Lineup (18 page)
Right now, it was imperative that he find Nevo and see if he had a tattoo. If he’d been correct the first time and Nevo was the perp, bringing him in would solve two cases and make up for his mistakes. Then maybe he’d get a second chance. But if he found him and he didn’t have a tattoo, he’d have to catch the true rapist. He owed it to Nevo, to Adi, to Dana Aronov, and to the next victim or victims. He had a lot of debts to pay.
“HE’S
asleep,” Merav said to her ex-husband, closing the door behind her. Ziv gave her a warm smile. She’d been dreading this moment all day. On her lawyer’s instructions, she hadn’t been alone with him even once since she kicked him out of her life a year and a half ago. But that wasn’t the only reason she’d avoided any intimate contact with him. Her rage had made it unbearable for her to be anywhere near him, to look him in the eye.
And now here they were, all alone in this lovely house in the country in the middle of nowhere. They were hiding from the world because of something he’d done, and she didn’t even know what it was.
When he’d shown up outside her office and told her that Gili was in danger and they had to go away, she was shocked and frightened. She would have called the cops if Ziv hadn’t insisted they couldn’t help, and it wouldn’t get Gili out of harm’s way. No matter how angry she was with him, she knew he’d never hurt Gili. She’d refrained from calling her parents and her brother in case it might put them at risk too. Besides, she was feeling so confused and vulnerable, she wasn’t up to listening to their lectures and advice.
In the end, she’d decided to take Ziv’s suggestion and call Orit. All their friends gathered in Orit’s capacious backyard every year for a carnival-like Independence Day picnic, and Merav was hoping she’d be able to put them up for a few days. She caught her two hours before she had to leave for the airport. The family was going on a ski vacation in Europe. Without asking a single question, Orit invited her to use the house in their absence. She’d leave the key under the grill in the backyard.
As soon as she hung up and returned to the office, Merav felt all her strength deserting her. The thought of what awaited her—dealing with Gili, who made a fuss over any change in his routine, packing for the two of them, driving for four hours. It was too much for her to cope with on her own. Without giving herself time to change her mind, her fingers automatically tapped in the number she’d dialed so infrequently in recent months.
THEY
barely exchanged a word the whole drive. Ziv seemed preoccupied, worried. When he got in the car, he told her to call her parents and Gili’s preschool teacher and inform them that they were going away for a few days and would be out of reach. She didn’t like the way he was ordering her around. Several times she almost told him to turn the car around and take her home. But in the end she held her peace. She was too scared, and anyway she didn’t know enough about the danger they were in to be able make any rational decisions. But mainly she did it for Gili. He was thrilled to be with his father, had literally leaped into his arms the moment he saw him, and spent the whole ride singing silly songs and trying to make them laugh. His joy at this supposed family vacation tugged at her heartstrings. For a long time she’d been making a constant effort not to acknowledge how much he missed Ziv, not to admit to herself how much she missed him.
“I’m usually tearing my hair out by the time he falls asleep. I can’t remember the last time he dropped off so quickly.” Ziv followed her into the living room. She chose an armchair, just to be on the safe side.
“He was worn out. All that singing and jumping around,” he said, and then fell silent.
They sat in tense silence. Both of them had focused on Gili all day, taking care to avoid each other’s eyes, to exchange as few words as possible, functioning like two factory hands working side by side on an assembly line. Only once, when he complimented her on the salad she threw together from the vegetables they bought on the way, did she give him a tentative smile before looking away.
A feral wailing broke the silence, startling her.
“It’s just a jackal,” he said with a smile, telling her what she herself knew.
Should she return the smile? She had so many questions to ask him, but she was afraid that if they started talking she’d lose her temper and the temporary truce between them would come to an end. She was too drained to fight with him.
“I’m tired too,” she said, rising and faking a wide yawn. She had to put a stop to the unexpected intimacy that had sprung up between them. It was making her strangely uneasy.
“I’ll help you make the bed,” he said, getting up.
