Текст книги "The Butcher's Theatre"

Автор книги: Jonathan Kellerman

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"Cassidy dispensed ointment-neomycin sulfate-for the infection and had Fatma take a delousing bath. Her dress was laundered in the hospital washing machine. Cassidy also tried to counsel her psychologically, but wrote that 'the language barrier and the patient's defensiveness prevented the development of a therapeutic bond.' A recheck appointment was scheduled for the following week; Cassidy expressed doubts Fatma would show up. But she did, right on time, at nine-thirty in the morning-consistent with Anwar Rashmawi's account of observing his sister and Abdelatif leave the New Gate Thursday morning and go. different ways. Abdelatif walked to the east side bus station and bought a ticket for Hebron. Now we know where Fatma went.

"Cassidy's notes for the second appointment indicate the infection had cleared up, Fatma was free of lice, but emotionally she was worse-'profoundly depressed.' Counseling was tried again, with no more success. Fatma was told to return in two weeks, for the next General Health Clinic. Cassidy raised the possibility of a psychiatric consultation. Her notes for both visits were co-signed and concurred with by Dr. Hassan Al Biyadi."

The detectives were stone-faced. No one spoke or moved.

"Now, Juliet," said Daniel. "She was seen the following Thursday at Neurological Clinic, though the distinctions between the clinics may be in name only. She, too, was seen first by Peggy Cassidy, who noticed the needle marks on her arms and legs, inquired about drug use, and received a denial. Cassidy didn't believe her, wrote: 'Patient presents us with symptoms of addiction, as well as mental dullness, perhaps even retardation; possible aphasia due to narcotics abuse, chronic grand mal seizure disorder, or a combination of both.' The fact that Juliet was a new arrival from Lebanon, lacked family connections and psychosocial support was also recorded."

"Another perfect victim," said the Chinaman.

Daniel nodded. "Cassidy termed Juliet 'high-risk for non-compliance,' also suggested she be given only a small amount of medication to ensure that she returned for an electroencephalogram and intelligence testing. Al Biyadi examined her, dispensed a week's worth of phenobarbitol and Dilantin, and co-signed Cassidy's notes. That evening Juliet was murdered."

Shmeltzer grunted and shook his head. He'd allowed his beard to grow for several days, looked haggard and old.

"Our new one, Shahin Barakat," continued Daniel. "She was seen three times within the last six weeks at the General Health Clinic, the first time by Cassidy and Dr. Carter; the other two by Cassidy and Dr. Al Biyadi. She came in requesting a general checkup, which Cassidy performed and Carter co-signed. Other than an outer-ear infection treated with antibiotics, she was found in good health, though Cassidy noted that she looked depressed. Cassidy also wrote that she 'related well.'"

"Translate: gullible," said Shmeltzer.

"The second visit was a recheck on the ear, which was fine. However, Cassidy noted that she looked even more depressed-sounds familiar, doesn't it?-and when she was asked about it, began talking about her infertility problems, how being barren had shamed her in the eyes of her husband and his family, how her husband had once loved her but now he hated her. He'd already denounced her once. She was certain he'd complete the talaq and kick her out. To quote Cassidy, she 'probed for family support and psychosocial resources. Patient reports no siblings, father deceased, a living mother whom she describes as "very sick." When asked about the nature of the maternal "sickness," patient responds with visible tension and ambiguous evasions, suggesting some sort of psychiatric problem or other stigmatizing condition.'

"Cassidy suggested Shahin undergo a pelvic exam as the first stage of diagnosing the cause of her infertility. Shahin asked if any female doctors were available. When informed none were, asked Cassidy to do the exam herself. Cassidy told her she wasn't qualified for that. Shahin refused to be examined, saying no man other than her husband was allowed to touch her intimately. She also insisted upon an Arab doctor. Cassidy told her the nearest female Arab physician working for UNRWA was a general practitioner who volunteered once a month at a mobile clinic set up in the Deir El Balah camp in Gaza-she'd be happy to arrange a referral. Shahin refused, saying Gaza was too far to travel. At that point, Cassidy gave up, writing: 'Patient is still firmly in the denial stage regarding her infertility and the status of her marriage. As the marital stress increases she may be more amenable to diagnostic evaluation.'

