Holy Smoke

by Frederick Ramsay

  He returned to his writing, adding four tick marks.

  A man is murdered and for reasons that as yet do not make sense, his body is inserted into the holy place. This is borne out by the poles and sacking that Loukas made into a stretcher. If so, there had to be no fewer than two persons complicit in the deed, plus the means of slipping their burden past a cohort of guards. And to be convincing, the body is scorched at some point.

  Five ticks.

  It follows then that some, perhaps several, guards must have been bribed to permit this travesty. What sorts of people have sufficient status to suborn Temple guards? Did the guards simply turn a blind eye? Did they vacate their posts for a prearranged time? Were they directly involved—could the dead man have been one of their own? Would any of them admit to having done so?

  Probably not, so why ask?

  He paused and read his notes. Had he forgotten anything? Yes, he’d omitted the knowledge of the cord. He must make a note.

  Six ticks.

  It is critical we determine who knew about the cord around the ankle. It would not be any of the Yom Kippur Kohanim because they knew that the practice had not been implemented. It must, therefore, be any one of the other twenty-three groups, their families, or friends.

  How many might that be? He shook his head. The number could be legion.

  One final entry, seven ticks.

  The bribing of a guard or two does not confirm or deny any of the possible explanations. Whether a madman, a fool, or a corpse inserted into the Holy of Holies, guards must be bribed.

  Gamaliel pushed the papyrus sheet aside and replaced the stylus in its holder. His eyes burned and fatigue had finally caught up with him. He would tackle this again in the morning. Better yet, he would take this scrap of papyrus with him and call on Loukas. Two minds would be superior to one, and Loukas had been trained in Greek logic. He, better than Gamaliel, knew the intricacies of deductive reasoning. Spending a lifetime training rabbis did not often entail the use of that skill and, as Gamaliel did spend his days teaching candidates, what little ability he had in that line had long since dried up.

  He blew out his lamp and went to bed. He would call on the healer in the morning.

  Chapter X

  Gamaliel arose the next morning alert and refreshed. He’d slept without dreaming—at least not one he remembered. He found it difficult to accept that only twenty-four hours had elapsed since he’d been summoned to the Temple, since the man had been discovered dead in the holiest place on earth. He stepped into the street and found a boy loitering near his door. He gave him a coin and sent him to Loukas with the message to meet at the south end of the Temple Mount in an hour.

  At the appointed time he found Loukas waiting for him at the Hulda Gates. “Greetings in the Name, Rabban. You have survived the night without incident. Did you speak to the night cohort of guards as you planned?”

  “No. I fell asleep, and by the time I was myself again, I had missed the opportunity. I blame your wine for that, but am not complaining. It is extraordinarily fine wine. I did draw up some thoughts to consider.” He handed the scrap of papyrus to Loukas who frowned and read his notes.

  “Your Greek is terrible.”

  “Pardon? My Greek is terrible? Do you read Hebrew?”

  “Some.”

  “Aramaic?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Then my Greek will have to do. Why is it terrible?”

  “It is illiterate, the Greek of the streets. Literary Greek is beautiful. It begs for the accompaniment of the lyre. You know Homer…Sappho?”

  “By name. Listen, my friend, we can discuss the aesthetics of Greek rhetoric and my awkward Greek some other day. Tell me what you think of this first bit of analysis.”

  “It is a start, surely. It seems to me that you need to consider something else before you commit to this.”

  “And that is?”

  “Like you, I have been thinking and it occurred to me that if I wanted to commit a perfect murder, I would first separate the victim from his killer. That is to say, I would place the act in such a way as to make the motive disappear or be invisible to a less inquisitive eye. Then, unless someone witnessed it, things like opportunity and means would have no utility.”

  “That is approximately what my man, Benyamin, said.”

  “I mean a complete separation, one that cannot be reversed, at least theoretically. The dead man was involved in something. Separating him from any hint as to what or who that might be leaves him isolated and leaves you with no place to start.”

  “And then what? If I cannot connect any of the key elements, what do I do?”

  “As the Romans might say, cui bono?”

  “Who benefits?”

  “Yes. Did the dead man know something someone wished to keep quiet? Did he have something someone else wanted, and so on? Who is your dead man, Rabban? Find him out. Find his recent history, follow his days backward from yesterday, and you will find his killer. That is, of course, if you want to.”

  “That is the ultimate question, isn’t it? I ask myself, why should I? Given the near impossibility of tracing this killer, assuming there is one, wouldn’t it be simpler to accept the conventional wisdom and be done with it?”

  “Of course it would, and if you had even a scintilla of moral flexibility you might do so. But, as that isn’t the case, you are stuck with the need to press on. In my opinion, the evidence as we have it thus far denies the conventional option.”

  “Tell me again.”

