Selected Detective
FINDING A PARTNER FROM JERUSALEM
“Halo? helo? Yes, my name is Inspector Yusuf Khalifa of the Egyptian police unit. I seem to have spoken to you ... Khalifas.
No, Khalifa. Khal-ee-fa. Exactly it. I need someone who can help me with the case I'm working on, which involves Israeli citizens. Whahuh? No, the case I'm dealing with...
Can you speak English? What? ... Yes, ok, I wait, thank you, thank you.” Khalifa placed the phone handle between her head and shoulders and then, while groping and pulling a cigarette from the package in front of her, clicked her tongue in frustration. He had spent his time in vain trying to track down someone in the Israeli Police Force who could help him with details about Hannah Schlegel. He was thrown from one department to another, unit to unit, and from staff to another before he finally returned to his original home, the National Police Headquarters in Jerusalem, with a woman who can barely speak English, let alone Arabic. He had a different feeling that since he was an Egyptian, they did not take him as seriously as they would if they were to face, say, an American or a European. He lit his cigarette, sucked it and let out an annoying smoke, while listening to the silence on the other end of the phone line.
“Halo?” he said hello again, thinking the possibility of the relationship has been severed. “halo?” Phone lines are back in line.
“I told you please wait,” sounds a female voice, sharp, as if he was talking to a naughty child.
“please wait.” The phone line is back.
“Damn,” grumbled Khalifa, chewing on his cigarette filter. His jaw tightened because of the slack.
“I'm trying to help you, for God's sake. I'm helping you, ladies!” Back he smoked his cigarette and slumped again into the chair, looking up at the fading poster of the Pyramid of Djoser Stairs on the opposite wall, then down to his desk where everything he brought back from Jansen's house was arranged in a neat row in front of him photographic slides, brochures, wills, and pistols. The only thing that did not exist was the golden rod, which he entrusted to Mr. muhammad hasson, the goldsmith at Banque misr, which he entrusted to him, yang has promised to get even more information about the eagle and the swastika legend that was plastered on its surface.
Of the objects in existence, Jansen's will has become the most informative evidence. The letter has prepared detailed instructions on the sale of the property and ownership of the victim. Then, from the proceeds of the sale was carried out the division of the inheritance to various individuals and organizations, including the staff of Menna-Ra, the caretaker of the victim's household, the Egyptian Horticultural Society, the Luxor museum and, somewhat strangely, the, Brooke Animal Hospital for horses and donkeys. Its greatest legacy as far as Khalifa can find, consisting of a collection of estates belonging to the deceased given to Anton and Inga Gratz, “For the support of all the reasons we hold dear together. Carla Shaw, Menna-Ra's manager, has mentioned Jansen's friends, one of whom is named Anton, and Khalifa suspects this must be referring to the same person. More interestingly, Orabi Street 16, the address given to Gratzes in the will, is in the Al-Maadi district of Cairo.
Public phones whose numbers appear so frequently on Jansen's phone bill are also in the district.
After checking his exact location in Telecom Egypt, Khalifa found that his address was located opposite the apartment block where Mr and Mrs Gratz lived. It's impressive that they are the ones Jansen talks to regularly. A further investigation suggested that Gratzes's family did not have a personal phone number - perhaps that's why he used a pay phone - so Khalifa had contacted neighbors on his left-right side of the block, asked them to put a note under Gratzes' door, asking them to call Luxor Police immediately. To this day, he had never heard any reports.
Among other objects, the pistol has been identified by Mr. Salah, a ballistics expert of this station, as a semi-automatic weapon Walther P38 along the 9mm which is actually rather rarely seen lately although much sought after hand-held weapons collectors. The Walter P38 became the official weapon of the German military during World War II. The weapon is well maintained and clean and oiled and in perfect readiness, the shell containing eight bullets is fully loaded.
Like so many other aspects of Jansen's life, this information has provoked more questions than has been answered.
There was no time to find anything about the last two objects, the brochure and the slide. Pushing his body forward, Khalifa then picked up the last one, lifted it up and laughed it under the lamp, while still smoking his cigarette, and held the phone in his left hand. The slide contains a picture of the tomb's narrow, dark door at the foot of a vertical wall of large stone that means nothing to him. After staring at him for a while, while wondering if this thing had a certain relationship, he put it back on the table. Then he took a brochure, read it slowly and was stunned because only this first time he saw it by the peculiarity of someone who was clearly Jansen's upbringing mixed with fundamentalist instigators such as Sheikh Umar Abdul Karim. He had just doodled a note for himself to research the meeting advertised by the brochure when the phone line finally reconnected.
“Have you spoken to the Israeli Embassy in Cairo?”
“It was precisely the Israeli Embassy in Cairo that gave me your number,” Khalifa replied, turning off her cigarette stick into an ashtray, trying not to lose control of her emotions.
The woman on the other end of the phone asked her to wait again, this time for only fifteen seconds, then she came back and asked if Khalifa knew the last known address of the victim, or “his place of residence before the death”, which according to him means the same. He reached across the table, took Schlegel's murder files and opened his pages.
“O-Hor Har Chime line number 46,” he read, trying to understand the unusual word. “flat four.” Khalifa had to repeat it twice before the woman recognized her.
“Ohrha-C-Haim,” he said repeating. “This Old Town. You should speak to the David.” Police Station The woman gave me a number.
“Talk to the investigation department.they help you.”
“If I could like to know his name,” urged Khalifa, realizing that without mentioning his name he would eventually just be thrown to and fro by the secretary. “Someone I can talk to in person. Anybody. I beg.”
The woman let out an upset sigh, not trying to hide the fact that she thought Khalifa had become a bully, and made Khalifa wait for the third time. Moments later he finally returned and read aloud a name, which Khalifa wrote in the notebook in front of him.
“And is this the detective?” tanyakanya.
“This is detective,” he said rudely and hung up.
Khalifa lowered the phone handle and lit another cigarette while grumbling to herself, all the worst suspicions against Israel acknowledged. He enjoyed a few deep puffs of his cigarette, then picked up the phone and dialed the number the woman gave him. The phone rang seven times before someone answered.
“Good afternoon,” greet Khalifa. “My name is Inspector Yusuf Khalifa of the Egyptian Police Unit. Can I speak with..” He crouched down while looking at the notebook in front of him.
“Detective Ar-ee-ay. Ben-Ro-eye.”
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