"Shahin's final visit was two days ago. At that time, she was described by Cassidy as 'profoundly depressed.' Her husband had completed the talaq, she had nowhere to go, nothing to eat. A weight check showed she'd lost three kilos during the month since the second visit. She explained to Cassidy that she'd lost her appetite, hadn't eaten or slept since being banished, had camped under one of the old trees near the Garden of Gethsemane, didn't care if she lived or died. Cassidy found her blood pressure to be very low, got her some food and a bath, and tried to offer 'supportive counseling.' Shahin expressed fears that she was going insane, admitted that her own mother was mentally ill and her husband had always told her she'd inherit it. Cassidy suggested temporary bed rest in one of the hospital wards, with eventual placement at a women's shelter. Shahin refused, though she did accept more food. Then, according to Cassidy, she walked out of the hospital against medical advice. Al Biyadi never saw her but he co-signed Cassidy's notes and concurred with them."

Daniel looked up from the summary.

"Three rootless women, two of them scared and depressed and abandoned, the other a mentally deficient drug addict on the run, with no family ties. As Yossi said, perfect victims, except that the killer hadn't counted on Abdin Barakat's enduring love for Shahin. If Elias hadn't gotten him to open up, we'd still be wondering about the common thread."

Daoud acknowledged the compliment with the stingiest of nods.

"Cassidy and Al Biyadi saw all three of them," said Daniel. "Carter saw one of them. Both doctors' contacts appear to have been minimal-a quick look and out the door. Given the patient load at the clinics, it's possible Fatma's and Juliet's names wouldn't have meant anything to them. But Peggy Cassidy spent time with them. She'd be likely to remember, so at best she withheld material knowledge. At worst-"

"At worst is more like it," said Shmeltzer, "Motive, opportunity, means. She and Lover Boy, together."

"What's the motive?" asked the Chinaman.

"What Dani's been saying: The two of them are PLO symps, want to pit us against the Arabs, cook up a revenge bloodbath."

Daniel noticed Daoud smile at the use of the word us, then lose the smile, quickly. He, too, was unshaven, fatigued. Sitting next to the older man. Scruffy comrades-in-arms.

"A perfect setup," Shmeltzer said. "Hundreds of patients coming in and out of that place, the women one day, the men the next. Cassidy screens them, selects the vulnerable ones. As a woman, it's easy to get them to trust her. To relate. She reassures them the needle is going to make them feel better, calm them down. Then Lover Boy enters and…" Shmeltzer drew a finger across his throat.

Stalking the herd, thought Daniel. Picking off the weak ones.

"Three kill spots," continued Shmeltzer. "The cave and each of their rooms." He turned to Daoud. "Show them the plans."

Daoud unfurled the Mandate-era blueprint of the Amelia Catherine's ground floor and spread it across the center of the conference table. Everyone leaned forward. Daoud pointed to several rooms on the west wing freshly relabeled in red.

"These were formerly servants' rooms," he said. "Now they're staff quarters. Nahum memorized the door plates."

"He did, also," said Shmeltzer. Frowning at Daoud: "False modesty's no virtue."

"Al Biyadi's room is right here at the end, closest to the back door," said Daoud. "Cassidy's is here, right next to his."

"No big surprise if there's a connecting door between them," said Shmeltzer. "Two sinks, two bathtubs, pletvty of space to butcher and wash at leisure. Easy access to dope, knives, sheets, towels, soap, the hospital washing machine. A few steps to the rear door of the hospital and a quick walk in the darkness down to that tunnel we found."

"How far is the end of the tunnel from the murder cave?" asked Daniel.

"Good couple kilometers," said Shmeltzer, "but if you went down at night, you could easily escape notice. One of them carries the body; the other, the equipment. All that brush offers a straight, camouflaged track from the hospital lo the desert. An aerial view would show one strip of green among many-we could probably get some photos from the air force to prove it."

"If they've got two rooms, why the cave?" asked the Chinaman.

"Who the hell knows? They're crazy," said Shmeltzer. "Political, but two crazy assholes-a marriage made in hell."

Daniel studied the blueprint, then rolled it up and put it next to his notes. "Any chance you were noticed going over the side?"

"Doubtful," said Shmeltzer. "They didn't look for me seriously. Baldwin probably saw it as one crazy old Arab who'd limped off somewhere to die-high risk for noncompliance. They're probably used to it."

Daoud nodded in agreement.

"What about the missing files?" asked Daniel.

"Sure, if someone was looking for them," said Shmeltzer. "But why would they?"

"Why would Cassidy and Al Biyadi do something as obvious as killing their own patients?" asked Daniel. "And why would they leave records? Why not destroy the charts?"

