Fire in a Haystack: A Thrilling Novel (Legal Mystery Book Book 1) (10 page)

Chapter 12

Ofer wasn’t too excited about the idea of going up to his house. In his current state of mind, he couldn’t really do anything. There was no way he would be able to concentrate enough to do some studying. In spite of the smell that stuck to his clothes from his night in jail, in spite of the vomit stains, he really didn’t feel like going into his apartment, not even to take a shower.

He decided to go to the Dan Panorama Hotel to pick up his bike. When he arrived, an idea popped into his head. Why couldn’t he find out for himself where Natalia disappeared to? And what caused the blonde-haired chambermaid to send him to a night of nightmares in Abu Kabir? Maybe he would find the end of a thread which would allow him to untangle the jumble of mysteries involving Rodety’s death and his deadly personal flask. And maybe, if he could find whoever put the virus in the drink, he would also find someone who had a vaccine that prevented its deadly influence. 

The hotel lobby was quiet and air conditioned, just as it was during his previous visit. He snuck into the restroom, washed his face and combed his hair with his fingers. In the mirror, he saw that he now looked again more or less like a normal human being.

The receptionist with the plum-like mouth did not wait for him behind the reception desk. The goddess of fortune did not deal him the right cards that day, he noted to himself with disappointment.

              In her place, there was a brunette girl, thick and energetic, who stretched her chubby body up, as much as she could and boasted a brilliant name tag on her blouse.

“Hello, are you new here?” Ofer decided to try his luck anyway.

She nodded.

“Good luck with your new job,” Ofer smiled at her flatteringly.

The bait was effective. A red blush could be seen through the donut-like girl’s shirt lapels; it colored her throat and began to invade her cheeks. “How can I help you?” she asked politely.

“They sent me from the office to get a copy of the bill,” explained Ofer.

“What bill exactly?” The chubby girl was making it difficult.

“The bill for room 613. Including all the expenses up until yesterday evening. The guest of our firm—Geller, Schneider and Associates, forgot to take it.” To add credibility he hurried to wave the law firm’s business card.

“Who was the guest?” she asked.  

“Rodety, Jacob Rodety… I think.”

“There’s no such bill,” she answered after checking quickly. An expression of disappointment spread on her face.

“I’m sorry, perhaps the bill in under the name Y. Brick Investments, Inc.” he said, following a spark of inspiration. 

“Yes. This is a bill I can see. But I can’t give it to you without authorization… and the manager is not in right now,” she hurried to add. She held the printout in her hand on the desk.

Ofer hurried to take advantage of the opportunity and changed tactics, “By the way, maybe you know where I could find Natalia?” he asked.

“Is she also a guest?” asked the brunette girl.

“No, no, she’s one of the hotel employees,” he said.

“Natalia what?”

“I forgot her last name. She’s one of the chambermaids. I think she normally works on the sixth floor.”

“Natalia Schulvitz?” she asked, raising her eyebrows after a brief search on the computer screen in front of her.

Ofer was about to say, “I think so,” when Yoni, the hotel’s security officer, popped up behind him, his hands shoved inside his belt.

“Hello to you. Whose body did you come to search this time?” asked Yoni.

“Hi. No bodies today, if it’s possible. I came to ask about Natalia, the chambermaid, to see if she managed to overcome the trauma we went through together,” said Ofer.

“That’s very nice of you, but she no longer works here, since yesterday. She didn’t work here for a long time. She was hired less than two weeks ago.”

“Oh… I see,” he mumbled. “Thanks anyway.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw how the industrious brunette turned to the photocopier behind her and left the printout orphaned on the desk. He snatched the paper and went on his way before the diligent head of security could think about calling Nir Alush, the redheaded police officer, and report the guy who came back to stick his nose into affairs which did not concern him.

In the parking lot he found an isolated spot, opened the printout and read it beneath the light of a faint flashlight. Just as he had hoped, the document contained, in addition to the amounts for payment, all the telephone numbers that were dialed from the room and the charges they incurred.

