“Where did she catch the cab? In front of the club?”

“Down the block. Right in front of the arcade where they show those old movies. Star Wars was playing. I love that movie. You ever see that one?”

“What time was that?”

“About ten forty-five. You just keep asking questions, don’t you? Rat-a-tat-tat.”

“You’re sure about the time?”

“The next show of Star Wars was at eleven so I had time to get a hot dog. Like I said, I’ve always been lucky about little things.” Hennesy leaned over the table. “She was different when she came out of that club. After all that happened that night, she was steady before then. I followed her, I know. She looked like just another modern girl out for fun…but when she came out of that club, she looked like she was about to cry. Like the whole awful night finally caught up with her.” He peered at Rakkim. “You okay?”

“What kind of cab did she get into? Yellow cab? Saladin Transit?”

“No, it was one of those unlicensed rigs…gypsy cabs we used to call them. It was a maroon Ford, but I didn’t get a license plate or anything, so don’t bother asking.”

Rakkim stood up. “Thanks.”

“The ones who came knocking on my door after they found their buddy dead…” Hennesy stared straight ahead. “Those two bounty hunters, they sat me down, and this ugly one in a leather jacket picked up the pinking sheers and my teeth started chattering before they even touched me. They laughed. You heard that laugh, you’d never think anything was funny again. I told myself then, I promised myself that I wasn’t going to tell them squat.”

“You kept Sarah’s secret, Mr. Hennesy. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of.”

“I listened to that girl being attacked and I didn’t do a thing.” Hennesy stared straight ahead. “I didn’t bang on the wall or pull the fire alarm. I just listened.”

“You didn’t give her up. You let them burn you, but you didn’t give her up.”

Hennesy fingered the bag of pistachio nuts. “When you find her…tell her I’m sorry.”

CHAPTER 25

“This seems a little out of my price range, Mr. Conklin,” said the handsome young police officer, looking around the living room of the condo. “I’m sure you’re a fine real estate agent and all, but you probably don’t know what a patrol officer brings home.”

“Nonsense, Officer Hanson,” said Darwin. “Where there’s a will…”

“Where there’s a will…what?”

“A way. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

Hanson scratched his sparse blond beard. “That’s a new one on me. Live and learn, I guess.”

Darwin nodded. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

Hanson paced off the empty living room with his big, shiny black shoes. Hitched up his belt, adjusting his sidearm. He had just finished his shift, his long face tired, but excited at the possibility of moving out of his parents’ basement. He ran a finger across the mantel of the gas fireplace, noted the small silver sconce on the wall that indicated the direction of Mecca.

“There’s a mosque within walking distance, and a grocery story two blocks over,” said Darwin. “Quiet neighborhood, recently remodeled kitchen. Nine hundred square feet. It’s not a mansion, but it should be plenty big enough for you…and those Catholic girls you indicated a preference for.”

Hanson squared his shoulders. His eyes were eager as a puppy’s. Filthy beasts.

“As I said, you’ve got a mosque close at hand, but you’re only a fifteen-minute drive from the Zone. I’m sure you’re familiar with the temptations of the Christian Quarter.”

“Yeah…well, not in uniform.” Hanson grinned, squatted down, and felt the blue shag carpet. Turned his long, horse face up at Darwin. “This is really nice. The rug in my room now has got cracker crumbs that are older than me.” He stood up, wiped his hands on his trousers. “Hard to believe the price though.”

“Motivated seller. That means the owner is eager to sell it. He wants to retire to Palm Springs. Says he’s tired of the rain.”

“I like the rain.”

“Me too. Cleans things up, doesn’t it?”

“You got that right. After yesterday…after what I saw inside that house, we could use all the cleanup Allah can deliver.” Hanson looked queasy. “The bathroom…tub or shower?”

“Both.”

Hanson shook his head. “This is Paradise.”

“You’ll have to supply your own virgins, but that shouldn’t be a problem with a handsome young man like yourself.”

Hanson gave him a look. “I do okay.”

“And the uniform…one can’t overestimate the power of the uniform over the female of the species.” Darwin smiled. “How soon would you like to move in?”

“Soon as possible.” Hanson hitched up his pistol again, then walked over to the window and checked out the view. The Grand Mosque was dimly visible through a gap in the surrounding buildings, floodlights gleaming off its azure sides. “My dad might be able to help me with the down payment. And I can tap the police credit union.”

“There you go.”

“Where there’s a will, right?”

Darwin winked at him. “You’re a quick learner.”

Hanson checked his watch. “Evening prayers are in eighteen minutes.” He nodded at the sconce. “You want to join me, Mr. Conklin?”

“I’d be honored. We can wash in the bathroom.”

Hanson sat down on the carpet. Unlaced his shoes and removed them. Peeled off his socks, tucked them neatly inside. Placed the shoes against one wall. He took off his patrol jacket, hung it on a doorknob. His blue shirt sweat-stained. Hanson didn’t seem to mind that Darwin still had on his suit jacket and shoes, standing there with his hands in his pockets. They had time.

“Bathroom’s this way.” Darwin started down the hallway, hearing Hanson padding along behind him. He stopped outside the bathroom door, gestured inside. “Here you go. Be my guest. I’ll finish up after you.”

Hanson carefully washed his feet in the bathtub with the chip of soap left from the previous tenant. Washed them again, water splashing, then looked around for a towel. Nothing.

Darwin took a handkerchief from his suit jacket, unfolded it.

“I couldn’t do that to your fancy handkerchief, Mr. Conklin.”

“Nonsense.” Darwin handed it to him. “Please. We can’t be expected to offer our prayers to God in a state of filth, now can we?”

Hanson dabbed at his feet with the handkerchief, draped it over the bare towel rack. The bathroom was small, the shower stall tiled in pink, the floor a checkerboard of black and white. He rolled the sleeves of his blue shirt past the elbow, started lathering his hands and forearms in the oversize sink. It would have been easier to take off the shirt, but he was modest…or uncomfortable with Darwin standing in the doorway watching.

“What exactly did you see in that poor woman’s house yesterday?”

Hanson rinsed off his thick forearms, water sluicing down his wrists. “Trust me, mister, you don’t want to know.”

“Actually, I do.”

Hanson glanced over at him. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He grabbed the handkerchief off the rack, wiped himself damp, and refolded it. Held it out.

“No, thanks.”

“You’re not going to wash?”

“I can assure you, my handsome young police officer, it wouldn’t do any good.”

Hanson squared himself up, jaw forward, on guard now. “What’s going on?”

Darwin applauded. “You’ve just posed the ultimate philosophical question. Although, as usual, the question is asked too late for the answer to do any good.”

Hanson looked Darwin over, saw an owlish, slightly built Realtor in the tailored gray suit. Give the young policeman credit, he didn’t smile. Not exactly. His right hand rested on the butt of his pistol, but it was more reflex than genuine concern. “Get out of my way, Mr. Conklin.”

Darwin didn’t move. “No need to be so formal.”