I watched Jake select mugs, thinking what a terrible perp he’d make. His nose is thin and prominent, his brows bushy and dead straight above Rasputin black eyes. He stands six feet six, weighs 170, and shaves his head.

Witnesses would remember Jake exactly as he is.

Today I suspected he’d caused strangers on the sidewalk to circle wide. His agitation was palpable.

We exchanged smal talk while waiting for the kettle.

Jake had checked into a smal hotel off the western edge of the McGil University campus. He’d rented a car to drive to Toronto the next morning. On Monday he’d leave for Jerusalem, where he and his Israeli crew would excavate their first-century synagogue.

Jake proffered his usual invitation to dig. I proffered my usual thanks and regrets.

When the tea was ready, Jake settled at the dining room table. I retrieved a magnifier and Kessler’s print and laid them on the glass.

Jake stared at the photo as though he’d never seen one before.

After a ful minute, he took up the lens. As he scanned the print his movements grew measured and deliberate.

In one way Jake and I are very much alike.

When annoyed, I grow churlish, snap, counter with sarcasm. When angry, truly white-hot livid irate, I go deadly calm.

So does Jake. I know. I’ve heard him debate issues at faculty council.

The ice facade is also my response to fear. I suspected this was also true of Jake. The change in his demeanor sent a chil scurrying through my mind.

“What is it?” I asked.

Jake raised his head and stared past me, lost, I could only guess, in a moment of probes, and trowels, and the smel of turned earth.

Then he tapped the photo with one long, slender finger.

A disjointed thought. Were it not for the cal uses, Jake’s hands might have been those of a concert pianist.

“Have you spoken with the man who gave this to you?”

“Only briefly. We’re trying to locate him.”

“What exactly did he say?”

I hesitated, debating what I could ethical y divulge. Ferris’s death had been reported by the media. Kessler had not asked for confidentiality.

I explained the shooting, the autopsy, and the man who cal ed himself Kessler.

“It’s supposed to have come from Israel.”

“It does,” Jake said.

“That’s a hunch?”

“That’s a fact.”

I frowned. “You’re that certain?”

Jake leaned back. “What do you know about Masada?”

“It’s a peak in Israel where a lot of folks died.”

Jake’s lips did something approaching a smile.

“Please expand, Ms. Brennan.”

I dug back. Way back.

“In the first centuryB.C. —”

“Political y incorrect. The term isB.C.E now. Before the Common Era.”

“—the whole area from Syria to Egypt, anciently known as the land of Israel, which the Romans cal ed Palestine, came under Roman rule. Needless to say, the Jews were pissed. Over the next century, a number of rebel ions arose to throw the Roman bastards out. Each was a bust.”