“Did the university punish Eyad?” Omar Yussef asked.

“My husband didn’t wait to be punished,” Salwa said, with a sad laugh. “He went straight to his classroom that afternoon and set another exam for his students. Have a look.”

Omar Yussef turned to the second page in the file and read: “ Write an essay about corruption at the university.”

“All the students wrote about the university selling degrees to the plainclothesmen,” Salwa said. “Professor Maki immediately suspended Eyad.”

Wallender looked up from his notebook. “If the students already knew about the selling of the degrees, why would Eyad be punished?”

“It was not something to talk about in public, not something to set exams about,” Umm Rateb said.

“It’s more than that,” Salwa said. “It became personal.”

“Between Eyad and Professor Maki?” Omar Yussef said.

“Worse.” Salwa waved her hand. “Colonel al-Fara.”

“Bloody hell,” said Cree.

“Who’s that?” Wallender asked.

“The head of the plainclothes police. One of the most powerful men in Gaza and certainly one of the nastiest bastards you’ll ever come across.” Cree slapped his thigh. “He’s tortured more prisoners than you’ve had pickled herring and Aquavit, Magnus.”

“James,” Omar Yussef said, flicking his eyes toward Salwa.

Cree looked at the woman’s solemn face. “Sorry, dear,” he said, with a little cough.

Salwa nodded, but her mouth was tense. She shivered slightly before she continued. “Professor Maki told my husband that he had embarrassed him in front of Colonel al-Fara. As you point out, Mister Cree, that’s not a favorable situation in which to find oneself in Gaza these days. With men like Maki and al-Fara, all kinds of politics are involved which, as I told my husband, he couldn’t possibly know about.”