by Sanctuary
Milligan took a peek at her Movado. “I have a very important business meeting at the American Colonial Inn in Jerusalem. Can you get me to Donald and back in an hour?”
Ibri said, “I take you to Donald.”
“Yes, I understand, Ibri,” Milligan said through clenched teeth. “But you must get me back to Jerusalem in an hour.”
“No problem,” Ibri said. “We take my car. Gamal take the Volvo. We go now.”
Milligan turned her back to the men and went over to the blue Fiat. Ibri opened the passenger door for her, then went around to the driver’s seat. Gamal slipped inside the Volvo.
First the Volvo took off, followed by the Fiat, passing Rina’s Subaru hidden behind the tree. Rina sprinted to her car and gunned the motor. She caught a glimpse of the distant Fiat, turning onto Keren Kayemet. Rina hit the accelerator, catching up with the Fiat as it merged onto Melech George.
City center.
The Fiat, as well as the Volvo, was headed in the direction of the Old City of Jerusalem—a walled fortress built at the time of the Crusades. The Old City had been the site of conquest after conquest. In the bright sunlight, it was a golden castle complete with crenelations and slits for bows and arrows. Rina hoped the Fiat wasn’t actually going into the Old City through one of its seven gates. Inside was a labyrinth, with roadways so narrow there was barely enough room for one car to squeeze by. And it was dangerous for her in certain sectors—the Moslem Quarters through the Damascus Gate.
The Volvo turned toward the Damascus Gate, but the Fiat bypassed the Old City and continued southeast, passing block-long Liberty Bell Park, heading toward the train station.
Then Rina knew where it was going and she bit her lip in fear. She had been so intent upon keeping her eyes on the Fiat’s rear window that she had forgotten a very basic rule. Get the car’s license number. And when she looked at the plates, her heart sank. It was rimmed in blue and white checks and held a small, blue Hebrew letter—chet.
Chet standing for the ancient city of Hebron.
Hebron.
A city rich in history, a city flowing in blood.
Once Hebron had had a famous yeshiva. But the Arabic city had resented the Jewish scholars. In 1929, when it had become clear that the Jews intended to stay, the Arabs had hit upon a way to rid themselves of the interlopers. They had brutally slaughtered them en masse.
Sixty-five years later, a deranged Jewish settler who had made Hebron his home had felt betrayed and neglected by his own Jewish government. Adding another deluge of blood to the village, he mowed down twenty-nine Arab men bowed in prayer.
Though Rina knew that Hebron was still a Jewish Holy City, would always be a Jewish Holy City, it was time to be realistic. Hebron was no longer Jewish and hadn’t been for fifty years. It was a typical overcrowded Arab village that bred rage and hatred against Jews. It had become such a hotbed of politics, Rina wasn’t sure who was securing its borders—the IDF, the Israeli Police, the Palestinian Police or UN troops.
And here was Rina, driving the Subaru down Derech Hebron—the road to Hebron. She knew she should turn back. A lone woman going to Hebron was sheer suicide. But then again, the area had been quiet for a while since the beefed-up security. And maybe the car wouldn’t go all the way to Hebron.
A few more miles.
She rolled up the windows and locked the doors, on her way to enemy territory.
The moment Rina left, Decker knew he was in trouble. He couldn’t speak Hebrew and Yalom could barely speak English. When the old man motioned him toward Dalia’s father, Decker cursed his stupidity.
A stranger in a strange land—a ger.
Yalom bent down to whisper something in Menkovitz’s ear. Menkovitz was much older than Yalom, in his late eighties. His arms were thin and bony, sticking out of short white sleeves. But when Menkovitz stood, Decker noticed not only was he taller than the average man, but he sported a sizable gut. Like many old men, Menkovitz was high-waisted, his black pants stretched over his belly and supported by suspenders. He had thin, white hair and a long face specked with liver spots.
After Yalom was done with the whispering act, Menkovitz looked Decker over, dark eyes not missing a trick. Then with much deliberation, he picked up a shoebox-sized leather case and chained it around his waist. Slowly, he put on his black jacket and walked away.
Yalom followed and so did Decker.
“Where are we going?” Decker asked Yalom.
