'Everywhere.'
The watchman's tone was hostile and Daniel read the covert message: Life has been nothing but troubles since you Jews took over.
'Are you a sound sleeper, Mr. Hajab?'
'My dreams are peaceful. As sweet as roses.'
'Did you dream sweetly last night?'
'And why not?'
'Did you hear or see anything out of the ordinary?'
'Nothing at all.'
'No unusual movement? Voices?'
'No.'
'How,' asked Daniel, 'did you come to work at the Amelia Catherine?'
'After I left my engineering position I experienced an illness and was treated at a clinic run by the hospital.'
'What kind of illness?'
'Head pains.'
'And where was the clinic?'
'In Bir Zeit.'
'Go on, please.'
'What's to go on about?'
'How you came to work here.'
Hajab frowned. 'The doctor at the clinic advised me to come here for tests. On the day I arrived I saw a notice on one of the walls, soliciting help. Sentry duty and repairs. I made inquiries and when my engineering talents were discovered by Mr. Baldwin, I was asked to join the staff.'
'A bit of good fortune.'
Hajab shrugged.
'Al Maktoub' he said, casually. 'It was written on my forehead.'
'How is your head now?'
'Very well, bless the Prophet.'
'Good. Tell me, Mr. Hajab, how many others live here at the hospital?'
'I've never taken count.'
Before Daniel could pursue the point, a shiny black Lancia Beta drove up to the entrance. The sports car let out a belch, then shuddered as its engine died. The driver's door opened and out climbed a tall fair-haired man dressed in a khaki safari jacket over brown corduroy trousers. Under the jacket was a white shirt and green-and-red striped tie. The man was of indeterminate age-one of those smooth-faced types who could be anywhere from thirty to forty, wide-shouldered and narrow-hipped, with a heavy build and long arms that dangled loosely. His light hair was waxy and straight, thinning to outright baldness at the crown; his face, narrow and sunburned, topped by a high, freckled brow. His lips were chapped; his nose, uptilted, pink, and peeling. Mirrored sunglasses concealed his eyes. He faced Daniel, then Hajab. 'Zia?' he said.
'Police, Mr. Baldwin,' said Hajab, in English. 'Questions.'
The man turned back to Daniel, smiled faintly, then grew serious. 'I'm Sorrel Baldwin, administrator of the hospital. What seems to be the trouble, Officer?'
His accent was American, tinctured by the kind of drawl Daniel had heard in cowboy movies. Ah'm for I'm.
'A routine investigation,' said Daniel, offering his badge. Baldwin took it.
'An incident,' said Hajab, growing bold.
'Uh hmm,' said Baldwin, lifting his sunglasses and peering at the badge. His eyes were small, blue, shot through with red. Drinker's eyes? 'And you're? an inspector.'
'Chief inspector.'
Baldwin handed back the badge.
'Any police dealings I've had have always been with Deputy Commander Gavrieli.'
Buddies with boss. Letting Daniel know that he was outclassed. But the fact that he thought Gavrieli's name still carried weight gave lie to his words. Daniel ignored the snub, got down to business.
'Mr. Baldwin, during the early hours of the morning a crime was committed-crucial- evidence was found in that gully, just down the road. I'd like to talk to your staff, to find out if anyone saw something that could help us in our investigation.'
Baldwin put his sunglasses back on.
'If anyone had noticed anything,' he said, 'they would have reported it, I assure you.'
