Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest (20 page)

The disk was inside, undamaged. That was a
relief, for while he knew the final version of this software, now
over eight years old, would require considerable modification, at
least he would not have to write new code from scratch. He also
knew that Father Benoit, who now possessed a copy installed on his
Dell laptop abandoned at St. George, would face the same need to
update.

Tim's next mission was more mundane. Though
his family suffered from little or no heart disease, a physician in
Chicago had recommended that as insurance he take a statin drug to
lower his blood cholesterol. Before departing for Israel, he had
purchased a half-year's supply of Lipitor. Part of this
prescription he stored in a transparent orange bottle on the
bathroom countertop, where it would remind him to take a pill each
night before bed. It came as no surprise that this bottle was not
where he had left it, but then nothing in the bathroom was. He
discovered it on the floor underneath several hand towels. Almost
touching the Lipitor was his Gillette razor, the same instrument he
had used with replacement blades for more than ten years.

From a pile of his clothing scattered over
the bed and floor, he quickly selected a sweatshirt, two T-shirts,
a pair of short pants and his favorite pair of tennis shoes.
Finally, from the office area, he grabbed an extra pair of reading
glasses that might prove useful, given the extensive work facing
him.

***

Back in Jerusalem by 1225 hours the next
afternoon, Gabby took a taxi from the Central Bus Station to her
apartment, expecting to find that intruders had been there the
previous afternoon. While climbing the stairs, she was met by
voices through the open door. Once in the vestibule, the sight of
the ransacked apartment had a similar effect on her that it had on
Tim Matternly, only four hours before.

She managed to step over a narrow table
usually placed beside the front door for keys and letters. A
uniformed police officer was navigating a path through a sea of
household possessions, papers, furniture, pillows that had found
new resting places on the floor.

"
Mah yesh
, What's
going on here? she growled at the officer in Hebrew.

The sergeant threw up his hands as if to say,
'Don't blame us for this mess, Lady.' He replied, "We just got here
to take you in for questioning, and found the front door unlocked.
I don't know what this is all about, but I must ask you to
accompany us to our station. We can sort this thing out later.
Major Zabronski wants to ask questions about yesterday. I just
called him to report you weren't here, but when I told him what we
had found, he said he'd be over shortly and that was about twenty
minutes ago."

"What about yesterday?" she asked.

The officer responded. "You were seen in Mea
She'arim. I know he's interested in something that happened at the
Afukim bakery on Ein Yaakov Street."

On several occasions, Itamar and Zabronski
had cautioned her about mafia criminals. Had she mistaken the
heavily bearded man with the garlicky breath in the bakery for a
criminal, not the police? But if she had been followed by the
police, then who were the Russian speaking goons who had abducted
her?

Gabby felt an urge to abandon her Hasidic
garments before Zvi Zabronski arrived, but there were two
additional officers searching articles strewn on the floor and she
could find no privacy. She knew it would look suspicious to be in
Hasidic dress, but then it was clear the police already knew about
her forays into the Orthodox district. She also needed a shower,
but that too would have to wait for a quieter moment.

Zvi Zabronski arrived twelve minutes later,
flashed an accusatory look at Gabby's dress, then bolted over a
pile of books into the apartment's hallway. "Quite a mess," he
declared after a preliminary survey. "Most criminals who break in
know what they're looking for. Throwing things around only makes
their job more difficult and gives the impression they're out of
control. And no criminal wants to let the police know he's lost it.
Russians are different; they just don't give a shit."

"Why Russians?" Gabby asked, once again
wondering how she might tell about being abducted without revealing
that she had seen Tim.

"They obviously think Professor Matternly's
got something they want. Any ideas?"

"Nothing to my knowledge. He hasn't been home
since the affair at Qumran. Why would he want to leave anything
valuable in an obvious place?"

"He could have given it to you to hide."

She thought quickly. "True, if we were in
contact, which we aren't."

