Asylum City (32 page)

They were right—he was in Michal's apartment that night. But he didn't kill her. If he had, he was sure he'd remember. But everything was still a blank.

FARO
topped up Borochov's glass with more of his favorite scotch. Any time one of his people went abroad, they knew enough to bring a bottle back for the boss. “The quiche is delicious,” the attorney said, stuffing another forkful into his mouth. Faro knew he'd prefer a thick steak to the eggplant and mozzarella in front of him, but since he'd gone vegetarian, nobody touched meat in his presence.

Borochov had been working for him for more than twenty years, but Faro still didn't know what attracted a man like him to their world. He himself had been born into abject poverty, grown up in squalid surroundings where crime was the only way to survive. But Borochov came from money. And his father was a district court judge. The question gnawed at Faro for the first few years of their collaboration. If he didn't understand what drove the men who worked for him, he couldn't rely on their loyalty. Borochov claimed his secret life gave him a rush, but Faro had a different theory. In his opinion, the attorney was getting back at the people who had blocked his father's appointment to the Supreme Court. But whatever his motivation, it was no longer an issue. Faro had put him to the test more times than he could count, and Borochov had always proved himself trustworthy.

Itzik's son, Ethan, poked his head in to ask if they'd like some cabbage ravioli. Itzik had come to him several years back, crushed by a tragedy in his family: his son wanted to be a chef. Ethan now owned one of the most popular restaurants in Tel Aviv, thanks in no small part to Faro.

Faro usually met with Borochov in his office, but that would be unwise at the moment. With the cops sniffing around, they couldn't risk being seen together. The private room in Ethan's restaurant was an excellent alternative.

“What happened to Ninio, it's too bad,” Faro said, gesturing to Ethan to bring them more quiche.

“He would have been a useful acquisition,” Borochov agreed. “And he was the ideal candidate, the kind who's driven by ambition, who's only looking out for himself. He doesn't give a damn about the migrants.”

“Well, we wanted to give him a leg up, but it didn't pan out,” Faro said, taking a sip of scotch.

“As soon as I heard, I called to warn him he was about to be arrested, but the fool didn't pick up.” Borochov was chewing contentedly on tuna tartare made from fish flown in specially from Japan.

“Do you think he'll have the sense not to tell them about your little visit?” Faro wiped his mouth delicately.

“I wouldn't count on it. In my opinion, he's already singing like a canary.”

“You know what that means. They're going to bring you in for questioning, maybe even under caution.” The two men burst out laughing.

Over the years, Borochov had been subjected to dozens of police interviews. It was the same each time. He sat there complacently, claiming attorney-client privilege. The cops couldn't do anything about it. It gave Faro such a kick, he'd even considered sending the birdbrains who worked for him to law school so they could all claim privilege. He might even start his own law firm. There were so many new colleges in the country offering a law degree these days that the idea wasn't as ludicrous as it sounded.

“What do you think they'll do now, file charges against the African or the attorney?”

“Galit Lavie has the case, so it's hard to say,” Borochov answered. Almost simultaneously, they each uttered a juicy curse at the mention of the prosecutor's name. Since David Meshulam's bungled attempt to get rid of her, the woman's career had soared.

“By the way, what's happening with your ‘General'?” Borochov asked while Ethan served the main course. “In view of recent events, don't you think it's time to take him out of the picture?”

Faro focused on the vegetarian spaghetti carbonara and purple squid in front of him. He didn't like his companion's cavalier attitude. Taking a life was not something to be treated lightly. Maybe he should order Borochov to ice somebody for him. He'd sing a different tune if he had to stand there and watch the light go out in a man's eyes.

Besides, even if the “General” lied to him about Ninio, and he probably did, he'd have to overlook it. It was hard to find quality people with his kind of ambition. He had no intention of losing an asset as valuable as the “General.”

ANAT
stared at the computer screen, watching Ninio pace back and forth in the interrogation room. He seemed calmer, no longer in the throes of a panic attack.

“What's the matter, Nachmias? Why the long face?” Yaron's question bugged her.

Without answering, she looked over at David, who was already on his fifth cigarette. The boss understood.

