One Fine Day the Rabbi Bought a Cross (17 page)

Twenty minutes later, Gur brought his dusty little Peugeot to a halt in front of the Skinner house. Moshe got out and went up to the front door and knocked. He waited, and knocked again. Then he saw the bell button, and pressed that. He could hear it ring inside, but no one came to the door.

“There's nobody home,” he called out to Gur.

The other got out of the car and joined him. “Well, we don't need an audience. Let's go around back and have a look.”

They circled the house and then stopped to stare at the mound of soft earth where the trench had obviously been. “Our Mr. Skinner appears to have taken matters in his own hands,” said Gur.

“So what do we do now?”

“What we do is notify the department that Mr. Skinner, acting against implicit instructions and against the law, covered up his find, and after some wrangling, your Mr. Skinner finds himself subject to a sizable fine. Too bad, because I'm sure there's nothing there worthwhile.”

“Couldn't you—”

“Couldn't I what?”

“I mean, where you're sure there's nothing there—” Moshe was obviously distressed.

“I could report,” Gur conceded, “that we inspected, and finding nothing, we filled in the trench ourselves, since the plumber didn't arrive—assuming, of course, that Ahuva was able to reach him, or even tried. Is that what you'd like me to do?”

“Well, if you're absolutely sure there's nothing there. Gedaliah thinks—”

“Gedaliah thinks it might be a lead to the tunnel he's been hoping to find for the past ten years.”

“Look, Asher,” said Moshe earnestly, “how about if I dig it up—not the whole trench, just the part nearest the back door where they said they found the stone. The earth is soft, freshly dug. It wouldn't take me more than ten or fifteen minutes.”

Gur shrugged. “If you want to sweat—”

“I need the exercise. I was in the office all day.”

“All right. I'll unlock the trunk and get the spade.”

“No need to. I'll use one of these.” Seizing one of the shovels, he set to work. Asher watched for a minute or two and then went back to the car, looking over every now and then as the figure of his assistant sank lower into the ground. Then he got some papers out of the glove compartment and soon was absorbed in them.

Suddenly he was aroused by a cry from his assistant. “Asher, come quickly! I've found a shoe!”

Gur leaped out of his car and came running. “A shoe? You mean a sandal. Roman?”

Moshe looked up from the pit in which he was standing and said quietly, “No, a modern shoe. And there's a foot in it.”

Adoumi had left his office and was already home when he got the call. “Uri? Yaacov. We've found someone who might be your man. Forty, graying brown hair, about seventy kilos.”

“Your men haven't questioned him?”

“No, my men haven't questioned him.”

“Swell! I'll be right over. Where is he?”

“In the morgue.”

Adoumi could just see the stretching of the thin lips to display even teeth that passed for a smile with Yaacov Luria. “Your sense of humor, Yaacov, comes out at strange times. You're at your office? I'll come right over.”

Adoumi slouched in the visitor's chair as Luria, sitting up straight with hands folded on the desktop, recounted the events that had led to the discovery of the body. “Curiously, it was the shoe”—his lips stretched to show his teeth—“eight and a half C, that was the first bit of evidence. The young man who was digging passed it up to his boss, who told him to climb out and stand guard while he went to call the police. Fortunately, I was around and able to arrange to keep it quiet. So far nothing has been given to the newspapers, but I don't know how long we'll be able to keep it out of the papers.”

“There was no identification on the body? No letters, no wallet, no—”

“Nothing, except labels on the clothing, which were all from American establishments.”

“How about the autopsy?”

“Dr. Shatz is on leave and we have a not-too-experienced young man doing it. He was hesitant about giving us the time of death. You see, not only was the body buried, but also he was lying beside a cold-water pipe, which would affect the normal processes. He thinks he'll be able to give us something when he examines stomach contents.”

“What condition was the face in? Would someone who knew him be able to recognize him?”

“Well, I think so.” But he sounded doubtful.

