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After a censorious pause, I gave the briefest of synopses.
“The blade was extremely narrow and sharp, but slightly damaged.”
“Damaged?”
“The cutting edge had a very small nick.”
“A feature you could use to ID the thing?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you see it before?”
“I needed magnification and couldn’t get access to a microscope.”
“Could it be a slaughterer’schalet?”
“Chalef. Maybe. But ashochetis duty-bound to keep his blade perfect. So that the animals—”
“Don’t suffer. Right.”
Monck thought about the nick. So had I since discovering it.
“What about Dovid?” I tossed out. “Maybe Uri’s brother grabs discarded cleavers that no longer make the grade?”
“Or maybe your hunch is right.”
“I wouldn’t call it a hun—”
“Maybe mama and big broareboth lying. Like you, I got the vibe Adeera would do anything to protect her boys.”
“And that her boys would do anything she demanded.”
“Either scenario ticks,” Monck said.
“Like a bug on a screen.”
I listened to a full minute of agitated breathing. Then,
“Can you meet me at Chalk Bay station tomorrow at nine?”
“I’ve finished my analysis and plan to fly home. Remember? You do the sleuthing, I do the bones?”
“I’d appreciate your insight.”
Had I heard correctly?
“A memorial service is in the works for SIO Musgrove for Friday or Saturday. You wouldn’t want to miss that.”
“Sure,” I said. “What’s one more day.”
“Bring your files.”
Three beeps, and he was gone.
Monck’s call left me more edgy than before my sand and surf outing.
What the hell?
