On a less political note were posters and photos that highlighted the center’s community activities—hosting talks, preparing communal dinners, providing religious instruction to teens. One photo showed a group of children working on a farm somewhere in the countryside. There was also a colorful mural of children holding hands that was made out of construction paper and dried macaroni.
An elderly Arab man entered the lobby and asked Brodie something in German. Brodie nodded, which had a decent chance of being the right answer. The man stared at him a moment, then climbed the stairs.
Brodie started to wonder what he was doing here. Had Harry Vance come to this place? And if he had, wouldn’t the police surveillance detail have picked him up, and subsequently shared that sighting with the BKAofficials investigating Vance’s murder? Unless, of course, one arm of the German national security apparatus did not always talk to the other, which happened all the time in America. It was also possible that Chief Inspector Schröder and Captain Soliman did have information that Vance had paid a visit to the Al Mahdi Islamic Center and forgot to include it in that morning’s briefing. That was actually easy to believe, given their track record so far. Either way, this was a long shot, but you never knew where pay dirt was until you dug. Time to push on.
Brodie waited a moment, then climbed the narrow staircase to the second floor, which featured a large landing covered in plush maroon carpeting. A window directly ahead looked out to the street, and a window on the opposite side of the landing faced an interior courtyard with a few trees and picnic furniture. On the walls were several flags featuring gilded Arabic script next to three closed doors.
He could hear voices coming from the third floor—quiet conversation, a little laughter.
He climbed the stairs to the next landing, where about ten Arab men of various ages were chatting near a closed door while taking off their shoes. A few women in hijabs clustered at the far end of the landing near another door, and Brodie guessed these were the two gender-segregated prayer spaces.
The conversation died down as everyone looked at Brodie. A portly man in his mid-forties wearing a knit sweater and glasses smiled at Brodie and said something in German.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” said Brodie. “Is there someone here who speaks English?”
The man nodded. “Englisch, ja. Einen Moment.” He opened the door, stuck his head in, and called out for someone.
In a moment another man came through the door. He was in his late twenties and wore a collared shirt, khakis, and a skullcap over curly black hair. He said to Brodie, “Greetings, my friend. My name is Caleb. How may we help you?”
“I’m searching for truth and justice.”
“As are we all.” He asked, “Are you of our faith?”
“Thinkin’ about it.”
“Yes? We have people here who can guide you.”
“Great.” He stuck out his hand. “My name is Jack Davis.”
They shook.
Brodie lowered his voice and said, “I’m also here because my friend Harry Vance was killed in the nearby park, which I’m sure you’ve seen on the news.”
Caleb looked at him with genuine concern. “I am so sorry, Mr. Davis. Yes, we all know of this. A terrible crime.”
“Right. Look, I know the police are working on it, but I came here as his friend to try to understand this. To find out where he’d been and who’d seen him in the time before his death.” He looked at Caleb and asked, “Do you know of anyone in your congregation or in your community who may have seen him, interacted with him? I’m going door to door around here just trying to get some answers.”
Caleb stared at him and didn’t respond right away. Then he said, “I believe you should speak with Imam Hassan.” He gestured to the door. “You may join us for the maghrib first if you wish. People of all faiths are welcome.”
“Thank you, but I’ll wait here.”
“Of course. It is maybe fifteen minutes.”
Caleb went back into the prayer hall and the other men finished removing their shoes and followed. The women at the far end of the room looked at Brodie with some apprehension before disappearing into the women’s prayer hall.
Brodie sat down on a bench near the window. After a minute he could faintly hear the prayer getting under way.
Well, he hadn’t been met with a blanket denial, and no one had thrown him out. He imagined everyone in this congregation and the larger Muslim community in Berlin must be on edge, despite Caleb’s earnest friendliness.
He knew he should not have gone off on his own without his partner for backup, or at least should have told her where he was going. That was the rule. Maybe one of the few good rules. Harry had broken the rule, and look what happened to him.
So before he wound up missing—or held hostage and forced to work on the macaroni board—maybe he should call Taylor and tell her what he was up to so that she had enough time to get pissed off at him and then cool down again before dinner. But he had nothing to report yet beyond the fact that he’d done something impulsive and maybe stupid, which wasn’t really news.
He got up and walked to the window looking down into the courtyard. He now noticed a small fenced-off area that contained a children’s jungle gym and some toys. This place didn’t feel like a nexus for terrorism. Then again, it wouldn’t be a very effective front if it did.
He stood near the two doorways, listening to the sunset prayer. The imam was chanting in Arabic, occasionally pausing for a response from the congregation. It sounded like both doorways led to the same room, and the men and women were probably divided by a partition.
As the prayers continued, he walked to the street-facing window and looked out. The sun had set, and an orange afterglow sat above the rooftops, fading into a darkening sky. Down on the street, the surveillance van remained at its post, possibly taking photographs and conducting electronic eavesdropping to uncover links between this place and a terrorist militia a continent away. Meanwhile the kitted-out cops stood sentry at the door in case some neo-Nazis decided to show up with homemade bombs or assault rifles. What a world.