“Savlanoot,” Yalom said. “Pacien.”
Decker assumed he meant patience and kept silent. Menkovitz kept his eyes straight on, not even bothering to grace Decker with the merest of courtesy nods. But Decker knew it wasn’t out of rudeness, it was out of numbness. Menkovitz had the look—old man going through the motions. They took the elevator back to the fifteenth floor, back to Menkovitz’s office. The old man walked into the sally port, the secretary buzzing them through without Menkovitz’s uttering a word.
The old man’s office was spacious, holding a panoramic view of what Decker assumed was industrial Tel Aviv. He saw factories, smokestacks, warehouses, train tracks, and lots of commercial buildings. The day was clear, the sun was bright, but the mood inside was dim. Menkovitz spoke to Decker in Hebrew. Feeling like a dunce, Decker asked him if he spoke English.
Angrily Menkovitz turned to Yalom and fired off some rapid gutteral speech. Yalom fired back a response. Menkovitz waved his hand in the air.
Decker said, “Excuse me, Mr. Menkovitz. If there is a problem, I can come back later with my wife. She speaks Hebrew.”
No one responded.
Decker said, “Uh, ani can come back.” He realized he was speaking with his hands. Something he had never done before. “Uh, ani ba—”
“I understand you,” Menkovitz broke in. “Don’t break your teeth. Sit.” The old man took the chair behind his desk and motioned Yalom and Decker to two office chairs.
Decker sat. “Thank you.”
Menkovitz said, “Moshe tells me you are mishtarah—police, nachon? So what news have you to make an embittered old man feel better.”
Decker said, “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
Menkovitz’s eyes narrowed and homed in on Decker. “So tell me, Mr. Policeman, what the hell do you know about loss?”
“Not much.”
“That’s right, not much! You are just like all spoiled Americans led by a draft-dodging president. You know nothing of loss because you don’t know what is dear. Because America is the land of plenty and everything’s cheap. Even life.”
“Not to me,” Decker said. “That’s why I’m here.”
“That’s why you here?” Menkovitz gave him a dubious look. “You here because someone pays for you. A free holiday.”
“I’m here on business,” Decker said, calmly. “Your daughter’s death.”
“That’s what you say,” Menkovitz said. “You lie through your teeth.”
Decker was silent.
Menkovitz rubbed his face. “When do you ship my Dalia back to me so I can give her decent burial?”
“I’m doing the best I can,” Decker said.
“It’s not very good.”
“You’re right.” Decker leaned forward. “It’s not very good. The whole thing stinks and again, I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t mean much, but it is the truth. I have four kids of my own and there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t worry about them.”
Menkovitz was silent, then he sighed and rubbed his eyes. “I come to Palestine, I fight in ’48 and I fight in ’56. In ’67, I’m too old, they give me civil duty—haggah. I watch streets as Jordanian soldiers pour into the city like a mabul. You know what is mabul?”
“Flood,” Decker said.
“Right. Like flood, they come into the city,” Menkovitz said.
“Much soldiers,” Yalom agreed. “Like mabul.”
“You were scared, Moshe?” Menkovitz asked.
“Lo,” Yalom stated curtly. “After Treblinka…” He wave
d his hand in the air.
Menkovitz said, “I was not scared. I am a fighter. But this…” He lowered his head. “I have no more fighter, Mr. Policeman. I just want my daughter home so we can bury her on our land. That is all.”
Decker had no other answer except silence. Then he said. “We’re on the same side, Mr. Menkovitz. Help me.”
Menkovitz stared at Decker, then said, “You want some tea? I do. Moshe, rotzeh teh?”
“Betach,” Yalom answered back.
Menkovitz put in requests over the intercom. Then he turned to Decker and said, “What do you want to know? Dalia was always a good girl. A little spoiled. That’s why she liked America. There it is not a crime to be spoiled. Here people don’t like it. She married young. And she married a mean man.”
Yalom spoke up and pointed an accusing finger at Menkovitz. “She marry man like papa.”
Menkovitz allowed himself a brief smile. “Yes, Arik was like me…too much like me. He was short-tempered and a hondler. Even at times, a gonif.”
