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wide-eyed at LaTisha.
    “Thank you for giving me all this information. I hope you realize that I am telling the truth. I am a victim myself.” He showed her his arms, still bloodied from multiple small lacerations. “And I don’t know what has happened to my friend. Her name is Ashley Wells. Do you know if she is alive?”
    LaTisha gazed silently at Najid, and then smiled. “They would take her to Harborview Medical Center ER since it’s the major center for trauma in Seattle. Let me call there when I have the chance, and I’ll get back to you.”
    “Oh, thank you.” Najid’s eyes misted.

    The detective came after a cold breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee. He asked Najid for additional information about his life near Nazareth, travels from Israel, and entry into the United States. They had searched his room, his papers, passport, cell phone records, and computer. The man never introduced himself, and left.
    The hours dragged on interspersed with a sandwich for lunch. Najid longed for some hot tea and naan with hummus. The coffee tasted stale and cool. He lay down, waiting, waiting, waiting. No one appeared. Finally he heard footsteps approaching. LaTisha had a broad smile and laughed out loud, breaking the awful silence.
    “Najid . . . this is your lucky day!”
    “I don’t feel very lucky right now.”
    “Well you should. Ashley is recovering nicely after her operation at Harborview. They wouldn’t give me anymore details over the phone except that she is doing well.”
    “Oh, thank God! And thank you, LaTisha!” She reminded him of his mother. “You have been such a help. What can I do for you when I get out?”
    “Nothing! That smile is my reward. If I can brighten your day, it makes my day. God bless you, Najid. I hope I don’t see you here tomorrow!”
    She moved to the next cell, chuckling.

Chapter 16
    The black sedan’s tires screeched as it skidded to a halt outside the police station, where Najid languished in boredom and fear. A very tall, well-built man in a dark suit hurried in, flashing his card to LaTisha before stepping into the detective’s office. “Gordon Appleby, FBI.” He realized they had expected him. The man behind the desk rose slowly, extending his hand without smiling.
    “I’m Richard Hunt, detective for Seattle Police, assigned to the synagogue bombing.”
    After a perfunctory handshake, Hunt began:
    “About Najid Haddad, we’ve checked everything we can: university records, his advisor there, his computer, and his cell phone. We’ve sacked Najid’s apartment for paper files, talked to his roommates, Libyans. Nothing, squat, no evidence of anything suspicious.” The detective threw up his hands in a gesture of futility. “I’m not sure why we’re keeping him.”
    The FBI agent frowned. “We have nothing either. We’ve checked the Watch List for terrorists, contacted U.S. Immigration, and even called the Israeli intelligence service for Northern Israel where helived. State Department and Homeland Security have nothing on him. They don’t think anyone shipped in explosives.”
    “So where could the bomb material have come from?
    “Good question. We know it’s similar to what has recently been used in bombings in Europe and India. But no tips, no unusual events on the airlines. Where could whoever bombed the synagogue have gotten the C-4? We’ve checked the markers on the explosive residue in the synagogue and traced it to a manufacturer on the East Coast, but their company has no knowledge of any missing explosive material. They supply legitimate needs to a number of companies like mining outfits, and we are checking each of these for evidence of missing material. That hasn’t finished yet.”
    “Actually,” Richard shrugged his shoulders, “Najid seemed like an innocent man in my interrogation yesterday. We have no evidence to charge him even as an accomplice. So he remains a person of interest only. As you know, by law we can’t hold him any