Hill of Secrets: An Israeli Jewish mystery novel (27 page)

I didn't reply and she asked curiously. "Well…is it true?"

"I'm really not at liberty to discuss this investigation." I looked at my mother and Evyatar, hoping they would come to my rescue, but they were silent.

"Oh!" Geula smiled like a satisfied confidant. "So it's true!"

I smiled to her. I assumed she understood my smile as agreement with her statement. I really can't control other people's thoughts and conclusions and I decided to retire to the buffet.

"I'm starving," I said. "I've hardly eaten anything since this morning."

She grabbed me by the hand and yanked me towards the food. "You should try the mini quiches, especially the sweet potato one." She handed me a plate. "This is from an excellent caterer, they do everything in these cute little bites." The buffet looked delicious.

I filled up a plate and sat down in a corner.

A few minutes later Shira joined me.

"What's up?" she asked while she gave me a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Excellent," I said with my mouth full.

"This food is amazing," she said and snatched a tiny mushroom quiche off my plate.

"Totally," I nodded, still chewing.

"Our little brother did good," she said, and winked.

"Really good."

"You're super nice today," she said sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes. I couldn't deal with this right now. "I'm just tired."

"Say, are those rumors about Yigal true?" She opened her eyes wide with curiosity.

I rolled my eyes again and she realized the question was inappropriate.

"Sorry, sorry." She put her hands up in surrender. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Where's Ayala?" I changed the subject.

"She's not coming."

"What?" My jaw dropped in amazement and a small piece of quiche fell straight from my mouth onto the lacquered marble floor. I picked it up and shoved it into a paper napkin. "How come Ayala didn't come but I had to come here half dead?"

"Ayala wasn't feeling well. She had a stomach ache."

"I had a headache but Mom didn't let me off the hook," I whined.

"When you're pregnant, you can get a pass like that."

"Very funny." I didn't even smile.

"So what do you say about our new sister-in-law?" she inquired.

"She seems nice. What do you know about the family?"

"Besides the fact that they're loaded?"

"Besides that." I smiled.

"Not too much. The father is a business man. He owns several companies. That's where the money's from. I have no idea what her mother does—I thinks she owns a clothing store. She seems like a serious character. I think our Evyatar is going to hear from her." I smiled and nodded. "She has a brother and a sister, both older than her, both married with children."

"Are they religious?" I asked.

"I think they're like Mom and Dad. They observe, but not fanatically."

"Good."

"I don't think they observe
Negiaa
—I saw Evyatar touch her in their presence."

"What? Do you think they've already done it?"

"Are you serious?" she looked at me, stunned. "Efrat is a religious girl from a good home. She's also only twenty years old. I'll bet my head that she's a virgin."

"So what's with the
Negiaa
?"

She opened her eyes wide. "As if we didn't go to the school. The fact that they don't observe
Negiaa
means they don't have a problem holding hands or giving one another a friendly hug. Maybe even a kiss, tops, but nothing beyond that."

Moshe approached us. "Shira, you have to meet Efrat's brother, I told you he looked familiar. It turns out he was in the battalion right after me." Shira left me alone and followed her husband.

I looked at Evyatar and Efrat. They stood in the middle of the living room, smiling in every direction. They had already known one another for six months, and it would be a few more months before they got married. That meant they would have known each other for almost a year when they married. It may not be long, but it's not unusual even in secular society.

But, unlike secular couples, they would only first know one another, in the biblical sense, on their wedding night. Or the night after, if they spent their first night counting checks, like most couples.

I believed, or wanted to believe, that Evyatar was a guy with a normal libido. I also hoped Efrat would be compatible. But how could they know that for sure if they were going to marry and start a home together without getting to know one another sexually?

If Dina had had a bit more sexual experience and hadn't gotten married a virgin, she eventually wouldn't have married Yigal, a man who didn't desire her and didn't satisfy her. I had no doubt that, for most couples, the desire and passion lessen with time, but the basis of it existed for everyone. Even if years later, the fire went out of it, it was once there. How could a couple that marries with no experience know if this essential part of a relationship, this basic ingredient, even existed?

Did the end justify the means, when the goal was to build a home, have kids and be like everybody else? That kind of pressure existed in secular society too—to get married and have kids, maybe at a later age, but the pressure still did exist. Among secular society, there were those who settled, who just got married so they didn't miss the train—not for love and sometimes without passion.

The fact was that the divorce rate among secular couples was higher than for the religious population. Maybe the religious formula was the right one? Statistically, it worked out better for them.

Or maybe religious society was less open to accepting a divorced couple. Dina spent years living in an emotional prison; almost twenty years with a man who didn't love or desire her and she did nothing about it because she thought it was like that for everyone.

And the truth was, everyone’s the same. None of us invented the wheel.

Most of us wanted family and friends.

Most of us wanted children.

For most couples, desire did wear off with the years.

Dina just got dealt a bad hand.

Because Yigal really wasn't like everybody else.

Wednesday, 6.3.2009

Yigal cracked after two days.