Frustrated by Ninio's account of the events of that night, Anat had gone on the attack, telling him straight out that she didn't believe him. She should have kept her cool and waited for him to dig his own grave. There was no going back now. Ninio had asked for a lawyer and she was obliged to stop the interrogation. She'd tried the usual tactics: “What do you need a lawyer for? He'll just make it harder for you”; “If you tell the truth now, we can help you”; even, “You're an attorney. Why do you have to pay someone else to do what you can do yourself?” It didn't work. Ninio just kept shouting frantically, “Lawyer, lawyer.” There was nothing they could do about it.

“What is it? Tell me, Nachmias?” Yaron insisted. “The story of a setup, is that what's worrying you? It's bullshit. You said it yourself, we found his blood at the scene. He didn't even bother to deny it. And the whole ‘I don't remember' thing? Come on, don't tell me you're buying into it. How many times have you heard a suspect claim they don't remember what happened. It's the oldest scam in the book.”

Anat didn't reward Yaron with an answer. She'd also thought Ninio was playing games with her, but now she wasn't so sure.

“Remember the trial of that tycoon last week? The one who ran over the two kids? He claimed he didn't remember anything, but it didn't do him any good. The judge said he was lying and sentenced him to ten years behind bars. It won't be any different with Ninio, believe me,” Yaron went on.

“Besides,” he added, “you're the one with the law degree, right? It makes no difference if he was drunk or sober when he killed her. What is it your legal friends always say? When he decided to drink, he knowingly took the risk of losing control, so he has to accept the consequences. Ninio has no one to blame but himself. He might get the charges reduced to manslaughter, but he's still going away for a long time. Am I right or am I right?”

“The problem,” David said, lighting another cigarette, “is that his story jibes with the evidence. Yeah, we found his prints and his blood, but only on the outside of the door. There's nothing to show he was in her apartment. In terms of the forensics, his story fits. He went there, banged on the door hard enough to hurt his hand, and left without going inside.”

“At the very least, it's enough for reasonable doubt,” Anat said.

“So that's it? We throw in the towel? Are you fucking crazy?” Yaron yelled.

“No, we don't throw in the towel. We think,” David chastised, blowing smoke in Yaron's direction.

“I know he's guilty,” Anat said. “He's toying with us. But everybody's got a weakness. We just have to find it.”

“Maybe we should bring Borochov in and hear what he's got to say,” Yaron suggested.

“A waste of our time, trust me,” David said, shaking his head. “We know the guy. He'll claim he never went to see Ninio, and even if he did, Ninio misunderstood what he said, and it doesn't matter anyway because it's all privileged. We won't get anything out of Borochov. We've tried it before, but the son-of-a-bitch doesn't break a sweat.” David turned to Anat. “Any ideas, Nachmias?”

“Give me five minutes alone with the bastard and he'll spill his guts,” Yaron cut in.

“Pipe down, Yaron. I thought we were past that by now,” David said angrily.

“He gave us Borochov. Let's explain to him what would happen if we decided to leak that little tidbit,” Yaron went on, ignoring David's rebuke. “He wouldn't last a night out on the street, or even in Abu Kabir. Borochov's clients would get their hands on him and crush his balls. We tell him that and you'll see how fast we get a confession.”

“He's an ASA. He'll be under protection,” Anat said.

“He doesn't know that.”

“We're not there yet,” David interrupted, ending the argument. “I'm still waiting for ideas from you, Nachmias. Now would be a good time, before the brass has our hide.”

Anat cleared her throat. “Gabriel said that Arami told him the Israeli who gave him the money was a powerful man . . .”

“You thought it was Ninio,” David broke in.

“Well, that's one possibility.” Ninio admitted seeing Arami in the courtroom, but he adamantly denied ever having any personal contact with him.

“What's the other?” David asked.

“That Ninio got drunk and killed Michal, and somehow the bad guys Borochov represents found out about it and they were trying to blackmail him.”

“And paying Gabriel to confess was the help Borochov promised him?”

Anat nodded.

“How did they find out?”