“Look here, that artist you've got, the one who does portrait sketches from witnesses' descriptions—do you suppose he could work up a drawing?”

“I think we can do better than that, Uri. We can have the face made up and photographed. Maybe touch up the photograph.”

“That's fine. And when could I have copies?”

“Sometime tomorrow. Maybe I can reach my man and he could come in tonight. In that case I could have copies sent over first thing in the morning—to your house, if you'd like.”

“I'd like. I could take them down to the hotel first thing in the morning before I go to the office.”

“And if no one at the hotel can identify him?”

“Ah, then things become difficult. I—or rather you, my friend—notify the American consul, who notifies the State Department, who search their files for the duplicate of the passport picture. It could take weeks.”

“Or you could notify the Mossad,” suggested Luria, “who through their contacts in the State Department might get it done in days.”

“True, but I would prefer not to ask Mossad.”

Luria smiled, knowing of the petty rivalry between the two branches. “I understand.”

24

Although Yaacov Luria was prepared to accept the authority of the Shin Bet in matters of national security, he was not prepared to accept the word of Uri Adoumi on just what constituted a matter of the security of the State and what was a straight police matter. As he explained it to his lieutenant, Yishayah Gross, “How do we know the man we uncovered is this Professor Grenish? Because he wears the same size shoe? Ridiculous!” He glanced at his assistant, mentally gauging his size and weight. “Chances are you wear the same size shoe.”

“So what are you planning to do?”

“Here we have a man who has been murdered—”

Yishayah coughed discreetly. “We don't know that yet.”

“He didn't bury himself. Well, that's something we're supposed to investigate. Now, that trench was not visible from the street. So who knew about it?”

“Well, the ones who dug it. The plumber fellow, Shimon, for one. And the two Arabs who actually did the work.”

“Who else?”

“I suppose the Department of Antiquities people, they must have known about it even though they may not have seen it. This Shimon spoke to them—and, oh yes, the man on whose ground it was dug, and anyone in his household.”

“I think we can forget about the Department of Antiquities people. They didn't see the place until Monday evening. And the owner of the property, what's his name, Skinner, if he knocked someone off, he wouldn't be apt to bury him on his own property. If he killed him for some reason, some personal vendetta, you know what he'd do? He'd put him in his car and then ride out somewhere late at night and dump the body out on the road. No, we can forget about Skinner. Unthinkable, especially where he knew that the Department of Antiquities people were coming to examine something found in the trench. Which brings us back to Shimon, the plumber, and his two Arabs.”

“So?”

“So let's think about it. The man came in Friday afternoon. He didn't eat at the hotel, which means he had to have eaten in the Old City or East Jerusalem, because there's no other place to eat on the Sabbath. And we have some confirmation that he was in the Old City. It was Officer Kassim who recognized the photo—”

“
Thought
he recognized the photo,” Yishayah amended.

“All right,
thought
he recognized the photo as that of a man who stopped to question him about one of the Muslim stores that was closed.”

“He
thought
that's what he was asking, but he couldn't be sure because he didn't know the language.”

Luria was a little annoyed with his subordinate. “All right, that's what he
thought
he was asking. I'm just considering possibilities. Now, we know that our man did not dine or lunch at his hotel the next day, although he did have his breakfast there. So the likelihood is that he had lunch and dinner in the Old City. That means he was there all day. Now, what was he doing there? He may just have been wandering around, looking at sights. Or he may have had some business there.”

“What land of business?”

Luria shrugged elaborately. “I don't know. Maybe he was trying to buy some archaeology junk, some old manuscript, perhaps, like the stuff that was found in the Qumran caves. After all, the guy was a professor.”

“Or maybe he was just trying to get hold of some hashish,” suggested the lieutenant.

“Could be,” Luria agreed. “Let's see, Kassim was stationed where?”

“Corner Lohamin and David.”

“That's across from—what's that store on the corner?”

“Mideast Trading Corporation.”

