“The letter. That must be it!” exclaimed the rabbi.
“What about the letter?”
“That could be why he took Grenish’s room, to get the letter. And it would explain why, if he came Friday night and found nothing, he stayed on through Saturday. There is no mail on Saturday, so he stayed until Sunday. Did your policeman say he asked about a particular store?” he asked Luria.
Luria knit his brows as he tried to remember. “I don’t think he was too clear about what Grenish was saying. But that’s the only store in the area that’s apt to be closed on Friday. The owner is a Druse. The other stores are Christian and would be closed on Sunday rather than on Friday.”
“And is that particular store suspect in any way? I mean, has it ever come under official scrutiny? Was your policeman stationed there for any special reason?”
Luria shook his head and looked at Adoumi, who said, “Well, when our army was in the Bekaa Valley, where the Lebanese Druse live, we thought—well, we kept an eye on it every now and then. Our Druse, who live mostly up in the Golan, are loyal. They serve in our army. But of course some of them might feel that their ties to the Lebanese Druse outweigh their loyalty to us. So we kind of watched that store from time to time. Why do you ask?”
The rabbi laughed shortly. “Of course, it could be pure coincidence, Grenish being there and Skinner being there. But it’s also possible that Grenish went there because he expected to deliver a message, or a letter, or that it was why Skinner thought he was there and was so concerned when he found it closed.”
“Skinner, that nice man who helped with your bags?’ Gittel was shocked. But Miriam only smiled, sensing that her husband was trying only to suggest possibilities, so that the investigation that had narrowed down to Ish-Tov might be broadened.
Luria laughed, but Adoumi’s eyes narrowed and he said, “Are you serious?”
“Why not? By its very nature, coincidence is a lot less likely than no coincidence. Suppose Skinner followed Grenish.” He faced Adoumi. “You said you had Grenish on a list because he was friendly with a distinguished Arab professor at Harvard. All right, suppose that professor asked him to deliver a message, a written message which would be mailed to him, to someone in that store in the Old City. Skinner might have heard something of it. He might have had someone in the hotel lobby watching for him. In any case, he may have followed him, and when Grenish seemed so concerned over the store being closed, he might have assumed that the reason for his concern was that he would be unable to deliver the message with which he had been entrusted.
“So Skinner explained, and then they walked on together, looking at shop windows, talking. Maybe they went to a restaurant and had dinner. Maybe Skinner invited him to his home for dinner. Or if they ate in a restaurant, then perhaps to come home for a nightcap. They could have walked there. It was a pleasant evening. Or they could have taken a cab from the Old City. Or Skinner might have had his car parked nearby. If he did, my guess is that Ismael, his Arab manager, was nearby, because I gather he’s the one who does the driving. In any case, I’m sure he would be in the house.”
“What makes you so sure Ismael would be there?” asked Luria.
“Because he lives there. The housekeeper comes early, serves breakfast and lunch, and cleans the house. Then she cooks dinner and leaves around five. But Ismael is there all the time. He would be bound to know what was happening. Besides, for what happened, two were necessary.”
“What happened, David?” asked Miriam.
“I suppose Skinner asked him for the letter. Perhaps he resisted, or pretended he didn’t know what they were talking about. He may have tried to leave and they restrained him. Or he may have told them the truth, that he didn’t have it and expected to get it by mail. In any case, when they searched him and didn’t find it on his person, they decided to search his room at the hotel. Even if he were entirely cooperative, they wouldn’t take a chance that he wouldn’t cry out and call for help. After all, it was next door to the yeshiva. So they gagged him by putting a piece of adhesive tape over his mouth.”
“How did you know that?” demanded Luria.
“I heard it today from Rabbi Karpis, the head of the yeshiva. How he found out, I don’t know. But then they’d have to tie his hands to keep him from ripping it off, and perhaps his feet as well. It takes at least two men to do that, one to hold him while the other puts the tape on.”
