Fire in a Haystack: A Thrilling Novel (Legal Mystery Book Book 1) (15 page)

Chapter 20

Nir Alush stepped into Dr. Friedman’s office and greeted him. He tried to be very polite. It wasn’t every day that he met with a distinguished doctor in the line of duty. Dr. Friedman wasn’t accustomed to appointments with police officers either.

“How may I be of service?” asked Friedman amicably once he had introduced himself.

“I’m sorry to be taking up your time, but I need to get some details about your factory, Viromedical.”

“You’ll need a few days for such a task. I’ll be happy to give you an extensive tour. What would you like to study or examine and what for?”

“Do you know a man named Rodety?” Alush ignored Dr. Friedman’s offer and went straight to the point.

“Of course, Jacob Rodety, may he rest in peace. He used to be part of the management of this factory. A few years back. He recently passed away here in Israel. Terrible story.”

“How do you know about this?”

“What do you mean? I received a report from the Ministry of Health. Our factory was alerted to activate emergency regulations due to the circumstances of his death and the fact that he might have carried a contagious virus in his body.”

“Ah…I get it. So you know everything about it. And what do you know about a man called Igor Harsovsky?”

“What? What happened to him? He’s been infected as well?”

“He got shot last night. Severely injured.”

“My God…you don’t say? I had no idea. Well, if it’s the same Harsovsky, then he had some ties to the factory. Years ago, before I was appointed as CEO. He was one of the company’s unofficial agents in Eastern Europe. During that time, commerce with Eastern European countries was done in secrecy and through subcontractors. I know that the communication with him had stopped, and since then there were all sorts of rumors about his affairs. What’s his condition?”

“What rumors?” Alush stuck to the questions that interested him.

“The truth is that I’m not too familiar with the facts. I also don’t want to bad-mouth him. And rumors, as you probably know, officer… are not very reliable.”

“Tell me, doctor, do you have any idea how two people like Rodety and Harsovsky were hurt under such tragic circumstances at the same time? Do you happen to know if the events were somehow related?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“And do you happen to know how they’re both related to your factory?”

“I know that our factory was out for a privatization tender. The factory is a real jewel and there are many parties that desire it. And for good reason, by the way. This is a profitable factory with great products and an amazing ability for development. And I’m not saying this to flatter myself. I wouldn’t be surprised to hear they’re both related to groups that are competing over the factory. But I don’t have any concrete information. Sorry.”

“I really appreciate this,” said Alush. “You’ve been very helpful. I’ll be sure to come back for more conversations, if need be.”

“I’ll be happy to be of service at any time,” said Dr. Friedman.

As soon as Alush had left his office, Friedman locked the door. He asked his secretary not to transfer any calls and sat behind his desk. He opened a drawer with a secret digital code, took out a small pocket phone book and located the number he needed. He reached for the phone and was about to make a call from his personal line.

The ring of the telephone startled him.

“Who is it now?” he roared at Ziva.

“Someone says you’re waiting for a call from him. He wouldn’t say who he is.”

Ziva, his personal secretary for many years, knew him well enough to realize the best way to calm him down was to be matter-of-fact.

“Transfer the call,” said Dr. Friedman, wrinkling his forehead, unable to guess who the mysterious caller was.

“Hello, Aryeh, how are you?” Dr. Friedman recognized the voice immediately. It was Reuben Haruvi, a senior official in the General Security Service. He was becoming more confused by the moment. This was the man he had intended to call.

“I’m fine more or less. Closer to less than to more, to tell you the truth.” Dr. Friedman loosened his tie.

“Aryeh, I’ve got some bad news. Jacob Rodety had ties with Igor Harsovsky. We think he passed Harsovsky information. We’ve also found out that Harsovsky withdrew a hundred thousand dollars in cash from his bank account. I wouldn’t be surprised if he paid him.”

Dr. Friedman was silent. He understood well the meaning of what he had just heard. Sweat poured from his forehead down to his throat, whose veins gradually swelled. “This means he was a mole. I heard that Rodety joined with Yitzhak Brick’s group. What are you saying? A man who was once part of the factory management crossed the line and joined the other side? What, he didn’t know who Harsovsky was? He really thought that he had good intentions? That he wanted to stop the privatization and deal with environmental issues? I can’t really believe this.”

“Believe it or not, that’s how it is.”

“Now everything becomes clearer. I was just visited by a police officer who came to question me about both of them.”

