A Possibility of Violence (7 page)

“Because she missed her home. Her country. She wanted to go for a long time now.” The image of his father appeared before him and he asked Ezer, “Maybe you want to call her again?”

Shalom coughed in his bed. Ezer said no. The eggs were about to boil and Chaim turned off the burner in the kitchen. When he came back he put his hand on Ezer's shoulder, the way he remembered. Said that the time had come to go to sleep.

“If Mom was born in another country, how did you meet her?”

Was it then that he understood that in order to protect them from pain he'd have to tell the truth? That this was the only way?

“She came here to work and then I met her,” he said.

“How?”

“At work. I went there, where she worked, and saw her.”

“And you decided to marry her?”

“Yes.”

This was about a year after Jenny arrived in Israel. She still didn't speak very good Hebrew. She worked for a neighbor of his mother's, a widower who broke his pelvis and later died of heart disease. They didn't meet at the old man's house but rather at Chaim's mother's house. Jenny was invited to dinner, and he was invited the same night. The family of the widower intended to place him in an institution, and so Jenny lost her job, and then her visa expired. He didn't remember what she wore, because he didn't pay attention to details like that, only that everyone was quiet during dinner and that Jenny seemed embarrassed. She didn't know he'd be there, but she understood why the meal had been arranged. And he couldn't say how and when they met for the second time. One evening a few weeks later they went out to a Thai restaurant and she explained the dishes to him. When she understood that he wouldn't have a lot to say, she spoke. Quickly and with hand motions. Told him that both her parents died when she was a child—first her mother, from some wasting disease, and two years later her father, from a broken heart—and about her sister, who married a Turkish businessman and lived in Berlin. There was no one left in the Philippines for her. And the work in Israel, she said, was good. There was a cheerfulness in her that was foreign to him but which pleased him. She could talk and talk, and he could be quiet. They still hadn't spoken about marriage then, nor about children.

Ezer looked at him, and Chaim saw in his gaze that he wanted him to continue.

Most of the light in the living room came in from the kitchen, and a little filtered in from outside, through the shutters.

Chaim could look at the faces of his two sons for hours, but not for the reason that most parents do this, or so he thought. He looked at the narrow eyes, at their foreign facial features, trying to identify exactly how they were different from his face and how they nevertheless resembled his, despite their foreignness. They always said that Shalom resembled him a bit more, but in personality he resembled Jenny. Energetic and talkative. And Ezer, who reminded him so much of himself, with his long silences and his closing up into himself, actually looked more like Jenny, and sometimes, to him, looked just like her.

It would never be possible to erase the foreignness in their faces. Chaim understood this mainly through the eyes of other people.

Ezer asked, “Why did you decide to marry her?” and Chaim said, “Maybe because she laughed a lot. I liked that.”

“And when were we born?”

“You were born first. About a year later.”

He remembered the birth too. Jenny's screams, his concern that something bad might happen to his firstborn son during the birth. The doctor in the maternity ward didn't agree to admit Jenny even when she said that she was having contractions. She told them to return in a few hours, and Chaim was sure this was because of Jenny's foreignness but he couldn't bring himself to protest and brought her back home, writhing in pain.

 

EZER PEELED THE HARDBOILED EGGS, CRUSHED
them, and mixed them in the bowl with the tuna. Chaim finely diced the onion and dumped it into the bowl. This is how it needs to be, he thought, and in time this is how it will be. The more days that passed without her, the more sure of himself he was, despite the suitcase. And Ezer was calm as well. When he brushed his teeth he asked where the Filipinos' country was and Chaim said it's far away, more than ten hours away by plane. In bed he didn't lie in the frozen position that frightened Chaim but on his side instead, bringing his face close to his father. Chaim asked if he wanted him to stay in the room and Ezer said, “You know, before I thought Mom wouldn't come back.”

He smiled and said to him, “No, she'll come back, in a little while,” and Ezer said, “I know now. But I checked her closet and there wasn't anything there. She took everything.”

Chaim suppressed the shudder that passed through him.

He didn't remember Ezer ever entering the bedroom, and he was always with them in the apartment. He asked him, “When did you see?” and Ezer said, “A few days ago. And I also found the necklace that she said she'd take everywhere. I saw it in a drawer.”

Chaim didn't understand what necklace he was talking about.

“The one with the beads. That we made together. She said she'd take it everywhere, but she didn't take it.”

