Pattern Crimes Read Online Free

cheeks were marked, two shallow vertical slashes across each, cut quickly, David thought, like a pair of bars drawn across a check.
    There were similar pairs of marks, harsh, ugly, brutal, cut into her lips and breasts and a neat slit across her throat. Very little blood. No expression on her face, no frozen look of agony or fear. She was very young. Her eyes were closed and there was a residue of kohl around them. Attractive, perhaps even pretty. He could hardly bear to look at her. He turned away.
    Liederman called to him. He was standing with the Arab boy. "He thinks she's Jewish," he said.
    David walked over. "You've seen her?" he asked the boy in Arabic.
    The boy nodded. "She stands by the Damascus Gate."
      "A prostitute?"
    The boy nodded again. He was wearing two brown sweaters, the outer one old and torn.
    "A Jewish prostitute?"
    "I think so."
    "Did you ever go with her?"
    The boy shook his head.
    "You ride down here every morning?"
    He explained that he exercised the horse, which belonged to his uncle who lived beyond Ramat Rahel on the road to Bethlehem.
    "So why ride this way?"
    "I ride her to Shiloah. Besides I find it beautiful."
    David looked around. "Yes, you're right. It is beautiful here. Especially just at dawn."
    The boy stared deeply at David, then patted the neck of his horse. He had the very gentle sort of Arab-Christian face that always filled David with guilt. No angry PLO kid from Hebron University but a sweet thin Jerusalem boy with large sad injured eyes.
    There were more cars now. Cops were blowing their whistles trying to keep the traffic moving up the hill. People gazed out of car windows, their faces curious and disturbed. An ambulance arrived. Several pedestrians stopped by the side of the road to watch. David looked over at Abu Tor, found his building, wondered if Anna was standing before the large window rubbing her hands together, or sitting on her stool in the middle of the room already at work practicing her scales.
    Liederman followed David to his car. "How did you know he'd know if she was Jewish?"
    "I'm a detective."
    "Yeah, I see that. But how did you know?"
    "Just a guess."
    "A good one. I've heard about you. I've heard you're very good." Liederman threw down his cigarette, then leaned in through the window so he could speak in confidence. "Rafi wouldn't have called you here if he wasn't going to give this to your section. If it turns out she was definitely Jewish, this could turn out to be a pretty interesting case."
    David waited. The sun was up, already caressing the walls. In a few minutes it would strike full force and set Jerusalem aflame.
    " ...I never worked a good case, never worked anything that wasn't shit. I can't wait to retire. I've got other things to do. I have an archive. Books, old newspapers, documents. It's stashed in a room in the German Colony. An old lady's house. I do odd jobs for her, stay there when she's gone and keep an eye on everything. And for that she lets me have the room."
    "What sort of archive?"
    "Early 1940s. Poland. My father's collection. And I've added to it on my own. Thing is, I wonder if you'd come out one day and look it over. You've a good eye. You see things. I've heard that and now I know it's true."
    "What could I see in all your papers?"
    "Well, you might see something if you looked." Liederman stopped. "You don't like that kind of study, do you—examining the past?" He backed away. "I'm sorry. You're young. You were born here. People born here don't like that kind of thing. I understand."
    "I'm thirty-six years old," David said. "Examining the past is my passion. If you think I can help, then of course I'll look at your stuff. Sarah in Rafi's office has my schedule. Pick a day when both of us are free."
     
    At ten that morning he was sitting in the office of Rafi Shahar, Chief of Criminal Investigation, staring at stripes on the terra cotta floor projected by the sun through Rafi's blinds. Through the open window he could hear the