The Kabbalist (19 page)

Srur raised his voice. “Who
are you to accuse me? I am a respected businessman and a benefactor of the
community. I told you all I knew. That’s it, I am done. I have nothing more to
tell you. You can come with a warrant for my arrest if you wish, but you had
better have some substance behind it. I warn you that if you continue harassing
me with no justification, my lawyer will make you and your superiors look bad,
really bad.”

“Who said anything
about a warrant…?” Luria felt himself pushed back into a defensive position,
and this frustrated him even further.

“Good bye,
Superintendent. This conversation is over.”

*    *    *

It took Srur a few minutes
to calm down. He sat at his desk, pondering over the situation. Business was as
good as ever. He was top man now with all the other small sharks eating from
his hand. The police seemed to have despaired of nailing anything on him, and
he had cops on his payroll. All was working for him, and now this…

He stupidly got himself
into a mess. This idiot, Illuz fucked up again and was stupid enough to leave a
trace pointing at him… He was incensed. ‘Illuz was lucky,’ he thought. ‘I would
have taught him a lesson he’d never forget.’ But the moron was now dead. How
could this have happened? He did not know what to think. He regretted getting
into this business to start with. He would not have done it under normal
circumstances.

Srur was not really an
observant Jew, but his upbringing left in him a soft spot for religion, and he regularly
visited an old Kabbalist rabbi in Safed. He admired and respected the elderly
man and was accustomed to getting his advice and blessing whenever he had a major
business decision to make. In return, Srur contributed handsomely to whatever
the rabbi told him. In their previous meeting, the rabbi asked him for his help.
How could he have refused the holy man?

And now this… and that
nagging cop… Srur was sure he would be coming back any time soon. He hated nosy
cops, especially those who could not be bought. Srur now deeply regretted
having stumbled into this sorry business. It was a huge mistake. Clearly, he
had to distance himself from it and hope nobody else knew.

The phone on his desk
rang.

“Yes, Ronit?”

“The Italian is here to
see you.”

“Italian? What
Italian?”

“It is a Mr. Fabio
Visconti. I told you about him this morning. He called early today to ask for
an appointment. He is an Italian wine exporter who happens to be in Haifa. He claimed
he had heard a lot about our firm and wanted to check whether we could do some
business together.”

“OK, send him in.” Srur
was happy to get back to business as usual.

The man who stepped
into Srur’s office was in his late thirties. He was lean, fit and tall, with
closely cropped black hair and blue eyes, and looked very elegant in his sports
jacket.

Srur rose up to greet
him. “I am pleased to meet you Mr. Visconti,” he said in English with a strong
Israeli accent. Srur was proud of his English which, never having really
attended regular school lessons, he had acquired with the help of a private
tutor.

The man smiled. It was
a strange smile, as his eyes did not seem to take part in it. “I am pleased to
meet you too, Mr. Srur.” He had a detectable Italian accent.

Srur ushered his guest
into his cozy sitting corner, which comprised a few luxurious couches around an
elegant glass table and a small bar. “Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Visconti?”
he inquired generously.

The visitor moved
gracefully to his couch and smiled his strange smile again. “No. Thank you, Mr.
Srur. In fact, I do not touch alcohol.”

Srur was caught off-guard.
“You don’t drink? But… but I thought…”

“You thought I was a
wine and liquor dealer, I know.” The blue eyes were fixed on him. “I am sorry.
I had to meet you urgently about a delicate matter, and I preferred not to
mention it to your charming secretary. Please forgive me.”

Srur was surprised but
managed to hide it. “Is that so?” he said calmly. “Then what is it that you
wanted to discuss with me, Mr. Visconti? Or is Visconti your real name?”

The man ignored the
insinuation. “Mr. Srur, I arrived in Israel last night, and I am in quite a
hurry, so I would like to get straight to the point. I need to recover an
artifact which was for a short while in the hands of a man by the name of
Shlomo Illuz,” his eyes scanned Srur’s face but Srur showed no noticeable
response. “I believe you knew the late Mr. Illuz.”

“I have no clue as to
what you are talking about.” Srur was seething inside but managed to keep a
tranquil exterior. “Who the hell are you, Mr. Visconti?” he added ominously.

The man smiled. “Do not
worry, Mr. Srur, I am not a policeman, and I am not here to frame or hurt you.
I represent people who are interested in this artifact I have mentioned, and
are willing to pay for it handsomely, with no questions asked. So, you see, I
am here to do business with you, after all, and a much more lucrative one than
liquor trading.”

Srur was thinking fast.
First the cop and now this clown… what the hell has he gotten himself into?
What a dreadful mess! He cursed the moment he had stepped into this quagmire.
But Illuz was dead now, and nobody had anything on him.

And that is how it should
remain.

“Mr. Visconti, or
whatever your name is,” he said gravely, “you must be mistaken. You have come
to the wrong man. As far as I am concerned, you have lied your way into meeting
me, and now you are making insinuations which I do not appreciate. I am a
businessman, Mr. Visconti, and I regret to say that I do not see any business
prospects with you.”

“Just a minute, Mr.
Srur.” The man did not lose his composure but his eyes bore harshly into his
host’s. “As I said, my people will pay very handsomely for this artifact or
even for information regarding its whereabouts. On the other hand, I must tell
you, they are not the kind of people who take no for an answer.”

