Support and Defend Read Online Free PDF Page B

looked down at his clipboard. “Otherwise, bruises and cuts, mostly. A few significant. Eleven stitches on your forearm. A small piece of shrapnel from the bomb, we suspect, but it passed all the way through, so we don’t know for sure. A puncture to your right pectoral. It was a metal screw. We got it out. Not deep. We’ve cleaned you up, shouldn’t be an infection, but you’ll want to watch those injuries. There is significant bruising across your—”
    The patient interrupted the doctor. “The Yacobys?”
    The doctor did not answer him directly. He only stepped to the side, revealing to Dominic the presence of another man in the room, sitting on a cheap recliner by the door with his legs crossed. He was middle-aged, with slicked-back black hair and a full mustache, and he wore a dark suit and tie.
    “Hello, John.”
    Caruso did not reply.
    “John Doe. That is your name.” He eyed the American with an expressionless, almost tired face. “Unless you would like to give me another. No? John Rambo, perhaps?”
    “Who are you?”
    “I am Detective Constable Naidu.” He stood up. “And I am here to ask you some questions.”
    “The Yacobys?”
    Naibu shook his head back and forth; there was an obvious lack of sensitivity in the gesture. “Dead.”
    Dom closed his eyes and shook his head. “No.”
    “Yes,” he corrected. “All four of them. Along with seven others at the scene. Nearly a dozen dead bodies, and you, my young American friend, were the only survivor.” He leaned forward with eyebrows raised. “Miraculous, wouldn’t you agree?”
    Dominic didn’t answer. His mind was on the Yacobys. Dar. Moshe.
    “You were pulled out of the burning building by neighbors, at great personal risk to themselves. You did not ask who saved you, but I thought you would care to know.”
    Caruso stared off into space. Arik. Hanna.
    “We know from the neighbors you were a guest in the home of the Yacobys, they saw you coming and going, but you had no identification on you when you were found. They said they thought you were American, and by your accent, I agree. But that is all I have. If there was anything in the home . . . passport, visa, U.S. driver’s license. It was burned in the fire.”
    Caruso fought the images in his head, did his best to push them away just as he did his best to ignore the pounding headache that grew with each word out of Naidu’s mouth. The sedation seemed to be wearing off by the second.
    “I need to make a phone call.”
    “And I need you to answer my questions. Why would anyone want to kill your friend and his family? On his visa he said his occupation was personal trainer. His wife was a yoga instructor.”
    Dom did not answer. His forearm stung under the dressing now.
    Naidu raised his voice. “Who was Arik Yacoby?”
    “He was my martial-arts instructor. That’s all.”
    “Pakistani terrorists do not often go to such great lengths to kill martial-arts instructors.”
    “They were Pakistani?”
    Naidu looked at Caruso with genuine surprise. “This is India. Who else would they be?”
    Caruso laid his head back on his pillow. This was to be a hostile interview, that much was clear. And Dom was not in the mood. “I have no idea. I’m not the detective constable. If I were you, I’d look into the dairy truck parked at the end of the street.”
    Naidu replied, “I have already taken care of that. The woman who drove it is being sought. She has left the village, but we will find her.”
    Caruso looked around the hospital room, then said, “Pretty sure she’s not in here.”
    “You are more interesting to me than she is.”
    Dom closed his eyes. “Then I’d say your investigation is fucked.”
    Naidu ignored the insult, and instead he looked down at his notepad. “Let’s not waste time with games. We know Yacoby was a former member of the IDF. If he was something more, I need you to tell me.”
    “Something more?”
    “Was he a Jew spy?”
    Dom fought to control his urge