"Tonight, after midnight," said the Chinaman. "When the fun's in full bloom."
"If you don't get any leads there, go to the Green Line and talk to the whores. Find out if any strange customers have been hanging around. Don't hassle anyone but take note of weird ones. Warn the girls too, while you're at it-talk in general terms, no details."
"How general?" asked the Chinaman.
"Tell them they're in danger. Say nothing specific about the murder-that goes for all of us. Laufer wants this thing kept quiet-the tourist situation. So talk in terms of a missing girl, nothing more. The same thing applies to communications with other police personnel, which is why we're meeting away from Headquarters."
The Chinaman picked up an an empty skewer, used it like a classroom pointer. "I'm supposed to tell the whores they're in danger. Then I show them the picture of the missing girl. You don't have to be the Chief Rabbi to put it together."
"There's no way to keep it under wraps for any significant length of time," agreed Daniel. "What the brass is hoping is that we jam lip the grapevine for a while, get lucky, and wrap up the case quickly enough to feed the papers a three-line closed-file piece."
"Hope springs eternal," mumbled Shmeltzer.
"I'll be on beeper all through Shabbat," continued Daniel. "If any of you get anything of substance, call me immediately. Tomorrow I'll be walking down to the lower Katamonim and knocking on doors-if she's poor and Jewish it seems the best place to start. I've got Records doing research into some people at the Amelia Catherine and the Civil Guardsman who discovered the body. Where I go from there depends on what they find. Anyone beep me if you get something good. If there's something worth sharing we'll call a meeting at my place, Sunday afternoon. Now, let's pay and get going."
After the bill had been settled, he instructed Daoud to remain at the table and walked Lee and Shmeltzer out of The Star. The Chinaman got onto a Vespa scooter he'd parked in front of the restaurant, thick thighs flaring, looking like a kid on a toy bicycle. He revved up, sputtered to King George, turned left, and sped away. Next to The Star was a three-story building whose ground floor housed an El Al agency and a children's clothing store. On the upper floors were lawyers' offices, all closed for the midday lunch break; to the right of the storefronts, a dark, tiled entrance leading to the stairs.
Daniel took Shmeltzer by the elbow, propelled him through the doorway, and said, "What's going on, Nahum?"
Shmeltzer's expression was innocent.
"Going on about what?"
"Your attitude. That little speech about Hebron, the side comments."
"Don't worry," said Shmeltzer, "I'll do my job."
"That's no answer," snapped Daniel. "If something's eating at you I want to know it."
Shmeltzer smiled placidly.
"What should be eating at me? I'm just a guy who likes to tell it straight."
"An irrelevant lecture on Arabic culture is telling it straight?"
A tremor of anger floated across the older man's face. He compressed his mouth and a ring of white encircled his lips.
"Look, Dani, you want to use him, that's your prerogative. You think he's hot, fine, maybe he is. But the hell if I'm going to change his diapers." Shmeltzer's glasses had slipped down a nose slippery with sweat, and he pushed them up. "That's the thing that pisses me off the most about them. They talk around things, using pretty words, sir this, sir that, welcome to my tent. Turn your back and there's a fucking knife in it. I tell it straight, the rest of us tell it straight, arid he's going to damn well have to live with that or go back to selling rosaries."
"I have no interest in protecting him," said Daniel. "He does his job or he's out. It's your frame of mind I want to be sure of. So we can get the job done."
"Have you ever know me to fuck up?"
"No. I brought you on because I thought you were the best.".
For a moment Shmeltzer's face seemed to soften. Then his eyes grew strangely fierce before fading to neutrality.
"I'll give you no reason to change your mind."
"That's what I wanted to hear."
"You heard it," said Shmeltzer. "Now, if it's okay with you, I'd like to get to work." He put his hands in his pockets and slouched against the wall. A rubber ball bounced into the entry hall, followed by a child-a boy, six or seven-who scooped it up, stared at them, and ran back out to the mall.
"Go," said Daniel. "Shabbat shalom."
Shmeltzer straightened his windbreaker, adjusted his holster, and walked out of the entry. Daniel followed him and watched his thin form recede in the distance. Within moments he'd disappeared into the throng that streamed down Ben Yehuda.
When he got back to the banquet room, Emil the Waiter was clearing the table, working around Daoud, who sat staring at the picture of the girl, a demitasse of Turkish coffee in one hand. Daniel pulled out the chair next to him, sat, and waited until they were alone.
"I have one goal," he said. "Find the monster who killed her, prevent him from doing it again. I have no time for internal politics or bickering."
"I understand, Pakad."
"You took some garbage today. You'll probably take more in the future. You're a professional and I assume it won't disturb your sleep."
Daoud smiled faintly. "I'm a heavy sleeper."
"Good. If something gets in the way of your doing your job, tell me. Anything else, I don't want to hear about."
"Yes, sir."
They left the restaurant. Daoud walked to a tiny old gray Citroen that appeared to be held together with rope and baling wire. A blue Occupied Territories plate dangled crookedly from the battered front fender, embossed with the letter bet for Bethlehem, and an iron crucifix hung from the rearview mirror. Despite the police ID on top of the dash it looked like a perfect bomb crib, and Daniel wasn't surprised to see Wiesel, the undercover man, observing the car from a table at an adjacent cafe. When he saw Daniel he called for his check.
Friday, four P.M., Daniel exited the central bus station having learned nothing. No one had seen the girl. No one had looked at her photograph with even a hint of recognition.
A blind beggar was huddled on the sidewalk just outside the entrance to the depot, begrimed and toothless, his dry, sunken eyeholes raised to the sun. When Daniel passed, he held out a quaking clawlike hand and started to chant, a rhythmic keen not unlike prayer. Kind sir, kind sir, the good deed of charity takes on special value as the Sabbath approaches, a good deed, kind sir, kind sir, amen, amen
Daniel reached into his pocket, drew out a handful of coins, and dropped them into the filthy palm without counting. The beggar began blessing him in a high-pitched wail. The bony hand continued to shake, sifting the money as if it were grain, probing, hefting, decoding its value. A mental total was reached; the beggar's mouth twisted into a gaping, black-gummed smile. The blessings increased in volume and vigor: Daniel and his offspring for ten generations would be graced with good health and riches for time immemorial
Suddenly a group of six other paupers appeared from nowhere. Hunched, lame, snaggletoothed, and twisted, they shuffled and limped toward the detective, proclaiming individual litanies of despair that merged to a toneless, mournful dirge. Before he could get to the Escort, they'd reached him. Forming a circle around him, they began chanting louder, beseeching the kind sir. Emptying his pockets, he gave something to each of them, compressing his nostrils to avoid their stench.