Asylum City (34 page)

“Really? You don't look like a lawyer.” When he smiled, laugh lines formed engaging parentheses around his eyes, which she now noticed were a stunning shade of green.

“So what happened? How did you go from being a lawyer to a cop?” he asked with what sounded like genuine interest.

“My dad's a lawyer. Ever since I was little, it was pretty clear that I'd follow in his footsteps. When the time came, I wasn't so sure anymore. You and I must be twins who were separated at birth. My parents kept pushing me to get a combined degree in accountancy and law. I finally gave in. I did a specialized program in international tax law, and before you ask, yes, it's just as fascinating as it sounds.”

“You didn't want to be a cop when you grew up? You didn't dress up as a cop on Purim?” Itai asked in his warm bass. Anat realized it was one of the few times she didn't feel she had to apologize for her job.

“No, it was pure chance. Mainly because of the army. Of the options they gave me after basic training, attachment to the police force sounded the most attractive. I didn't know a lot about it, but I figured it had to be better than sitting in an office or spending two years making coffee for some colonel. They assigned me to the detective division. I planned to leave when I got out of the army and started college, but they asked me to stay on. I enjoyed what I was doing and the hours were flexible, so I took them up on the offer. The rest is history.”

“Do you like your work?”

“There are good days and bad days. What about you?”

“There are good days and bad days,” Itai replied, laughing.

“I'm guessing you don't do it for the money,” Anat said.

“Well, we don't make huge salaries like you cops.”

“It must be hard for you now, with the hate campaign against the migrants.”

“That's for sure. It's not easy to do your job when the public is antagonistic.”

“Tell me about it,” Anat said, and they both burst out laughing.

ITAI
shifted uncomfortably in his seat. The friendly atmosphere was ruined the moment Anat mentioned Gabriel and Arami.

“We want you to e-mail him. Tell him you're coming to France to raise funds and you'd like to get together with him to give him his last paycheck,” Anat said, detailing his role in their tactic to locate Arami.

Itai didn't answer. He noticed her use of the plural “we.” He didn't like the idea of lying to Arami, and he definitely didn't want to get him in trouble with the cops. What's more, he wasn't pleased that she'd gone behind his back and videotaped a message from Gabriel to Arami without his knowledge.

“We just need him to point us in the right direction, give us some kind of lead. The man's phone number, a description, anything. We'll take it from there.”

Itai wanted to trust her. The suggestion that they go to France together took him by surprise. He didn't think the cops would make such an effort, but she said it wasn't uncommon. There was a lot of red tape involved, but it wasn't unusual for them to go abroad to question witnesses. This time they didn't even have far to go. It was France they were talking about, not Australia. Besides, she added, this was a homicide investigation, so it had top priority. If there was any chance that Arami had information that could help them catch the murderer, they had to talk to him.

Anat was very persuasive, but Itai was still hesitant. When he told her where to find Gabriel, she promised his arrest would be handled sensitively. But he found out later from Gabriel that the cops had charged at him in the park with their guns drawn.

“We're not going to get a lead on Michal's killer any other way,” Anat said, pressing her case. “And without Arami's statement, I won't be able to convince my bosses to look beyond Gabriel's confession.”

Itai didn't like the way Anat was pressuring him. There was nothing he wanted more than to see justice done, with Gabriel a free man and the real killer caught and made to pay for what he did. Anat knew that. It wasn't fair of her to use it to get him to do what she wanted. When it came right down to it, she was the reason Gabriel was behind bars.

“There's no other option?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“I'm concerned for Arami. It wasn't easy for him to get a travel document. There's no way I'm going to jeopardize it. He doesn't want to come back here.”

“He has nothing to worry about. He'll be fine.”

“He has plenty to worry about, believe me,” Itai snapped, annoyed by her glib response. What did she know about the life of asylum seekers in Israel? About the danger they were in? Arami didn't go to France for the food. He had good reason to get on that plane.

“What, for instance?” Anat wasn't convinced.

