The Theatre - Kellerman, Jonathan

Daniel looked up from the summary.

"Three rootless women, two of them scared and depressed and abandoned, the other a mentally deficient drug addict on the run, with no family ties. As Yossi said, perfect victims, except that the killer hadn't counted on Abdin Barakat's enduring love for Shahin. If Elias hadn't gotten him to open up, we'd still be wondering about the common thread."

Daoud acknowledged the compliment with the stingiest of nods.

"Cassidy and Al Biyadi saw all three of them," said Daniel. "Carter saw one of them. Both doctors' contacts appear to have been minimal-a quick look and out the door. Given the patient load at the clinics, it's possible Fatma's and Juliet's names wouldn't have meant anything to them. But Peggy Cassidy spent time with them. She'd be likely to remember, so at best she withheld material knowledge. At worst-"

"At worst is more like it," said Shmeltzer, "Motive, opportunity, means. She and Lover Boy, together."

"What's the motive?" asked the Chinaman.

"What Dani's been saying: The two of them are PLO symps, want to pit us against the Arabs, cook up a revenge bloodbath."

Daniel noticed Daoud smile at the use of the word us, then lose the smile, quickly. He, too, was unshaven, fatigued. Sitting next to the older man. Scruffy comrades-in-arms.

"A perfect setup," Shmeltzer said. "Hundreds of patients coming in and out of that place, the women one day, the men the next. Cassidy screens them, selects the vulnerable ones. As a woman, it's easy to get them to trust her. To relate. She reassures them the needle is going to make them feel better, calm them down. Then Lover Boy enters and…" Shmeltzer drew a finger across his throat.

Stalking the herd, thought Daniel. Picking off the weak ones.

"Three kill spots," continued Shmeltzer. "The cave and each of their rooms." He turned to Daoud. "Show them the plans."

Daoud unfurled the Mandate-era blueprint of the Amelia Catherine's ground floor and spread it across the center of the conference table. Everyone leaned forward. Daoud pointed to several rooms on the west wing freshly relabeled in red.

"These were formerly servants' rooms," he said. "Now they're staff quarters. Nahum memorized the door plates."

"He did, also," said Shmeltzer. Frowning at Daoud: "False modesty's no virtue."

"Al Biyadi's room is right here at the end, closest to the back door," said Daoud. "Cassidy's is here, right next to his."

"No big surprise if there's a connecting door between them," said Shmeltzer. "Two sinks, two bathtubs, pletvty of space to butcher and wash at leisure. Easy access to dope, knives, sheets, towels, soap, the hospital washing machine. A few steps to the rear door of the hospital and a quick walk in the darkness down to that tunnel we found."

"How far is the end of the tunnel from the murder cave?" asked Daniel.

"Good couple kilometers," said Shmeltzer, "but if you went down at night, you could easily escape notice. One of them carries the body; the other, the equipment. All that brush offers a straight, camouflaged track from the hospital lo the desert. An aerial view would show one strip of green among many-we could probably get some photos from the air force to prove it."

"If they've got two rooms, why the cave?" asked the Chinaman.

"Who the hell knows? They're crazy," said Shmeltzer. "Political, but two crazy assholes-a marriage made in hell."

Daniel studied the blueprint, then rolled it up and put it next to his notes. "Any chance you were noticed going over the side?"

"Doubtful," said Shmeltzer. "They didn't look for me seriously. Baldwin probably saw it as one crazy old Arab who'd limped off somewhere to die-high risk for noncompliance. They're probably used to it."

Daoud nodded in agreement.

"What about the missing files?" asked Daniel.

"Sure, if someone was looking for them," said Shmeltzer. "But why would they?"

"Why would Cassidy and Al Biyadi do something as obvious as killing their own patients?" asked Daniel. "And why would they leave records? Why not destroy the charts?"

"Arrogance," said Shmeltzer. "Typical U.N. arrogance. They've been violating their charter every day since '48, getting away with shit for so long, they think they're invulnerable. On top of that, Cassidy and Al Biyadi are both arrogant as individuals-she's a cold bitch; he prances as if he owns the place, treats the patients as if they're subhuman."

"Sounds like any doctor," said the Chinaman.

Daniel recalled his first and only encounter with Al Biyadi, the young physician's nervous hostility. He remembered the frosty reception Baldwin had given him, how the Amelia Catherine people had made him feel like a foreigner on his own native soil.

The big pink building had been the logical place to begin. The killer had done his initial dirty work close to home, studying Yaakov Schlesinger's disciplined schedule, knowing when it was safe to cross the road and dump Fatma's body. Then dumping Juliet and Shahin across town to divert attention from Scopus.

Now the investigation had come full circle.

Two deaths later.

His mind started to fill with maddening hindsights. Again. Should-haves and could-haves that gnawed at him like tapeworms.

"Anyone at the hospital could have been watching for vulnerable patients," he said. "Not just Al Biyadi and Cassidy. Anyone could have gained access to those charts-look how easily you got hold of them. And let's remember Red Amira Nasser's weird-eyed American. No way could Biyadi be mistaken for a Westerner. In light of what we know, Amira's story may be irrelevant, but it would still be nice to get a detailed description from her. Is Mossad still claiming they can't find her in Jordan, Nahum?"

"Not a trace," said Shmeltzer. "It could be the truth, or just more of their cloak-and-dagger bullshit. Either way, I think her story Ťirrelevant, one of Little Hook's fantasies. We found no record of her being treated at the Amelia Catherine. She doesn't fit the mold. And if you want a weird-looking American, why not Cassidy? Maybe she dressed up like a man-she's a mannish type, anyway. Maybe that's what impressed Nasser as being weird."

"Maybe," said the Chinaman, "she had one of those sex-change operations." He chuckled. "Maybe she had balls sewn on 'cause she wanted to be another Golda."

Weak smiles all around.

"With clinics every Thursday, why the time lag?" said Avi. "Two murders a week apart, then nothing until last Friday."

"If Amira Nasser's story is true," said Daniel, "he made a play for her exactly a week after Juliet's murder. A break in modus, but Ben David says psychopaths sometimes do that-it's evidence of a breakdown in their impulse control. Maybe his failure to snare her gave him pause for a couple of weeks, made him careful."

"The Amira story is fantasy," said Shmeltzer. "More likely that the right victim didn't show up during the next couple of clinics. Not stupid or vulnerable enough."

"Good point, Nahum. But we've got eight matching American homicides that aren't fantasies. When Al Biyadi was being denied a visa, his history was looked into pretty carefully, and according to our records, he was in Amman until 1975, no American trips. That encompasses the first killing in Los Angeles and the second one in New Orleans. I've taken seriously your suggestion that he could have traveled back and forth between Jordan and America prior to 75, as a tourist. I asked the Americans to check their records, in case we missed something the first time. But that means getting their State Department involved and whenever that happens it means paperwork and long delays. In order to shortcut the process I've asked Lieutenant Brooker to use his American connections to help me trace the Amelia Catherine staff's American activities-see what else we can learn about Al Biyadi and Cassidy and the others.