"Arrogance," said Shmeltzer. "Typical U.N. arrogance. They've been violating their charter every day since '48, getting away with shit for so long, they think they're invulnerable. On top of that, Cassidy and Al Biyadi are both arrogant as individuals-she's a cold bitch; he prances as if he owns the place, treats the patients as if they're subhuman."

"Sounds like any doctor," said the Chinaman.

Daniel recalled his first and only encounter with Al Biyadi, the young physician's nervous hostility. He remembered the frosty reception Baldwin had given him, how the Amelia Catherine people had made him feel like a foreigner on his own native soil.

The big pink building had been the logical place to begin. The killer had done his initial dirty work close to home, studying Yaakov Schlesinger's disciplined schedule, knowing when it was safe to cross the road and dump Fatma's body. Then dumping Juliet and Shahin across town to divert attention from Scopus.

Now the investigation had come full circle.

Two deaths later.

His mind started to fill with maddening hindsights. Again. Should-haves and could-haves that gnawed at him like tapeworms.

"Anyone at the hospital could have been watching for vulnerable patients," he said. "Not just Al Biyadi and Cassidy. Anyone could have gained access to those charts-look how easily you got hold of them. And let's remember Red Amira Nasser's weird-eyed American. No way could Biyadi be mistaken for a Westerner. In light of what we know, Amira's story may be irrelevant, but it would still be nice to get a detailed description from her. Is Mossad still claiming they can't find her in Jordan, Nahum?"

"Not a trace," said Shmeltzer. "It could be the truth, or just more of their cloak-and-dagger bullshit. Either way, I think her story Ťirrelevant, one of Little Hook's fantasies. We found no record of her being treated at the Amelia Catherine. She doesn't fit the mold. And if you want a weird-looking American, why not Cassidy? Maybe she dressed up like a man-she's a mannish type, anyway. Maybe that's what impressed Nasser as being weird."

"Maybe," said the Chinaman, "she had one of those sex-change operations." He chuckled. "Maybe she had balls sewn on 'cause she wanted to be another Golda."

Weak smiles all around.

"With clinics every Thursday, why the time lag?" said Avi. "Two murders a week apart, then nothing until last Friday."

"If Amira Nasser's story is true," said Daniel, "he made a play for her exactly a week after Juliet's murder. A break in modus, but Ben David says psychopaths sometimes do that-it's evidence of a breakdown in their impulse control. Maybe his failure to snare her gave him pause for a couple of weeks, made him careful."

"The Amira story is fantasy," said Shmeltzer. "More likely that the right victim didn't show up during the next couple of clinics. Not stupid or vulnerable enough."

"Good point, Nahum. But we've got eight matching American homicides that aren't fantasies. When Al Biyadi was being denied a visa, his history was looked into pretty carefully, and according to our records, he was in Amman until 1975, no American trips. That encompasses the first killing in Los Angeles and the second one in New Orleans. I've taken seriously your suggestion that he could have traveled back and forth between Jordan and America prior to 75, as a tourist. I asked the Americans to check their records, in case we missed something the first time. But that means getting their State Department involved and whenever that happens it means paperwork and long delays. In order to shortcut the process I've asked Lieutenant Brooker to use his American connections to help me trace the Amelia Catherine staff's American activities-see what else we can learn about Al Biyadi and Cassidy and the others.

"In terms of the others, the Canadian, Carter, examined Shahin the first time. He's fair-haired, would have had free entry to America. Everything we know about him comes from the Peace Corps report. Let's take a closer look at him. Then there's the administrator, Baldwin, who is an American. He runs the hospital, has easy access to every file, keys to every room. I also got the impression that he and his Lebanese secretary, Ma'ila Khoury, have a thing going-maybe he had a love/hate relationship with Arab women.

"Dr. Darousha and Hajab seem clean," he continued. "According to Shin Bet, neither has been out of the country since '67. Hajab's never even been issued a passport. But we'll look at them again, anyway. Same for the old nurse, Hauser, whom I can't imagine harming anyone. The volunteers will be more of a problem. Shin Bet's passed along a list of about two dozen foreign doctors, nurses, and technicians who volunteer at the Amelia Catherine on an occasional basis. They're generally affiliated with one of the church groups as well as UNRWA, spend most of their time in the camps. Shin Bet had an old list they'd gotten hold of, didn't want to burgle the U.N. at this particular time, and obtained this list from a plant in one of the Gaza camps. Just a compilation of names, doesn't give any idea which volunteers, if any, were present at the Amelia Catherine the days our victims were examined."

