The Jerusalem Puzzle. Laurence O’Bryan

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      ‘I don’t know.’ The doors closed. There was a smell of cleaning fluid.

      ‘You remind me of a Yorkshire terrier we once had. When he got something between his teeth he was a demon for hanging on.’

      She was right, of course. We shouldn’t be here, pushing our luck again. We should be back in London, especially after what we’d got ourselves into in Istanbul.

      But a stubborn part of me said, to hell with all that; you sat back once, Sean, before Irene died. All that’s over for you. You’re not the guy who sits on his ass anymore.

      And I didn’t care what it brought down on me either.

      ‘Maybe I’m just a sucker for drama,’ I said.

      We went outside.

      ‘No, you’re a sucker for trying to do the right thing.’ Isabel’s tone was soft. ‘And you blame yourself for way too much.’

      She was right. But it was like I needed someone saying it over and over for it to go in.

      I touched her arm. ‘Look, that’s where they keep the garbage,’ I said. I pointed at a row of black plastic bins in a corner under a wooden cover. They each had a number on them.

      ‘Have fun,’ she said.

      I went to the bin marked three in white paint on its side. There was nothing inside it. The police must have taken the rubbish.

      A door slammed, footsteps echoed. I felt like a criminal standing by the garbage cans. I started walking back to where Isabel was waiting near the road.

      ‘Can I help you?’ said a reedy voice.

      I turned. There was an old man standing there. He had white hair and looked dishevelled. I made a split-second decision.

      ‘We came to see what they did to Max’s place.’

      He turned and looked up at the front of the building.

      ‘Yes, it was terrible,’ he said. ‘Mr Kaiser didn’t deserve that. He was always so friendly when we met him.’

      He started walking back to the house.

      Isabel was beside me. ‘Did he tell you where he was working in the city?’ she asked.

      He stopped, turned. ‘Who are you?’ he said.

      ‘We worked with Max on a project in Istanbul,’ I said. We were forced together briefly by circumstances was the truth, but I wasn’t going to say that.

      I pulled my wallet out, took out one of my cards and handed it to him.

      He looked at it as if it was dirt.

      ‘We’re trying to work out what happened to Max.’

      ‘He never told me where he worked. I can’t help you. Good night.’

      There was a woman by the door of the apartment block watching us. She had a black cat in her arms.

      ‘Maybe he told your wife,’ I said.

      He shrugged. I went after him. He stopped at the door, turned.

      ‘Sorry to bother you,’ I said. The woman was staring at me with a suspicious expression. ‘We’re trying to find out what happened to Max Kaiser. Did he ever tell you where he was working here in Jerusalem?’

      She looked at her husband. He shrugged.

      ‘It was so terrible what happened to him,’ she said. ‘You know, you are the first people to come by here, to take an interest in him. How did you know him?’

      ‘We met him in Istanbul. I used to work for the British Consulate there,’ said Isabel.

      The woman smiled. ‘My mother fled to England during the war,’ she said.

      I wanted to press her again, but I decided to wait.

      She put her hand to her cheek. ‘We used to meet Mr Kaiser on the stairs. He was always covered in dust, always in a hurry.’

      ‘Did he say where he was working?’

      ‘No.’

      I was about to turn and go when she said. ‘But I heard him saying something about Our Lady’s Church. Don’t ask me where it is. I was looking for my little Fluffy over there and he was getting into a taxi with another man.’ She patted her cat’s head, then pointed at the bushes near the road.

      ‘I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.’ She looked from me to Isabel.

      ‘Thank you,’ I said. I had no idea if the information was going to be helpful, but at least we’d gained something.

      We walked back towards the roundabout. I expected to see the police car again. But they didn’t come. Finally, we saw a taxi with its light on. We were back in the hotel fifteen minutes later.

      ‘Can you tell me where Our Lady’s Church is?’ I said to the receptionist.

      The man behind the desk shook his head. ‘There’s one somewhere in the Old City,’ he said. ‘That’s all I know.’

      Upstairs I looked it up on the internet. The Wi-Fi was working, slowly again, but at least it was up and running.

      ‘Any luck?’ said Isabel, as she came back into the room from the bathroom.

      ‘The nearest to that name is an Our Lady’s Chapel just off the Via Dolorosa.’

      ‘That’s the street where people carry the cross at Easter, right?’ said Isabel.

      ‘Not just at Easter, all year round.’

      ‘Wonderful, we’re getting into the thick of it.’

      ‘Maybe Kaiser was just doing a bit of sightseeing,’ I said.

      ‘At some obscure chapel?’

      ‘Let’s go and take a look tomorrow.’

      Seeing the Via Dolorosa was the kind of sightseeing most people do here. Irene had wanted to come to Jerusalem for a long time. She’d been interested in all this stuff. I’d always been too busy. I’d always thought there was going to be more time.

      Irene had been brought up on High Church Sunday school stories of Jerusalem. I’d been brought up a Catholic, but there were one too many scandals, and all the outdated rules had put me off. But now I wanted to see the Via Dolorosa.

      A memory of my dad going to mass came back to me. He’d never forced me to go with him, but I always knew he wanted me to.

      After I left home I never went again. Irene had nagged me about it, asking me what I believed in. I never had a good answer, unless you count being flippant as an acceptable retort. I was good at all that back then.

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