“And then this Skinner guy went to the hotel?” asked Bergson.
The rabbi shook his head. “No, I think what happened next was that they discovered Grenish was dead. He had an aneurysm of the aorta, and the struggle, or the straining against the tapes, or his fear and indignation, caused it to burst. I’m sure they ripped off the bandages and tried to bring him around, but when they realized he was dead, they had to dispose of the body. And they finally decided to toss it in the trench and cover it over with just enough dirt so it wouldn’t be seen.”
“Why wouldn’t they just pile it in the car and then drive out and dump it somewhere?” asked Bergson.
The rabbi smiled. “Back in the States, especially in our general area, you can drive out a few miles and find dense woods lining the road. You can dump a body a couple of yards from the roadway and it might not be found for days or even weeks. But here, even where there are trees, as on the road to Tel Aviv, they’re sparse, and there’s no underbrush to speak of, and you’d probably have to climb a rather steep hill. If they had dumped the body on the side of the road, it would have been found by early morning, maybe even that very night.”
“They could have kept it in the house,” Bergson pointed out.
“Not if he had a housekeeper coming in next day,” said Miriam.
“You say they just covered the body with enough earth to hide it,” said Bergson. “It would seem to me that if they had filled the trench immediately, he’d be completely in the clear. It would never be found.”
“Ah, but he couldn’t,” said the rabbi. “The Department of Antiquities people were coming Monday. If they found the trench filled in, they might let it go, but on the other hand, they were more likely to dig. And if they dug, they’d unearth the body. But if they just covered it with enough earth so that it wouldn’t be visible …” He hesitated, and then it came to him. “Don’t you see? Because they were planning to unearth it. Once he had the letter, they could dump the body. It wouldn’t make any difference then if the body were found.”
“So what do you think happened?”
“The letter wasn’t in the room, so he could only hope it would come in the Sunday mail. It did, and he didn’t have to go back to the hotel Sunday night. My guess is that he went someplace to hide it, or to show it to someone, or to try to sell it.”
“Haifa,” said Luria. “He said he went to Haifa Sunday morning and was gone all day. Then he said he had to go to Hebron, but he stopped off at the house at night before going on.”
The rabbi nodded. “Of course, I have no way of knowing, or even guessing, what his business in Hebron or in Haifa was, but I’m pretty sure he came back to his house Sunday night for the purpose of unearthing the body and taking it someplace to dump.”
“And?”
“And he couldn’t because the trench had already been filled in. By Ish-Tov, alone or with a friend. I saw Ish-Tov at the police station. I went with the lawyer for the yeshiva. When I was alone with him for a few minutes, I asked why he filled in the trench. After an initial reluctance to talk to me at all, he said he had done it for a friend at the yeshiva who was a Kohane and was afraid it might be part of an ancient cemetery and that the bones of the dead would pollute him—”
“You’re kidding,” said Bergson. “Or he was pulling your leg.”
“I’m not, and he wasn’t. He himself was not terribly concerned, but he knew his friend was. When I suggested that his neighbor, Skinner, might get in trouble with the authorities over it, he was not in the least concerned. In fact, he was quite pleased at the idea, since Ski
nner was a Gentile and hence an infidel.”
Gittel made deprecatory noises and murmured, “The things they teach them in the yeshiva!”
“I’m sure that’s not what they teach them in the yeshiva,” said Miriam stoutly. Then, “Is it, David?”
“I doubt it. But some of the students there, and that atmosphere that is engendered …”
Bergson addressed himself to Luria. “Well, does that let young Goodman, or Ish-Tov, or whatever he calls himself, off the hook?”
Luria considered and then smiled. “It’s a very interesting scenario,” he said, “but that’s all it is. There’s no proof of any of it. I could discuss it with the prosecutor, and he might order further investigation, but—”
The rabbi emitted a little apologetic cough. “There’s a way in which you might get the proof you need,” he suggested hesitantly. “If Mr. Skinner should meet Aharon …”
“You mean get him to the Excelsior?” Adoumi shook his head. “He’d smell a rat immediately.”