Anat shrugged. “We know Michal was threatened, and soon after that she was assaulted. They might be the ones responsible. She turned up something about their activities around the old bus station, some kind of illegal transactions, and they wanted to shut her up.” Anat suddenly realized that the theory she was proposing came, at least in part, from Itai Fisher. “Maybe they were keeping an eye on her, watching her house to see who she was in contact with, and they saw Ninio there. If we can find exactly who ‘they' are, we might get our answer.”

“You think they were that uptight about a babe your size?” Yaron said dismissively.

Anat was about to say something vulgar, but she restrained herself. “She was a very determined young lady. She believed in what she was doing.”

“Maybe they killed her themselves,” David suggested.

“I considered that, but it doesn't fit the evidence,” Anat replied. “She knew her killer. She opened the door for him. Besides, the mob operates quietly. They don't bang on doors, they don't make a racket in the middle of the night.”

“So you're saying we've got the murderer, but we don't have any witnesses. We need to get a lead on them, and we won't get it from Borochov,” David summed up.

Anat nodded.

Ninio was shouting again. “Get my lawyer. I want him here now!” They couldn't delay much longer. In less than twenty-four hours they'd have to go before a judge and ask to have his remand extended. It wasn't going to be as easy as it was with Gabriel. The migrant was represented by a public defender who didn't even bother to object. Ninio's lawyer would put up a fight.

“We have to follow the money,” Anat said.

David nodded. “I agree. We'll start with Arami. He's the one who got the money from the Israeli. If we can identify him, we'll be a step closer to nailing the perp.”

“Okay, let's bring Arami in and find out what he knows. What are we waiting for?” Yaron leapt out of his chair, ready for action.

“He was issued a travel document. He left the country a few days ago,” Anat admitted reluctantly.

“Where is he now?” David asked.

“France.”

Yaron exhaled irritably.

“Do you know how to reach him?” David gave Yaron a withering look and took a deep drag on his cigarette.

“There's someone who might know.”

“Your boyfriend?” Yaron asked.

“Who?” Anat felt herself blush, but she wasn't sure why.

“What's his name—Itai Fisher. The one whose eulogy you found so moving, you couldn't take your eyes off him. Don't think we didn't notice, Nachmias.”

“Yes, Itai Fisher,” Anat said, her face turning a deeper shade of red.

GABRIEL
gazed out through the bars on the window at the night sky. The moon was making a brief appearance through a break in the heavy clouds. Outside, the world went about its business as usual, but his life had ground to a halt.

The policewoman had come this morning and asked him to videotape a message to Arami. Gabriel released him from his promise and begged him to reveal everything he knew. When he asked the detective if they'd let him out now, she said he would have to be patient for a little while. But he didn't have any more patience, not since he'd seen Liddie. He couldn't wait. He needed to know what his sister was doing at this very moment. How was she getting along without him? Was she still coughing? Was she in danger? He was sick with worry that the men who had abducted her would come back for her again. Before she left, he promised they'd be together soon. He knew that waiting was as hard for her as it was for him.

Seeing her had changed him. He'd resigned himself to a life behind bars, but his little sister had given him renewed hope and strength. He was no longer willing to let other people decide his fate.

His lawyer came later and told him he'd tried to finalize the deal with the prosecution but it was apparently off the table. They weren't returning his calls. “Is that good or bad?” Gabriel asked. “Bad, very bad,” the lawyer said. Then he got up and left.

The policewoman promised to protect them, not to let anyone hurt Liddie or him. They wouldn't abandon the people who helped them find Michal's murderer, she assured him.

Could he trust Israelis?

Hagos would have said he could; Arami would have said he couldn't. But now he was on his own, without Hagos or Arami to advise him. He wondered what Michal would have said. She'd probably say there are some you can trust and some you can't. He wanted to believe that Itai and the policewoman belonged to the first type. He'd been thinking about Michal a lot lately. It was a shame she never got to meet Liddie. They would have liked each other. And Michal could have helped Liddie overcome the terrible things they did to her. He knew she volunteered at the shelter for women like his sister. Maybe what he was doing would help them catch her killer. He'd like that.