The dead man was of medium height and wore a white shirt and blue slacks. His feet were bare. His midriff folded around the tree trunk, his legs falling down the hill on one side of the pine and his torso curved around the other. His hands and knees were bound with electrical wire. Omar Yussef breathed heavily. He caught Sami’s eye. The young man whispered: “He’s been tortured, Abu Ramiz.”

Sami pointed out the contusions around the corpse’s neck and head. The thin chest was purpled with bruising where the bloodied shirt had been pulled open. The finger-tips had been scorched.

The dead man was probably in his midtwenties. His sky blue eyes were open and stared at Omar Yussef with some-thing that looked like recognition. Omar Yussef had the feeling that he had seen them before, but that didn’t seem possible. He blinked and averted his face, unnerved by the familiarity in those eyes. He cleared his throat and examined the bruises. “Was he beaten to death?”

“I don’t see any other wounds, at least not the kind that would be fatal. There could have been internal bleeding. Perhaps the beating damaged his organs.” Sami leaned closer to the man’s head. “I suppose the neck could be broken. It’s at an awkward angle.”

Omar Yussef pointed to where the Samaritans stood. “He either fell or was thrown from up there. This tree blocked his fall.”

“There’s no blood around,” Sami said. “I expect he was killed before he dropped down here.”

They made their way back to the ridge, Sami following behind. Omar Yussef was grateful to him for waiting. By the time they reached the group of Samaritans, his shirt was heavy with sweat and the wind across the mountain chilled it against his shoulders and belly.

“Who found the body?” Sami said.

A short, thick man in a dirty blue shirt and a baseball cap that bore the logo of a cheap Israeli cigarette brand raised his hand. “I came up here to open the site for the tourists and I saw it,” he mumbled.