  “Read your own analysis. Take, for example the fact that your dead man has been burned from head to knee.”

  “Yes, so? Those who would have the easy answer would say he entered the Holy of Holies and gazed on the face of the Lord. The burns are expected. Even Moses could not do that and not be affected. Though he averted his eyes, his face was permanently reddened.”

  “Forget all that for the moment, and look at the man. Pretend he was found in the street. So as you gaze upon this dead man lying in the road, what do your deductive powers tell you? Who is he? Why is he burned so badly?”

  “He was brutally murdered.”

  “Exactly. It is only because he was found where he was that you entertain any other notions, you see? Look past the idea of an invader into the Holy of Holies and think of alternatives. He has a severe wound to the back of his head, I have discovered. He is burned across this face and front. Was the blow sufficient to kill him? I don’t know, but combined with the terrible burns, probably.”

  “Very well, Healer, tell me what I am not seeing.”

  “Your high priest will not like it.”

  “Lately, that is his usual response to practically anything I suggest.”

  “Very well, what you have here is a clear-cut murder by person or persons unknown. Until you can identify the victim, you will be stuck. However, it seems to me you might make some progress by nibbling at the edges of this piece of cheese.”

  “Cheese? Loukas, I hardly think…”

  “Hear me out. Your mystery is like a large lump of cheese that has a coin embedded in it. You’ve been to affairs where prizes are inserted into food, cakes usually. Assume the cheese is too hard to cut or you do not have a knife, but you know the coin is in there somewhere. So you nibble here, and you nibble there. Finally, when you have consumed enough—”

  “You get ill from overeating moldy cheese and die.”

  “Nonsense. Start with the guards. Nibble there for a while and see what turns up.”

  “Very good. I will sample the cheese. You can do me a favor for your part.”

  “And that would be?”

  “If the dead man was someone of substance, his people will be looking for him. You move about and hear things. Find out who’s missing. Also, could you inspect the dead man a
gain and see if there is any possibility of identifying him. A scar, a mark…his teeth or…I don’t know…anything.”

  “I will try. Now, let us find a place where we can sit in the shade, drink some wine, and eat a little something. We will not speak of this problem while we refresh ourselves. We will let the inner workings of our minds mull over the facts for us.”

  They found a cool spot that served food and sat. The wine was good but could not compare to Loukas’ Cappadocian.

  “Tell me about your friend, Ali.”

  “There is not much I have not already told you. He visits once or twice a year and, as I said, we exchange information.”

  “This was one of his annual visits?”

  “No, as a matter of fact he was to meet a colleague in Caesarea by the Sea, he said, but the man did not turn up. So he traveled to Jerusalem in hopes of finding him.”

  “Did he? Why did he assume he would be found in Jerusalem?”

  “I don’t know. Ali seemed less than eager to talk about him. I didn’t think it polite to press. He left yesterday and did not seem upset, so whatever the two of them were about, it seems to have worked itself out.”

  “His friend was from Jerusalem?”

  “So I believe. Business or…I don’t know to be honest.”

  “No matter. Tell me something else. Where or from whom do you buy your wines? I would like some of the vintage you served me yesterday.”

  “Ah, well, that is courtesy of Ali as well. When he visits he brings me as much as he can, depending on the amount of his other baggage and the length of the trip. Wine, as you know, does not travel well.”

  “I had hoped to purchase some.”

  “I will tell Ali when I write to him. Maybe he can have some sent.”

  “Yes, I would appreciate…oh, do you recognize that man standing in the shop across the road?”

  “What? What man?”

  “Turn your head slowly to your right. There is a man with a great black beard and a striped headdress. He has been watching us since we sat down, and I am almost certain he was in the street where we met earlier.”

  Loukas did as he was directed, gazed absently at the shop fronts and the people in the general area of the man in question and then turned his attention back to Gamaliel.

  “I may have seen him before, but I do not remember when. It will come to me eventually. But…well, very good, Rabban, you have become properly suspicious. This bodes well for your future as a solver of mysteries and a foe of criminals.”

  Gamaliel snorted.

  Chapter XI

  Gamaliel had been followed once before but in that instance he had set the act in motion. It had been a device he’d used to convince a killer of the need to act quickly. Then there had been no real danger, or he believed so at the time. Thinking back on it now, he wasn’t too sure.

  “Who do you think he is following?”

  Loukas shrugged and sipped from his cup. “This wine is very good, isn’t it? I mean for a local vintage.”

  “If you say so, Loukas. I am no expert. I know what I like and that is enough. The finer points of wine tasting are lost on me, all that sipping and sniffing. You haven’t answered my question.”

  “No, I haven’t. There is only one way to find out. One of us must leave and the other can see if our stalker follows. If he doesn’t, then it must be the one who remains.”