“I told him we might need his evidence,” said Luria. “I could send for him, and if Mr. Perlmutter were there—”
“At Police Headquarters? He’d claim it was a frame and any judge would agree,” said Adoumi. “No, some neutral place is necessary. Tell you what. First thing tomorrow morning, before he’s likely to go off somewhere on his regular business …”
They discussed the plan at length, and when they finally broke up, it was almost midnight. As Bergson went to the door, the rabbi said, “You go to Eilat tomorrow, so I won’t be seeing you until I get back to the States.”
“Hell, no, David. I’ll have my regular tour guide take the group down to Eilat. I’m staying over. I want to be in on the kill.”
Luria studied the map spread out on his desk. Then he picked up the telephone and spoke to Adoumi. “You’ve got a clear view of the area, Uri?”
“No problem.”
“And everyone is in position?”
“That’s right. I’ve got two men at the bus stop across the street, and we’ve got two men in the car parked right near the yeshiva. You got a car down the street?”
“I’ve got a truck. He could get around a car. Or he might get excited and ram the car and do some damage.”
“Good thinking.”
“And Perlmutter is in place and knows just what he has to do?”
“Sure. He understands. If he doesn’t recognize him, he just walks on, but if he does recognize him, then he comes forward and greets him with a big smile.”
“Then I’ll make my call. Look, hang on, and I’ll make the call from another line.”
Luria hung up and reached for another telephone and called. He spoke in a peremptory, official tone that would brook no opposition. He listened, spoke again, and then said, “Very well, I will await you,” and hung up.
Once again he spoke to Adoumi. “He should be starting out immediately.”
“Good. Ah, I see Ismael bringing the car out … He’s waiting at the curb with the motor running … I can just see the door of the house opening … Here he comes down the path, and I’ve signaled Perlmutter.”
Perlmutter began to walk down the street as the figure on the path approached the waiting car. When the two were a yard from each other, Perlmutter’s face broke into a happy smile and he came forward with hand outstretched. “Why, Professor Grenish!” he exclaimed. “How nice to see you!”
“Who—what—”
“Don’t you remember me? At the Excelsior Hotel?”
The two men waiting at the bus stop began to cross the street. Seeing them, Ismael put the car into gear and with motor racing shot down the street, only to have to put on his brakes as a truck came into the intersection and blocked his way. Men from nearby doorways came running over.
Skinner, now surrounded by the men who had been in the parked car in addition to the two who had been waiting at the bus stop, saw his car stopped and men pulling Ismael out from behind the wheel.
“Oh, the damn fool!” he cried out. “The goddamned fool!”
37
Adoumi agreed to meet with the rabbi and Bergson at the latter’s room in the King David. Adoumi accepted the inevitable cup of coffee and said, “Well, it turned out to be my baby after all.”
“Did you get the letter?” asked Bergson. “What’s it all about?”
Adoumi pretended not to hear. Instead he turned to the rabbi and said, “You didn’t work all that out last night, Rabbi, now, did you? You’ve been thinking about Skinner all along, haven’t you?”
“He’s confessed?”
“No-o, but we’ve been questioning him and the Arab separately, and we have a pretty good idea of what happened. We’re letting both of them stew for a while, and then we’ll question them again. When did you first think of him?”