The Chinaman lit a cigarette, offered the pack around. Avi and Daoud accepted. The room went thick with smoke.

"One more piece of information," said Daniel. "Just before coming here, I received a call from Holland that strengthens the foreigner angle."

He recounted his conversation with Van Gelder, said, "None of the permanent Amelia Catherine staff people or volunteers show up on the Indonesian medical school list. It's possible one of them attended St. Ignatius under a false name-or under a real name which was changed later. The school had a bad reputation; it was eventually closed down. A doctor who managed to transfer to an accredited institution might very well have wanted to disassociate himself from Sumbok. Thinking along those lines also brought me back to Baldwin-a professional medical administrator. Sometimes people who fail to become doctors establish careers working with doctors."

"Boss over the doctors," said Shmeltzer.

"Exactly. He could have begun medical studies at Sumbok, been unable to transfer to a legitimate school, and gone into pencil pushing. The same logic could apply to one of the volunteer technicians. In any event, the Dutch murder could come in handy-the Gaikeena girl was killed fifteen months ago. Van Gelder is certain no other similar European homicides have been discovered by Interpol, though I'm still trying to confirm that. If the killer went from Amsterdam straight to Israel, he'd probably be using his current name on his passport. Amsterdam's working on their passport records-I expect a call, soon. I've also requested the original American homicide files, which may contain some helpful details, and the Sumbok medical school list. We'll be trying to trace where the St. Ignatius students went-graduates and dropouts-if any of them filed for name changes. Gene Brooker will take the Americans; I'll look at everyone else. If we can place anyone in Amsterdam during the time of the Gaikeena murder, and here during our killings, we'll move on them."

"And if not?" said the Chinaman.

"If none of our traces is fruitful, we'll have to start looking at all post-Gaikeena travelers from Amsterdam as well as those arriving on any other flight or cruise that stops over in Amsterdam-which includes a good portion of the New York flights. Big numbers."

"Bigger than that," said Shmeltzer, "if the killer went from Amsterdam to Paris, London, Zurich, Istanbul, Athens, Rome, et cetera, and didn't kill anyone in those places. Just spent enough time to get hold of a false passport before getting on the plane to Ben Gurion. There goes our match."

"It's possible," Daniel admitted.

"Are we planning to check every person who's entered the country since Gaikeena, Dani? Meanwhile, in five days another bunch of potential victims will be herded into that hospital. Why don't we go the hell in there, have a look at Ihose staff rooms, try for some physical evidence?"

"Because the brass says absolutely no. They're furious about our lifting the Amelia Catherine files without informing them first. Trying to get in there legally is also out of the question-no way will the U.N. capitulate without putting up a fuss. The brass is viewing this case primarily in political terms. During the last week, the United States covertly killed seven Arab-sponsored attempts to condemn us in the Security Council because of the murders. There've been there more revenge attempts on Jewish women since the Beit Gvura riot. One came dangerously close to tragedy. I didn't know about any of them until Laufer told me. Did any of you?" Shakes of heads.

"That shows you how serious they are about keeping this quiet. The early ID on Shahin allowed us to keep the story of her murder completely out of the papers. Two Arab dailies found out anyway, through the Old City rumor mill, and tried to sneak through back-page items on her. They had their presses shut down for seventy-two hours. But we can't control UNRWA. A confrontation with them will shove the entire case back in the limelight. As will a bungled covert-I know that won't happen, Nahum, but the guys with the wood-paneled offices don't share my level of confidence. In neither case are they willing to risk a special session of the Security Council based on three medical charts."

"That's not just Laufer trying to stick it to us?" said Avi.

"No. Since the mayor's visit, Laufer's been relatively quiet, though he's starting to lean on me again. He's under plenty of pressure to have the case solved, wouldn't mind some action. The clear message from on top is we need to give them more evidence before they can authorize a move."

"Shmucks," said Shmeltzer. He made circular motions with his hands. "We have to give them evidence before they'll allow us to look for evidence-what the hell do they want us to do?"

"Keep a watch on the hospital, on everyone who works there, log who goes in and who goes out."

"Surveillance. Very creative," said Shmeltzer. "While we sit on our asses, the wolves inspect the lambs."

"As you said, we've got five days until the next clinic" said Daniel. "If nothing further turns up by then, a pair of female Latam officers will infiltrate the clinic, prevent any outright abduction. In the meantime, let's talk about the surveillance."

Shmeltzer shrugged. "Talk."