She was about to tell him to stay where he was, that she could manage on her own, but instead she smiled. “Thank you,” she said.
They went into the master bedroom and began pulling off the soiled sheets.
“Help me fold them up. I’ll do a laundry tomorrow,” she said from across the wide bed. They worked quickly in synchronized movements. After all, they’d done this an infinite number of times before.
Holding two corners of the blanket cover, he stepped toward her and then stood still, gazing into her eyes. His face was very close. She felt her heart racing as she breathed in his familiar scent. Her body’s response took her by surprise, making her feel awkward. Quickly, she reached down for the bottom corners, folded the cover in half, and took it from him.
Without a word, she held out the clean bedding. When they were together, they used to change the sheets every other Saturday night when he got home from his basketball game. They had an ongoing rivalry to see who’d complete their side of the bed first. Now, even though they were working in silence and barely looking at each other, Merav followed his progress out of the corner of her eye and knew he was doing the same. She finished first and couldn’t resist declaring her victory: “Done!”
“You gave me the tougher pillow,” he said with a grin, and she laughed, reminded of his customary excuse. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing she was: this is the point when we fall onto the clean, fresh-smelling sheets and make love. Sex with Ziv was wonderful. No other man she’d ever been with had pleasured her so deeply, had been so attentive to her needs and knew how to satisfy them, had even cared about satisfying them.
She moved farther away from him. What was happening to her? How could she be so quick to forget what he’d done?
“Okay,” she said, hoping he would take the hint. The desire he aroused in her was disconcerting. You haven’t had sex in a long time, she reminded herself, trying to find an excuse for the sudden hunger for his touch. And maybe I’m just scared, she thought.
Ziv stayed where he was. “If you’re not too tired, I’d like to talk to you,” he said.
Without her asking, he told her in detail about the past few months. Not mentioning any names—“the less you know, the safer you’ll be,” he said—he related how he’d worked for the mob—“just a driver, nothing illegal”—and then found out they actually wanted him for the skills he’d acquired as a sapper in the army. Merav’s initial reaction was shock, mainly because of his naïveté, but as the story unfolded she found herself taking pity on him, mainly because of his naïveté. She knew she should be angry at him for jeopardizing Gili’s safety, and her own, but she couldn’t help wondering if the divorce hadn’t been more devastating for him than she thought. After all, she and Gili were the only family he had.
“What happens now?” she asked when he was done.
Ziv shrugged. “I’m hoping in a couple of days they’ll see the cops don’t come looking for them, and then they’ll know I kept my mouth shut and they’ll leave us alone.”
She wrapped her arms around her chest, either because of the cold or her fear; she wasn’t sure herself.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.
Merav didn’t respond. What happens if they don’t leave us alone, she thought, standing up abruptly. “Do you want me to help you make up a bed in one of the other rooms?” she asked.
“Thanks. I’ll manage,” he said, rising.
They stood facing each other. She knew she should turn around, go into the bedroom, and close the door. She’d been through a lot in the past twenty-four hours. She couldn’t afford to do anything she might regret later. But despite what her brain was telling her, she remained where she was.
She could deny it as much as she liked, but it would still be true—she wanted him. He had rekindled the flame of passion that had been extinguished by the divorce and a number of forgettable experiences with other men since then.
And she knew he wanted her too. She could see it in his eyes. After all, she knew him very well. But neither one of them moved, both too afraid or too embarrassed to do anything about it.
With a deep breath, Merav took a step forward, silently closing the gap between them. Her body quivered with excitement as he reached his arm around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss.
