by Liad Shoham
Merav gazed at Ziv in silence. She could barely see any resemblance between the man sitting beside her and the strong young officer who had swept her off her feet. He seemed tense and kept scanning the street as if he were looking for someone. An alarming thought flashed through her mind. Maybe they didn’t release him, maybe he escaped.
“You’ve got to get Gili and disappear for a few days,” Ziv said.
“What are you talking about?” He wasn’t making any sense.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Merav. Not only with you.” She was losing patience with him. She stood up. Ziv planted himself in front of her. With a somber expression on his face, he looked her straight in the eye.
“Gili may be in danger because of something I did. There are people who may try to hurt him, bad people . . . criminals.”
“What?” She didn’t understand. Criminals? But he was charged with rape.
“I’m sorry,” he said, looking down.
Merav felt the blood draining from her face. Her heart was pounding wildly. “What do you mean ‘hurt him’?” Barely able to get the words out, she collapsed back onto the bench.
“I thought maybe you can take him to your friend Orit in the south. It’s just for a few days, until I sort things out,” Ziv said softly, ignoring her question.
“That’s crazy,” she said angrily, getting to her feet again. “Why should I do that? I’m going to the cops.”
She started walking off rapidly, trying to get away from him, from what he had told her.
Ziv ran after her and grabbed her arm. “Merav . . . I’m begging you . . . It’s not a matter for the cops. I’d go to them myself if I thought it would help . . . These people, they don’t have any scruples. They won’t stop at anything.”
She looked at him in desperation. There was no doubt in her mind that Ziv loved Gili with all his heart, that his son meant the world to him and he’d never do anything to hurt him.
“What did you do, Ziv?” she asked. She heard the tremor in her voice.
He looked down at the ground.
“What did you do? Does it have to do with the rape charge?” Her voice was steadier now, louder. “How the hell did you dare put your son in danger? How could you?”
“You’re right . . . I messed up,” he said, raising his eyes. “I wish I could change what I did. I’m trying to fix it, but I need time. Meanwhile, Gili’s in danger. The only way to protect him is for the two of you to go away for a few days.”
She wanted to scream at him, but she held back. She could see the terror in his eyes. The danger to Gili was real.
“Promise me you’ll take him somewhere.”
Merav didn’t reply. Finally she broke the silence. “I have to go,” she said.
Ziv spun around and started walking away. Instinctively, she called after him. He turned to look back at her.
“Be careful,” she said.
Chapter 26
INSPECTOR Eli Nachum was sitting in his car watching Adi Regev’s house. Finding a parking place around here in the evening was a headache, but at this hour of the morning the street was empty. What in God’s name was he doing here? It was more than likely that Adi was at work, like most of her neighbors. And even if she was home—what then? Why had he come?
He was only a few days into his suspension, but he couldn’t stand to stay in the house any longer. He felt like a prisoner, wandering from room to room looking for some way to occupy himself and not finding anything to do. His rage at the way he’d been treated, at being thrown out like garbage after years of devoted service, ate away at him incessantly. Fuck them all. He’d done what he had to.
He took it out on Leah. Every word out of his wife’s mouth set him off. He read into it criticism, disappointment, and humiliation. Throughout the years of their marriage, their roles had been clearly defined: he went to work to provide for the family, and she stayed home to raise the children. And now, long before he’d anticipated retiring, he was stuck at home with her from morning to night. He’d decided not to tell her anything until the situation became clearer, but the news had spread very quickly. Even before he made it home, Leah’s brother the cop had called to ask her if the rumor that was going around the precinct was true.
Yesterday he’d realized that if he didn’t want to lose his family along with his job, he’d better get out of the house. Luckily, they hadn’t taken his car away yet. Without thinking about where he was going, he’d found himself parked outside Nevo’s apartment. He’d sat there for hours, watching the entrance, waiting for him to come out, without any real purpose. He knew very well that he couldn’t touch Nevo. Even if they found new evidence, it wouldn’t matter. “Double jeopardy,” they’d say.
After several hours with no sign of Nevo, he got bored and headed for Adi’s house. He’d been sitting there for a while when he finally saw her coming home from work at six o’clock. He didn’t approach her. What could he say? He walked up and down the street a few times to check if her father was still keeping an eye on her, but he didn’t see him. If he had, he might’ve told him he’d also become obsessed with the case. When Leah called at eight to ask where he’d disappeared to, he drove home.
And now here he was again in the same place, sitting outside her apartment for no good reason. It was just an excuse to get out of the house. He didn’t know what else to do with himself now that he had no job to go to. They say criminals return to the scene of the crime; apparently cops do too. Overcome by a sense of futility, he leaned his head on the steering wheel.
The sound of rapping on the window made him jump. An old woman was gesturing for him to roll down the window.
“You’re a police officer?” she said, somewhere between a question and a statement.
He nodded.
“I want to make a complaint,” the woman said through the half-open window.
