Pillars of Solomon - [Kamal & Barnea 02]

by By Jon Land

  The rest of the neighborhood joined Umm Khaladi in yelling at the crew, which paid no attention to them whatsoever, safe in their buffer behind a ring of Israeli soldiers. Ben moved closer to a woman who had just brushed some tears from her eyes.

  “A terrible thing,” he said.

  The woman looked at him sadly. “The land is theirs. They have a right to do with it what they wish.”

  “Are you a neighbor?”

  “A lawyer,” the woman replied.

  “From around here?”

  “From Israel. I represent Palestinians in Israeli courts.” Her gaze turned a bit angry. “This is a case I lost. First their daughter and now this . . .”

  Ben feigned surprise. “The girl who disappeared was Umm Khaladi’s daughter?”

  The woman nodded. “She and her husband searched for her every day for weeks. Where they could not drive, they walked. Left notes in everyone’s mailbox.” The woman peered at Ben. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

  Ben showed her his badge and identification.

  “Can you arrest some of my fellow Israelis?” she asked him, and turned her attention back to the demolition crew.

  “I would like to arrest whoever kidnapped the Khaladi girl.”

  “They called the police. I think someone came by, took lots of information. The Khaladis never heard from him again.”

  “I’m different. How old was the girl?”

  “Eight. She’d be nine now.”

  The age his own daughter had been when she was killed,Ben thought.

  “How long ago did this happen?”

  “Five months, maybe six. I’m not exactly sure.”

  Before Ben and the Israeli lawyer, Umm Khaladi collapsed to the grass, still shrieking as neighbors tried to comfort her.

  “How did it happen?” he asked softly.

  “She left school and never came home.”

  “The girl disappeared in the middle of the day?”

  “So far as we know.”

  “Inquiries must have been made,” Ben said, surprised by the news. “Someone at the school must have seen something.”

  “I don’t believe the school was ever contacted.”

  “I can’t believe the police wouldn’t at least have followed that up.”

  “It’s a bit more complicated than that I’m afraid, Inspector. You see, the school the Khaladi girl attended was in Israel. She was part of an exchange program.”

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 18

  W

  hat have you learned about Levy’s employees?” Danielle asked Yori Resnick in her office that night. Abdul Samshi, the closest thing she had to a witness, had been with the Israeli sketch artist for some time now, and she awaited word that the resulting portrait was ready.

  “It’s difficult to say.”

  “Let’s start with a number.”

  “That’s what’s difficult to say. Levy employed everyone part-time on irregular hours. Mostly he called the night before to tell people when he needed them.”

  “But you have accumulated a list,” said Danielle.

  “As few as five, as many as ten. Most don’t even know any of the others, except by name. Levy seldom had more than one working at the same time. I’m still checking their alibis for the night of the murder.”

  “Do any of them meet the description Samshi gave us?”

  “Not that I’ve met so far, and they’re all Jews. The Engineer may have done plenty of business with Palestinians, but he didn’t employ any.”

  “I’ll want the employees to be the first ones to see the sketch of the man who brought Levy his lunch the day he died. See if they can tell us anything. Now, what did you learn from the medical examiner?”

  “Max Pearlman was right about Levy having cancer: pancreatic, according to the report. Late stage and totally untreated. Not even a trace of painkillers in Levy’s system.”

  “So he wasn’t being treated at all.”

  “Not in any Israeli hospital, anyway. From what I can gather, he had no doctor whatsoever. I don’t think the man ever even had a checkup.”

  “What about fingerprints?”

  “So far we have lifted twenty different sets from the shop. Since a cleaning woman insists she thoroughly dusted the shop the morning of the murder, we can safely assume the fingerprints came from people who came and went that day.”

  “Not a very good day for business,” said Danielle.

  “Many visitors would have only handled merchandise, much of which was regrettably destroyed by the killer.”

  “Any luck locating potential witnesses?”

  “I have had two plainclothes officers with me on the street each of the last two nights. We have stopped everyone who walked or drove past the main entrance to the marketplace closest to Levy’s store. Most deny they were out the night of the murder. But a few who admitted they were claimed to have seen a beggar in the vicinity.”

  “A strange time for a beggar to be out,” Danielle noted.

  Resnick consulted his notes. “Actually, they said he looked like a beggar. Two of the witnesses made a point of saying he also looked old.” He flipped his pad closed. “Any luck locating Max Pearlman?”