SUPERINTENDENT
Navon was in his office trying to ignore the headline in
Haaretz
on the desk in front of him. It screamed of senior officers close to the chief of police being rewarded for their loyalty with trips abroad to bogus training courses and staying at five-star hotels at the taxpayers’ expense. The item below named names and cited specific cities, hotels, and figures. He couldn’t say he was surprised, not even by the names of the officers involved, many of whom were attached to his district. It had been a long time since he himself had been sent overseas or enjoyed the luxuries afforded to those with friends in high places. It wasn’t for lack of trying. He’d done his best to win favor with the brass, but something had always gotten in the way. There were too many fuckups under his command, too many mistakes that made their way into the press. And there were complaints from subordinates as well: old-timers who groused about the lack of authorized overtime, young upstarts who felt they weren’t moving up the ladder fast enough.
Just recently he’d made an example of a highly respected detective in order to demonstrate his determination to make room in the higher ranks for younger cops and send the message that on his watch you paid for your mistakes no matter who you were. But meanwhile, the rapist had struck again, the investigation was going nowhere, and he had the press on his back.
Anonymous sources were quoted as demanding that the chief of police be asked to tender his resignation. But Navon didn’t feel like gloating. He was familiar enough with politics in the force to know that when the chief of police was in a tight spot, the officers under him were going to feel the pinch.
Navon glanced at his watch. Nine thirty. Maybe the anxiety that had been building in him ever since he heard the news on the radio was unwarranted.
But the minute he headed out for yet another briefing, hoping the tidal wave had passed him by, his assistant informed him that the district commander wanted to speak to him urgently. Even before he picked up the phone, he knew his instincts had been spot on.
“We need an arrest,” his superior barked, not wasting words.
Navon breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn’t that bad. Normal procedure: you haul in some notorious bad guy, put on a show for the media, and then let him go. The crime syndicates knew the drill. They’d keep their heads down when he was released. If anyone said anything, you blamed the legal system for putting him back on the street and not letting the cops do their job. Yes, he was very familiar with office politics.
“Anyone in particular?” he asked, making an effort not to let any hint of sarcasm seep into his voice.
“We were thinking of Shimon Faro.”
“No problem. I’ll get it done today,” Navon said. He almost added, “in time for the evening news,” before thinking better of it. The chief of police needed a story that would push the corruption scandal to the end of the newscast or, even better, leave no time for it at all. He’d been tasked with the dirty work.
“One more thing,” his superior said, clearing his throat. “We want a real arrest, not a catch and release.”
Navon kept silent. His stomach was churning. His relief had been premature; he wasn’t going to be let off so easy.
“You’ve got an informant in his organization, right?” the district commander said when he got no response. It was more a statement than a question.
Navon held the receiver to his chest and roundly cursed the district commander and the shit he was making him eat.
“He’s not ready, Ilan. We’ll lose him if we use him now. Faro’s arrest will blow up in our face.”
Navon’s attempt at persuasion was met with silence. He knew his boss was just as unhappy about the situation as he was. Just like him, he was only following orders.
“The creep has been stringing you along for months. It’s time to see if he can deliver,” he said finally.
“He can deliver, and he will, but not yet. We need more time to convince him to switch loyalties. You know how these things work . . .”
The district commander cut him off. “Don’t be such a pessimist, Moshe. He might surprise you and sing like a canary.”
Navon didn’t answer. He was enraged by the idea that months of careful planning would be going down the drain, that his cops would have to see all their hard work sacrificed for a mere photo op. Nothing would come of bringing Faro in now. Their informant wasn’t ready. The arrest would spook him and he’d refuse to cooperate. They’d lose him for good.
“You still with me, Moshe?”
“I’m here.” Navon decided there was no point in prolonging the conversation. The order had come down from above, and neither he nor the district commander could do anything about it. In view of the latest turn of events, it was in his best interest to appear to be a team player, not another thorn in their side.
DAVID
Meshulam was following Faro, making sure to keep two cars between them. That’s how they always did it. Faro went first, and Meshulam had his back. He still felt miserable for not telling Faro how he’d gotten the idea to plant the bomb on Louis Marshall Street and recruited Nevo to do it. He never lied to Faro, never kept any secrets from him, never dreamed of betraying his trust. He owed the boss so much! But he didn’t see any reason to upset him for no good reason. Maybe at first, when he thought Nevo had squealed. His suspicions were confirmed when the motherfucker ran.
