Asylum City (33 page)

A black cloud covered the moon and the world outside grew darker. Soon the rain would come.

THE
longer the meeting went on, the worse Anat's headache got. At the end of the day, it was all in the hands of bureaucrats and paper pushers. She never imagined she'd have to get her head around so many international conventions and laws with incomprehensible names just to go to France and ask Arami a few simple questions. She discovered that she couldn't pursue an investigation abroad without official approval from Interpol and the justice ministries of Israel and France, as well as the French police.

Yochai had spoken to the Israeli police liaison in France, a high-ranking officer on the verge of retirement, hoping to get him to move things along over there. The liaison officer, who thought the chapter of his life when he actually did police work was over, offered only a noncommittal response delivered with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. It was obvious he wouldn't be of any help to them.

David also tried to use his connections, calling a French police officer he'd met at the seminar in Austria. When he started explaining the problem of the migrants in Israel and how the murder could ignite an already explosive situation, the Frenchman laughed. “You Israelis are so dramatic,” he said good-naturedly. “You always think you invented the wheel. You really should get over yourselves. Do you know how many Africans there are in my country? You're worried about sixty thousand? We've got millions to deal with, and they've been coming here for decades.
Mon cher ami
, what we've forgotten about the problem you haven't even begun to learn.” Although he promised to do what he could, they knew they couldn't count on him to be of much use to them, either.

Yochai kept throwing her accusing looks. As far as he was concerned, this whole avenue of investigation was a waste of time. The Michal Poleg case could have ended in a plea bargain a long time ago. They'd reduce the charges and Gabriel would be out in a few years. He'd expected the interview with Yariv Ninio to be short and simple. But as it turned out, there was nothing short or simple about it.

He was getting a lot of pressure from the prosecution, who wanted to know whom they were supposed to be building a case against, Gabriel or Yariv. Which one of them was the killer? They couldn't keep them both in custody indefinitely. They had to make up their minds. Was it Gabriel or Yariv, or as Yaron put it, “Black or white?”

THE
meeting at the Justice Ministry's International Department had been dragging on forever. Listening to all the legal experts debating the issue, Anat remembered why she'd walked away from the profession. There were endless laws, procedures, and documents to wade through. They kept raising problems, but nobody was suggesting solutions.

Getting the green light was just the first step. There would still be a long way to go. First they had to find Arami, and then they had to convince him to give up the name of the man who bought the Africans' silence. Neither of those tasks would be easy. She was meeting with Itai this evening to ask for his help. She'd suggested they get together over coffee, hoping an informal atmosphere would encourage him to cooperate. He agreed without hesitation. Anat was pleased. She was looking forward to talking to him someplace nicer than in her drab depressing office.

She heard Chen Shabtai say, “We have to take it step by step. There are complicated legal issues to work out,” and she felt her patience wearing thin. She didn't have time to waste. It was perfectly clear to everyone in the room that in the end she'd get the approval she needed, but the paper pushers were obviously going to take their own sweet time about it. It might not matter so much with other cases, but it did with this one. She had to move fast before the higher-ups pulled the plug on the investigation.

“I have a suggestion that might solve some of the procedural problems,” she said. All eyes turned to her. It was the first time she'd spoken up. Until now, David had done the talking for both of them.

“We're discussing legal matters, Inspector Nachmias, so with all due respect . . . ,” Shabtai said in an attempt to silence her.

“We don't need Arami to testify in court,” Anat went on, ignoring the interruption. “At this stage, we only need him to tell us what he knows. What I propose . . .”

“If you'd been listening to the legal analysis, Inspector Nachmias . . . ,” Shabtai cut in again.

“I heard every word. The police from one country can't conduct an investigation in another country without the proper authorization. That's the core of the problem. I get it. But what if the person asking the questions isn't a cop?”

Perplexed, Shabtai leafed through the papers in front of her, looking for the precise wording of the law.

“I already checked. There's nothing to prevent it,” Anat stated firmly. “All the relevant laws and conventions relate solely to police investigations. We can send a civilian, someone the witness knows. He'll talk to Arami and try to get him to open up. I'll go to France with him—not as a detective, simply as a companion, a tour guide, as it were. If you think it's necessary, I won't be present when they meet. Then if it turns out the information we obtain is important and we want to use it in court, we can do everything by the book later, go through all the time-consuming procedures you described at length.”

“How do we pay the civilian's travel expenses? There's also the question of insurance. We'll have to issue a tender. It's not so simple,” Shabtai said. Lawyers don't like simple solutions. They could put them out of business.

“I'm sure all you brilliant legal minds can find a way to solve the technical problems,” David said. Leaning on his crutches, he rose. Anat quickly followed suit.

“Well, well, Nachmias, I see you're planning a romantic getaway in Paris,” he teased on the way out, poking her in the ribs with his elbow.

“Knock it off,” Anat snapped back.

YARIV
pressed the pay phone to his right ear, covering the left with his hand to shut out the noise. They'd put him in isolation to protect him from fellow prisoners who might not be so fond of a state attorney, and supposedly to protect him from himself as well. (Seriously? The thought never even crossed his mind.) The cell was tiny, without so much as a window. Yariv felt as if the walls were closing in on him. He didn't know if it was night or day. His skin was clammy and he reeked of sweat. On top of that was the constant racket. The noise of prisoners, guards, cops penetrated through the walls and hammered at him like Chinese water torture.

He desperately needed quiet so he could think. He had to plan a strategy, orchestrate a win. The noise was driving him crazy. They were doing it deliberately, trying to unsettle him, to eat away at his confidence. He was determined not to let it get to him.