  “Let’s arrange to meet at the north end of the temple mount in an hour. We can weave our way through the streets. I judge him to be a stranger to the city. If I am correct, he will soon be lost in the crowds and when we meet, we can decide what to do next.”

  “You leave first. I will wait until you are out of sight and then move off in the other direction.”

  Gamaliel nodded, stood, and walked away. He headed into the busiest area of the Souk. Once in the crowded street, he risked a quick look behind him. If the man in the odd headdress were on his trail, he didn’t see him. He meandered through the streets, pausing now and again to look at merchandise, haggle with a vendor, all the while keeping an eye on the sun. When it had made its transit toward the west and he deemed an hour had passed, he hurried to the Antonia Fortress and then to the mount’s north gate. Loukas arrived moments later.

  “I don’t think I was followed. Was I?”

  Loukas grinned and shook his head. “He did not budge when you left. I made a show of disputing the price of our food and drink and then left in the opposite direction as we planned. He hesitated and then followed me. In fact he is lurking behind that archway down the street.”

  “You didn’t try to shake him off?”

  “No. I thought I would rather have him in sight where I could keep an eye on him than lose him in the crowd and never know what he wanted.”

  “You still don’t know what he wants.”

  “Not yet, but while I harangued the wine merchant, I also arranged for some men to follow our follower.”

  “Ah, and they will follow him to where he is staying later?”

  “No, they are waiting for my signal to take him in hand.”

  “Won’t that be dangerous?”

  “I don’t think so. If he were a danger, we would have known that long ago. I suspect he thinks I will lead him to someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “No idea.” Loukas tugged at his ear and in an instant a struggle ensued under the archway. Loud voices and then Gamaliel heard what he guessed was a series of punches. Two burly men approached supporting the bearded man between them. Swelling had already started under his left eye.

  “Here’s your man,” one said. Their captive attempted to pull away but they only tightened their grip on his arms.

  “Now, my good man,” Loukas seemed quite amiable. “Can you tell us why you were following me?” The man scowled and said nothing.

  “I see. You should know that the men who now have you in their grip are Siccori, assassins. They have been led to believe you are turning people over to the Romans whom you claim are plotting against Caesar.”

  The man’s eyes grew as round as hen’s eggs. “They are…I am not any such…you tell them I am not.”

  “Why should I do that? You see this man here?” Loukas waved in Gamaliel’s direction. “He is a very important person in the Sanhedrin. You know what that means? It means that if he agrees with that assessment, that you are a danger to the Nation, you will disappear into the wilderness and never be heard from again.”

  The man turned to Gamaliel. “Sir, I swear to you, I am only a merchant here on business.”

  Gamaliel put on his fiercest expression, one he’d seen the Pontius Pilate use on another occasion. If he got it half right the man should be near collapse. “If you are, as you say, only a merchant, you must explain why you were dogging the heels of this man. Why were you following him yesterday and again today?”

  Gamaliel guessed at the last part. He had no idea if the man had been following Loukas the day before or not.

  “Yesterday? No, no, not him yesterday. It was the other one.”

  “Other? What other one?”

  “The man who calls himself Ali bin Selah.”

  “The Assyrian physician?”

  “I don’t know about physician, but I know that he conspires against my king.”

  “And now you follow this other man. Why not stay with the Assyrian?”

  “He has slipped out of sight. I hoped your friend would lead me to him.”

  Gamaliel had one skill that some claimed was unique to him. He could tell when someone lied, shaved the truth, or just twisted it a bit. And he knew the man lied. Not entirely, a kernel of truth lay in there somewhere, but on the whole the man had tried to cover his real intent with a plausible lie.

  “I am sorry to hear that. You are, of course, not
telling me the truth, and I am afraid I will have to give leave to these men to take you away. You do know that an attempt to walk out of the wilderness without water is nearly impossible. Those few who did make it out alive lost their minds in the process. Very sad.”

  The man gulped. “I swear to you—”

  “Swearing is forbidden.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I see you are not from these parts so your indiscretion may be pardoned. But our Law specifically forbids the use of an oath. It disobeys the Lord’s Command.”

  “I didn’t know, but surely—”

  “Enough. Either you speak the truth, or you will disappear.” How much farther Gamaliel thought he could take this foolishness he couldn’t say, but he hoped Loukas, who’d created the pretense in the first place, would step in. He did.

  “Rabban, I have an idea that may save this man’s life and bring us the truth. I have in my purse a potion that, if drunk, will force the truth from him. We will have this man, who claims to be telling the truth, drink it and we will be done here.”

  “Very well. This man assures us he tells the truth, he should have no objection to drinking it. Is that so…what is your name, by the way?”

  “My name?”

  “Yes. What do they call you?”

  Again, Gamaliel thought he heard wheels spinning. This man had more than one problem with the truth, it seemed.

  “It is Aswad Khashab.”