by Jacob Ganani
“Why, Doctor?”
“Because the circumstances suddenly changed.”
“I don’t follow. What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying that, at the time of the murder, the person with the gun was lying on the ground and Sexta was standing over him, inches away. So you see? The situation was controlled by the deceased, and then, suddenly, the killer held a gun to his stomach and emptied the cartridge. The situation reversed. Obviously, that was the last thing he expected and that’s what we see on his face.”
“Are you sure?”
“I spent many hours calculating the trajectories. Yes, I’m sure, and I’ve included this in my official report.”
“Thank you very much, Doctor.”
“I hope it helps.”
“It’s very helpful! Thanks again.”
CHAPTER 44
Sunday - afternoon
Seventy-two hours had passed since his brother’s death, and Ezra Sexta had yet to leave his office. He had ignored Rice’s advice to go home and rest. “Ezra, why don’t you spend the weekend at home?” he entreated, but Sexta replied that he didn’t deserve any more rest than Rice himself did. Rice believed Ezra was beginning to process his new circumstances, but still thought that he needed to take a step back and focus on his grief.
From the moment Ezra saw the photo of the half-button, he couldn’t quiet his restless soul. He repeatedly shared his concerns with Johnny Rice. Should they have sent their own men to search for the button?
Rice objected. “First of all,” he said, “chances are the detectives already checked it out and perhaps already found it. Besides, it wasn’t wise to turn Cantor into an enemy right now.”
It made sense and Ezra gave in, but the matter still weighed on him. The wait was long and nerve racking. Again, Rice urged Ezra to rest for a few hours and promised to update him as soon as something came up.
Ezra refused. “I can’t bring myself to leave,” he said.
Cantor’s phone call caught Ezra dozing in his chair with his chin drooped on his chest. He opened his eyes and promptly recovered.
“Just a minute,” he said, picked up the glass of water on his desk and took a quick gulp. The cold liquid ran down his throat and revitalized him. He brought the receiver to his ear as he glanced quickly at Rice to make sure he had already plugged the earpiece into his ear.
“I’m listening.”
“I have some more information for you,” Cantor said at the other end of the line with his eyes on Sammy, who was listening to the conversation.
“I’m listening,” repeated Ezra.
“Not over the phone. We have to meet.”
Johnny Rice waved his hand to signal, “No.”
“Why meet? Have you confirmed it or not?” Ezra’s voice hardened.
Cantor was not intimidated. “I have an answer for you, but I need something from you in return. It’s important and I can’t discuss it over the phone. Besides, one more meeting with me won’t kill you.”
“I already told you I don’t meet with cops,” Ezra insisted. “You got what you wanted and now you’re trying to extort me?! You have no honor.”
“Listen to me, Sexta.” Cantor was determined, but kept his voice steady. “I’m not trying to extort anything from you. I do have an answer for you, but it’s not a simple yes or no. It’s more complicated than that.”
Well, this time Ezra disagreed with Johnny, but he was the boss, so he had the final say. He waved his hand reassuringly at Rice and said into the receiver, “Alright, I’ll meet with you. One last time.”
“I’m on my way right now.” Cantor took a breath of relief. “We don’t have time to waste.”
Ezra glanced at his watch. “I’ll be here.” He hung up, then got up and stretched. Rice looked at his unshaven face and wrinkled clothes.
“Ezra, why don’t you go freshen up a bit?”
“Thanks, Johnny, I really should. I must look like I feel.”
“You look like a man who just lost his brother,” Rice said.
“Be right back,” Sexta said as he headed toward the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, he emerged, needing only a fresh shirt. As if by magic, he discovered a newly-ironed shirt on one of the chairs in the office. He picked it up and smiled wordlessly at Rice. Words were not necessary.
Haddad parked the unmarked police car near the entrance to The Palace - a slight violation of Sexta’s request for an official police cruiser, but Haddad assured Cantor that most undercover cop cars were easily recognized by Sexta’s men or his observers. Haddad stayed in the car as Cantor entered the lobby and went toward the elevator. This time, perhaps because of the late hour, the building was less deserted. Cantor spotted at least five workers busy at various tasks, but, much like his last visit, no one paid any attention to him. As he already knew his way, he headed toward Sexta’s room quickly and without hesitation. Just as he reached out to knock on the second door, it was swung open by a sturdy-looking man with a pleasant, handsome face, who was just heading out.
Cantor looked straight into his eyes and the man responded with a calm gaze.
“Detective Oded Cantor,” Johnny announced. “Welcome.”
“And you are?”
“Jonathan Rice, Operations Manager at The Palace.” He stepped aside and let Cantor through. “Mr. Sexta’s waiting for you.”
“Just a second,” Cantor called.
Johnny Rice, who had already walked out the door, stopped and turned back slowly.
“Are you the Rice who served as Operations Officer in the IDF Northern Command?” Rice looked directly into Cantor’s eyes and nodded his head in affirmation. “Interesting path you’ve chosen for yourself. I’m curious to know how you can look yourself in the mirror each morning.”
“Curiosity killed the cat. Haven’t you ever heard that?”