“The police will do their job. Or at least try to. We need to focus on our mission. International control over the country is gradually intensifying. We need to ensure the factory will be sold without the inner unit remaining in it. The decision we received was that Israel can take no more chances. You need to supervise the destruction of everything that’s inside without taking any risks. Because time is of the essence, the two actions must take place simultaneously even though it may not be ideal. The destruction must be completed before the privatization is completed. I have approval from the highest levels for this.”

“I know. I’m working on this day and night. But listen, I have something to tell you as well. I’ve just had a meeting with an attorney who brought along some secret documents. I don’t know where she got them. The documents tell the entire story of the company. She has letters about the activities that were planned to counter the treaty. She threatened to give the documents to the press.”

“What’s her name?”

“Attorney Gali Shviro. This will be a disaster. We’re talking about national security here. This is an issue that’s at the top of the national priorities. It’s a secret that can’t come out. You can only imagine how it would intensify the international pressure we are under.”

“OK. If we stick to the plan, there won’t be any story anyway. In any event, we’ll check what this is all about immediately. We’ll keep you updated.”

Dr. Friedman felt a little calmer. Once a senior General Security Service official such as Reuben Haruvi received the information about that attorney, Shviro, he’d be sure to have his men take care of the situation. Now the responsibility was passed from his hands to those of the good men of the General Security Service.

Friedman called on the internal phone again, and this time his voice was cold and calculating, as if the storm had settled. Dr. Friedman knew how to regain his composure under pressure.

“Ziva, get me the Ministry of Health’s General Manager on the line urgently. I need to report everything that’s going on to him. No excuses. Have them take him out of the bathroom, if they have to.” 

Chapter 21

The pressure in Ofer’s chest grew when he realized the near miss that had just taken place was not an accident.
Is there really someone who’s out to get me or am I simply panicking?
he asked himself.
And what are the chances that Alush sent the undercover police to get me? When and from what corner will he lunge at me and drop his whistling S on my shoulders?

There was an easy way to shake the sensation he was being persecuted. Wetting his throat would do it. He decided to call Yoav. 

“Where have you been?” Yoav screamed in his ear. “I’ve been looking all over for you since yesterday.”

“Doctor, I need to have a drink. I need to purify myself with some alcohol, from both within and without. Would you like us to take care of our livers tonight?” Ofer suggested.

“I’m exhausted. I just came back from a thirty-six-hour shift at the hospital. But I won’t desert you in enemy territory. I also have a little update for you. I’ll see you at ten PM in the Abraxas North.”

At ten PM Ofer arrived at the southern part of Lilienblum Street. Yoav was already sitting at the bar, caressing a tall female bartender with his eyes. She answered to the name of Thelet, had long, curly hair and did not seem especially bothered by Yoav’s wooing glances.

Ofer looked at her as well. The dim light made it hard to see, but even so his heart began to beat faster and sent heat waves all over his body. A sure sign that he was still healthy.

Ofer sat next to Yoav, happy that he was there. Happy this was the friend by his side. Yoav Tzuri, medical student, a walking wonder. Not a man but a magnet. No trace remained of Ofer’s high school classmate, the nerd with the thick glasses who served as a punching bag for the athletes. Ten years had passed and he had become a graceful young man. The zits were gone and he was endowed with captivating charm, chestnut hair, eyes as green as the middle of the ocean and unerring self-confidence.

During the past year, pretty girls were glued to Yoav in every bar they went to and Ofer stuck to him, starved for attention.

But Yoav was also deeply disturbed. His hobby was, and remained, pathology. How can a guy deal with dead bodies routinely like an obsessive necrophile, while ordinary people went to their ordinary jobs? Ofer simply didn’t get it.

In addition to that, Yoav possessed a memory with an unlimited number of gigabytes. Nothing went by him without being instantly memorized. A line from a poem, a newspaper headline, a quote or a phrase. Curses as well. No one could memorize dirty limericks like him. He invented many of them himself.

“So what have you got to sell?” asked Ofer.

“I’m not the bearer of good news, not for you and not for the people of Israel.”

“Oh, come on, enough with the cleverness. Talk.”

“We received final confirmation that the virus is transferred through food or drink, so I can sit beside you without any concerns. But there is still no vaccine. We checked all over the globe. There simply isn’t any. Luckily for you, the tests show that you are still as healthy as an ox, other than harboring the mutated virus. Rodety gave you, luckily for you, only a small portion of his reservoir.”                 

“And this is verified and final?” asked Ofer, depressed.

