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He's weird, Christina-got all of your weird genes. Ever try to talk to him? Course not-how could you? Too damn pickled-
Fuck you, he's beaut-
Try it some time, you drunken moron. Say hello and catch the weird smile he gives you. He's like you-bizarre, stays in his room all day, all night. God knows what he does in there He's studying. He's an intellectual-it's in his eyes. Studying what? He's flunking out of school, hasn't gotten better than a D in three years. But you wouldn't know about that, would you? The headmaster doesn't call you-nobody calls you because everyone knows you're too drunk to talk. They call me. Teachers, counselors, every one of them thinks he's weird. The headmaster called me last week. In fact, I had to bribe him with a new science lab to keep your beautiful kid from getting booted out.
Did you tell the headmaster he had a crazy, cruel father who never paid any attention to him or to his mother, whom he raped? That his father killed Jesus and wanted to kill his wife, too, so he could fuck candy-stripers? Did you tell him-
No friends, no attention span, sits in class all day staring off into space-your genes, all the way, Christina. God only knows if he can overcome it. The headmaster suggested that he get psychiatric help. I talked to Emil Diefenbach-he works with a few teenagers, said he'd be happy to meet him.
You're not taking him to any kike head-shrinker.
I'll take him anywhere I damn well please. Not my son.
He's a goddamned weirdo, Christina-that's what you gave me a freak. Maybe he can be helped, I don't know. I'm going to give it a shot.
Over my dead body, you filthy, scheming bastard. All you want is to destroy him-poison his brain the way you poisoned mine, take away his share so you can give all of it to your hook-nosed-
Pathetic.
-bitch. I won't let you!
And how do you propose to stop me? I'll get a lawyer. A mother has rights. You're no mother. You're nothing, Christina. You haven't been a mother-or anything else-for a long time. I'm his parent. Jesus put me here to protect him. I'm his parent too. The only sane one he's got. Don't you dare mess with his head, you bastard! Good night, Christina.
He's not yours to mess with, you bastard! There's not an ounce you in him!
Discussion closed, Christina. Get out of my way. Take a good look at him, you bastard! His hair, his nose - there's no kike in him. He's not yours.
If only it were true. Let go of my arm.
It's true, you stupid kike bastard. He's not yours-he's Schwa
(Silence.)
He's Schwa
What the hell are you talking about?
Ah, now he's upset, now he wants to kill me. Get away from me-I'll scream.
I said, what are you talking about, Christina?
The summer Schwa
(Silence.)
Take a good look at him. Remember Schwa
Absurd.
You were absurd, Charles. Playing hotshot doctor, giving Schwa
(Silence. Heavy footsteps.)
Ah! Now he's quiet, walking off with his tail tucked between his legs. Now he's got nothing snotty to say!
The shithead will be proud of you," said Shmeltzer as he entered the conference room. "Is this communication going to be horizontal or vertical?"
"Diagonal," said Daniel. He was tacking a map of Jerusa-lem and its exurbs onto the wall next to the blackboard. The spots where both victims had been dumped were circled in red crayon. as was the cave.
Shmeltzer took his place at the table. He nodded at the Chinaman and Daoud while reaching for the coffeepot. Jt was eight in the morning, twenty hours after the discovery of the bloody rock. The room was on the ground floor of Head-quarters, white-walled and refrigerated by an overexuberant air conditioner.
Daniel finished hanging the map and picked up a pointer, Shmeltzer passed him the coffeepot and he filled his cup. The Chinaman and Daoud lit up. The cold air filled quickly with smoke and tension.
"Where Cohen?" Daniel asked the Chinaman. "Don't know. He was supposed to meet me at seven, do a walk-through of the Armenian Quarter. I haven't seen him or heard from him."
'Ah, the vagaries of youth," said Shmeltzer. He filled his cup, took a long swallow.
"We can't afford vagaries," said Daniel. He picked up the phone. left a message with the switchboard for Samal Cohen to call in immediately, then hung up, irritated. Just when he'd thought the kid was shaping up. So much for flexibility.
"Let's begin," he said, tapping the pointer to the map.
Last night he'd called each of them, informed them about the cave. Now he went over the basics, gave them time to take notes before returning to his seat and picking up the Forensics report.
"We owe Meir Steinfeld a di
"That's no proof Fatma was," said Shmeltzer. "Fifteen percent isn't that rare."
"No proof," said Daniel, "but strong indications. Steinfeld estimates the volume of blood loss as monumental. Dr. Levi confirms it would have had to be fatal. The anthropometric analysis of the outline on the rock indicates a slender female of Fatma's height. A copious amount of dried blood was found in the dirt at the head of the rock, suggesting a deep. draining head or neck wound. The blood flow over the sides indicates smaller, multiple wounds on the trunk. Know of any other victims who fit that description?"