On Wednesday morning, he returned from Abu-Cabir to the station for another day of interrogation. Of course, we could have left him in the station for holding, like other people detained for interrogation, but Alon thought another night in Abu-Cabir would encourage him to start talking.

He looked terrible: unshaven, eyes red from tears, and dark circles around them from lack of sleep. He wore the blue detainee uniform that Abu-Cabir gives to anyone whose relatives don’t provide a change of clothes. Usually only homeless people get the dubious honor of wearing the detainee uniform. Yigal's family hadn't come to visit him and after two days in the same clothes, he showered and wore what he was given.

Against my will, I felt sorry for him. He seemed so defeated and miserable that for a moment his horrible acts were forgotten from my heart.

"Didn't anyone bring you any other clothes from home?" I asked him.

He shook his head, careful not to speak lest the tears burst from his eyes.

"Do you want me to arrange for someone to bring you other clothes?" I asked.

              He thought for a moment and said, almost in a whisper. "If possible."

*

I left the interrogation room. I had a feeling that Yigal was on the edge and needed a little nudge. I decided not to start the interrogation at all, not to throw accusations and questions at him – to come in peace, as they say. I called Dina. She sounded devastated. In addition to the impossibility of handling what she discovered about her husband, she had to deal with the rumor mill surrounding his arrest. I asked her why she hasn’t visited her husband and told her he had to wear the detainee uniform.

“Good,” she muttered. “Let him pay the price.”

I told her that Yigal had said nothing for two days and that if she really wanted him to pay, maybe she could help us to get Yigal talking.

It was difficult for her. On the one hand she had the basic need to protect and stand by her husband and the father of her daughters, but on the other hand, she was hurt by him: he had lied to her for years and done horrible things behind her back. She wanted to do the right thing.

A short while after I spoke to her she arrived at the station with a small bag of clothes and toiletries for Yigal. While one of the officers went through the bag’s contents, I took them into the room where the detainees usually meet with their lawyers for privacy.

They were in the room for about an hour. Dina came out puffy with tears. Yigal didn’t look any better. He was a mess, too. We transferred him to the holding cell to let him calm down.

At noon I went to the holding cell to see how he was doing.

“Hadas?” he said.

“Yes?”

“I want to talk.”

*

I set up the recording equipment in the interrogation room. I didn't want anything to go wrong. Yigal sat and watched me in silence.

After confirming his personal information for protocol, I asked, "Yes Yigal, what would you like to say?"

He didn't speak, arranged his thoughts and then said in a broken voice, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he broke into tears, "I couldn't control myself."

"What did you do Yigal?" I asked gently.

"But I didn't kill anyone, you have to believe me. I didn't even know it was him."

"Slow down, Yigal," I tried to calm him. "Who is he?"

"Meir Danilowitz, I really didn't know it was him."

"Didn't know what?"

"I didn't know he was the person who was blackmailing me."

"What do you mean?"

"I always got anonymous letters and sent cash to an unnamed postbox in Tel-Aviv."

"Can you please start at the beginning? How did the extortion begin?"

"Last summer, if I remember correctly, it was in July. I got a brown envelope at work. It said, "Personal For Yigal," so no one opened it. When I opened it, my heart sank. It was pictures of me in an embarrassing situation."

"What was in the pictures?"

"Me coming of the bushes." Meir apparently printed out screenshots from the video he had captured.

"And what's the problem with that?" I played dumb.

"A boy had come out with me…" he looked at me with a meaningful gaze.

I decided to let this matter go. We would get there eventually. "Was there also a letter?"

"Yes."

"What did it say?" I had to keep him talking.

"It said they were pictures from a video that had no two ways about it and that if I didn't want it to get to the police, I had to place fifty thousand shekels in his postbox."

"And did you?"

Yigal rolled his eyes. "You can understand that… I didn't sleep at night, I didn't know if he was bluffing, if he really had a video, what was in the video… I had nowhere to turn. He didn't leave a name or phone number, I had no one to barter with. I realized that if I didn't pay, I was in trouble, but I didn't want him to think that I was a bottomless pit, so I sent only twenty thousand and told him that's what I had."

"Did the blackmail continue? How much money did he ask for?"

"Yes. Of course it continued. I got several more of these letters and each time I only sent a portion of the money. Overall, to my estimation, he asked for almost half a million shekels and I sent about two hundred thousand. The last two times, I added a letter to the money saying that I couldn't handle it and I didn't have enough money."

"But the extortion went on."

"Right." He nodded woefully, like he was a helpless victim.

"And you didn't think of a way to avoid it?"

"Of course…I spent the last few months trying to find another workplace where I could relocate somewhere."

"And did you find one?" I knew the answer to that.

"Yes, but what good will it do me now…"

"When did you realize you were connected to Meir Danilowitz?"

"Honestly?"

"Nothing but the truth."

"I had a little sting in my heart the morning Meir killed them all and committed suicide. It just seemed strange to me that this horrible story took place in my neighborhood, of all places. I knew it was someone close to me all along."

"How come?"

"The photos were taken in our neighborhood. Whoever took them knew me, that was clear to me."