“The Eritrean authorities, for one. They're looking for him.”

“That's why we need your help,” Anat said after a short pause. “If we have to take other steps to find him, it might put him at risk. I'm sure you don't want that.”

Itai remained silent. He shouldn't have let himself be drawn into this argument. The police had their own agenda. Despite Anat's smile, he didn't miss the implied threat in her words. The cops would find Arami with or without his help. Like an idiot, he'd just given them another lead. He could kick himself for being so naive, for being lured in by her charming smile and the way she seemed so interested in everything he said. For a while there, he even thought . . . never mind what he thought. She was a detective and she was just using the tactics she'd been trained to use to get someone to cooperate.

“I'll do it, but not for you, and not because you're threatening me,” he said coldly, breaking the silence.

“It wasn't meant to be a threat,” she said with a shamefaced expression.

“I'm doing it for Michal. And for Gabriel and Arami. That's all.”

BOAZ
Yavin strode rapidly up Fein Street. Yesterday's rain had flooded the streets, washing the garbage heaped on the sidewalks into the road. Cold and repulsed by the squalor, he pulled the winter coat Irit had bought him more tightly around him. People followed him with their eyes as he went by. The sullen look on their faces added to his disgust. He hated this place with a passion.

When he was little, his granddad used to take his brother and him on outings to this part of the city. He remembered what it was like then, all the colorful fruit stalls and the toy stores around the bus station. It was all gone now. All that remained were dilapidated buildings, broken streetlights, and overgrown yards. A cloud of soot from countless buses hung in the air, mixing with the acrid smell of urine.

A young man on a bike was hurtling toward him. He moved aside at the last minute, almost tripping over a pile of garbage.

The arms deal in Argentina had gone off without a hitch, thanks largely to his own attention to detail. Even organized crime wasn't profitable without a skilled accountant. He had to talk to Faro and convince him to get somebody else to make the rounds here. He'd paid his dues ten times over. Wasn't it time they left him alone?

Boaz turned and looked back at the white car that had brought him here. The two men inside were watching him with stony faces. Itzik had instructed them to drop him off at a different spot each time. He needed their business to be conducted quietly, with no unnecessary drama. That was rule number one: don't attract attention. The altercation with Michal Poleg was an aberration that couldn't be allowed to happen again.

Boaz had dreamt about her a few days ago. In the dream she was lying dead in the street. It could have been any one of the streets around here. Was that how he'd end up, too? The Poleg woman was single, but he had a family. How would they manage if anything happened to him?

The people who were waiting for him in the back room of the restaurant were scary. He was particularly afraid of the “General,” who was always scowling and barked orders at him like he was a soldier under his command. He asked Itzik about him once, who he was, why they called him the “General,” but he didn't get an answer.

A lot of money exchanged hands in that room. What if one of them decided to take him out of the equation? Itzik said they wouldn't dare harm him, that they knew Faro would be gunning for them if they did, but that didn't make him feel any better. He'd still be the one lying dead in the street.

Another bike was heading in his direction. He managed to get out of the way in time, clutching the black briefcase tightly as he moved aside to make room for it to pass.

It happened in a split second. Without warning, the rider turned the handlebars to the left and ran straight into him, hitting him hard. Boaz fell to his knees, losing his grip on the briefcase. He reached out for it, but the rider got there first. He kicked Boaz in the face, dropping him to the ground. Before he had time to react, the briefcase was gone and the thief was racing off in the direction he had come from. Shots rang out, the bullets whistling over Boaz's head. He froze. Raising his eyes, he saw the white car tearing down the street toward the rider, the man in the passenger seat firing a handgun through the open window. Panicking, Boaz covered his head with his hands.

The rider turned into an alley and the car squealed to a halt. The shooter jumped out and took off after him on foot. The car sped off.

Boaz remained where he was, curled up on the sidewalk, trying to shield his head from the bullets. After a while, he realized he was alone. They'd abandoned him there. He passed his hand over his face. It came away red with blood.