"Latam has been authorized to give us ten officers-eight men and the two women. Given the size of Amos Harel's staff, that's generous, and they're all good people-Shimshon Katz, Itzik Nash, guys of that caliber. I briefed them this afternoon. They'll be keeping a general watch on the hospital premises, check out the volunteers, be at our disposal for backup. It's still a thin spread, but better than nothing. Avi, I want you to stick with Mark Wilbur, keep an especially close eye on his mailbox. This killer is power-mad, craves the attention all those stories brought him. He'll be watching the papers for something about Shahin. When nothing turns up, he may get angry, do something dramatic to get Wilbur's attention. It's crucial you don't get made, so change your appearance frequently-kipot, hats, eye-glasses, dirty clothes. Litter-skewer and dustbin one day; felafel wagon, the next."

"Litter-skewer-there goes your love life, kid," said the Chinaman, holding his nose and slapping Avi on the back.

The young detective rubbed his naked jaw and feigned misery. "Worth catching the bastard just so I can grow it back."

"The rest of you, these are your assignments."

Back in his office, Daniel checked his desk for the Amsterdam wire, found nothing, and asked the message operator about a call from Bij Duurstede.

"Nothing, Pakad. We have your message to call you immediately."

He depressed the button, released it, and phoned Gene at the Laromme.

The black man picked upon the fourth ring, said, "Nothing interesting, so far. I reached all the medical and the nursing schools, Baldwin's college in San Antonio, Texas. Far as I can tell, everyone seems to have gone to school where they said they did-this is only verification of graduation I'm talking about. All the clerks promised to check their complete records. I'll get back to them by the end of their working day, see if they keep their word. They think I'm calling from L.A. Just in case they bother to check, I phoned my desk sergeant, told him to certify me kosher. But they could end up talking to someone else, so fingers crossed. What about those directories of medical specialists I mentioned-does your library have them?"

"No, only a list of Israeli doctors."

"Too bad. Okay, I can call one of my buddies, have him do a little legwork for me. Anything new from your end?"

Daniel told him about the call from Amsterdam.

"Hmm, interesting," said Gene. "A world traveler."

"The wounds on the Amsterdam victim matched our first one. Yet ours duplicates the American pattern. To me it seems like he used Amsterdam as a dry run, Gene. Preparing for something big, here."

"Something personal," said Gene. "Fits with the anti-Semite thing." Silence. "Maybe that island med-school roster will speed things along."

"Yes. I'd better go now, see if the wire's arrived. Thanks for everything, Gene. When I hear more I'll let you know. When are you moving?"

"Right now. I was just out the door. You sure this is necessary?"

"I'm sure. Your phone bill's already enormous. If you won't let me compensate you, at least use my phone."

"Who compensates you?"

"I'll put in a requisition form; eventually they'll reimburse me. Explaining you would be harder."

"All right, but I already gave my hotel room as the mailing address to half the departments I spoke to. Someone's going to have to be checking all the time to see if something comes in."

"I'll do the checking-you do the phoning. Laura's expecting you. She's cleared the desk in her studio. There'll be sandwiches and-"

"Drinks in the refrigerator. I know. Lu and I were over for Shabbat lunch. Shoshi made the stuff herself, showed me how she wrapped it all in plastic. They're all planning on going out for ice cream tonight. Call soon-you might still catch them."

"Thank you for the tip. Shalom."

"Shalom," said Gene. "And Shavua tov." The traditional post-Shabbat wish for a good week.

"Where'd you learn that?"

"Your kids have been educating me."

Daniel laughed, fought back the loneliness. Said, "Shavua tov." Wishful thinking.

Talking to Gene made him want to call home. Laura answered the phone with tension in her voice.

He said, 'Shavua tov. Sorry I haven't called sooner-"

"Daniel, the dog's gone."

"What?"

"Dayan's gone, run away. He didn't get out this afternoon, so Shoshi took him for a walk in the park. She met a girlfriend, started talking, and let go of the leash. When she turned around, he'd disappeared. The two of them looked all over for him. She didn't want to come home, is locked in her room at this moment, hysterical."

"Let me speak to her."

"Hold on."

He waited for a moment. Laura came back on, said, "She's too upset or ashamed to talk to anyone right now, Daniel."

"How long ago did it happen?"

"Right after Shabbat."

Over an hour ago. No one had called him.

"He's never done this before," said Laura. "He's always been such a coward', clinging to your pants leg."

No pants leg to cling to for a while, thought Daniel.

"How are the boys?"

"Uncharacteristically quiet. Mikey even tried to kiss Shoshi, so you can imagine what it's been like."

