The Labyrinth of Osiris

The Labyrinth of Osiris by Paul Sussman Read Free Book Online Page A

Book: The Labyrinth of Osiris by Paul Sussman Read Free Book Online
Authors: Paul Sussman
Tags: Fiction, General, Thrillers
broad-hipped woman in a blue uniform. Shalev nodded a greeting, Baum didn’t.
    ‘Sorry, sir,’ said Ben-Roi, taking up position beside Shalev. ‘I was over at Hadassah. The traffic . . .’
    Gal waved a hand, dismissing the explanation as unnecessary.
    ‘Everything OK with the baby?’
    ‘Looking good, thank you, sir.’
    ‘She’s not,’ said Baum, pointing.
    They were in a long carpeted room, plainer and less ornate than the Aladdin’s cave of the cathedral proper, its vaulted ceiling cracked and stained with mould. At one end was a stack of folding chairs; at the other a large, cloth-covered table serving as an altar. The front of the cloth had been lifted, revealing the space beneath. A couple of Crime Investigation Technicians in sterile gloves and white body suits were crawling around with tweezers and finds bags; another couple were dusting for prints. Bibi Kletzmann, the photographer from Russian Yard, was on his knees snapping away with his Nikon D700, its flash illuminating the ample backside of Dr Avram Schmelling, the on-call pathologist, who was completely under the table.
    The object of all this activity was not immediately clear. Only when Ben-Roi dropped to his haunches, balancing his elbows on his knees and leaning slightly to the side to get a better angle, did he see the body. Female, obese, lying on her back. She was illuminated by a police halogen lamp and looked old, or at least oldish – late middle age to judge by the greying hair, although it was hard to be sure because the body was six metres away and partially obscured by Schmelling’s sizeable frame.
    ‘Cleaner found her this morning,’ said Leah Shalev. ‘Lifted the cloth to hoover and . . .’
    She flicked a hand towards the altar.
    ‘Screamed the bloody place down, apparently. She’s back at her house in the compound. One of the liaison girls is getting a statement.’
    Ben-Roi nodded, watching as the pathologist shuffled himself round in the cramped confines beneath the table, probing at the body. A bear examining its dinner was the unpleasant image that came to mind.
    ‘Do we know who she is?’ he asked.
    ‘No idea,’ replied Shalev. ‘There was no wallet or ID on her.’
    ‘Not Bar Refaeli, that’s for sure,’ said Baum.
    It was a tasteless joke and no one laughed. No one ever laughed at Baum’s jokes. The man was an arsehole.
    ‘One of the guys in the gatehouse thinks he saw her coming in around seven p.m. last night,’ continued Shalev. ‘He’s being interviewed now. And the cleaner found her at eight this morning, so that at least gives us a rough time-frame.’
    ‘Anything more definite?’
    ‘Not at this stage. Schmelling’s hedging his bets.’
    ‘There’s a surprise,’ muttered Gal.
    Ben-Roi looked for a moment longer, then stood.
    ‘I saw CCTV as I was coming in.’
    ‘They’ve got eyes all over the compound,’ confirmed Shalev. ‘They’re sorting the relevant footage now. And I’ve got Pincas going through our cameras back at Kishle. Our man’ll be on film somewhere. We’ll get the bastard.’
    ‘Reminds me of the Tel-Aviv sherut ,’ said Baum.
    They all looked at him, waiting for the punchline.
    ‘None come along for ages, and then you get two at the same time.’
    The joke, such as it was, referred to the fact that after almost three years without a homicide within the walls of the Old City, suddenly, in the space of a fortnight, the Kishle team found themselves dealing with two. Ten days ago a yeshiva student had got himself stabbed in the gut down at the bottom end of Al-Wad in the Muslim Quarter. And now this.
    ‘We’re already overstretched,’ said Baum. ‘We might have to call in some guys from Russian Yard.’
    ‘We can handle it,’ growled the chief, looking at Shalev, who nodded. There was no love lost between the city’s stations, especially Kishle and Russian Yard. It was bad enough they had to share the yard’s photographer. Chief Gal wasn’t about to start turning

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