"Isn't that why you've been going to Mea
She'arim? Don't tell me you went there for spiritual
enlightenment."
 She hesitated before repeating the story she had
told her abductors. "I'm a Reform rabbi and like to get close to
the Orthodox roots of my past."

"How touching. But that won't wash. You
didn't need to dress in Hasidic clothes for that. And when you were
there, you didn't enter a
shul
or
synagogue. I think you met with Matternly, who's probably also
masquerading as a Hasid. You're protecting him, for all I know,
conspiring to steal state property. If you try that bullshit story
once arraigned, you'll be in more trouble than you already are. Why
not just tell me what these guys were looking for?"

She surveyed the disorder, thinking that it
would take a lot of time to discover what it was. Not a
particularly tidy individual in her own right, she might not even
notice. "If I told you I haven't the slightest clue, you wouldn't
believe me."

"No, I wouldn't," the major answered.
"There's the possibility this place was ransacked to make a
statement."

"A statement?" Gabby asked, voicing her
incredulity. "To whom?"

"You or Professor Matternly."

"And what message would that be?"

"Usually when a criminal breaks in like this
he's saying, 'Look at me. I can violate you whenever I want. Dr.
Arad is on his way over here now. You can explain to him your trips
to Mea She'arim. In the meantime, I'm going to bring people to take
photographs and do fingerprinting. Routine police stuff, but they
might find a clue or two."

"Can I change my clothes?"

"No. I want Arad to see you dressed as you
are."

By the scowl on Itamar's face, Gabby sensed she had
lost both his patience and his good will. After a lengthy survey of
her apartment, he returned to address her in the vestibule. "You
just don't get it, do you? Tim Matternly is in big trouble and
you're protecting him. From what Zvi has told me about your trips
to Mea She'arim, I now believe you know where he is."

"I don't," she answered in a sharp, forceful
voice.

"I wish I could believe you. When a woman
protects her man, we usually consider that as an act of love and
loyalty. But when she harbors a criminal, that's another story.
When she withholds vital information from a criminal investigation,
that's outright obstruction of justice, both here and in the
States. Why didn't you tell me you were going to meet Tim?"

She said nothing, fearing anything she might
say would reveal more than she wanted.

He drove a hand through arrant strands of
wavy graying hair, settling them back against the sides of his
head. "I'm afraid I misjudged you, Rabbi Lewyn. You conned me into
believing we had an understanding, which clearly we didn't. You
pretended to help me. But you've been going behind my back. I could
have Zabronski arrest you on suspicion of theft. And I'm angry
enough to do it. But I'm still hoping you'll tell me where Tim is
first."

"I don't know."

"That's a generic, fit-all answer. Does that
mean you don't know exactly where Tim is at this very moment? Let's
get more specific. Is he in Israel now?"

"Yes, I believe he is."

"How about in Jerusalem?"

She paused again, trying to marshal her wits
and not utter a falsehood that might later incriminate her. "Yes, I
believe he's in Jerusalem."

"In Mea She'arim?"

"Yes," she said, almost in a whisper.

"Have you seen him?"

She hesitated before lying, "No."
"Any idea
where we should begin searching in Mea She'arim?"

Thinking of the bakery on Ein Yaakov Street,
she compounded the first lie with another. "No."

"I'm going to recommend that Zabronski hold
off arresting you. But you can't remain alone in this apartment
until we get this matter sorted out."

"What does that mean?"

"It's too dangerous. Do you have friends to
stay with in Jerusalem?" 
 She let her eyes fall to some clothing
thrown on the floor. "Many, but I haven't contacted them. How could
I explain what's going on? I can't lie to old friends."

"I'm a new friend and you don't seem to have
trouble lying to me," he said sarcastically. He stepped closer and,
for an instant, softened his tone, "I've been thinking about
inviting you to stay with me. I've got a large home in Katamon. The
empty bedrooms cry out for occupants. But, now that Major Zabronski
and I are convinced you're helping Matternly, I don't think that
would be a good idea… for you or for me."

"A nice invitation. Thank you anyway. I'll be
all right here."