He’d been so absorbed in his own problems that he hadn’t given a thought to the impression he was making on anyone else. Did she think he was running surveillance on someone? Or maybe she imagined he was watching over the neighborhood to make sure no one stole it, he thought, chuckling ironically to himself.
“Ma’am, if you have a complaint, I suggest you go to the local police station,” he said disinterestedly, moving his hand toward the key as if he were about to start the car and drive away.
“There’s a man in that building,” she said, ignoring him and pointing to a house across the street. “On the fourth floor. His name is Ilan Meron. He doesn’t clean up after his dog. To be fair, when he moved here a month and a half ago, he did. But it’s gotten very bad lately. Every night for the last ten days . . . ,” she went on.
“Pardon me, ma’am, but I’m in a hurry,” he said, cutting her off. “I suggest you take your complaint to the city . . .”
“That’s just it. I did,” she cut in. “I already sent them two letters. I even called the citizen complaint line. But nothing helped. They won’t send a warden out at one in the morning, and that’s when he walks his dog.”
“I suggest you continue to appeal to the city. I’m sure they’ll do something about it eventually.” Hoping that would be enough to get rid of her, he turned the key in the ignition.
Abruptly, he stopped what he was doing and looked at the old woman again. She was seventy at least, if not eighty. What was a woman her age doing up at one in the morning for ten days straight?
Nachum switched off the engine and climbed out of the car. If it didn’t help, it certainly couldn’t hurt. After all, he had nothing else to do.
It was only when he was standing opposite her that he saw how short she was. Daunted by their difference in height, she took a step back.
“I’m willing to make an exception and take your complaint,” he said, earning a satisfied smile in response.
ALONE in the living room, he could hear Mrs. Glazer busy in th
e kitchen. He’d refused her offer of something to eat or drink and insisted he didn’t have much time, but he soon realized it made no difference what he said.
The faces in family pictures smiled down at him from a dark wooden credenza. Without having to ask, he could tell that the man who appeared in the older photos but was absent from the newer ones was her late husband. She was clearly a widow who lived on her own.
The apartment reminded him of his parents, who had passed away years ago. He felt an ache in his heart. Even though he assumed his parents and Mrs. Glazer came from very different backgrounds, the room he was in was very similar to the home he’d grown up in: bulky furniture, cotton throws spread over the armchairs, vacation mementos, heavy drapes, and the familiar odor of mothballs hanging in the air. His father had died of cancer while Nachum was still assigned to logistics. He never got to see his son fulfill his dream and get his gold shield. His mother, who’d never been sick a day in her life, died of a broken heart two and a half years later.
He got up and walked to the balcony. It was just like the one in his parents’ house, he recalled. It even held the same kind of lounge chair. He opened the blinds slightly to check the view from the balcony and was disappointed to find that it looked out on the main street. The rape had taken place on the other side of the building. Mrs. Glazer couldn’t have seen anything from here.
As soon as he’d arrived on the scene that night, he’d ordered his detectives to knock on every door and question all the neighbors. He hadn’t been present during the interviews, believing it was more important for him to remain at the site and oversee the work of the crime scene investigators. The detectives came back empty-handed. No one had seen or heard anything, they reported. It had happened late at night, and as Adi Regev told him herself, the perp had covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream. And like most rapes, it was all over in a few minutes.
“Officer Nachum,” Mrs. Glazer called.
She was standing behind him holding a delicate glass of tea on a small matching saucer. A plate of cookies was on the table beside her. She apologized for not having anything better to offer him, saying she had not been expecting guests, but nevertheless it was clear from the expression on her face that she wouldn’t agree to talk to him until he’d finished off at least one cookie.
Like a well-mannered child, he chewed the cookie, complimented her on her baking skills—the cookies were actually very good—and listened patiently while she explained they were Abigail’s favorites and gave him a few choice details about her granddaughter.
“About your complaint,” he said, cutting in.
“Yes, yes, of course. Like I said, his name is Ilan Meron. He’s around thirty, and by the way he dresses, I think he’s a lawyer . . . Are you writing this down?” she asked.
“I want to get a clear picture in my mind first. You say he walks his dog around one in the morning . . . ,” he said, trying to point her in the direction that interested him.
“That’s right. He takes the dog out and he doesn’t clean up after it!” she declared with a note of triumph in her voice.
“How do you know?” he asked.
The look she threw at him made it obvious that she was not only surprised by his question but also rather offended that he might doubt her statement.
“My husband, Sefi, passed away two years ago. Ever since, what can I say, I have trouble sleeping,” she said with a sigh after a short pause.
“So you sit there and look out on the street?” He pointed to the lounge chair on the balcony.
“You know, at my age, it’s relaxing just to sit and watch what goes on outside. It helps pass the time,” she said, lowering her eyes.
He looked at her in silence. He knew what she meant more than she imagined.
“Good for you, ma’am,” he said, pulling himself together. “It’s good you keep an eye out, that you care. Young people today, they only care about themselves.”