Chaim said, “She just forgot,” and stroked his cheek. He wanted to kiss him and leave, but Ezer said more: “And I also thought that she won't come back because she went without saying to me and Shalom that she's going.” His voice was quiet, almost peaceful.

Chaim said, “That's because she thought that it would be easier for you this way,” and Ezer responded immediately, “Did you know that my first father told me that she won't come back? He helped her escape with the suitcase.”

Chaim managed not to lose his cool.

Ezer realized that he had said what Chaim had forbidden him to say, and there was fear in his eyes, but Chaim surprised him and encouraged him to speak. “He saw her?” he asked, and Ezer hesitated before he answered, “At night. He helped her escape and told me that she won't be coming back.”

“But now you believe that she will come back, right?” And Ezer said, “Right,” and smiled at him.

 

THAT SAME NIGHT, FOR THE FIRST
time, Chaim stretched thread across the door frame of the children's room as well.

The conversation with Ezer shocked him, though he restrained himself and didn't show it. When he left their room afterward he opened the closets in the bedroom and looked. Then he checked the drawers of the nightstand next to the bed and didn't find a necklace.

That didn't make sense.

He checked all the drawers. He didn't remember Jenny wearing a chain of beads around her neck. Suddenly he wondered if Ezer woke up at night, like him. Walked around the house in the dark without his knowledge. He stuck the thread to the doorjambs with plastic tape above knee height, so that if Shalom woke up he wouldn't run into the thread and trip. After this he tried to continue working and wasn't able. He got into bed early but had difficulty falling asleep. All this was a sign of things to come, because the next day, in the early afternoon, the call from the police came.

5

THE CONFERENCE ROOM ON THE SECOND
floor was empty when Avraham entered, a few minutes before the appointed time.

He poured boiling water from the kettle into a Styrofoam cup, made himself black coffee, and grabbed his usual place, behind which was the window that looked out onto the squad cars in the parking lot.

He was well prepared for the first meeting of the Investigations Unit he would participate in since returning to work. Over the holiday he read the materials that had gathered in the file and analyzed them in depth, and on Shabbat he drove over to Lavon Street, just to be there, perhaps to notice something that he had missed earlier. And there were a few decisions up for immediate implementation that he wanted approved: to stop tailing Amos Uzan; to increase the police presence in the area of the daycare; and to add another crew member to the investigation in light of its considerable urgency. In actuality, the tail on Uzan had ceased before the holiday, due to a shortage of detectives. And the investigation had moved on from him on its own.

From his perspective there were a few reasons for an increased police presence. The first was the person or people who placed the suitcase and carried out the warning call. It was intended to deter them from the next attack. The second target were the residents of the neighborhood. The presence of patrol units would increase the sense of security among them. The third target, and perhaps the most important of all, was Chava Cohen, the owner of the daycare, who lied to him during her interrogation and hid the warning call from him. In her case the patrol units were actually supposed to increase anxiety. He wanted her to see a patrol car pass by on the street or park next to the daycare every time she left or entered. In the meantime, he decided not to call her in for more questioning.

The urgency stemmed from the warning that the suitcase was “just the beginning.”

 

WHEN AVRAHAM ROSE TO SPEAK THERE
was considerable anticipation in the room, perhaps because he hadn't participated in unit meetings for some time. But Benny Saban seemed restless. The violent blinking attacked his eyes again and he covered them with the palm of his hand as casually as he could and kept drumming on the table with a pen. First he congratulated Avraham on his return and updated those present that prior to the holiday he had begun working on the fake-bomb case at Lavon Street. That was Avraham's cue to address the group.

“As Saban has just said, we're talking about the investigation of a fake bomb that was placed in a suitcase last Sunday next to a daycare on Lavon Street in Holon,” he began. “The searches in the area did not reveal any special finding, but patrol officers detained a suspect for interrogation based on vague testimony from a neighbor who claimed that she saw the man who placed the bomb. He was interrogated by me and released but remains under surveillance. In the absence of physical findings or intelligence, the investigation is concentrating on possible motives for placing the bomb. During the first few days, I explored a few different directions: the daycare, the building in whose courtyard the bomb was placed, and the liquor store located in the adjacent building.”

“What store?” Saban asked, and Avraham looked at him, surprised. Eyal Shrapstein also participated in the unit meeting, and Avraham saw him for the first time since his return. He had come back from a family vacation in Tuscany tanned and smiling, his hair golden from the sun. When he'd entered the conference room and noticed Avraham, he said to him, “Welcome back,” and sat down, naturally enough, in the empty seat next to him.