"He'll come back, Laura."

"That's what I think too. I left the lobby door unlocked in case he does. We were planning to go out for ice cream, but I don't want the poor little guy trotting up and finding us gone."

"Gene will be over soon. As soon as he arrives, go out-it will be good for all of you. In the meantime, I'd check with the Berkowitzes on the second floor-Dayan likes their cat. And Lieberman's grocery-Shoshi takes him by there regularly. Lieberman gives him chicken scraps."

"The Berkowitzes haven't seen him and he wasn't hanging around near the grocery. I just got off the phone with Lieberman-he's home, not opening until tomorrow at ten. I asked him to check for Dayan when he comes in. How'm I doing, Detective?"

"Aleph-plus. I miss you."

"I miss you too. Anything new?"

"Some progress, actually. Far from solved, but the net is tightening, bit by bit."

She knew better than to ask for details, said, "You'll get him. It's just a matter of time." Then: "Will you be home tonight?"

"I'm planning on it. I'm waiting for a wire from overseas, will head home as soon as I get it. Where will you be going for ice cream? I can pick up Gene-maybe we can catch you."

Laura laughed. "What are the chances of that?"

"Just in case," said Daniel.

"Just in case, I thought Cafe Max. The boys took long naps-they might be able to handle the late hour. If not, we'll eat on the run, maybe drop in on your dad." Laura's voice broke. "I feel so bad about that little dog. I never wanted him in the first place, but now he's become a part of us. I know it's not important compared to what you're dealing with but-"

"It is important. When I get out of here, I'll drive around and look for him, okay? Was he wearing his tag?"

"Of course."

"Then, one way or another, we'll find him. Don't worry."

"I'm sure you're right. Why would he go and do this, Daniel?"

"Hormones. He's probably feeling romantic. Probably found himself a girlfriend-a Great Dane."

Laura laughed again, this time softly. "Put it that way, and I don't feel so sorry for him."

"Me neither," said Daniel. "I feel jealous."

Gone, all three charts.

Predictable. Boring.

Borrring.

He though about it and stretched his grin until it threatened to split his face, visualized his face dividing in two and reconstituting. Mytosis-wouldn't that be something? Two superior Aryan Schwann-hemi-faces rolling over Kikeland like nuclear mace balls, churning up the soup, steamrolling the scum

Three charts, big deal. They probably thought they had a fucking bible, but they were limited thinkers, predictable. Let it lull them into a false sense of superiority.

Meanwhile, he'd be creative. The key was to be crea-

Stick to the plan, but allow for improvisation. Float above the scum-sump, trading identity for triumph.

Clean up afterward.

No doubt they were watching.

No doubt they thought they had it all figured out.

Like Fields had, so long ago. Grand Prix BoJo, all the real science girls.

All his little pets, now purified, part of him.

Nightwing.

Pet names, private identities. Remembering them made him hard.

Gauguin Girl, washing clothes by the river when he found her. Hi!

Voodoo Queen, talking gris-gris and mojo and other ipooky jive in the light of a wet, yellow Louisiana moon. Taking him to the cemetery, trying to come on evil. But fading without struggle, just like all the others.

Pocahontas. Trading it all-for powdered trinkets.

Jugs. Twinkie. Stoner. Kikette. Still, white shells lying emptied, explored. All those welcome holes the ultimate memory picture. All the others. So many others. Pet names, limp limbs, last looks before fading to final bliss.

Last looks full of trust.

And here: Little Lost Girl. Beirut Bimbo. The Barreness.

These sand-nigger females the most trusting of all; they respected a man, looked up to a man of position-a man of science.

Yes, Doctor.

Do with me what you will, Doctor.

He'd come to Kikeland with just a general blueprint for Project Untermensch. Discovering that cave on the nature hike had put it all in place-an inspiration jolt straight to the brain, straight to the cock.

Nightwing II. Meant to be.

Executive command to Dieter II, directly from the F?hrergod.

His own nature hike with Little Lost Girl.

Wet cavework, then spread out.

Spread them all out, wiping his ass all over Kike City.

He started to stroke himself, one hand resting on the dog collar, fondling the dog tag with the kike letters stamped into it-what did it say? Kikemutt?

Knowing it wouldn't take long, the safari almost over.

Rest in peace. Pieces. Clean-up time.

Surprise, surprise!

Bow wow wow.

At ten P.M., Amsterdam called. Van Gelder's man was a slow talker, deep-voiced. No policeman-to-policeman chit-chat: This one was all business.