This schmuck had no conscience and no shame. “Is that a threat?”
“If that’s what you want to hear.”
The two men locked eyes. Rice was first to blink. Cantor regained his composure and reminded himself of his objective.
“Is there another available room around here? A really quiet room?”
Rice tensed and his face darkened as he realized at once what Cantor meant. “Come with me,” he said quietly.
They walked down the corridor, where Rice opened a door to an empty maintenance room. Cantor, who had just single-handedly undermined his own surveillance unit, nodded his head in approval and wondered if he should start looking for another job.
“He’ll be here soon.” Rice placed two chairs opposite each other and left.
Two minutes later, the door opened. Ezra Sexta came in and sat down in the chair facing Cantor. Again, he did not bother to shake his hand, but Cantor was used to it and could live very well without Sexta’s handshake. After all, this wasn’t personal.
This time, Cantor didn’t wait for Ezra to begin. “Okay, so the name you’ve provided was enough to give me a location for a search. I went there and uncovered some evidence. But essentially, I still have nothing.”
“I don’t understand,” said Ezra, who understood perfectly well.
“I’ll explain. All I found was circumstantial evidence. Not enough for a conviction, or even to open an official investigation.”
Ezra leaned his chin on the palm of his hand and said, “Even if you did find something, they’d just say he was framed - is that what you’re saying?”
“Precisely. Besides, a traitor’s one thing, and a murderer’s quite another. We’re still not sure if they’re one and the same.”
“So?”
“So we’ve got to catch him in the act. Make him confess.”
“How?”
“Well, asking him nicely isn’t going to work. We need to set a trap.”
“A sting?”
“Exactly.”
“But how? This guy’s no sucker - no way.”
“Even the cleverest ones can fall. We have a plan.
It can work, but only with your help. I want your word that you’ll cooperate. It’s in your best interests, as well as ours. We’ll all end up getting what we want.”
“What do you need?”
“I need you to agree - to give me your word of honor - and, in return, I’ll share my recent findings and the plan we’ve formulated. Do we have a deal?”
“I want to think about it.”
“You want to think and consult. No. No consultations. This time, it’s just you and me. Right now. I’ve got enough trouble already.”
“I thought you’d say that,” Ezra said, smiling for the first time.
“So I didn’t surprise you. And your answer?”
“Why not? But first, show me what you’ve got. We’ll see if there’s even a point.”
Cantor nodded and then reached for his pocket and took out a photocopy of a document.
“Let me sum it up for you. This is a lab report confirming two things. First, that a fragment of a button we found in the parking garage of the man you’ve named came from Isaac’s shirt. Second, that under a stain found in that same area, next to his parking bay, we found traces of blood, but we can’t confirm it was your brother’s.”
Ezra’s face paled as if he was about to pass out. “Fucking son of a bitch!”
Cantor was quick to respond. “Keep in mind that nothing’s proven. Someone may still be trying to frame him.”
“He’s not being framed, believe me!” Ezra, his face a mask of hatred, seeking revenge, moved back in his chair. “What kind of sting are you planning?”
Cantor gave him the details. He returned to the car ten minutes later. Haddad gave him a quick glance and knew that Cantor had succeeded. He smiled, put the car in gear and drove away.
“If I were you, I’d be careful. At this rate, he’ll be offering you a job soon.”
“I don’t have that kind of luck,” said Cantor resignedly. “But when I tell him who came up with all of this, maybe you’ll be the one getting an offer.”
“No way. I already told you, he can’t stand me.”
“That’s because you lack people skills,” Cantor laughed and punched Haddad playfully in the shoulder. “A bull in a china shop, that’s what you are, Albert!”
*
Ezra Sexta gave them the name of the traitor’s liaison within the organization. His name was Moshe Ben-David, known to most as Moish. Their plan was to arrest him and shift the bulk of operations to the interrogation room, but, in order to organize the sting, it was necessary to proceed in several directions simultaneously. So Cantor, taking the role of a sniper, headed out to scope the entrance to the courthouse, the setting of their planned operation. Haddad stayed at the department, studying maps and databases, searching for a suitable place to set up. He focused on files that remained closed to the public - files that contained property records, data from the Ministry of Interior, IRS statements, and a report from Border Control about property owners currently living abroad. After a few hours of cross referencing, he was more familiar with the neighborhood that surrounded the courtroom than its longtime residents.
When Cantor returned from his reconnaissance, he learned that Haddad had identified three possible alternatives amongst several offices facing the main courthouse entrance, all currently vacant.
Cantor drew up a short timetable for a visit to each office. He hoped luck would be on their side so that he could quickly pinpoint the best location.
He had forty-eight hours.
CHAPTER 45
Ezra Sexta and Johnny Rice were in Sexta’s office. The office had been thoroughly cleansed of all police surveillance devices, thanks to Cantor’s covert contribution, which made it clear that the detective trusted no one, even among his colleagues.
“As usual, Ezra, you were right and I was wrong.”
“It’s only natural,” Ezra said in a somewhat philosophical tone. “I want the murderer, the detectives want the murderer, so we work together. Everyone believes they’ll get what they want. But that doesn’t mean we’re all friends now.”