The fact that the bitch’s car had disappeared was another strike against him. He’d called Michael in the Department of Motor Vehicles. The guy owed Faro a big favor. But nothing showed up on the DMV computers. She hadn’t gotten a ticket, driven through a toll booth—nothing. Gone. He couldn’t get his head around it. He went back to her house again and again, but the car wasn’t there. Then yesterday he’d seen her taking a cab to work. The bitch was still out there, free as a bird. It made his blood boil.
But days went by and nothing happened. No cops. Zilch. If he was right and Nevo had ratted them out, the whole fucking police force would have come down on them by now. His cell phone rang. Faro’s driver told them they were stopping at Nisim’s shawarma place up ahead. “No problem,” he said. He could do with a good meal.
Maybe Nevo had done him a favor by disappearing. He’d been planning to take him to the warehouse and finish him off right then and there. Nevo wasn’t a bad guy. The rape charge was a crock. He’d gotten off easy, but now he had a rap sheet. That meant the bastards had a free pass to harass him for the rest of his life. He heard on the news they were looking to pull him in for another rape. When those motherfuckers got their claws into you, they never let go.
Faro’s car pulled up in front of the restaurant. He waited for Sammy to climb out and get their lunch. His too. He didn’t have to ask. He didn’t even have to tell him how he liked it. Sammy knew. Faro and his guys were family.
Meshulam stopped a safe distance from Faro. It was starting to rain. He switched on the windshield wipers and listened to Shlomi Saranga singing, “All the different words, just killing time, all the years of waiting, and what do I have.” Maybe he was right. Like Faro said, maybe it was time to start thinking about settling down. He didn’t have anyone special in his life. To be honest, there’d never been anyone special. The wounds of the past hadn’t healed, even though it was a long time ago.
His musing was interrupted by the sound of sirens behind him. They came one after another, until the street was filled with a whole fleet of cop cars. He’d never seen so many in one place at one time. He straightened up in the seat. Something bad was going down. The squad cars surrounded Faro’s ride from all sides. He was aching to get out and help the boss, but he stayed where he was, his knuckles going white on the steering wheel. Faro would be mad if he showed himself, and he’d be right to be mad.
A cop tapped on the door of the black Mercedes and the window was rolled down. Meshulam couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he saw the cop gesturing for Faro to get out of the car. The lack of respect he was showing the boss, it made him see red. It felt like a slap in his own face.
Shit. They stopped here all the time. He told Faro it was too risky. But the boss liked Nisim’s shawarma.
Faro stepped out of the car. The cop spun him around and cuffed him. Meshulam could feel his blood rising. He wanted to pop the motherfucker right between the eyes. Right here, right now. He didn’t give a shit what it cost him.
He slammed his fist into the dashboard, silencing the music. A stampede of TV cameramen and press photographers was rushing at Faro like a herd of wild animals, like cannibals. Faro was used to being the focus of media attention, but this time Meshulam saw him turn away from the cameras that were clicking and flashing around him. It looked like everybody had gotten word that the arrest was going down. Everybody, that is, except them.
The cop led Faro to a squad car. Just before he got in, he looked straight at Meshulam. A knife went through his heart.
Meshulam sat there for a long time after the street had emptied out, compulsively punching the steering wheel and cursing under his breath. Faro’d been arrested before. The cops picked him up periodically just to flex their muscles, to show them who was in charge. But he’d never seen anything like this media circus before.
His thoughts turned to the expression on Faro’s face. He’d looked flustered, as if he also sensed there was something different about this arrest, as if he could tell it wasn’t just for show. An appalling idea suddenly formed in Meshulam’s mind. Was it possible the whole thing with Nevo was part of a sting operation? He should have known something wasn’t right when he couldn’t find the bitch’s car. The cops had been biding their time, waiting to pounce on them the moment they were confident Nevo hadn’t squealed and they let their guard down.