The forensic team photographed and fingerprinted
each room in the apartment. A police inspector asked Gabby
questions, writing everything down in a handheld PDA, connected
wirelessly to an off-site server. He flashed on the screen a series
of headshots of potential intruders for Gabby to identify, just in
case she might have noticed someone lurking on the street. The
faces looked Eastern European. None registered.

"I'd be willing to help you put this place
back in order," Itamar said, in a softer tone, almost as a peace
offering. "I'm curious about what the intruders were looking
for."

"I haven't the foggiest idea."

"Maybe when you start putting this back into
place, it will jog your memory."

"Thanks, but I don't need your help. I'm
perfectly capable of cleaning up myself."

"No argument there, Gabrielle. I'm not
certain I understand you these days, but I'll be willing to bet
you'd like a shower and to get out of those clothes. I'll be back
this evening, after dinner."

Neither Gabby nor Itamar believed it could be
accomplished in one night, no matter how late they worked. Itamar
started in the kitchen. So much had been thrown onto the floor that
it was difficult to decide where to shelve dishes that had not
shattered. Broken shards disappeared into a black plastic garbage
bag. Except for a few dents, the pots and pans had survived
intact.

Gabby began in the bathroom, restoring to
their previous locations personal hygiene items, bottles of
shampoo, combs and brushes, along with her hair dryer. Towels and
washcloths needed to be refolded and returned to a shelf below the
washbasin. With this task accomplished, she decided to help Itamar
in the kitchen and had stepped from the bathroom only to stop short
in her tracks. He glanced over at her seemingly lost in thought.
Rather than intrude, he finished gathering several Pyrex mixing
bowls.

"What's up?" he said after she had remained
immobile and in the same state of distraction for more than a
minute.

"Tim's razor. The one with three blades. I
know I saw it on the countertop two nights ago because I was
determined not to touch anything. But I've put everything back and
the razor wasn't on the floor, or any place else."

"Are you sure?"
 "I wouldn't be if I hadn't
vowed to keep my hands off his things. You can see the bathroom is
cramped and we fight bitterly when one of us moves something
essential. You don't want to search for your toothbrush in the
morning when you're in a rush. To Tim, a bathroom is as sacred as a
sanctuary is to me."

Itamar rose from his kneeling position and
stepped over to her. "If you're right, does this mean what I think
it does?"

"Tim's been here."

"And ransacked his own apartment? Why?"
 She
thought about that for a moment, shaking her head until she said,
"Maybe he came after the hooligans trashed this place. That's a
possibility. I'm not saying it's true, but it's a possibility.
Isn't it?"

Itamar was slow and pensive. "Of course.
Anything else missing?"

She turned to look again, with Itamar on her
heels. There was barely space in front of the washbasin, so they
stood close together, looking through the bathroom door. She was
aware of his proximity and ought to have stepped away, but didn't.
Instead, she concentrated on the bathroom, reviving a mental image
of Tim's possessions. She ticked them off in her mind while
pointing with her index finger at specific locations on the
countertop. Everything seemed to be in place, yet the balance of
items felt wrong. What was missing eluded her until her finger
pointed to an empty space near the corner. "Tim's anti-cholesterol
medication!" she blurted out. "That's it. I don't see the orange
bottle with his Lipitor. He must have taken it along with his
razor."

"That's what Zvi Zabronski said, remember?
People on the run return home for necessities. So now you can't
pretend about Tim anymore. It's time for you to tell me what you
know, for your own welfare, if not for his."

Together they stepped away from the bathroom
and weaved a circuitous route through the mess back toward the
kitchen.

"Tell me the truth because I have a
confession to make to you," Itamar said.

"I've already told you everything," she said.
"What confession, nu?"

He hesitated before saying, "When we were
standing close together outside the bathroom I was wishing you
weren't involved with Tim. There's a part of me, Gabrielle, that
hopes he won't show up. Marriage was good for me. I was never
attracted to other men's wives, or their girlfriends. That may not
be common with Israeli men, but then it isn't rare either. Since
Becky died, no woman has challenged me as you have."