“Okay, so what Cantor wants is a sting operation. To catch their traitor, he has to catch him in the act. It’s not like Isaac’s murder is his first priority.”
“That goes without saying. His first priority is the traitor.”
“And he believes Moish turning state’s evidence will pressure the cop into doing something rash. A good plan. It may succeed, since the cop doesn’t know what his friends do, and that’s a classic situation for mistakes.”
“Okay, so the detectives get what they want. Now I’m asking - what is it that we want?”
Ezra Sexta sat back in his chair and let the question resonate. As far as he was concerned, he had an answer. Johnny Rice, who figured it was practically a rhetorical question, had decided that, in this case, Ezra should be the first to say it. After all, it was no longer just business, and it was not a time to declare that it wasn’t personal. On the contrary, it was very personal, and it mainly concerned Ezra Sexta. Rice would offer his advice, but only after Ezra said what he wanted to get out of this.
“I want justice. I want retribution. I want revenge! Are you with me?”
“I’m with you one hundred percent,” Johnny said quietly.
“No forgiveness!” Ezra uttered the explicit code words.
“None!” Rice echoed.
Ezra rose from his chair and went over to the family portrait hanging on the wall. He stood in front of it and stared into the eyes of his father and brother, while Rice looked on silently.
“Will you take care of it, Johnny?” Ezra asked without looking in his direction.
“Yes, Ezra, sure. I’m glad now that I had no direct contact with him. He’ll assume Moish ratted him out, for sure.”
“Johnny, it should be handled right away. Go and prep Moshe, get him up to speed.”
“Got it, Ezra. Anything else?” Rice stood up.
“Yes. I want someone on standby. We might need to take matters into our own hands. Someone who can bring results.”
Rice sat down again.
“They’re planning a sting and we’re planning an ambush. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Exactly! Only we’re not going to tell them about it.” Ezra’s face twisted into a cynical grin. “Do we have someone suitable for the job?”
“Suitable isn’t good enough. We need the best. And I know where to find him.”
“Tell me.”
“It’s better you don’t know, Ezra. Trust me.”
Sexta nodded in agreement.
“What’s our timetable, Ezra?”
“They’re going to arrest Moshe tonight, leaving you plenty of time to get him ready. Then they’ll interrogate him. Let’s say it’ll take about a week to get him to talk?”
Rice shook his head, his lips pursed. “It’ll take as long as we say it will.”
“Three or four days, then, to make it seem plausible.”
“That’s around Wednesday or Thursday.”
“So your man should be on call from Tuesday night.”
Rice nodded and stood up. He had many urgent things to deal with.
CHAPTER 46
Sunday night - Monday early morning
Moshe Ben-David, known as Moish, turned out to be quite a tough character. Cantor and Haddad entered The Palace several minutes before midnight and placed him under arrest. Some of the workers present were surprised by the extent of force used against him, as he didn’t seem to resist arrest or attempt to run. They detectives stormed in and forced him to the ground as if he was a terrorist. Haddad added a merciless kick to his ribs that left him gasping in pain. They cuffed him and pushed him down the stairs, ignoring his collisions with the gold, metal banister. To the bystanders, it looked as if the detectives were angry, as though they had something personal against him. On his part, he remained silent and didn’t once protest against the brutality he was subjected to.
He was shoved into an unmarked police car that sped
away to the Abu Kabir detention center, where he was held in solitary. Cantor made it clear to the detention officer on duty that this was a state’s witness who was now a walking target for any criminal organization. He stressed unequivocally that if the detainee was killed or committed suicide, the guard responsible would be in deep shit.
The next morning, Moish was brought in for questioning at the department. Cantor and Haddad questioned him in the interrogation room for hours. He merely stared at them, at the ceiling or at the walls, and didn’t answer any of their questions. It seemed as if he was shut in an impenetrable, private world. On the second day of interrogations they began to suspect that the man was mute or deaf or both, but just when they’d lost hope, he opened his mouth for the first time and asked for a glass of water.
They were happy to comply.
The water seemed to loosen his tongue. He asked them why he’d been arrested and what charges was he facing. They told him he was a murder suspect. He asked who they thought he had killed. They replied that the victim was Pinchas Levy, also known as Pini. His only reaction was to purse his lips, neither confirming nor denying it. In a determined tone, Cantor explained that all their evidence had led to him, so the case was essentially solved and closed. They even had an eyewitness.
“Why don’t you just confess and let us all go home early?”
At this point they noticed how Moish’s composure which, until now, had been solid as a rock, began to crack. He swore that he had never heard of Pinchas Levy and had no idea what they were talking about. He vehemently denied ever murdering anyone. They sneered in response. They threatened that if he continued to deny his involvement, he’d be guaranteed a permanent prison address. However, if he confessed and fully cooperated, they’d maybe - just maybe - put in a good word with the prosecution.
He continued to deny that he had anything to do with the murder until the end of that day. Before taking him back to his cell, they again urged him to confess, hinting that it might be possible to reduce the charge to manslaughter. Final chance. Take it or… well, murder means a life sentence.