Decker knew gonif meant thief. He raised his eyes.
Menkovitz said, “You don’t think Arik is a thief? Let me tell you something, Mr. Policeman. You see Bursa, today. You see all the people. They are all thieves. If not thief today, then tomorrow they will be thief. Arik was a tomorrow thief.”
The two old men began to quarrel. Decker suspected the cantankerous routine predated the death of their children. He waited them out.
Finally, Menkovitz said, “Yalom don’t like me calling Arik a thief.” The argument with Moshe seemed to have revived him. “So ask you questions. That is why you’re here.”
Decker said, “Mr. Menkovitz, what were you and Kate Milligan talking about?”
Menkovitz stared at Decker. There was a knock on the door, then it opened.
Teatime. The secretary came in carrying an oversized salver. She set it down on Menkovitz’s desk, poured tea, then passed around a plate of finger sandwiches. Menkovitz picked up a sandwich of olive and cream cheese and popped it into his mouth. Yalom chose egg salad. Decker passed the first round.
The secretary smiled at her boss, then kissed the mezuzah, and left. Menkovitz asked, “Why you want to know about Kate Milligan?”
“She and Arik Yalom weren’t on good terms.”
Moshe Yalom sat up in his seat. “What you mean?”
Decker said, “The two of them had exchanged a series of angry letters.”
“Ma?” Yalom turned to Menkovitz. “Ani lo mayveen.”
Menkovitz translated. Both men seemed confused.
Decker said, “I had just spoken to Milligan in the States. She claimed to be working on a big case in Los Angeles that took up a great deal of her time. So I’m surprised she’s here.”
“Me, too,” Menkovitz said. “She don’t come to Bursa many times. She don’t like Jews.”
Decker paused, remembering how she had told them that diamond cutters were clannish and gossipy. He had told Marge that she had meant the Jews. “Why do you think Milligan doesn’t like Jews?”
“Because she don’t like Jews.” He translated his conversation for Moshe Yalom, then went on. “She thinks they are dirty thieves. So we are thieves. We are little thieves. VerHauten is big thief—anak. You know what is anak? Goliath is anak. Og is anak.”
“A giant,” Decker said.
“Yes, a giant. VerHauten is giant thief,” Menkovitz continued. “Like a mix-up Robin the Hood. Steal from the poor, give to the rich.” He shrugged. “I don’t like it, but so what? I’m not in Dachau, I am a happy man.”
“Did she ever have a problem with the Jews specifically?”
Menkovitz shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe yes, maybe no. Who needs excuse to hate Jews?”
Decker said, “Why is Milligan here, Mr. Menkovitz?”
“She looks at the stones. How many come from VerHauten, how many come from Russia, how many come from other African country.” He hesitated, then said, “Why was Arik mad at Milligan?”
Decker said, “According to Milligan, Arik Yalom had become threatening and abusive toward her and toward VerHauten. According to Arik’s letters, he was being cheated by VerHauten.”
Menkovitz translated Decker’s words to Yalom.
“VerHauten cheat all peoples,” Yalom piped in.
Menkovitz said, “How was VerHauten cheating Arik?”
“I’m not quite sure,” Decker said. “Arik had some landholdings in Angola that he wanted to sell to VerHauten. VerHauten passed.”
“Passed?” Menkovitz asked.
“VerHauten passed up buying the land. They weren’t interested.”
“It wasn’t good land?”
“It might have been very good land,” Decker said. “But for whatever reason, VerHauten didn’t want to buy it. Then there were a few letters…let’s see how I can explain this.”
Decker paused while Menkovitz translated to Yalom.
“Let’s try this. VerHauten said that the land Arik was trying to sell them wasn’t even legally owned by Arik. Do you understand?”
“Cain, cain,” Menkovitz said. “Did he own land?”
“Kate Milligan seems to say no. But I definitely saw land deeds that belonged to Arik. That’s why I wondered what you and Kate Milligan were talking about. Maybe she asked you about land deeds?”
“She says nothing about land deed. Only talks about diamonds.” Menkovitz translated for Yalom, then turned quiet.