"Did you know Meir?"

"Very superficially."

"So after the murder, you thought he was your blackmailer?"

"I had a feeling, but I wasn't sure. When you came to arrest me this week, I was certain."

"Why?"

"Because you were on to me two weeks following the murder."

"Yigal," I stopped for a second, wanting to sound calm. "On to what?"

"You know…" he looked down.

"The pictures? The videos?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you got so defensive?"

He shrugged. It was clear to me that he was hiding much more than what we found.

"We found Meir's video," I told him.

He lifted his gaze and bit his lips; we both knew the videos were only the beginning.

"And what's in it?"

"Enough to convict you of statutory rape," I lied. The video wasn't clear enough.

Tears covered his cheeks once again.

"Who’s the boy in the video?" I asked carefully. With the boy's testimony we could have a solid indictment.

"Tomer Aharonovitz."

"How do you know him?"

"From synagogue. I think he was also with my little girl in kindergarten."

I thought for a moment. "So he's nine-years old?"

Yigal nodded.

"And if the video was shot a year ago…" I didn't go on. Yigal looked down.

I had to stop for a moment. It was difficult for me.

"Yigal—" he raised only his eyes and looked at me with a miserable gaze. “—what did you do to Tomer Aharonovitz that you were so frightened of?"

He bit his lips again, closed his eyes and shook his head. "I couldn't help myself. I really had no control."

"What did you do?" I asked again.

"He helped me come." He opened his eyes. He had a terrified look.

"How?"

"You know…"

"No, I don't know."

"I pulled down my pants and told him I have a magic trick…" Yigal was a well-known magician in the neighborhood.

"And then?" I needed him to say the words.

"And then he jerked me off," he said very fast.

"Did you reach a climax?"

He nodded.

"I need you to say it."

"Yes, I reached climax." 

"And how did the boy react?"

"Like they all do…" He stopped himself for a moment, realizing he had just dug himself deeper.

"How do they all react?" I asked with a quivering voice, understanding how big this story was.

"First they're curious and then they get scared."

"Why?"

"When I climaxed, it was a little difficult for me to control myself and it alarmed him."

"Were there any more kids?"

He looked at me. I sensed he wanted to talk, but didn't know how to begin. He wanted to put an end to years of living a lie.

"I was born this way," he eventually said. "I've never been attracted to women, and not adult males either, just boys."

"How did it begin?"

"When all of my friends in the Yeshiva high school started talking about girls, I sensed that something was different about me. I had no interest in the opposite sex whatsoever. For some time, I thought I was a homosexual because there was someone two grades below me that I had a crush on. I fantasized about him nonstop. Now I know that the reason he aroused me like that was because he was very boyish, he had an almost childlike appearance. At fifteen he looked like an eleven-year-old. He, unlike me, was a homosexual. When I was in twelfth grade and he was in tenth we became a couple. I have no way to describe how wonderful those months were for me. It was the most beautiful time of my life—an exciting time full of experiences."

"And then what happened?"

"I went into the army and didn't see him so much. During that time he matured, he had a growth spurt. He got taller, got hair on his body, and when I saw him naked after we hadn't slept together in months, I was really repulsed. I missed the smooth boyish body he had. At first, I thought I was just over that guy, but I soon realized I was simply attracted to children. When I was on leave, my neighbor, who was a teacher in elementary school, volunteered me to be a security escort for a class of fourth-grade boys from my settlement."

"What settlement?"

"I'm originally from Elkana, do you know it?"

"Near Shaarei Tikva, isn't it?" My mother's sister lived in Shaarei Tikva.

He seemed surprised at my familiarity with settlements across the green line and continued. "One day, there was a hike in the morning, and in the afternoon, they went to an amusement park which also had pools. The boys took off their clothes and played in the water and I was aroused like I had never been in my life. I felt amazing and horrified all at the same time. For years, I felt horrible with the fact that I'm a homosexual, and now when I realized that I was actually a full-blown pedophile, I prayed to be just a homosexual."

"And did you do anything?"

"On that trip?"

"Yes."

"No, of course not. I was paralyzed with fear."

"But at some point did you?"

He looked down. "Yes," he whispered.

"I didn't hear you."

"Yes." He lifted his eyes. "After that trip I volunteered to stay in the army base as many weekends as I could. I didn't want to go home. I didn't want to be near children and there were no children on the base. Eventually, I finished the army and I had to see children. Each time I saw a child, I became paralyzed with fear, I didn't know how I would react—I was afraid of myself. Everybody thought I was an introverted person, but actually, I imprisoned myself at home. I didn't want to face my demons. Things were different then—there was no internet. On the one hand, I didn't know who and what I was, and on the other hand, there was no available pornography for people like me. I'd get aroused by children's magazines and all sorts of pictures I'd find."

"What sort of pictures?"

"Just pictures of kids, nothing that would cause suspicion."

"Why didn't you seek therapy?"

"I didn't know who I could turn to. I was afraid I'd immediately be arrested and thrown into jail or an insane asylum."

"Why did you get married? Didn't you feel like you were misleading Dina?"