The Butcher's Theatre

"For an old fart?"

"For anyone."

Schlesinger laughd dryly.

"The brass at the Civil Guard thought so too. They worried I'd drop dead and they'd be sued. Tried to talk me into doing half a shift, but I convinced them to give me a tryout." He patted his midsection. "Three years later and still breathing. Legs like iron. Active metabolism."

Daniel nodded appreciatively. "How long does each pass take you?" he asked.

"Fifty minutes to an hour. Twice I stop to smoke, once a shift I take a leak."

"Any other interruptions?"

"None," said Schlesinger. "You can set your watch by me."

"What time did you find the girl?"

"Five forty-seven."

"That's very precise."

"I checked my watch," said Schlesinger, but he looked uneasy.

"Something the matter?"

The old man glanced around, as if searching for eavesdroppers. Touched the barrel of the M-l and gnawed on his mustache.

"If you're not certain of the precise time, an estimate will do," said Daniel.

"No, no. Five forty-seven. Precisely."

Daniel wrote it down. The act seemed to increase Schlesinger's uneasiness.

"Actually," he said, lowering his voice, "that's the time I called in. Not when I found her."

Daniel looked up. "Was there much of a time lapse between the two?"

Schlesinger avoided Daniel's eyes.

"I… when I saw her I became sick. Tossed my di

"An understandable reaction, adoni."

The old man ignored the empathy. "Point is, I was out of it for a while. Dizzy and faint. Can't be certain how much time went by before my head cleared."

"Did it seem more than a few minutes?"

"No, but I can't be certain."

"When did you last pass by the spot where you found her?"

"On the way up from the fourth trip. About an hour before."

"Four-thirty?"

"Approximately."

"And you saw nothing."

"There was nothing," said Schlesinger adamantly. "I make it a point to check the gully carefully. It's a good place for someone to hide."

"So," said Daniel, writing again, "as far as you could tell, she was brought there between four-thirty and five forty-seven."

"Absolutely."

"During that time, did you see or hear any cars?"

"No."

"Anyone on donkey or horseback?"

"No."

"What about from the campus?"

"The campus was locked-at that hour it's dead."

"Pedestrians?"

"Not a one. Before I found it… her, I heard something from over there, on the desert side." He swiveled and indicated the eastern ridge. "Scurrying, a rustle of leaves. Lizards, maybe. Or rodents. I ran my light over it. Several times. There was nothing."

"How long before you found her did this occur?"

"Just a few minutes. Then I crossed over. But there was no one there, I assure you."

Daniel lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the sun and looked out at the wilderness: jagged golden heights striped rust and green by ancient terraces, dropping without warning to the bone-white table of the Jordanian Rift; at vision's end, the shadow-like ellipse that was the Dead Sea. A leaden wedge of fog hovered over the water, dissolving the horizon.

He made a note to have some uniforms go over the slope on foot.

"Nothing there," repeated Schlesinger. "No doubt they came from the city side. Sheikh Jarrah or the wadi."

"They?"

"Arabs. This is obviously their dirty work."

"Why do you say that?"

"She was cut up, wasn't she? The Arab loves a blade."

"You said Arabs," said Daniel. "In the plural. Any reason for that?"

"Just being logical," said Schlesinger. "It's their style, the mob mentality. Gang up on someone defenseless, mutilate them. It was a common thing, before your time-Hebron, Kfar Etzion, the Jaffa Gate riots. Women and children slaughtered like sheep. The goddamned British used to stand by and let it happen. I remember one time-end of '47-they arrested four of our boys and handed them over to a mob at the Damascus Gate. The Arabs ripped them apart. Like jackals. Nothing left to bury."

Schlesinger's face had grown hawklike, the eyes com-rressed to slashes, the mouth under the mustache thin-lipped and grim.

"You want to solve this, son? Knock on doors in East Jerusalem."

Daniel closed the pad. "One more thing, adoni."

"Yes?"

"You said you live on French Hill."

"That's correct. Just up the road."

"That's within walking distance of your patrol route."

"Correct."

"And by your own account, you're a strong walker. Yet you drive your car and park it on Sderot Churchill."

Schlesinger gave him a stony look.

"Sometimes when I finish," he said, "I'm not ready to go ne. I take a drive."

"Anywhere in particular?"

"Here and there. Anything wrong with that, Pakad?" The old man's gutturals were harsh with indignation.

"Nothing at all," said Daniel, but to himself he thought: Ben adam afor, Carmellah Gadish had gasped, when they'd found her. A gray man. Three barely audible words bubbling from between bloody lips. Then, the loss of consciousness, descent into coma. Death.