Tamher nodded, sizing up Dial before he revealed any details. Dial returned the favor by doing the same with Tamher. Both men were impressed by what they saw.
‘At five thirty this morning, a vendor noticed the stains and stopped for a closer look. He was expecting to find paint. He found blood instead.’ Tamher took out his pen and pointed to the bottom left-hand corner of the monument. ‘The killers started their painting here and finished over there. You can actually see the brush marks on the marble.’
Dial leaned in for a closer look. ‘What kind of brush?’
Tamher shrugged. ‘It had a wide tip. Wider than the one they used on the sign.’
‘Let’s talk about the sign later. If I get sidetracked, I tend to get confused.’
Tamher smiled. ‘As you wish.’
‘Were the stains made with the victim’s blood? Or someone else’s?’
‘No, that’s his blood. He had a deep gash in his side, caused by the tip of a sword or a very thin spear. I could be wrong, but I think they used the wound as their paint source, dipping their brush inside his rib cage on more than one occasion.’
Dial didn’t blink. ‘Why do you think that?’
Tamher crouched, pointing at the dirt. ‘We found a thin trail of blood that started under the victim’s chest. The path fanned out in several different directions. I’m assuming they kept going back for more, dripping blood as they walked.’
Dial nodded, pleased with Tamher’s conclusion. ‘Time of death?’
‘Approximately five a.m., give or take thirty minutes.’
‘Really? That’s kind of ballsy, don’t you think? Leaving someone to die right before sunrise. Why take a chance like that? Why not slit his throat?’
‘I have no idea. Then again, I am not a killer.’
‘And why paint the monument? How tall is it, anyway? Fourteen, fifteen feet? That means the killer climbed on someone’s shoulders to finish the job. Either that, or this guy’s a giant.’
‘No ladder marks or signs of giants.’
‘What about handprints? Maybe the killer leaned against the arch for balance.’
‘No such luck. The monument was clean. The cross was clean. Everything came back clean.’
Dial nodded, expecting as much. The killers had been efficient in Denmark, too. ‘Where’s the cross now? I can’t help but notice that it’s missing.’
‘Very observant of you, Mr Dial. We wanted to protect it so we moved the entire cross, body and all, to the coroner’s office. Forensic specialists are examining it now.’
‘What about pictures? Please tell me you took pictures.’
He nodded. ‘We documented the entire scene. If you’d like, we can go to my office and look at them. They should be developed by now.’
‘In a minute,’ Dial said. ‘First tell me about the sign.’
Tamher smiled. ‘Are you certain you’re ready? I don’t want to confuse you.’
Dial laughed, glad to see the old guy had a personality. ‘I’ll try to keep up.’
‘It was written in red paint in very neat Arabic script. Four simple words. Very distinct. If you’d like, I’d be happy to translate it for you.’
Dial shook his head. ‘Let me take a wild guess. Did it say, AND OF THE SON?’
Tamher nodded, half impressed. ‘How did you know?’
‘Because I dealt with his father up in Denmark.’
‘His father?’
‘Never mind… So, what can you tell me about the victim? Do we have a name yet? I can run his prints through our database if you think it would help.’
‘No, that won’t be necessary. We’re all very aware of his identity.’
‘Good. That’ll save me some legwork.’
Tamher paused, trying to decide if Dial was joking. He quickly decided that he wasn’t. ‘You have no idea who he was, do you? I can’t believe no one told you. I just assumed that -’
‘Assumed what? What are you talking about? No one told me anything about the victim.’
‘Not even your assistant?’
‘You mean Ahmad? He wanted to discuss the case on the drive in, but I wouldn’t let him. I like forming my own opinions based on what I see, not what someone else has seen.’
‘And the crowd? What about the crowd?’ He made a wide sweeping motion, indicating the thousands of people that surrounded them. ‘You have no idea why they’re here?’
Dial shrugged. ‘I just figured they were rubbernecking. Same with the media. I deal with crowds all the time. They aren’t always this large, but they’re crowds nonetheless.’
‘Rubbernecking? What is this rubbernecking?’
‘Sorry. It’s an American term. It means to stare at the scene of an accident.’
‘Interesting. We have a similar phenomenon in Libya. We call it khibbesh.’
‘Khibbesh? What in the world does that mean?’
‘Rubbernecking.’
Dial smiled. He rarely came across a foreign cop that shared his sense of humor. ‘So, tell me, what’s the deal? I’m dying to know why everyone’s here. I mean, if they aren’t khibbeshing.’
‘Some people are, while others are paying their respects.’
‘Their respects? To who, the dead guy?’
Tamher nodded but remained silent.
‘Come on! Why would they pay their respects? Who the hell died? The king of England?’