  “None. I haven’t been able to reach him since he disappeared from Atarim Square yesterday. No one seems to know where he is. I think he’s gone into hiding. I think it’s possible Pearlman fears the same people who murdered Levy are after him.”

  “You think the attack at the square was—”

  The phone rang before Yori Resnick could continue. Danielle snatched it up.

  “Thank you,” she said, and replaced it as she looked up at Resnick. “Our sketch of the suspect Abdul Samshi described is ready.”

  * * * *

  D

  anielle drove out personally to pick the drawing up, as much to protect the artist’s identity as for expediency. Moshe Goldblatt opened the door before she could ring the bell and looked up from the wheelchair he had occupied since taking a bullet in the spine during the Yom Kippur War of ’73. Goldblatt had turned his attention from guns to brushes and, later, a computer keyboard. To Danielle, his wild shock of hair and bright omniscient eyes made him seem more fit for an easel than a keyboard.

  “I did the best I could,” he said. “Your witness didn’t get a very good look. This was one of the few times I was glad for the software they keep sending me.”

  He wheeled himself toward the bank of computer equipment set up in the far corner of the room, and Danielle followed.

  “Fascinating work, really,” Goldblatt explained. “I create a base outline from what the witness clearly remembers and the computer extrapolates the material and fills in the rest of the features, drawing from a million-strong database. Apparently facial features often fit a pattern, like everything else. It isn’t exact, but it gives me something to show the witness and work from. Spurs the memory, if nothing else, and that helps a lot.”

  Goldblatt stopped at the ink-jet printer and fished out from the tray a copy of the computer-enhanced color likeness of the man Samshi had seen at his food stand. He handed it to Danielle, who took a long look at the man’s narrow, wedge-shaped face. His receding hairline and hollow, empty eyes that even in the picture were difficult to get a fix on. The shadow of a beard that must have been there always.

  My God, Danielle thought, the picture trembling a little in her hand, this can’t be!

  “You know this man, Pakad?”

  “I’ve seen him before,” Danielle said vaguely. “Once.”

  In the hospital, Danielle almost continued,after I had lost my baby.

  This was the man who had appeared at her door, promising he could help her.

  * * * *

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 19

  Y

  ou should have conferred with me before leaving Jericho, Inspector,” Captain Fawzi Wallid told Ben the next morning, sounding more disappointed than angry.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t feel t
here was time.”

  “Perhaps I could have expedited matters from this end. You know, made a few calls.”

  “I wasn’t thinking.”

  “You thought of contacting your friend Colonel al-Asi.”

  In the absence of a functioning chief of police, daily administrative duties at police headquarters in Jericho had fallen on Captain Wallid’s shoulders. Wallid was a young man—about thirty, Ben guessed, which made him almost ten years Ben’s junior. He had been a Fatah fighter since boyhood and had spent a number of his formative years in Israeli prisons or under administrative detention. He had been among those prisoners released as part of the original Oslo Accords and had worked his way quickly through the ranks of the Palestinian police. He had not attended either of the two academies in the West Bank, but had gone through an abridged program in Cairo.

  Wallid was of average size and build with a dime-sized scar on his right cheek. He was extremely ambitious and seemed, to Ben at least, to be always considering future advancement as he carried out the daily duties of his job. That meant taking few chances and thinking every step out, in order to achieve his goal of being named chief of police en route to bigger things on the Palestinian Council.

  “It’s a matter of trust, Inspector,” Wallid continued. “I have great respect for your work and your experience. But I must know you are willing to work within the system, and by that I mean work with me.”

  “I am entirely willing to do so,sidi, and am at your service.”

  Wallid leaned a little back in his chair. “And when were you planning to advise me of this investigation you decided to involve yourself in?”

  “When I had something specific to advise you about,” Ben responded.

  “You notice I did not criticize you, Inspector, even though I know you are under strict orders not to actively involve yourself in any investigation. I do not believe you have been treated fairly. But that doesn’t mean I am prepared to circumvent a policy already in effect when I was named captain. At the same time, I trust your judgment and would always welcome any thoughts you might have on a matter brought to my attention.” Wallid interlaced his fingers. “This matter of missing Palestinian girls, for instance. How many was it?”

  Ben studied Wallid briefly before responding. “Four I’m aware of so far. I believe there could be many more.”

  “And who do you suggest is behind these disappearances?”

  “My source blames the Israelis, but I have found nothing to indicate that yet.”

