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road, blue and white Israeli flags fluttering from their turrets.
    ' Kosominumhum kul il-Israelieen,' she muttered.

L UXOR
    Dr Ibrahim Anwar, chief pathologist at Luxor Hospital, had many annoying habits, not the least of which was his refusal ever to let work get in the way of a good game of dominoes. Anwar's passion for what he referred to as 'the board game of the gods' had delayed many an investigation over the years, and it did so again with the Jansen case. He had carried out an initial examination of the body at Malqata and then sent it back over the river to the morgue at Luxor General. Rather than performing an autopsy that same evening, however, as Khalifa had hoped he would, the pathologist had instead postponed it so he could participate in an interdepartmental dominoes competition. The upshot was that it was almost noon the next day before he finally called the police station to inform Khalifa that the post-mortem results were ready.
    'About time,' snapped the detective, angrily stubbing out his fifteenth cigarette of the day into an already overflowing ashtray. 'I was hoping I'd get them last night.'
    'All good things to those who wait,' said Anwar with a cheerful chuckle. 'Interesting case, by the way. Very . . . thought-provoking. Anyway, my secretary's just finishing typing up the report. I can send it over to you, or you can come down here and pick it up yourself. Your choice.'
    'I'll come down,' said Khalifa, knowing that if it was left to Anwar he might wait days for the report. 'Just tell me if it was an accident or foul play.'
    'Oh, definitely foul play,' replied the pathologist. 'Extremely foul, although not perhaps in the way you imagine.'
    'What the hell does that mean?'
    'Let's just say it's a complicated story, and one with a bit of a sting in the tail. Come on over and all will be revealed. I think you'll find I've excelled myself on this one, Khalifa. Really excelled myself.'
    The detective let out an exasperated sigh and, telling Anwar he'd be at the hospital in twenty minutes, hung up.
    Mohammed Sariya walked into the office.
    'That damned pathologist,' grumbled Khalifa. 'He's a disgrace.'
    'He's finished the autopsy?'
    'Only just. The man couldn't move slower if he was a bloody tortoise. I'm going over to get the report now. Any progress?'
    While Khalifa had stayed in the office waiting for Anwar's call, Sariya had spent the morning following up the leads his boss had found in the dead man's house the previous night.
    'Not much,' he replied, crossing to his desk and sitting down. 'Banque Misr are faxing over copies of his statements for the last four quarters and I've been on to the phone company for a breakdown of his calls over the same period. I also managed to track down his housekeeper.'
    'Anything?'
    'About the best way to cook molochia, more than you could ever want to know. About Jansen, almost nothing. She came in for a few hours twice a week, cleaned, did his shopping. He cooked for himself. She never went in the cellar, apparently. Wasn't allowed.'
    'His will?' asked Khalifa. 'Did you speak to his solicitor?'
    Sariya nodded. 'He definitely made one because the solicitor witnessed it. He hasn't got a copy, though. Said Jansen kept one for himself and gave another to some friend down in Cairo.'
    Khalifa sighed and, standing, removed his jacket from the back of his chair.
    'OK, start looking into Jansen's background, will you? How long he's lived in Egypt, where he was from originally, what he was doing when he lived in Alexandria. Anything you can dig up. There's something wrong about this guy. Or at least something not right. I can feel it.'
    He pulled on the jacket and started across the room. When he reached the door he turned.
    'By the way, you didn't happen to find out where the name Arminius comes from, did you?'
    'I did actually,' said Sariya, looking pleased with himself. 'I did an internet search.'
    'And?'
    'Apparently it was some ancient German guy. Bit of a national hero,