Asylum City (22 page)

YARIV
was totally absorbed in preparing for a hearing tomorrow in district court. When his mind was on his work, everything else faded into the background. There was no greater rush than arming himself for a legal battle and looking forward to another win.

A knock on the door forced him to raise his eyes from the stack of papers on his desk. Galit Lavie was standing in the doorway. Beside her was a petite woman who looked vaguely familiar.

“Let me introduce you. This is Inspector Anat Nachmias, the acting head of Special Investigations. She's the lead detective on the Michal Poleg case,” Lavie said as she walked in.

Now Yariv remembered where he'd seen her before. He gazed at the two women in surprise. He hadn't been expecting this visit.

“I know you have an interest in the case,” Lavie said with a fake smile. “Anat was just filling me in. I thought you might like to talk to her.” Yariv cursed her under his breath. Oh, how he hated that woman.

“Actually, there are a couple of questions I'd like to ask you. Can you spare me a few minutes?”

Slender, with a head of unrestrained curls, Nachmias looked to be around his age, maybe a little younger. Yariv knew from the days when he was working criminal cases that the ladies who appeared the most innocent were sometimes the most lethal.

“What do you need?” he asked, keeping his expression as neutral as possible.

“I understand you were in a relationship with Michal,” the detective began.

Yariv remained silent, not taking the bait. If he wanted to make it safely through the ambush Lavie had laid for him, he had to stay calm. Kobi had predicted the cops would get to him sooner or later.

“I'll leave you to it,” Lavie said, turning to go. This time there was no disguising the malice in her smile. How dare she set a trap for him? He should have known she wouldn't turn a blind eye when she found out he'd pumped her intern for information. Now she was getting even.

“May I?” Nachmias asked, pointing to a chair.

“To tell the truth, I'm very busy. I've got a hearing tomorrow. Maybe some other time?”

“I only need a couple of minutes. I promise I won't take up too much of your time,” she said, sitting down without waiting for an invitation.

Yariv looked at her in silence. Her allegedly spontaneous visit was making him nervous. Why was she here? Did they know something? If I were a suspect, they'd bring me in, he said to himself in an effort to calm his nerves. The arrest of an assistant state attorney would make a great photo op. The cops wouldn't want to pass up such an opportunity. He knew how it worked.

“About Michal Poleg. I understand you knew her.”

“Yes, a long time ago . . . We were together for a while. It didn't work out. We both knew it was time to call it quits,” Yariv said, clearing his throat.

“I'm getting married in two months,” he went on quickly, wanting to make it clear he wasn't still carrying a torch for Michal.

“Congratulations,” Nachmias said with a warm smile.

He'd had another fight with Inbar last night. In the end he'd shouted that he was sick of “her” wedding and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

“I understand she recently filed a complaint against you,” Nachmias went on.

Yariv felt his face turn red. But he was ready.

He sat up straighter in his chair and started reeling off the response he'd worked out with Kobi: ideological differences, opposite ends of the political spectrum, groundless complaint, full backing of the State Attorney.

Nachmias didn't seem convinced. “She made very harsh allegations. Concealing the legal opinion of the Foreign Ministry. That's a very serious . . .”

“Stop right there! I never saw the legal opinion she claimed I concealed, and I find your insinuations offensive.” Yariv had to make an effort to keep his voice steady.

The detective remained silent.

“It's all in my response to the Bar Association. That legal opinion, if it exists at all, never crossed my desk.” Yariv had been in a rush to submit his response, positive it would put an end to the whole affair. It would be filed away and forgotten, together with Michal's complaint. That was a mistake. He should have squared it with Regev first, told him what he planned to say. After all, he showed the position paper to Regev as soon as he got it, and it was the politician who suggested he make it disappear. Now he had to be sure they got their stories straight.

Nachmias gave him a skeptical look that was very unsettling. Did she know something he didn't? He had to project confidence, to show her he was in control, that she wasn't getting to him.

