This Thing of Darkness by Barbara Fradkin

especially after a dozen beers.”
    â€œNot obviously a Jew. No yarmulke.”
    â€œMaybe they spotted the Star of David. Or, with his expensive clothes and jewellery, he looked as if he had money. For some, that stereotype is enough.”
    Sullivan leaned against the wall, silhouetted against the midday press of Rideau Street. Belching transport trucks, growling buses, and lunch goers scurrying along the sidewalk. He studied Green thoughtfully. “I assume you have a reason for this line of inquiry?”
    Green broke into a sheepish grin.“A couple of flimsy ones. The viciousness of the attack, the overkill, and the fact the killer stomped Rosenthal’s Jewish star into the ground. Didn’t steal it but destroyed it. It smacks of contempt.”
    Sullivan raised an eyebrow. He looked skeptical, but he was too good a detective not to consider the less obvious. “I’ll ask the Hate Crimes guys if they have a lead on any Neo-Nazi groups hanging out around here.”
    Green nodded. “Ask if there’s been any reports of vandalism or harassment. These guys don’t usually start with a full-fledged attack.”
    They don’t usually end with one either, he thought with a chill.

Seven
    B rian Sullivan was on his cellphone when their smoked meat sandwiches arrived, thick, fragrant and spilling over with succulent pink meat. Green picked his up in both hands, sank his teeth in and closed his eyes in ecstasy.
    Sullivan glared and covered his mouthpiece. “Nothing should interfere with a man’s lunch.”
    Green stifled a chuckle with his mouth full. “What are you talking about? At least we’re getting lunch. That’s progress.”
    Sullivan was about to reply when the party came back on the other end of the line. He listened a moment, thanked the individual and snapped his phone shut. Without a word he picked up his sandwich and shovelled it into his mouth. Green watched him chew, shovel in another mouthful and slurp down half his coke.
    â€œNu?” Green said finally.
    â€œMmm?”
    â€œWhat did Deepak say?”
    â€œNot much. There have been no major anti-Semitic incidents in Lowertown recently. The usual spray-painted Swastikas, eggs thrown at the synagogue door, but nothing directed against people. There are some white power punks strutting around—you couldn’t call them a gang—but they’re mostly targeting blacks and Arabs.”
    â€œIs it a similar MO ? Beating with a baseball bat?”
    Sullivan shook his head.“Mostly threats with knife or gun, sometimes a minor beating meant to scare the guys off. Or pay them back. Mind you, the Somalis are doing some nasty shit of their own.”
    Green nodded, thinking of the high-profile case currently before the courts in which a young Somali had knifed a Lebanese youth allegedly for making a pass at his girlfriend. Too much testosterone and not enough purpose. However, he knew that most incidents of racism and anti-Semitism went unreported. Whether from fear of further retaliation or lack of confidence in the police response, most victims just shrugged and endured.
    He persisted. “Did these white power punks have unusual tags, like the ones at the crime scene?”
    â€œDeepak is emailing me their most common graffiti, and we’ll take it from there.” Sullivan belched, then fished a Rolaids from his pocket and popped it into his mouth with a rueful smile. “Can’t do this like the old days.”
    They ate in silence, savouring the last of their sandwiches. After a few minutes, Deepak’s email of recent graffiti popped up on Sullivan’s cellphone. The two men scrolled through the tiny attachments. Art, or subtlety, was not the Neo-Nazis’ strong point. Most of the tags were stylized swastikas or the skull-and-crossbones insignia of Hitler’s SS . None of them looked like the graffiti on the wall at the crime scene. But Green couldn’t