“This neighborhood matters to me. I’ve lived here forty years, I raised my children here. And believe me, things are getting worse every day. It’s like you said, people don’t care anymore. That’s why I always keep an eye on the street so I’ll know what’s going on,” she said, eagerly agreeing with him.
“I bet you could tell me stories . . . ,” Nachum replied, hoping to encourage her to go on talking, but she just gave him a sheepish grin, like a young girl.
“You keep it up . . . We policemen need people like you . . . When things happen, it’s good that someone’s watching.” He went on stroking her ego. He debated if she was ready for him to start questioning her about the night of the rape but decided to hold off until he was sure he’d gained her trust.
“My job isn’t very different from what you do,” he said. “If you only knew how many hours I spend in surveillance. Maybe I should recruit you for the force.” He was rewarded with another smile.
“Can I tell you something, Officer Nachum?” she asked, leaning closer.
“You can tell me anything you want,” he answered, holding her gaze.
Mrs. Glazer stood up, went to the balcony, and pulled a box out from under the lounge chair.
“I haven’t told anyone else about this,” she said. To his astonishment, she opened the box and took out a very professional-looking pair of binoculars.
“This is how I see the scoundrel who doesn’t clean up after his dog,” she said, holding them out to him.
He examined them closely to be sure they were what he thought they were. He was right. These weren’t ordinary binoculars. They were a highly sophisticated model with night-vision capability!
With a quick movement, Mrs. Glazer took them back and returned them to the box. He could tell she regretted having given in to the temptation to reveal to him what was undoubtedly a closely guarded secret.
“Can we get back to Ilan Meron and his dog? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” she said, sitting down opposite him.
“Two months ago a woman was raped in the yard behind your building,” he said gently.
She covered her mouth in shock.
“A young woman. She was brutally raped,” he repeated to be sure she had heard him.
“Yes, I know,” Sarah Glazer said after a pause. “Poor thing.” She sighed.
“Did you see anything that night?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head firmly. “I told the policeman who came here. I was asleep. It was late. I didn’t see anything.”
Nachum focused his eyes on her, but she wouldn’t make eye contact with him. He was about to remind her that she’d just told him she had trouble sleeping but stopped himself. He didn’t want to put her on the defensive.
They sat facing each other in silence. She picked up her glass and took a sip of tea. He could see her hand trembling. Was she hiding something? If she was, he had to tread carefully. His relentless determination had already gotten him in enough trouble.
“Whatever you tell me will remain in confidence,” Nachum said reassuringly. “No one else will know. You have my word.”
She reached out for a tissue from a box on the credenza and wiped her eyes.
“I’m so ashamed.”
He listened in silence, his fingers gripping the glass of boiling hot tea tighter and tighter as she told him about that night, how she’d watched the rape in the yard behind her house from the window of the bathroom on the other side of the apartment, how she’d stood there frozen, petrified. When she told him about the large tattoo on the man’s arm, he poured the whole glass of tea down his throat, scalding himself.
“It’s okay, entirely understandable,” he said soothingly when she had finished her story and was again saying how sorry she was, how ashamed she felt.
Knowing the chances were slim, he opened his bag and took out a picture of Nevo. “Is this the man you saw?”
Sarah Glazer took
the photograph and examined it closely. He didn’t take his eyes off her.
“It’s hard to say,” she said finally.
“Try. It’s very important,” he implored.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s him and maybe not.”
HE sat on a bench outside the house. He needed time to gather his thoughts, to digest what Sarah Glazer had told him.
If Ohad had dug a little deeper, they might have heard her story the night it happened. Everyone knew that eyewitnesses were often too scared to talk, especially elderly women who lived on their own. And rightly so. But if he’d known about it then, he wouldn’t have had to rely so heavily on Adi’s identification of the rapist. And he would have been able to use her neighbor’s testimony to convince her that she’d fingered the right man, that she had nothing to be concerned about.
At the time, he hadn’t thought to pay attention to any distinguishing marks. Now he strained unsuccessfully to remember—did Nevo have a tattoo on his arm or didn’t he?
Chapter 27
ADI dragged herself through her apartment, trying to get ready for another day at work. She used to leap out of bed, get herself together in record time, and skip down the stairs. But she couldn’t get back into a routine. She felt like the world had moved on without her while she was trapped in a shell of sadness, and she’d been left behind. Everything around her seemed too fast, too loud, too bright.
She’d returned to work three weeks ago, and on the surface things were back to normal. But her life had changed completely. She almost never went out, never did anything for fun. Dating was out of the question. She couldn’t even bear the thought. She came home and sat in front of the TV all night or played some dumb game on the computer. Anything else required more than she had to give. Her parents were pressuring her to leave Tel Aviv, to go to college or do something else to give purpose to her life and help her put the past behind her. Meanwhile, she just listened without responding. Maybe they were right. Maybe not. Making a decision required energy she didn’t have.