“Inspector Nachmias,” he said, following Kobi's notes and looking straight at her, “if you're asking if there was anything personal between me and Michal Poleg after all this time, the answer is no. We were in a relationship a few years ago. It ended. I moved on. So did she.”

“Nevertheless, you went to Galit's intern to find out about the case,” she said evenly. It was clear that nothing he'd said had made any impression on her.

“I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this. And I don't like what you're implying,” Yariv answered, raising his voice.

“I'd just like to know why you were so interested in our investigation, that's all,” Nachmias said in the serene tone that grated on his nerves.

“Like I told Ms. Lavie, I shouldn't have spoken to her intern. It was mere curiosity, that's all. I'm sorry. But since we were close once, I wanted . . . well, you can understand.” Yariv hated having to apologize to the cop.

They sat across from each other in silence. It seemed to Yariv that she was waiting for him to say something, but he didn't know what.

“As for the complaint, it was rubbish,” he said, breaking the silence. “I didn't give it the time of day. Unfortunately, people are always filing bullshit complaints against us.”

Nachmias still didn't respond.

“You're a cop, you know that. People like to complain. They get the idea they're being persecuted,” Yariv went on, trying to engage her with a smile.

“Have any complaints been filed against you before?” the detective asked, not returning the smile.

“You have to understand. Complaints against attorneys are almost always dismissed. It happens all the time.” Yariv realized she had put him on the defensive.

“We're not talking about other complaints,” she reminded him.

“You're right, Inspector Nachmias. We're talking about one ridiculous complaint I didn't lose any sleep over,” he retorted.

Yariv smiled to himself. That took the wind out of her sails. He debated whether to deliver one of Regev's pet monologues about “enemies of the state” and “Israelis filled with self-hatred” but decided against it. She didn't need him to spell it out for her.

“When was the last time you saw Michal?” Nachmias fired at him.

Yariv had an answer ready. “Let me see, I'm trying to remember . . . I'm not sure. We lived in the same neighborhood. We ran into each other in the supermarket from time to time, on the street. It's a small world, you know. . . . It must have been a few weeks ago, maybe a few months. . . . I can't be sure,” Yariv said just as he'd practiced, including the hesitations. Only the guilty have a clear memory of every detail, Kobi had reminded him when he coached him.

“Were you in her apartment recently?” the detective asked, her face totally expressionless.

“No,” Yariv answered quickly. She was getting too close. “I really don't understand why you're asking me these questions.” Kobi had advised him to remain on the offensive. “I'm willing to do whatever I can to help, but with all due respect, you can't just come in here and . . .”

“Where were you the night Michal was killed?” Nachmias cut in, leaning closer.

“I was in a bar with a friend.” Yariv made an effort to sound unconcerned by the question.

Nachmias pulled out a pad and pen, signaling that she wanted more details.

“My fiancée was in Eilat, so I went out for a drink with a friend, Kobi Etkin. . . . You might know him,” he went on as the detective took notes.

“The defense attorney?” she asked, raising her head from her pad.

Yariv nodded.

“When did you leave the bar?”

“I don't know . . . twelve thirty, something like that,” he said reluctantly.

“Where did you go after that?”

“I went home. Alone.”

Nachmias wrote something down before looking back up at him.

“I'm sorry, Inspector Nachmias, but I'm really . . . I have to be in court tomorrow. I think we're done here,” Yariv said, attempting to put a swagger in his voice.

“Yes, of course,” the detective said, rising.

Yariv walked her out, anxious to make sure she left.

“I see you hurt yourself,” Nachmias said in the doorway, nodding toward the fading bruises under his eyes.

“Yes, I fell off my bike,” Yariv responded with another answer he had prepared in advance.

“When?”

“On the way to work . . . it was a stupid accident.”

“I hope it goes away by the wedding,” Nachmias said.

ITAI
looked out at the commotion beyond his office door, hoping it would die down soon. Every few minutes he checked his watch. He'd left Dahlia convinced he knew why Michal was murdered and who was responsible. Even more important, he was sure he knew how to find her killer.

