“Maybe … He says to me the photo in the newspaper looked like her. I see it and I do not know for sure. But he says to him it looked like her.”

“The name of the service, please.”

“I do not know. He was the one who called always.”

Dunne hit the Moroccan in the stomach again. He had to admit to himself it felt good to strike someone, something—after the past few days.

Al-Fusah recovered his breath and said, “Really I do not know. Maybe some name like a joke. I remember he laughed about it. Said maybe they’d send”—he hesitated—“Mrs. Hanover.”

Dunne wondered if the pause meant that Al-Fusah had recognized Dunne.

“You remember there was a joke, but not the name?”

“He laughed about it. But he called, not me. And it was only once or twice.”

“When?”

He thought for a moment.

“Maybe two months ago. Before the new ambassador came. And once before that.”

“Okay,” Dunne said. “Those times did you meet anyone else from this service?”

“She came with the same girl.”

“Each time? To that apartment?”

“Yes.”

Dunne waited for more information.

“She was white girl, also. Long blond hair.”

“Age?”

“Like the other girl.”

“And their names?”

“I do not know.”

Dunne placed his hand on Al-Fusah’s shoulder and started to squeeze.

“I do not know,” the Moroccan repeated. “Maybe one say it was … like diamonds … . I think, Tiffany. I do not know.”

“Did either one say anything you remember now?”

Al-Fusah shook his head.

“And the girl from two nights ago—did she come from the same service?”

“I do not know.”

Dunne went through the checklist in his mind. He concluded he had obtained all he could from this low-level diplomat.

“Fine,” he said. “We’re done. But you’re not going to disappear now, too, like your friend? I’d like to know I can reach you again, if I need to.”

The Moroccan said nothing.

“Because if I can’t, I can always drop off that police report with you-know-who and see what happens.”

Al-Fusah nodded.

“See you around, and thanks,” Dunne said. He began to leave the dugout. “I mean that. Thanks.”

“It was clean,” Al-Fusah said, a trace of protest in his voice. “Very clean. We did not do what you think. They were not those kind of girls.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Al-Fusah,” Dunne replied.

Dunne returned to his car and pulled a ticket out from under the wiper blade.

15 - Capitol Hill June 25

15

Capitol Hill June 25

Damn ugly, she thought.