His own cell number was there. So was the office number. He didn’t see the number he was looking for. The phone number to which Rodety had planned to send the text message—“The fire is burning.”

He mounted his bike, his mind troubled by various thoughts.
Why did Rodety try to send a text message, why didn’t he try to call that person?
Perhaps the solution to the mystery was hidden in the answer to that question.

While driving, his cellular phone vibrated. He stopped by the side of the road.

There was no room for doubt regarding the number that appeared on the screen.

Morris was on the other end of the line.

“‘Zagoury, your honor, I’m relying on the Zagoury verdict,’” he roared. “‘There is no presumption of dangerousness in my case as well.’ That’s what I told the judge. And the judge loved it. What a judge, goddamn it, what a judge. First class. He released me from custody. You’re the greatest.”

“Congratulations, really.” The compliments pleased him.

“I owe you one, brother, you’re the best, brother.”

“I’m happy to hear that, but I need your help, Morris,” said Ofer. An idea sprang to mind, and he decided to strike while the iron was hot. He had a feeling with a character like Morris, who’d lived a life of crime since he was nine years old, postponing might be a mistake.

“Just ask, brother, it’s on me, whatever it is you want.”

“I’m looking for a girl called Natalia Schulvitz.”

“Is she a looker at least?” Morris tried to get some identifying information.

“She looks all right. Even more than all right, actually,” answered Ofer.

“Did you try 411?” Morris offered a spontaneous solution. “Try the yellow pages. You know what, leave it alone. It’s on me. Give me a half hour tops and I’ll find her for you. Is she a friend of yours or do you need to shake her up a little bit?” Morris continued with an outburst of volunteer spirit. 

“Neither one.” Ofer found it difficult to define the girl or the situation.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. Whatever you ask. A debt’s a debt. With us, your word is everything. I’ll call you again soon,” Morris finished the conversation and hung up.

Ofer mounted his bike and drove away aimlessly. He felt intense pain in his lower abdomen again. It didn’t look good and didn’t feel good. Worry began to gnaw at him
. How come I don’t feel well? Perhaps it’s the plague? Perhaps I should be hospitalized? But Yoav said there’s no vaccine—so what good will it do me? But perhaps he’s wrong?

No more than twenty minutes of bothersome questions passed before his cell phone vibrated in his shirt pocket once more. He forgot his pains for a moment and stopped again by the side of the road. Morris was on the line. 

“Write it down, brother. She lives in Holon. Twenty-seven Hamaapilim Street, apartment 16. You know how to get there or should I come to pick you up?”

“I’d be happy if you could come,” said Ofer. For some reason he found it difficult to be by himself. A discomforting feeling pressed down on his chest. Even Morris seemed like good company compared with being alone. “I’ll wait for you at the Paz gas station next to the Wolfson Medical Center. Is that OK?”

“It’s more than OK, it’s freakin awesome,” answered Morris. 

Ofer hit the road, considering, while driving, what he would say to Natalia when he finally met her. What will he ask her, and what were the chances she would answer him truthfully? He reached the gas station in just a few minutes, left the bike next to the car wash station and waited.

A white BMW stopped next to him with a screech of tires. The driver’s window opened and so did the passenger door. Morris’ head and thick eyebrows peeked at him.

“Get in, your honor, get in,” he invited Ofer kindly.

Morris began to drive speedily towards the Ayalon Highway. Ofer had barely fastened his seat belt when he heard the clanking sound of a spoon scraping a plate. He didn’t need to turn his head towards the backseat. He shrunk down in his seat, held the belt in both hands, turned his gaze to Morris and shouted, “Why did you have to bring him?”

“Relax, relax,” said Morris, “What’s with you? He’s a good man. Besides, how else did you want me to find an immigrant called Natalia Schulvitz in all of central Israel without help? Did you think Russian is my mother tongue?”

