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barrettes. Her eyes were large and round and matched her hair in hue. They glided inquisitively over Daniel’s face, then clouded in confusion at the sight of his kipah.
    “Police,” said Al Biyadi. “There’s been some sort of crime and I’m being interrogated like a common criminal.”
    The woman absorbed his hostility, as if by osmosis. Imitated his crossed-arms posture and glared at Daniel as if to say Now you’ve upset him. I hope you’re happy.
    “Miss Cassidy?”
    “That’s right.”
    “I’m Chief Inspector Sharavi. Please sit down. You, Doctor, are free to go.”
    Being dismissed so quickly seemed to anger Al Biyadi as much as had being detained. He bounded out of his chair and stamped out of the room.
    “You people,” said Peggy Cassidy. “You think you can push everyone around.”
    “By people, you mean … ?”
    The young woman smiled enigmatically.
    “Please sit,” Daniel repeated.
    She stared at him, then lowered herself into the chair.
    “Would you like some coffee, Miss Cassidy?”
    “No, and can we get on with whatever it is you want?”
    “What I want,” said Daniel, “is to know if you heard or saw anything unusual last night, or during the early hours of the morning.”
    “No. Should I have?”
    “A crime was committed just up the road. I’m searching for witnesses.”
    “Or scapegoats.”
    “Oh?”
    “We know how you feel about us, about those who want to help the Palestinian people.”
    “This isn’t a political matter,” said Daniel.
    Peggy Cassidy laughed. “Everything’s political.”
    Daniel took a few moments to write in his pad.
    “Where in the States are you from, Miss Cassidy?”
    “Huntington Beach, California.”
    “How long have you lived in Israel?”
    “A year.”
    “And how long in Detroit?”
    The question surprised her, but only for a moment. The look she gave Daniel bore the scorn reserved for a magician whose illusions have failed. “Three years; And yes, that’s where I met Hassan.”
    “At Wayne State University?”
    “At Harper Hospital, which is affiliated with Wayne State University. If you must know.”
    “When did the two of you meet?”
    “Four years ago.”
    “Have you been … have you had a relationship since that time?”
    “I don’t see that that’s any of your business.”
    “If I presumed too much, I apologize,” said Daniel.
    She studied him, searching for sarcasm.
    “Hassan’s a wonderful man,” she said. “He didn’t deserve what you did to him.”
    “And what was that?”
    “Oh, come on.”
    Daniel sighed, rested his chin on one hand, and looked at her.
    “Miss Cassidy, as I told you, a crime was committed in the vicinity of this hospital. A serious crime. My interest in you or Dr. Al Biyadi is limited to what either of you can tell me about that crime.”
    “Fine,” she said, rising. “Then you have no interest in us at all. Can I go now?”
    He left the Amelia Catherine at nine. Several blue-and-whites were parked near the eastern slope—the grid search of the hillside had begun—and he drove the Escort near the cliff and asked the uniforms if anything had turned up in Schlesinger’s trunk.
    “Just a spare tire, Pakad.”
    “What about on the slope?”
    “A Coke bottle with no fingerprints—nothing else yet.”
    Daniel spun the car around, descended Shmuel Ben Adayah and, when he reached the northeast tip of the Old City, turned left on Derekh Yericho, driving along the walls until he came to the parking lot just outside the Dung Gate. Swinging the Escort into a free space, he turned off the engine, got out, and opened the trunk. Inside were two black velvet bags that he removed and tucked under his left arm, next to his heart. The larger, about a foot square, was embroidered with gold and silver almond blossoms encircling a good filigree Magen David. Half its size, the smaller bag was encrusted with a busy motif of gold curlicues and teardrops and studded with sequins.
    Locking the trunk, he began