“Final. Final like the fact that you are considered to be a public menace even though you are not contagious, and everyone would prefer for you to be secluded in a hospital ward. Tell me, how come the police are not looking for you?”

“I don’t know whether or not they’re looking for me. I spoke with the office, and they got word from the hospital that I can go where I please. From what you’re telling me I can also understand why. But I’m not sure this information reached the police officer who interrogated me. He’s a pretty obsessive guy, and I think he’s on my tail. But there’s a good chance he’ll end up finding a dead body.”

“Then we’ll have work…” said Yoav with professional glee.

Ofer knew Yoav could go on about it forever. He changed the subject and told him how he had checked Rodety’s body. “You would have been proud of me. I checked him and found out he’s dead as if I were an honorary medical school graduate.”

Yoav didn’t demonstrate even a shred of enthusiasm. “Even a baboon can distinguish between live and dead creatures,” he said and ordered a winning cocktail from the bartender—a shot of Grey Goose vodka with half a pint of Carlsberg beer. “The truth is, it doesn’t matter what beer it is, as long as it’s blonde,” he detailed the philosophy behind ordering the drink. “But go figure, it’s the only blonde you know who will do the job right,” said Yoav.

“Do you remember Gali?” Ofer surprised him with a question.

“Do I remember Gali? What Gali? Shviro Gal? Are you kidding me?” whispered Yoav with a dreamy look that rolled to the ceiling then he rhymed, “Once you’ve met Shviro Gal, you’ll never be able to look at any other gal, you won’t be able to stay alive, unless she’ll take off her pants and let you take a dive…what made you remember her all of a sudden?”

Ofer didn’t answer. His face became yellowish and his lips trembled. It was obvious he was about to throw up.

“Come with me to the men’s room immediately,” said Yoav.

Ofer obeyed and held his hand over his mouth to prevent the liquids in his stomach from spurting all over the place.

They climbed up the spiral staircase to the second floor and entered the restroom. Ofer opened his mouth and filled the sink with foul liquid.

Yoav hurried to wash his friend’s face. He checked his pulse, seated him on the toilet bowl in one of the booths and magically fished out, from a small bag hanging on his hip, a sphygmomanometer. He wrapped the pressure cuff on Ofer’s arm, stuck the earpieces in his ears and examined him with a detached look on his face. Ofer didn’t say anything. Yoav took a syringe out of his bag and searched Ofer’s arm for a vein. 

“What is wrong with you?” the pale and perspiring Ofer shouted.

“Shut up and close your eyes. I’m taking another blood sample. I don’t like the way you look. I’m afraid you’re developing the reaction we feared most.” Yoav filled up a small test tube with the proficiency of a professional nurse, placed it in his pocket, broke the needle and threw the syringe in the garbage can. He took out a white pill from his bag and forced Ofer to place it under his tongue. Then he took an additional small syringe, sealed in a plastic cover, and told him, “Here, keep it with you. In twenty-four hours you’ll need to find someone to take another blood sample for you. If you can’t find anyone, you do it yourself. Got it? We need to monitor what’s going on with you.”

Ofer carefully put the syringe in his pocket without arguing. Once Ofer was feeling a little better, they went back downstairs and sat at the bar again. They sat silently, each of them sunk in his own thoughts.

“I think my dad killed himself,” said Ofer without explanation. 

Yoav slowly sipped from his glass.

“Why are you all of a sudden raising him from wherever it is he’s been resting peacefully?” asked Yoav finally, his head hunched between his shoulders and his eyes avoiding Ofer’s gaze.

“I don’t know, doctor. But it really bothers me. It weighs heavily on my chest and won’t let go and won’t go anywhere. Especially now that my life is in danger. It just hit me that ten years have passed. Ten years, Can you believe it? And I haven’t done anything to find out what killed my father at such a young age.”

“Did you check his medical file?” asked Yoav.

Ofer looked at him with round eyes, his pupils widened. “Why didn’t I think of that before?”

“Then it’s simple, we’ll start there,” said Yoav.

Ofer was afraid to ask where “there” was. But the word “start” made his stomach feel warmer. The warmth was comforting after all the pain that had come from his stomach over the past two days. Yoav stopped interrogating him about the reasons for his distress and immediately took the practical approach.
He’s a real friend, and I won’t be alone from now on
, thought Ofer, feeling relieved.

“There,” explained Yoav, reading his friend’s thoughts, “is the hospital’s medical archive. I assume we’re talking about Tel Hashomer Hospital because he lived and died in central Israel. Let’s go.”

