the police captain told me. Sitting in the backseat of a police car on my way to Luxor’s police headquarters, I was numb. De Santis was dead. “But they took nothing.” I hardly recognized the voice as my own. The killers had left immediately after shooting him. It happened that fast. My ears were ringing when they left and still ringing when I had called the hotel and asked them to send for the police because I didn’t know how to contact the authorities in charge. My taxi driver wasn’t there when I came out. Neither was the old man providing “security.” Both had probably fled as soon as the killers stepped out of their car. There was nothing I could do for the priest. A look of shock, even surprise, was imprinted on his features for eternity. I put my scarf over his face to give him some privacy. The first officers that arrived were patrol officers who spoke no English and could not understand my attempt to explain what had happened. Moments later the higher-ranking officer who I was now riding with arrived and told me he was taking me to police headquarters.
