Selected Detective
LUXOR POLICE STATION

Khalifa put out her cigarette the umpteenth time of the day, finished her tea and returned to her seat, with a slobber. He has been in the office since five in the morning, and is now almost two o'clock. Nine hours he had slammed his head against the wall.

The first, the, he had sent a photo of Jansen via facsimile to Interpol and the Dutch police in the hope that their archival section might be able to find something fitting though not yet and then circled the city of Luxor for a few hours, entering a number of the city's more famous antique dealers, try, and fail, to make a connection between Jansen and the stolen artifacts trade. Whatever else he did with all the things in his basement, the dead man obviously never sold his things. Afterwards Khalifa returned to his office and spent the rest of the morning sitting at a desk, re-examining everything he had discovered in the past two weeks, writing what he thought was a key element of the case in the empty cards of Thoth, Al-Mulatham, Nazis, Faruk al-hakim, everything and then, the, like an Epigraph connecting all the scattered pieces of a manuscript, trying to arrange the cards into a recognizable pattern.try as best as possible, even though it cannot draw meaning from it, he said, can't find an answer to where it's all going to take him.

He lit another cigarette and, with a sad complaint, left his study, headed down the stairs, left the police station, walked towards Al-Matuf Street for a breath of fresh air. There is a tavern in the corner near Syaria Karnak Temple. He headed to the place, bought a glass of Karkaday and squatted on the station wall, inhaling a cold pomegranate liquid. The baker's bike passed by while keeping a balance of large trays full of aish baladi on top of his head.

The truth is that he has no choice. Faruk Al-Hakim was dead so he could not speak to him, and even so there were some small things to pursue, for example he saw that the investigation now depended on two key factors: talk to Jansen's friends in Cairo, and get useful feedback from the terrible Israeli Detective. Gratz's husbands are still refusing to be contacted.they are at home, neighbors have reported that they heard voices from the apartment.

However, for reasons that only they know, both are hard to come by, going all the way to Cairo and knocking on their doors personally. Khalifa did not see any hope to get them to talk.

The one left behind is Ben-Roi. The rude, incompetent, and lazy Ben-Roi. Khalifa had called him four times that morning, each answered only by a machine, and on all occasions he left a message asking what, if anything, was, this is what the Israelites were trying to find out about Hannah Schlegel. Ben-Roi has not answered, and this sets fire to Khalifa's suspicion that he is merely playing games and not taking matters seriously.

He sighed in frustration and gulped down his carcaday, closed his eyes and let the afternoon sun shine on his face.Warm and soothing, yet giving off the stinging heat that would come along with the summer.

“Damn you, Ben-Roi,” he grumbled, while pulling his cigarette. “Clearly true you.”

“All goes well, then!” Eyes open. His deputy, Muhammad Sariya, stood nearby.

“You know, I think this is the first time I've heard you swear,” said Sariya, astonished.

“This is the first time I have dealt with this Israel,” Khalifa said, as she smoked her cigarette to the end and stood up. He gives his glass back to the seller and sambal takes Sariya by the hand, both of them return to the police station together.

“I heard you are working with Ibrahim Fathi now,” Khalifa said.

Fathi is another Detective in the office, known as Al-Himar the donkey because of his slow and unimaginative approach to police work. No wonder he was one of Chief Hasani's favorites.

“A pair of banana traders who have played the weight of his load on Al-Bayadiya,” replied Sariya, “and a tempting case about the theft of serial chicks in Bayarram. Questions have never been this interesting when I worked with you.” Khalifa smiled. He should not admit it, but some of him worried that Sariya was actually enjoying working with Al-himar, who did everything according to the book.

The fact that Sariya was actually not as expected was already a relief, making her feel a little less isolated. He's lost his deputy in the last few days.

They passed between the twin guard cannons on the sides of the entrance to the police station and began to climb the main stairs.

“But seriously, how does everything go?” Sariya asked as she climbed the stairs. “Tak is too good, I think.” Khalifa shrugged, saying nothing.

“There is something I can do? I can call of course.” Khalifa smiled and patted his Deputy's arm. “Thank you, Muhammad, but maybe it's best if I finish it myself. I'm not overworked, just confused. As usual.” They reached the top of the stairs. Al-Humaar's office, where Sariya now works, is at the end of the corridor, right side; khalifa's office is on the left side.

“Make sure you tell me about what happened to that banana trader,” he said, releasing Sariya's arm, blinking her eyes and passing. After a few steps, then turn around again.

“Hey, Muhammad! There's one thing.” Sariya approached him and together headed for Khalifa's workroom.

The phone rang when they entered the door.

“Let me lift?” ask Sariya. Khalifa moved her hand, refusing. “This must be Hasani checking if I'm here. Let him wait.” He headed to his desk and, ignoring the ringing phone, began to check the pile of paper on the table, and finally pulled out a photographic slide he had taken from Jansen's house.

“This may not mean anything, but I just want to know who knows you can find where this tomb is located. Honestly, it's more of a personal affair not a job, so don't be distracted by spending a lot of time on this well, anytime you have time.” Sariya received a slide from him and laughed it off. The ringing of the phone continued, sharp and continuous, filling the room.

“And maybe there is no need to say anything to Fathi,” added Khalifa, while throwing a stern look at the phone. “I don't think he'll be happy with your odd job.”