“But why did you have to ask for help from the Russian bear himself?” Ofer refused to calm down.

He instinctively felt in his pockets to see if he had a salt shaker filled with paprika or any other object that could be used for self-defense. He imagined Ijou filling the backseat with his large limbs and eating his home cooked stew with fervor. Ijou himself, much to Ofer’s delight, was too busy eating and did not respond.

Morris tried to soothe Ofer with flattery and calmed himself by hitting the gas pedal with all the strength his leg could muster. The vehicle sped forward as if they were in a car chase. Ofer looked back down the road, ignoring Ijou’s steady jaw movements. No one was chasing them. Morris’ crazy driving worried him even more. He’d begun to regret asking for help.

He didn’t have a lot of time for remorse. Morris drove with such speed, that they quickly reached the southern Holon intersection. Morris got off the highway and drove down the narrow, empty streets.

“Be careful,” asked Ofer.

“Stop worrying. Don’t forget I was born here. Just around the corner. Where Holon borders Bat Yam.” Morris chuckled.

The vehicle entered a dreary neighborhood, the streets lined with rows of apartment buildings of three or four stories each. Old houses with tiny balconies. Ofer spotted the building number. The yard was dirty and run down. A single bulb spread some faint light over the façade of the building and fought the swarm of mosquitoes that threatened to cover it. At the ground level of the neighboring building there was a small grocery store.

Morris announced that he needed to buy cigarettes. The three of them went into the store. Above the shoulder of the shop assistant was a row of Keglevich vodka bottles on a high shelf.

Ofer bought a bottle. He had an inkling that the alcohol might come in handy.
And even if it doesn’t
, he thought,
having a bottle of vodka never hurts.

Ijou looked at him in a new way, with a gaze that contained both sympathy and appreciation.

“I never visit people empty-handed,” Ofer explained to Morris, who gave him a questioning look as well.

They easily found Natalia Schulvitz’s mailbox among the various other mailboxes. Her family name was written on a stained piece of paper, which hung by a thread.

“The neighborhood looks exactly as it did in my childhood. Nothing’s changed. Full of immigrants then and full of immigrants now,” said Morris.

Ofer said nothing. The mailbox was full of trashy brochures and flyers. There was also a letter from Social Security. He stuffed it in his pocket. They climbed up the stairs all the way to the fourth floor, Ofer leading the way, with the missing tooth and the big bear breathing down his neck, right behind him.

The corridor was flooded with a pale yellow light. The door of one of the apartments opened. Behind it stood an elderly man, bald headed and wearing a white undershirt, short khaki pants and plastic beach sandals. A burning cigarette drooped out of the corner of his mouth. He was the type of neighbor who carefully examined everything that took place on his floor.

“Who are you looking for?” he asked.

“We came to visit Natalia. Natalia Schulvitz,” said Ofer.

“Natalia is not at home,” he said decisively, his face becoming grimmer.

Ofer raised the vodka bottle to his chest and then lifted it in front of him like a flag. That was a move which instantly brought him and the neighbor closer and solved all their communication issues.

“Thank you very much, pleased to meet you. Just a moment, just a moment,” said the elderly neighbor, turning around quickly and retreating into his apartment. He came back after thirty seconds with four plastic glasses. Ofer poured the transparent liquid generously. The floor was littered with candy wrappers and cigarette butts. The four of them stood in the dirty corridor and raised glasses.

“This is police state,” said the old man. Morris and Ijou agreed silently. He drank the contents of the glass in a single gulp and said, “Natalia is not at home. Home is here.”

He pointed at a gray door on which hung a small porcelain sign with the name Schulvitz written on it in rounded letters.

“Natalia’s not at home. Boyfriend’s not here too. Yesterday she left. The police were here too. They looked for Natalia and she’s not at home,” he continued to explain. His face crumpled with regret. He wasn’t in any hurry to provide additional information before he received another drink.