  “Reprisals, perhaps,” Wallid suggested. “Have you checked the backgrounds of the families involved?”

  “That would require a more official approach, sidi.”

  Wallid smiled slightly and touched a finger to the scar on his cheek. “You were asked to relinquish your investigative duties because you became too recognizable. Punishment for making your mark. But a mark can be a good thing, if it can help you get what you want.”

  “Sometimes that means taking risks.”

  “A liability to be minimized wherever possible. Leaving an out can be as important as leaving a mark.” Wallid stopped, as if waiting for something. “You understand what I’m saying.”

  “Yes, Captain, I think I do.”

  “When being used, you must know exactly where you stand, what you have to gain as well.” The captain’s expression turned straight and flat. “Of course, if you had come to me yesterday ...”

  Ben looked into the captain’s eyes and understood the intent behind his glare. “The phones to Israel were out. You had no choice but to send me to Tel Aviv, to Atarim Square, after learning of the planned attack.”

  “Despite your status with the department?”

  “My established relationship with the Israelis made me your only choice.”

  “I do not recall reading that in your report.”

  Ben recognized the folder lying on the top of Wallid’s desk. He reached out and snared the report he had already filed, buried it in his lap.

  Wallid’s finger circled his scar this time, as if searching for it. “And what of this inquiry made to the Israelis?”

  “Strictly unofficial.”

  “But if it were to yield something ...”

  “We would have no choice but to reveal our methods. Submit them for review.”

  “I quite agree,” the captain said, finally poking his scar like a bull’s-eye. “Yes, I do.”

  They rose together and Ben gave him a light salute before heading for the door, the folder containing his soon-to-be-revised report in hand.

  “Keep me informed,” said Captain Wallid.

  * * * *

  A

  fter a quick stop in his office, Ben decided to pay another visit to Nazir Jalabad. He was out the door of the Municipal Building when a policeman called his name. Ben stopped and turned. The young policeman reached him, out of breath.

  “I’m glad I caught you, Inspector,” he huffed.

  “I think you need to work on your conditioning,” Ben said.

  The policeman didn’t smile. “A call for you just came in. You are wanted on Tabar Road.”

  “Why?”

  “There’s been an explosion at number twenty-seven. The man who called said you’d know what that meant.”

  Ben felt himself going numb. Twenty-seven Tabar Road was the office of his journalist friend, Zaid Jabral.

  * * * *

  CHAPTER 20

  T

  hat is the tape you requested, Pakad,” said Commissioner Hershel Giott as he pointed toward a videotape lying near the corner of his desk.

  Danielle barely had to come out of her chair to take it. “Thank you, sir.”

  “I am advised to tell you that all material not directly related to the investigation being conducted by your Palestinian counterpart has been deleted,” he continued.

  “I understand.”

  “I am also advised to tell you that the tape cannot be transported and can only be viewed in this building. Copying it is not possible and it must be returned to me by tomorrow morning at this time.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Very well,” Giott said, and rose.

  Danielle remained seated.

  “Is there something else, Pakad?”

  “Yes, sir, there is.”

  “You sound very formal this morning.”

  “The investigation into Hyram Levy’s murder took a disturbing turn last night when we were able to produce a likeness of one of the last men to have seen him alive.”

  “And why is this disturbing?”

  Danielle removed a copy of the computer-enhanced portrait Moshe Goldblatt had given her the night before. She handed it to the Rav Nitzav, who was still standing.

  “Do you know this man, sir?”

  Giott put on his glasses before studying the picture. “No, I don’t think I do. Should I? Who is he?”

  “We don’t know yet. He brought Levy lunch on the day he was murdered.”

  Giott’s eyebrows flickered at that. “What else, Pakad?”

  “This is the man who came to see me in the hospital.”

  Giott showed no reaction. “I remember your mentioning that.”

  “He said there were things he could do to help me. All I needed to do was ask. He told me to think about his offer. Said he’d be back. I left the hospital before he had the chance to see me again.”

  “I recall your mentioning that as well.”

  “Levy had written down my name, my hospital room number. Levy was well acquainted with this man.”

  “Go on.”

  Danielle took a deep breath. “You were the one who had this man sent. You told me that the day you agreed to take me back.”

  “I do not recall telling you anything of the sort.”

  “Suggested it, then.”

  “Have I become part of your investigation, Pakad?”

  “Only if you have information relevant to it, Rav Nitzav.”