“On the eve of the holiday there was a definite breakthrough in the investigation, and I can now say with complete certainty that the bomb is connected to the daycare center. The owner of the daycare denied that she received any threats, but in my interrogation of the assistant who works with her I discovered that after the placing of the fake bomb a phone call was received from a woman warning that the suitcase is just the beginning.”

Saban stopped drumming with his pen on the table and asked, “A woman?” and Avraham said simply, “Yes.”

“Very strange.”

“Right, very strange. Beyond this I know of at least two disputes the owner of the daycare is involved in, or two incidents in which parents threatened her or attacked her verbally. They will be summoned for interrogation today. At present this is the main lead, and tomorrow, after questioning the two parents, the owner of the daycare will be summoned for additional testimony.”

Shrapstein asked, “What else do we know about the content of the threat?” and Avraham answered, “Nothing. That's all that was said in the threatening message. The suitcase ‘is only the beginning.' Therefore I think that it's necessary to increase the presence of patrol units on the street. That might deter the criminal, or criminals, as well as calm the parents. And in my opinion it is necessary to add staff and to move forward urgently with the investigation in order to remove the threat.”

Shrapstein smiled, and Avraham noticed that on the wrist of his right hand he wore a new watch with a golden face and a leather band. “Have you considered the possibility that it's a fake call? We've had experience with crazies like that,” he said, and just as Avraham was about to answer, Saban cut him off. Paying no attention to Shrapstein's question, he blurted, “Why don't we close the daycare? I don't like the idea of someone placing a real bomb when children are there hanging over my head.”

Avraham was prepared for the possibility that this would be his response. “I don't think we should. That won't increase the sense of personal safety among the residents. On the contrary, it would disrupt their routine and increase their sense of alarm.”

Saban looked at him with admiration. “Right,” he said.

“Beyond that, my target is the teacher. My sense is that she knows who placed the suitcase. I want her to stew for now, to understand that we're keeping an eye on her, and tomorrow or the next day, when I know more, I'll haul her in for another interrogation.”

Only over the course of the holiday did he come to understand the situation: Chava Cohen claimed in her interrogation that there was no connection between the fake bomb and the daycare not because she believed it or because she feared that investigating the connection between them would frighten the parents. She said this to him only because she knew that there was a connection, because she knew perfectly well who placed the suitcase and who made the warning call. And lied about it. Though he still wasn't sure whether she did this because she feared the person who threatened her or because she had something to hide.

Saban's secretary came into the conference room, placed before him a mug of boiling water and some pretzels, and whispered something in his ear. He said, “Good, Avi. Excellent. Excellent work. May we continue?” Avraham hadn't yet responded to Shrapstein's question regarding the possibility that the warning call was a fake. And his request to add another staff member to the investigation was temporarily postponed due to lack of manpower.

In the remainder of the meeting, Inspector Erez Eini reported that he was about to close the case of the armed robbery at the Union Bank. One of the two suspects still denied everything, but the second broke under interrogation. “This will last another day or two, no more,” he promised. And Shrapstein was appointed head of the special investigation team that would handle the assassination attempt on Shenkar Street. The criminal who was shot was known to everyone and refused to participate in the investigation. And from the questioning of eyewitnesses, all that was gleaned was that the assassin rode a gray Yamaha T-Max scooter whose license plate was covered up and wore a black T-shirt on which was a drawing of a chicken and the word “Polska.”

“What's ‘Polska'?” Saban asked, and one of the investigators on the team said, “That's the thing, we checked it. It's the word ‘Poland.' In Polish.” Saban blinked again. “Poland? The country? How many people wear a shirt like that in Israel? Just find out where people buy shirts like that and who bought one.”

At least twice during the meeting Saban asked to hear Avraham's opinion on other cases as well.

 

CHAIM SARA ENTERED AVRAHAM'S OFFICE AT
twelve thirty.

Thin, straight-backed, a bit taller than average, his face clean-shaven. He was much older than Avraham had suspected, and his hair was silvery. His clothes appeared to Avraham very old: tight brown pants with a brown leather belt and a button-down shirt whose white color had turned gray from use and washing and the edge of whose collar had lost its luster. He was fifty-seven years old, owner of a catering business. Resided on Aharonovitch Street in Holon, about two hundred yards from the place where the suitcase had been placed. It seemed to Avraham that he had already seen him before, but he couldn't recall when or where.