Decker blew out air. “Mr. Menkovitz. Milligan doesn’t work for VerHauten anymore. I know that. And I have a feeling you know that. She’s on her own now. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Menkovitz didn’t answer.
“So why would she bother asking you about your diamonds?”
“She still does work for VerHauten.”
“As an international lawyer, not as the director of marketing and sales in Overseas Operations. She wouldn’t be asking you questions like that anymore.”
“But she did.”
“Is that all she talked about, Mr. Menkovitz? Just diamonds?”
Menkovitz hesitated. “She’s interested in Arik’s business. I don’t know why. Arik is small time. But she keep asking questions.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her I don’t know. She should talk to the partner, Shaul Gold.”
“Shaul Gold,” Decker said, mildly. “Did Ms. Milligan ask you some questions about Shaul Gold, sir?”
“Yes, and I wonder why.”
“What kind of questions?”
“Have I seen him? Have I heard from him since the murders? Do I know if he is in Israel?”
“And what do you say?”
“I tell her nothing.” Menkovitz was matter-of-fact. “I don’t like Milligan. I don’t like the way she acts. She has power and is bully with it. She would have been a fine Nazi.”
“Why do you think she was asking about Gold?”
“I don’t know, I don’t even ask. Because if I ask, I could say something wrong.”
Decker said, “Have you heard from Gold?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“He’s disappeared from the States. He claims to be looking for your grandsons. I’d just like to know where he is, why he fled from America so suddenly.”
“If he goes to Israel, it isn’t fled.”
Decker felt his heartbeat quicken. “Then he is here, isn’t he?”
“He has nothing to do with this terrible thing. He is an honest boy. He loved Dalia.”
“So I heard.”
“You hear but you do not understand.” Menkovitz shook his head. “Yes, he loved her. But after she marry Arik, there is no funny stuff. She is good girl. He is good boy.”
“Shaul Gold is looking for your grandsons, am I right?”
The room was quiet. Decker didn’t wait for an answer. “Mr. Menkovitz, do you know where your grandsons are?”
Again, Menkovitz shook his head.
“But they’re here.”
Decker thanked him and picked up egg salad, ate it and sipped his tea, making sure he didn’t rush anything. Then he said, “Where are your grandsons, Mr. Menkovitz?”
“I don’t know.” He turned to Yalom. “Do you know where they are, Moshe?”
“Just they are here, not where.”
Menkovitz said, “We heard from them maybe two, three days ago. My wife…she was so happy they are alive. Dovie, the little one, say they are here in Israel. And they are both here in Israel. But they are not together.”
“They split up?” Decker asked.
Menkovitz nodded.
Swell! Decker thought. “And Shaul is looking for them?”
“Shaul knows the boys are afraid. He thought they come to Israel to hide with us. Shaul knows we help the boys any way we can. Shaul looks for the boys to find out why they are afraid. Because Shaul is afraid, too. If he finds out why boys ran away, maybe he finds out who did this terrible thing to my daughter.” He looked at Yalom. “To our children.”
“Do you know where Shaul Gold is?” Decker asked.
“Lo. Shaul says he looks for the boys, then he will call me. I ask Shaully where are you staying, but he won’t tell. He says it’s better if I don’t know. I think he’s right.”
Decker noticed that Shaul had become Shaully.
Menkovitz straightened in his seat. “I wish I could help, but Dov tells me nothing. Shaul tells me nothing.”
“Dov didn’t give you any idea where he might be staying.”
“Lo. Only he and Gil are apart and we should not look for them. I want to, of course, but Dovie says no, no, no! Don’t look, he will call later.”
Decker allowed himself a pat on the back. He had been the right man for this case because he was Jewish. Rina had drummed it into him. Every identified Jew alive looked to Israel for sanctuary. The Yalom boys were no exception. And if Honey needed a city of refuge, she and the family were probably here as well. He said, “Dov hasn’t called you yet?”
“Not yet. So I wait.” Menkovitz sipped his tea. “Yes, I wait. My wife waits. The Yaloms wait. We don’t say anything, we just wait. And wait and wait.” His eyes misted. “I hope he don’t wait too long. I am an old man. I’d like to see my only grandsons before I die.”