see if we can come up with an address. And a release of the bastard's picture to the press in time to make tomorrow's editions."
Laufer shifted his weight from one foot to another. "I don't know."
Daniel restrained himself from grabbing the idiot's collar. "What's the problem!"
"The timing's bad, Sharavi."
Daniel curled the fingers of his bad hand, raised the ravaged flesh in front of the deputy commander's face. "I've got a maniac on the loose, a new hire in danger of being slaughtered-what does it take!"