Sami stepped forward. “Lieutenant Sami Jaffari of the National Police. This is my colleague Abu Ramiz.”

“From Bethlehem,” Omar Yussef said. He glanced at Sami. His granddaughter had been trying to make a detective of him since he had been forced to investigate accusations of murder against a favorite former pupil over a year ago. Despite his insistence that he was happy as a history teacher in the Dehaisha refugee camp, Sami seemed now to have made his change of career official.

The priest tilted his head as though wondering why an investigating officer should have been brought from Bethlehem. He kept Omar Yussef’s hand in his.

“The lieutenant asked me to join him because I have a special interest in Palestinian history,” Omar Yussef said. He raised an eyebrow at the young officer. “I understand the crime relates to one of your historical documents.”

“It did.” Ben-Tabia let go of Omar Yussef’s hand and raised his arms in a shrug. “But I must apologize, honored gentle-men, particularly to you, Abu Ramiz, for bringing you all the way from Bethlehem for nothing. The crime is solved.”

Sami dropped his cigarette and ground it out with his heel. “Solved?”

The priest glanced sharply at the cigarette butt on the floor and rolled his lower lip over the edge of his mustache. “Yes, there was a theft, but the stolen object has been returned. So, you see, your intervention is unnecessary.”

“Has the criminal been apprehended?”

“Everything has been sorted out to my satisfaction.”

“I’m here now, so my satisfaction enters into this, too, your honor,” Sami said. He held the priest’s gaze.

“Very well,” Ben-Tabia said. “Please, let’s sit. I’m not so strong these days.”

Omar Yussef and Sami sat on the front bench. The priest took a seat in the second row.

“I must apologize,” he said. “I would offer you coffee in greeting, but this synagogue is only used for the first prayers of every month and no one but me is here to prepare a drink for you today.”