The Book That Kills.

- 17 -

Dawud and Jamal had spent the night behind the closed door of a meeting room with the Chief of Police and four other selected, respected, and highly experienced personnel, bringing them to speed with what had been conspiring behind their unsuspecting backs. Since Jamal had been the only one assigned to handle Omair's case, no one else was informed of what had been happening since then; they hadn't bothered to check on the case's progress either since Jamal and Dawud had both handled cases before that had appeared much more complicated. They had deemed Omair's case a simple case of paranoia and didn't think it had the potential to evolve into a mass homicide.

"Why didn't you involve us earlier if you had suspicions that the case wasn't just what it appeared to be?" the Chief demanded.

If he had known there was more to it than just a young man's paranoia, he would never have delegated the task to Jamal. Dawud, maybe. But not Jamal. He was too soft hearted to be dealing with murder.

"We hadn't even been on the case for a full week! We thought we had it under control," Jamal said helplessly.

The Chief clicked his tongue in disapproval and turned away from Jamal as if the mere sight of him disgusted him. 

"Five people - five innocent people! - are now dead because you thought you had this under control. Several others have suffered injuries and are probably scarred - mentally, emotionally, and physically - because you thought you had this under control."

The Chief stood. Tall. Broad shoulders. His presence was demanding. He faced Jamal, towering over him, hands clasped behind his back.

"Are you aware of the weight that lies on your shoulders?" the Chief asked Jamal. "Are you aware of how your lack of correct action has caused so much loss, and pain, and grief?"

"Yes, Sir," Jamal replied.

His eyes were downcast in shame but his voice was firm as he owned up to his mistakes. He had spent countless moments wondering if he could have saved the lives now lost if he had done this instead of that. His job, as an officer, was to keep danger away from people and people away from danger. Jamal had fallen short in his duties.

"We really had no idea it would amount to this, Chief," Dawud said, coming to the aid of his friend before he beat himself over what couldn't be changed. "We would never purposely put the lives of innocent people in harm's way, you know that. Like we told you: The Man, er, this perpetrator was always two steps ahead of us. He has the edge of advantage: anonymity. We failed to profile him even after talking to those who interacted with him. He's left very little for us to go on other than cryptically typed messages and his artwork in the form of writing. We know only what he wants us to know."

The Chief sat back down and listened to Dawud. His gaze had softened as he looked at the young man.

In front of the Chief and the other four senior personnel, there was no need for him to stay in disguise; Dawud had abandoned his hat and was rubbing his tired face and running a hand through his hair. The people in the room with him knew his identity.

"Had it not been for the insight of Yasmine Suleyman's journal, we would have still been groping in darkness without answers to some of our questions," Dawud continued. "We would have pinned her death, and the deaths of the others, as accidental. Now that we've realized that this isn't a task the two of us can undertake on our own, we've brought it to your attention. If it was up to us, we would have ended this before it even started."

The Chief rubbed his beard in thought and asked, "What are you proposing?"

Dawud took a deep breath and embraced himself for the Chief's reaction.