“Mideast, eh. Seems to me we kept an eye on that a couple of years back.”

“That and maybe a couple of dozen others. But we never found anything.”

“Still, it's a possible starting point. If we could find some connection with someone in one of the stores in the area with one of that plumber's two Arabs—”

“What's the connection with the two Arabs?”

“Because they knew of the trench. Moreover, they could be suspects on their own. Look, the man is found with no wallet, no passport—what's an American passport worth in criminal circles?”

“I've heard anywhere from five thousand to as much as ten thousand dollars.”

“Right. So it's worth killing for. Now, if there is a death resulting from a robbery, the body is taken out in a car and dumped out on a dark road somewhere. And it makes no difference to the thieves if the body is found the next day. But if it is a passport that was stolen, especially if it might be used in the next few days, then it's important that the body not be found, and if there's a trench where he can be dropped and then covered over—”

“Yes, but in that case, it seems even more important that the Shin Bet or Mossad handle the matter,” said the lieutenant.

“But we don't know, do we? We'll keep Shin Bet informed, of course. But there's no harm in our doing a little investigating on our own.”

There was a knock on the door, and a subordinate stuck his head in and said, “There's a Mr. Skinner here who insists on seeing you, Chief.”

“Skinner? Show him in.”

Skinner came striding in. “Chief Luria?”

“That's right, Mr. Skinner. Sit down.”

Reluctantly, and obviously annoyed, Skinner took the chair indicated and pulled it up to the desk. “Look here,” he said, “I was told that the matter was in your hands.”

“And what matter is that, Mr. Skinner?”

“The matter of the trench in back of my house. This plumber who dug the ditch to replace a broken pipe saw what he thought was an archaeological artifact, so he wanted me to notify the Department of Antiquities.”

“Very proper,” murmured the lieutenant.

“You think so? Well, maybe from your point of view, but I was left with a trench in my backyard. And because it was Friday afternoon, they couldn't send someone down to look at it right then and there. And of course not the next day because of the Sabbath. And probably not the next day because their man was on reserve duty. And then what was I going to do about having the trench filled in? Call the plumber? And who knows when he'd come. So they finally said they'd get hold of the plumber, and if they couldn't, or if he couldn't come down right away, they'd fill it in themselves.”

“What were you afraid of, Mr. Skinner?” asked Luria.

“What was I afraid of? With a trench four or five feet deep right next to my back door? My housekeeper might fall in. Or I might forget and fall in. Or some tradesman coming in the back door.”

“All right, I understand.”

“So I had to go up to Haifa Sunday, and I was gone all day and didn't get back until late. Actually, I had to go on to Hebron, where I was going to spend the night, but I thought I'd stop off at the house first. All right. I come home and find the trench has been filled in. Fine. But I notice the plumber's things are still there, a pickax and a couple of shovels. So I assumed it was the Department of Antiquities people who had filled it in, because if it had been the plumber, wouldn't he have taken his stuff with him? So we go to Hebron—”

“We?”

“Yes, my manager, Ismael Hakem, and I. We were in Hebron all day yesterday and spent the night there. This morning I come back and find I've got a trench again. The pickax and shovels are gone, so I call the plumber. I spent half the morning trying to get hold of him. Finally I called the Department of Antiquities. They told me to see you.”

“And the archaeological artifact?” asked the lieutenant.

“Oh, that. That turned out to be nothing. Part of an old cistern that had been constructed when the house was built about fifty or sixty years ago, and then filled in when the water system was installed.”

“So you'd like to know our concern in the matter?” said Luria. “But first”—he opened the top drawer of his desk, and taking out a photograph, handed it to Skinner—“do you know this man? Have you ever seen him?”

“Looks familiar,” said Skinner. “Yeah, it's the man I spoke to in the Old City a few days ago. Tourist, isn't he? What's he done? And what's he got to do with it?”

“Do you remember just where you spoke to him, and what you said?”