He nodded violently and scattered more dandruff. 'Ah. Yes. Youare the Captain Case I wanted. Try some of this.' He pushed over a rubber tobacco pouch. 'I mix it myself.'

He mixed it coarse and dark and smelling like old armpits. 'Thanks, but I don't think my flying licence covers that stuff.'

He grinned, not apologetically. Had it been a test? To see if. I felt a need to flatter him? Why am I so suspicious of policemen? Why do policemen come and talk to me and never say exactly why?

He lit his pipe, but burning that stuff didn't improve it. 'So perhaps, as it always is on television, it was an inside job? By your colleague Cavitt, maybe?'

'Ken and I have alibis. We were out with a couple of… you might say… bar girls.'

'Wereyou?' Eleanor's voice said from somewhere around the last ice age but three.

Tamir smiled sadly. 'Prostitutes make good witnesses. They have little shame and they dare not annoy the police too much. Loassort, it was just an idea; to kill other people is normal -killing yourself, who can understand it?' He gulped the last of his beer. 'Why did the doctors tell him he had cancer? – they do not, usually.'

'Probably because he had.'

'You may be right.' He stood up. 'Are you staying in Israel long?'

'No, but it depends on my company. Castle.'

'Ah yes. Thank you. ' He shook hands again. 'I hope you enjoy Israel Miss… er, yes.'

He shambled off.

'A weird one,' Eleanor commented.

I just grunted; I had an idea that inside that fat man there was a very sharp one quite able to get out. 'What the hell's Ken doing in Acre?'

'Probably digging for bar girls.'

'Look, that night, he'd just come out of jail and anyway, in the confusion I never…' I wasn't improving things; the evening was dead on its feet. 'Ready to go?'

We had to walk back to Dizengoff Circle to find a taxi, and she kept her hands to herself. The crowd had thinned as people settled incafés or headed home for an early Monday. A few soldiers, some with weapons and all with bundles of food from mother, were beginning to hitch rides back to camp.

After a while, she said: 'Did that Inspector think some other crooks from jail are in on this?'

"There's one Israeli racketeer involved. I think he was trying to locate the Prof with phony letters,' I admitted. 'He wasn't in jail at the right time, but he'd have friends who were.'

'My God. What am I getting the Met into?' After a little longer: 'Could he have killed Spohr?'

'Same objection: he was an outsider.'

'Then somebody else on the inside?'

'Sergeant Papa? Or the cooks or the barman or chambermaid? Kapotas? Where's the motive – who gained anything by his death?'

'The Sergeant got those letters.'

'If he'd wanted them he could have taken them anyway and sworn he'd posted them. He was a carrion bird, not a hunter.'

'He's still the best suspect,' she persisted.

'Wanna bet? The police would take Mitzi any day.'

'Oh no. Her own father? But what'sher motive.'

'She was related to him. That's motive enough for most murders.'

'That's just cynicism.'

'No, it's statistics.'

'Well… do you think shedid?'

'I'm one of the downtrodden minority who believes he actually committed suicide.'

She just shook her head, dissatisfied.

I tried to get cosy on the back seat of the taxi, but might just as well have tried it on a Centurion tank. Some woman can get a bit uptight about where you put it last. Or maybe, as a medievalist, she just preferred older men.

It rained in the night – the warm front coming through – but had just about stopped by the time I got up. We'd be due the cold front some time today.

Eleanor wasn't around the dining-room so I read the Jerusalem Post and stretched breakfast into coffee and watched the aircrews migrating in and out. Ken rang at about a quarter to eleven.

'How are you doing, favourite nephew?'

'Surviving. What's your news?'

'Victor Foxtrot and established on the glidepath.' I decoded Visual Flight to mean he'd met Gadulla and things were going well; close to an end, maybe. Anyway, he couldn't still be in Acre.

'Fine. So?'

'Listen: I think the Queen should go to the throne of Kings.'

"The – huh?' Then I got it: he wanted me to fly the Queen Air to Jerusalem Airport. Just a single-runway affair they'd taken over from Jordan in 1967, used mostly for tourist sightseeing jaunts.Masada and Eilat and all. But the real point was it was only thirty miles away, and you don't use an aircraft to go thirty miles. Not in Israel.

I said: 'Look, dog's-bollocks – and that's not code – the thing's so pointless it's obvious. It's not a regular customs field, either. We can't go direct abroad from there.'

'Trust your old uncle,' he said soothingly. 'And your own nasty tricky mind, of course. You'll think of a way.'

'But even the weather's due to clamp for an hour or…' My own nasty tricky mind had already got an idea. 'Oh God. All right. Any mandatory reporting point?' '

'Where else?'

That could only be the bar of the King David.

I rang the airport Met office and confirmed that there was still a cold front tracking in. Estimated over the airport at 12.30. About. I got a different extension and told them I wanted to be clear to fly by midday; full flight plan when I got there. Then I called Eleanor's room.

'Roy,' I said. She didn't seem vastly enthused. 'Ken says things are good and wants us in Jerusalem. I'm flying up, but I suggest you make your own way.'

That suited her.

I said: 'Bus orsherut from the airport, or a train from Lod town, it won't take you an hour. Contact Mitzi at the Holy Land and wait to hear from us. Okay?'

She said it was okay. So I suppose it was.

By 11.20 I was leaning on an airport counter filling in my flight plan when Inspector Tamir breathed in my ear. I couldn't forget that tobacco.

'Mr Case, good morning. Meet Sergeant Sharon.'

Aircraft indent., yes, flight rules and status, yes… I turned round to meet Sergeant Sharon.

She was small and neat, with black hair drawn back in a severe style and dark unsmiling eyes. Light blue uniform blouse with badges, dark blue miniskirt, black pistol belt. Otherwise, young and pretty, and a cop.

I said: 'Shalom,' but she just jerked her head. Maybe she didn't believe me.

Tamir asked: 'You are leaving?'

I turned back to the flight plan. Aircraft type: BE 65. Comm and nav equipment… 'Yes. Just after twelve, I hope.' The front had moved in a little quicker than estimated.

'But you have just come.'

'Pilots are always leaving as soon as they've come. Drives women mad.'

But I don't think they got it. I filled in aerodrome of departure: LLLD for Ben Gurion and 1205 for predicted time. Tamir peered over my shoulder.

'Ah, so you have forms for everything, too.'

'Five copies. One gets telexed ahead to your destination.'

'Where are you going? '

'Nicosia.' Flight Information Region boundary point and time: LCNC at – let's guess – 1223. Meaningless, anyway.

'With passengers?'

'No passengers. Company just wants me back again.' Speed and flight level: 0170 at F080.

Sergeant Sharon said: 'Not even Mr Cavitt?'

'Not even anybody.' Route: B17 to LCNC.

'Where is he?' she asked crisply.

'I dunno.' I didn'tknow, did I? 'What's wrong with Acre?'

'We cannot find him there.'

I glanced at Tamir; he smiled a fat sad smile. 'Quite true.'

'Maybe he doesn't want to be found,' I suggested.