He was waiting impatiently for a chance to talk with Arami. As it turned out, he didn't have to wait long.

“I need your help, Itai,” Arami said, walking into his office. “I need you to tell Gabriel that his sister, Liddie, is safe and sound. Everything's fine. I tried to tell him myself but they wouldn't let me in.”

Itai considered feigning surprise in the hope of getting more out of Arami, but he realized it wouldn't work.

“I know. Dahlia told me you brought her to the shelter.” He got up and went to stand next to Arami. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about it.”

ARAMI
sat across from Itai with a look of innocence on his face. He claimed that Gabriel paid for Liddie's release, but he didn't know who he gave the money to or how much he paid him. Gabriel arranged it all himself before turning himself in, including the time and place of Liddie's release. He asked Arami to take care of Liddie for him, and that's what he did. That's all he knew.

There was no doubt in Itai's mind that Arami was lying. When he first started working for OMA, Itai was hurt every time the enormous efforts he invested in helping an asylum seeker were rewarded with fairy tales. Over time, he learned to take it in stride, or at least not to take it personally. The people he was charged with aiding weren't angels, and yes, sometimes they lied.

But this time was different. Itai was infuriated with Arami. It wasn't only because they'd known each other a long time and he paid his salary, or because Arami was a grown man with a wife and kids who should know better. He was infuriated with him because of what was hanging in the balance. He expected more of him.

“Did you see the man who left her in the street?” Itai wasn't going to let Arami off the hook so easily.

“Someone pulled her out of the car and drove away,” Arami said with a shrug.

“And you don't know who it was?”

“No. Gabriel told me where to go and when to be there, and I did what he said.”

“Where did Gabriel get the money?” Itai was starting to lose his temper.

Arami looked away. “People in the community are always lending each other money. Gabriel was very well liked. I gave him a little, too, what I could,” he said finally.

Itai knew the asylum seekers helped each other out, but it was just petty cash. They fought a daily battle for survival and sent the little they had left back home to their families. They wouldn't be able to come up with the kind of money Gabriel needed to ransom his sister. They were probably talking tens of thousands of shekels. And most of the others in the community were being threatened and squeezed for money themselves.

“Why did Gabriel say he killed Michal?” Itai was hoping to break through the wall of silence that Arami had thrown up, but the interpreter only shrugged his shoulders again. “Do you believe he killed her?” he persisted.

Silence.

“Help me out here, Arami. We're talking about Gabriel and Michal. Does it make sense to you that he killed her?” Itai asked, hoping to elicit an emotional reaction.

Arami just sat there with a blank look in his eyes.

“There's a restaurant on Fein Street. I think there's some kind of illegal activity going on there. Maybe Michal was on to them,” he said, trying a different approach in an attempt to get a response from Arami.

Arami remained silent.

“I went there myself. I tried to find out what was going on,” Itai continued. “All I got for my trouble was a beating.”

“You ought to be more careful, Itai,” Arami said, getting up.

“Talk to me, Arami. Tell me what you know,” Itai begged. “I think the people in that restaurant, or whoever they work for, I think they killed Michal because she was poking her nose in their business.”

“I'm sorry,” Arami said, turning and walking out of the office.

ITAI
had been desperate to get Arami to talk. He'd even entertained the fantasy that he'd go with him to that detective, Anat Nachmias, and Arami would tell her what he knew. Maybe then the cops would finally understand that they had the wrong man, that they had to look elsewhere to find Michal's killer.

Gabriel was lying in order to save his sister. Arami knew more than he was saying, but he wouldn't break his promise to Gabriel and divulge his secret, certainly not to Itai. He learned a long time ago that it didn't matter how much he went to bat for them, the asylum seekers would never really trust him. They'd been through hell to get here. They'd been cheated, abused, betrayed. After that, it was hard for them to trust anybody except one of their own. In their eyes, he'd always be a white man. That was one of the things Michal found so frustrating. She couldn't come to terms with it.