He wasn't allowed visitors, either. He saw his parents and brother in the courthouse when they brought him in for the remand hearing. Half hidden behind the reporters and TV crews voraciously filming and firing questions at him, his family waved and blew him kisses.

Inbar wasn't there.

As he'd anticipated, the hearing was short. The judge extended his remand for five days and sent him back to Abu Kabir. At least she issued a total gag order. There'd be no mention of his arrest in the media. He couldn't bear the thought of the whole world seeing him led into court like a common criminal. When this was all over, he'd be back, stronger than ever. He didn't need humiliating press photos haunting him for the rest of his life.

He would have liked Kobi to represent him, but he couldn't. He'd probably be called as a witness. The attorney his parents hired didn't have a clue. All he talked about was evidence, reasonable doubt, legal precedents, procedures. In the end, he fired him.

Was he the only one who understood what was going on? It was all a conspiracy. The people who were trying to bring down Regev, and maybe Borochov, too, couldn't touch them, so they decided to go after him. The bleeding hearts didn't like what he was doing to the illegals and they wanted him out of the way.

What other explanation was there for the sudden shift in the police investigation? They'd already caught the perp and he'd confessed of his own free will. So what changed? They were probably afraid the African would testify in court that he and Michal were lovers. They didn't want people to find out the truth about all those aid organizations and the symbiosis between them and the cops. The cops were willing to collaborate with anyone, even enemies of the state, as long as they gave them what they wanted—quiet on the ground. Regev could tell them everything they needed to know about Michal. He was all too familiar with her from the demonstrations she organized outside his office. She was a constant thorn in his side.

He wouldn't be surprised if they got him drunk that night on purpose. Maybe he was even drugged.

There was no way Yariv was going quietly. It would all blow up in the cops' faces the minute Regev revealed the truth.

Regev's phone was still ringing, but he didn't pick up. Yariv had finally reached him yesterday, but he didn't get a chance to tell him why he was calling. Regev said he couldn't talk; he was in the Knesset and they were about to vote on a crucial bill.

This time Yariv was determined to make him listen. He needed his help. He'd explain that everything that was happening was part of a malicious scheme to get back at them both for the important work they were doing. He'd tell Regev what he wanted him to do, and if he balked, he'd remind him that he'd had full knowledge of the legal opinion Yariv got from the Foreign Ministry and he'd stashed it away with the politician's blessing. He'd let him know that if he went down, he'd take Regev down with him. He'd say he realized immediately that the position paper was a game changer, but Regev persuaded him to keep it from the court because in his opinion the only good migrant was a dead migrant.

They had a mutual interest here. They had to work together.

But meanwhile, Regev wasn't answering his phone.

ANAT
felt a tingle in her body when she saw him waiting for her in the café. It was very disconcerting. “Hi,” she said casually, extending her hand and lowering her eyes for fear he might be able to read her thoughts.

“Hi.” His handshake was warm, his smile welcoming.

“Sorry I'm late,” she apologized as she sat down. He was wearing a thick black turtleneck sweater that was a little small for him. It looked like it was choking him. In the right clothes, he could really turn heads.

“You've been busy fighting crime?” he asked.

“Bureaucracy more like it.”

“That doesn't sound very exciting.”

“You should know. You were a lawyer, weren't you? Bureaucracy is their business.”

“Guilty as charged,” he said with a wide smile that revealed a row of bright white teeth.

“Well, nobody's perfect,” Anat replied. She was annoyed with herself. Was that the best she could do? Why did her attempts to sound witty always have to be so forced and heavy-handed? Especially when she was trying to make an impression.

“So what happened? I mean, what made you see the light?” she asked in an effort to redeem herself.

Itai shrugged. “Well, it was fine at the beginning. I interned with a Supreme Court judge and then I got a job with one of those commercial firms everyone's dying to work for. People think the privileged few who work there rub shoulders with the high and mighty.”

Anat nodded. She knew exactly what he meant.

“It takes most associates a long time to realize they're nothing more than modern-day slaves, but I knew after a few months it wasn't for me. Making wealthy people wealthier isn't my cup of tea. I was never more miserable than I was the year I worked there.”

“Why did you stay?” Anat enjoyed listening to him talk. His voice was rich and deep.

“Guilt and my mother,” he said with a chuckle. “Every other day she told me her doctor didn't think her heart could take it if I left. ‘But of course it's your choice,' she always added.”

Anat laughed. “It's your choice” was one of her mother's favorite phrases.

“In the end they did me a favor and fired me,” Itai went on. “The managing partner told me they didn't give a damn that I hated our clients. The problem was that I had less sympathy for them than I had for the other side. The next week I took a job with the Hotline for Refugees and Migrants. I was there a year and a half and then I heard OMA was looking for a new director and I applied for the position.”

“What about your mother's doctor? Did they revoke his license?” Anat asked lightly.

“According to my mom, they reached the mutual conclusion that it was a case of divine intervention. God didn't want her to die in peace. He wanted to torment her by making her see my law degree gathering dust on the living-room wall every day.”

“The tragic saga of the Jewish mother.” Anat laughed.

The waitress arrived and they both ordered draft beer. Anat didn't usually drink, and never when she was working. But she liked Itai. She was hoping the beer would loosen her up a bit. She was having such a good time that she kept putting off the moment when she told him why she'd asked him to meet her here.

She wondered if she would still find him attractive if this were a real date. Dates always made her nervous. She spent the whole time trying to decide if he was the one, if the relationship had a future, where they'd be a month from now. She wasn't doing that now. Who would have believed it—Anat Nachmias was starting to let herself go.

“By the way, I'm also a recovering attorney.” Anat decided to keep the conversation going a little while longer before she brought up the subject of Arami and Gabriel.