He phoned him at noon, and to his surprise Sara said that he could report to the station within half an hour. And something else disturbed him without knowing how to explain what it was. Sara responded to his questions with short, economical sentences. Many of them were cut off, as if he couldn't decide how to conclude them. His voice could barely be heard, and there was a tenseness in him that was especially evident in his gaze. He didn't lie, and didn't hide a thing. And only once was his answer extended and almost eloquent.

Avraham said, “You have been summoned for questioning with regard to a bomb that was placed next to the daycare on Lavon Street. I understand that your son goes to this daycare?” and Sara said, “Yes. Shalom goes there.”

He avoided asking how someone as old as Sara came to be the father of such young children, even though he wanted to.

“My name is Inspector Avraham and I am the officer in charge of the investigation. I am trying to clarify with parents of children at the daycare if they recall any unusual events, things that may have caused them fear or suspicion.” Perhaps because of his age, Avraham was convinced that Sara didn't have any close ties with other parents and that he didn't know that he was the only one, for the moment, called in for questioning. And he didn't intend to reveal to Sara what he already knew about his run-in with Chava Cohen. He waited for him to report it voluntarily.

Sara shook his head. He didn't recall any unusual events. He sat straight up in the chair, aligned with the backrest as if he were tied to it with a rope, and the palms of his hands were spread flat on his thighs.

“Do you know of any disputes between any tenants in the building and the owner of the daycare?”

He didn't know of any.

“Could you tell me, please, who takes your son to the daycare and who brings him home? You or your wife?”

Sara said, “Me now. My wife is traveling,” and Avraham wrote
wife is traveling
and made a mental note to ask him about this later on. He was looking for a woman's voice.

“Excellent. When you dropped off or picked up the child, in the days before or after the bomb was discovered, did you see a suspicious man wandering around the area, someone who drew your attention?”

The answer was “No,” after a long silence.

“Are you certain? Nothing unusual? Maybe someone who wore a hooded sweatshirt?”

Chaim Sara's skin was smooth, with no wrinkles. And the color of his teeth was yellow, but Avraham didn't smell smoke on his clothes. Even though he answered the detective's questions quietly, the older man who sat before him was tense and afraid. Avraham was about to ask him the crucial question but at the last moment decided to ease the tension first.

“Have you lived in the area for many years?”

Some time passed before Sara answered, as if he didn't know the answer. “Maybe twenty years.”

“And before this?”

“Before what?”

This was strange: in response to the simplest of all questions he mumbled and had difficulty answering.

Before he moved to Holon he resided in Nes Tziyonah.

“So, tell me a bit about the daycare and the teacher. What do you make of her?”

“The daycare session just started a few weeks ago, I still don't . . .”

Sara paused.

And Avraham waited. Until he understood that Sara wasn't about to continue. And then he asked, “Do you know if any of the parents had a dispute with her?”

“No.”

“You didn't have a dispute?”

And Sara answered this one quickly. And his answer was complete. “I had an argument with her a few days ago,” he said. He said that he and his wife thought, it appears mistakenly, that children at the daycare had hit his son. He found bruises on his body, and one day the boy returned with an open wound on his forehead that was caused when he'd fallen on a wheelbarrow. In the morning he didn't want to go to daycare, said that he was afraid. His wife spoke with the teacher and she denied everything. He went to the daycare in order to speak with the teacher and she insisted that nothing had happened, and then it seemed to him that she insinuated, in the presence of other parents, that he himself had hurt his son. He blew up at her, but it didn't come to violence, and, in any case, he knows he made a mistake.

In his imagination, Avraham tried to picture the conversation between the older man, whose speech was clipped and disciplined, and Chava Cohen. When he had interrogated her, she had raised her voice at him, to the point where he felt attacked. And she hadn't stopped lying. She lied about the threatening call, she lied about the disputes she was involved in. Sara didn't lie.

Suddenly, for the first time since the investigation was opened, Avraham directed his thoughts to the children.

From one year to three years old.

Some of them might not even be verbal yet. Did she hurt them? He couldn't say if she was capable of that, but it seemed to him she was. It wasn't for nothing that during her questioning at the daycare he was reminded of Hannah Sharabi. He tried to resist the image of the gaunt boy who appeared, against his will, in his thoughts. The thin young body that was slammed against the wall by his father, and which then lay motionless on the floor.