The rabbi smiled. “I wasn’t really thinking of Skinner so much as I was of Ish-Tov. I was not very much taken with the young man, but I still found it hard to believe that he would renew a quarrel after so many years to the point where it would lead to Grenish’s death, even granting that he was extremely vulnerable by reason of his aneurysm. Then when I heard that his mouth had been taped, and possibly his hands and feet, I knew it couldn’t be Ish-Tov. That’s the sort of thing that would have to be done indoors, or with ready access to a house. Would he be likely to be carrying a roll of adhesive tape around with him? But if he didn’t do it, how did he get his fingerprints on the shovel? He admitted he filled in the trench. Then why didn’t he see the body lying there? Then I went with Mr. Bergson here, and other members of our congregation, for a walk around the Old City. Someone asked the guide why one would build one building on top of the ruin of another. If you start to lay down a foundation and you strike what is obviously an old wall, why wouldn’t you excavate and make use of the old cellar? And the guide explained that it was easier to build on top of the ruin.”
“It was about then that you left the group and said you were going to walk home,” Bergson remarked.
“Yes. You see, it suddenly occurred to me that if someone had covered the body with enough earth so it could not be seen, someone else could finish filling the trench without knowing it was there. I wanted to think it through. Frankly, I didn’t get very far. The thought that it might be Skinner just didn’t occur to me. This affable man who had helped me with my bags at Lod Airport, who had driven up to Jerusalem with us, who had invited me in for coffee, he couldn’t be involved in anything like this. And then, in the afternoon, I went to the yeshiva, where Rabbi Karpis told me and the lawyer about the evidence of the adhesive tape. In walking past Skinner’s house to the bus stop, I was hailed, and Ismael came running out to invite me in for coffee. Now, the first time I had had coffee there, Ismael had been deferential toward Skinner to the point of being obsequious or even servile. He brought coffee for only Skinner and me, and practically backed out of the door as he left us. It was, ‘Yes, Mr. James.’ ‘No, Mr. James.’”
“Not unusual for an Arab talking to his boss,” said Adoumi.
“True, but this time, he called him ‘Jeem’ and he joined us for coffee. Of course, this might merely be because of Skinner’s embarrassment, as an American, at the display of servility, especially in front of another American. But I got the impression that they were no longer master and subordinate, but rather that they were now partners, equals; that Ismael had no fear of being fired, no matter how unsatisfactory his work might be. In other words, it was as though he had a hold on him. And then I thought of something you said.”
“Something I said?” asked Adoumi.
“Yes. Something to the effect that in ninety percent of the cases, it was the obvious answer that was the correct one. Well, if something is buried in the yard beside a house, who is the most likely one to have buried it if not the person living in the house?”
“I see. Yes, I did say that.”
“So I spoke to my friend Perlmutter when I saw him at the minyan. Then I decided that instead of telling you abo
ut what he saw, and arguing with you about it in the hope you would then be able to convince Mr. Luria, I’d try to arrange for him to tell it to both of you.”
Adoumi sat silent for a moment while his fingers drummed the arms of his chair. Then he got up abruptly and said, “I’ve got to be running along. Thank you for the coffee, Mr. er—Bergson. Nice to have met you. And thank you, Rabbi. Once again you have been most helpful, and I am indebted to you. You may have … well, never mind. We’ll see each other before you leave. I’ll have Sarah arrange it with Gittel.” Ceremoniously, he shook hands with them and left.
“So that’s that,” said Bergson. “We didn’t hear anything about the letter. I asked him but he didn’t answer.”
“No, he wouldn’t. It’s something involving security, I suppose. He’s not of the police, you know. He’s Shin Bet, something like our FBI.”
“Yes, I know. Look, what do you suppose will happen with young Goodman?”
“Oh, I’m sure they’ll release him.”
“I know, but afterward. Will he go back to the yeshiva, or will he go home to the States? I thought if he wants to go home and is short of money, I might be able to work out something with El Al—a free ride, maybe, or at least a reduced rate. Lord knows, I give them plenty of business.”
“I’ll talk to Rabbi Karpis at the yeshiva tomorrow, and I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll call from Eilat.”
38
It was not until a week before they were scheduled to leave that Adoumi called. It was the rabbi who answered the telephone.
“Rabbi? Uri here.”
One Fine Day the Rabbi Bought a Cross Page 20