“Like this? Half drunk? What I threw up just now is only a general rehearsal, the main performance is soon coming.” Ofer wasn’t able to walk ten feet in a straight line. Sweat covered his forehead and his hands trembled.

“No, not like this. First, we’ll have another drink to regain our strength, and then we’ll go. And don’t worry, this time of night, most of the medical staff is in as bad a shape as we are, drunk with either fatigue or alcohol.”  Without waiting for Ofer’s reaction, Yoav ordered a bottle of Yellow Chartreuse and two glasses. “Did you know this drink was invented by Christian monks? Someone once said it was worth inventing Christianity just to get this drink. Try it and tell me if he wasn’t right,” said Yoav.

Ofer didn’t answer. He emptied the contents of the glass in a single gulp. The drink sent fire through his throat and stomach.
Perhaps this poison will kill the deadly virus.
He didn’t care what religion invented the drink. He was drenched with alcohol to the roots of his hair. What did he have to lose in his shitty situation? Just the realization they were about to research his father’s medical history was enough to make him drunk, even without a single drink.

In less than half an hour they were in the Tel Hashomer Hospital. Yoav rushed down the corridors and Ofer followed him. Undoubtedly, Yoav knew the place like the back of his hand.

For a moment, Ofer was filled with dread—what would happen if someone recognized him and sent him back to the isolation ward? Alush would be next to his hospital bed within minutes.

Yoav read his mind again. He turned and opened the door of a side room in the corridor, let Ofer inside and dressed him with a green gown. Then he placed a mask over his friend’s face. He himself put on a similar outfit and went out of the room. Ofer ran after him.

They reached the rear area of the hospital after crossing many white corridors, long and deserted. In the final hallway sat a middle-aged, overweight nurse with a bad dye job.

Yoav showered her with sweet talk, “Hello, Angel, do you remember me? I’m the intern from the pathology ward. Professor Zissou sent me to get some material.”

Ofer didn’t know if Angel was her real name or if Yoav simply flattered her, but the fawning certainly helped and she allowed them both to enter the room behind her without any unnecessary questioning.

The room wasn’t very large. “Where can we find medical records for people who passed away more than a decade ago?” asked Ofer.

The answer was simple. On a small white table sat a computer screen and a keyboard. Yoav simply sat and began to easily navigate the software. “You won’t believe what they’ve done here. They digitalized all the historical stuff and now, instead of going through piles and piles of papers and files, you can find any document by letting your fingers do the walking,” he said.

His fingers indeed quickly “walked” on the keyboard.

Half a minute later, Mordechai Angel’s file was up on the screen.

The original document was handwritten and had been scanned into the computer. The quality of the scan was poor and the script was almost indecipherable, as is to be expected from a doctor’s handwriting.

They both brought their heads closer to their screen, until they almost touched one another. Then they read the summary together, deciphering word after word on the medical chart. The name, address, Social Security number and age were familiar to Ofer.

“The deceased was found dead in a hotel room. Hotel Imperial in Tel Aviv,” the event description detailed.

Ofer felt his blood rushing towards his feet and he became dizzy.

“When he was found, the deceased was lying naked in bed, wearing only a tie and a pair of socks.

“There’s no medical history of ailments or chronic diseases.

“No signs of violence were found.

“No signs of strangulation.”

Ofer felt as though a baseball bat had just hit him right in the head. He was unable to fill his lungs with oxygen. 

“Blood pressure medication and a half full bottle of brandy were found in the room.

“It appears that the deceased had suffered a stroke or a heart failure.

“There are no bruises on the neck or the body. No petechial hemorrhages in the eyes or the oral mucosa. No damage to the lips or teeth.

“No signs of struggle or resistance. No other significant pathological findings.

“The family refused an autopsy and therefore the cause of death cannot be determined.

“Signed,

“Doctor…”

There was no way of recognizing the doctor’s name from his signature.

Ofer shivered all over. He tried to hide that fact by burying his hands underneath the green gown.

“What’s going on with you?” asked Yoav.

Ofer could barely speak. “Yoav… that’s… exactly the way Rodety was found dead… in a hotel room… and not even a single word about suicide…”

Tears trickled down his cheeks, caused by shock or fear or sadness or all three. He was filled with shame. When he was fifteen and heard about the death of his father, he swore to himself that he would never shed tears and remained true to his word. What was causing him to break his oath now, after so many years?