People were approaching, moving slowly and warily. What was he supposed to do now? Where was he supposed to go?

As the figures closed in around him, he suddenly understood what was happening. They think I've got money. They're going to kill me. It's a lynch mob. Pulling himself up quickly, he started running, not caring where he was going, desperate to save himself.

It wasn't long before Boaz heard sirens in the distance. He was already gasping for air. He was out of shape. If he kept this up, he'd have a heart attack, but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to have to explain to the cops why his face was covered in blood. Terrified, he kept running.

THE
first thing Yariv noticed was that Inbar wasn't wearing her engagement ring. The costly ring he'd bought at a jewelry store near the Diamond Exchange, the ring he'd picked out for her with the help of his mother, the ring Inbar never took off—it wasn't on her finger.

The cops had stopped questioning him. The new lawyer he hired couldn't say if that was good or bad. It was hard to tell. More than likely, it wasn't good. It could very well mean they'd decided they had enough and were working on the indictment. He'd know more in three days' time when they'd have to go before a judge if they wanted to hold him any longer. They'd be forced to reveal at least some of their cards then.

He was led into a private room for the visit with Inbar, “for his protection,” the guards claimed. He suspected that it was because the cops wanted to listen in on their conversation.

Yariv reached out to stroke her face. Inbar flinched. He'd told his attorney over and over that he wanted to see her, but this was the first time she'd come. She hadn't even shown up at the courthouse for the initial remand hearing. He'd have to talk to her about that when he got out, but it would have to wait. Right now he needed her by his side, showing the world that she believed in him.

“How've you been, honey?” he asked with a smile.

Inbar didn't answer.

“It's all a bad dream, sweetheart. It'll be over soon, you'll see,” he said, making the effort to sound caring and affectionate. He didn't know how long he could keep it up before he exploded.

Silence.

“This will only bring us closer. Our love is stronger than anything they can throw at us. As long as we stick together, nothing can hurt us,” he said, tossing off a string of platitudes that almost stuck in his throat.

“Did you kill her,” Inbar interrupted, her voice shaking.

“What? Of course not.” He was shocked by the question. “How could you even ask such a thing?”

“She was your ex. I was celebrating our engagement with my friends in Eilat and you went to her. And you didn't tell me!” she fired back accusingly.

“It was a mistake . . . I'm sorry . . . I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing. I missed you and I had too much to drink,” Yariv said, struggling to sound apologetic, although he was furious with her. He'd been expecting her to offer comfort and support. He wasn't prepared for an attack.

“So it's my fault?”

“No, of course not. It's nobody's fault. What happened was . . .”

“I thought we didn't keep secrets from each other,” she cut in again.

“We don't, I don't . . .”

“Really? What about the call you got that night, the one you said you didn't feel like answering. Who was it?”

“Forget about it, it's complicated. You wouldn't understand,” he said, wanting to move on as quickly as possible. He'd had enough of this crap.

“Tell me.”

“I already told you, it's complicated,” he said dismissively.

“Too complicated for me to understand, right? You always treat me like I'm stupid,” she said, getting up. “You know something, Yariv? I'm smart enough to know I don't have a future with you. It's over.”

Flustered, Yariv rose. “What are you talking about, Inbar? You can't be serious?”

“I'm sorry. I . . . I can't go on like this.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I told your lawyer this was a bad idea, but he said you kept asking for me, so I came. I'm sorry. I can't do it anymore.”

Yariv just stood there, paralyzed. Everyone was abandoning him. Even Regev wasn't answering his calls. He'd sent his lawyer to talk to him, threaten him if necessary. But the two-faced politician alleged that he was unaware of any legal opinion and only knew Yariv in passing. They hadn't spoken more than once or twice when he called to congratulate him for his fine work. “Me? Conceal a legal opinion? Never!” the lawyer exclaimed in an attempt to imitate Regev's response. He even claimed he didn't know Michal Poleg. “There were a few demonstrations, nothing major. I didn't pay much attention,” he'd lied shamelessly.