Selected Detective
LAYLA PRISON CELL

Layla leaned her head against the waiting cell wall and looked at the ceiling, folded her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around her heels. He wanted to urinate, and glanced down at the aluminum lavatori bowl without a stand in the corner of the room. He resisted the temptation to use it. He knew he was being observed, and did not want to give them the satisfaction of seeing his escape in such a way. In the end he had to do it, but for a moment he was able to endure it. He sighed and pressed his thighs together, trying to ignore the one-way glass on the steel door opposite him.

They're picking him up. As soon as his foot came out of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, four hours ago today, all their powers, including the Detective who asked him questions in his apartment used to point a gun to the head, lay it on the ground, handcuffed. He did not feel the need to reject her, knowing that it would only make things wrong for him. Returning to the station, he was left for a moment of distress, then interrogated two hours, only this woman and the detective. This time he was the one in charge, telling her about everything: William De Relincourt, Castelombres, Dieter Hoth, Menorah it's something they don't need to cover up. Not because he had been so frightened that he certainly did not feel comfortable, the way he sat there looking into his eyes, who seemed to want to pierce the block of his head and the brain behind him, clawing at his deepest thoughts.

No, he was already cooperative because there was no longer any reason to continue lying. The man seemed to know about the Lamp; all the other details he could compile along with how to study his notebook, contacted the people he had spoken to. Avoidance is just a waste of time.

His one simple hope, his only hope, is that the man will realize the significance of the discovery of the menorah, a surprising consequence that may exist when it falls into the wrong hands, and will accept the offer he has made for her at the end of the interview.

“You need me,” Layla said, while returning the man's gaze, and wrestling with him.

“I'm not bragging about menorah. But I did boast about what would happen if an Al-Mulatham were to hold it. You have to let me help you. Because if Al-Mulatham was there first He hesitated to have been able to convince her, but it was the best thing he could finish under such conditions. The wheels are ready to move. Whether he would play in any other part of the whole, however, as his father said, was something only God and the deep blue sea could say. The only thing he could do now was to sit and wait.

Layla tightened her thighs even tighter together and, leaning her head against her knees, closed her eyes, the screen in her mind contained a disturbing and unwanted image of the menorah from her lamp, for some reason, she said, not implying light but rather thick red blood attached.

On the opposite side of the door, Ben-Roi stared at him through the observation window, a misty mind like a snowstorm running through his head. Menorah, Al-Mulatham, newspaper article, Gaul, perfume after shaving all jumbled up inside the skull of his head, appeared, disappeared, appeared, destroyed. Only one thought remained steady and clear, standing in the midst of this strange conflict like a tree high in the wind, and that was: this menorah could help me.

How, he can't be sure. Haven't. He had no clear plan in mind. The only thing he knew was that this was an opportunity he had been waiting for for so long; that is, if he could not bring back his Gallic lover, he could at least defend and avenge him. The lamp will be his weapon. Simultaneously bait. Yeah, that's the way he's gonna use it. As bait. Luring-iming to pull out his heart-loving killer. To bring him to Al-Mulatham. Or bring Al-Mulatham to him.

He sipped a drink from his waist bottle and, while moving away into the corridor, returned to his office, closed and locked the door behind him, go to his desk and draw a picture that has been sent via facsimile by the Egyptian before.

“Yes God,” he muttered, as he did when he first saw her. “Ya Almighty God.” He stared at the picture closely, his hands trembling with all the things in this case; then, putting the photo down, he picked up the phone and dialed the number. Five rings, then a voice echoed across the path.

“Can you talk? suddenly there was something and I thought you should know about this.”

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