He sure pressed the
wrong button. Srur was never tolerant of threats, and he already had enough for
one day. “Mr. whoever you are,” he said in a voice trembling with rage,
“obviously, you have a problem understanding complex statements. Let me try to
put it to you very simply: I do not like you. I do not appreciate your threats
and insinuations. I want you out of here. Am I clear enough, Mr.
Visconti
?”

The visitor was taken
aback. “Please Mr. Srur; I think you have misunderstood me…”

“Perhaps,” Srur now
rose from his seat, “but let me tell you, Mr. Visconti, this is no way to do
business with Ze’ev Srur. This meeting is over. I wish you success with your
enterprise, whatever it may be. Let me assure you that you have come to the
wrong address. I will not report you to the police, although I have a feeling
they may take an interest in your case. Do not come here again. Just leave now,
please.”

The Italian opened his
mouth to answer but thought better of it. He rose and found his way to the
door. Srur was already on the phone, talking.

By the time the
frustrated Visconti entered his car, he was already being followed.

L
uria stormed into his
office. He put the paper coffee cup on his desk and dropped into his chair,
opening the bag of falafel he had bought on his way and scattering salad and
tahini all over the desk.

Did Srur know more than
he cared to tell? Luria thought he did. He was furious with himself at the way
he had handled the conversation, but was comforted by the thought that this had
just been the first round. He wondered how he should handle that thug. Should
he summon him to the station for interrogation? Luria needed someone to talk
to. He wanted to discuss this with his chief and, anyway, Arnon explicitly asked
to be kept in the picture. He picked up the phone and called Arnon’s office.

“How are you Anat?”

“Fine, thank you Luria.
How are you?”

“OK, thanks. Is Arnon
in?”

“No. He is in Jerusalem.
He has meetings all day. I don’t think he’ll be back in the office today, but
you can come and visit me if you wish…”

“Well, Anat, if I didn’t
have a girlfriend…”

Anat laughed. “You are
the loyal type, Luria. You are too good for me. Bye kid.”

Luria put the receiver
down and took a full bite from his falafel.

What next?

He almost choked when
the door burst open, and Danny charged into his office. “What’s wrong with
you?” He fumed after his coughing fit had subsided a bit. “You almost killed
me. You keep doing this all the time! Didn’t anybody ever teach you to knock on
doors?"

“Sorry,” said Danny humbly.

“Any news? What did you
learn at the monastery?”

“Father Rafael was not
well today. I had a conversation with Brother Pedro.”

“Brother Pedro?”

“The guy who stayed
that night to watch over us, remember?”

Luria remembered.

“Father Fernando was a
sort of mentor to Pedro. He became Pedro’s patron when he arrived at the
monastery and helped him adjust. Pedro knew him very well. He thinks he knows
what Father Fernando was doing in the library that night.”

“Don’t tell me he was
studying history.”

Danny opened his mouth
to continue, but then he comprehended what Luria had just said. “What the he…
how did you know?”

“I’ll explain later.
Please go on.” Luria gestured him with his hand to continue.

Danny looked at him
bewildered, searching for words. “Father Fernando was a historian. He had a
Ph.D. from Oxford and was a part-time lecturer at the Haifa University. Pedro
thinks he was doing some historical research at the time he was murdered.”

“Does he have an idea
what the subject of this research might have been?”

“Pedro felt uneasy
talking to me alone. When I asked him this question he shut up altogether.”

“And that’s all?”

“Well, Father Fernando
taught at the Haifa University. He even guided a student through his Ph.D.
thesis a few years ago. There must be people at the university who knew him and
may provide us with information.”

“Did he tell you who
this doctoral student was?”

“He did not know, but
this should not be too difficult to find out.”

“Don’t bother. His name
is Dr. Yuval Eldad and we shall meet him in…” he glimpsed at his watch, “one
hour and ten minutes.”

Danny dropped into a
chair with a loud bang. “Beats me how you do this.”

Luria laughed. “Relax
Danny. It so happens that my girlfriend is Dr. Eldad’s teaching assistant at the
university. I heard this story from her last night, and I asked her to set us
an informal meeting with him.”

“So why didn’t you tell
me this in the morning? Why did you send me, if you knew everything?”

“I did not know everything,
and I did not want to indoctrinate you. I wanted to see what you would come up
with,” said Luria.

“In short, you were
testing me.”

“Stop this nonsense,
Danny. You came up with better results than I had with Srur. Let me fill you in,
and then we’ll go and take a history lesson from Dr. Eldad.”

*    *    *

“Come in,” called a voice
from inside the room, after the third time Luria had knocked at the door.
Professor Yuval Eldad’s office at the university was a small room that looked
as if it had undergone a vigorous search by an extremely nervous team of police
investigators. Books, notes and documents occupied almost every spot in the
room. The professor himself was seated behind a desk at the far side of the
room with an open laptop in front of him. He raised his head to see who was
coming and then rose to shake their hands. “Yuval Eldad,” he introduced
himself. “So you are Ella’s famous Yossi.”

“Yes, but she is almost
the only one who uses this name. Everybody calls me Luria. This is my
assistant, Inspector Danny Raviv.”

Eldad shook Danny’s hand,
but his eyes were fixed on Luria. “Luria…” he rolled the name on his tongue. “There
is a Luria I knew back in the days I was a student, and you remind me very much
of him.”

Luria smiled in
embarrassment.

“His name was Aryeh
Luria,” said Eldad. “He was from Safed. Could he be a relative of yours?”

Luria was surprised.
“Aryeh Luria from Safed? I have a cousin by that name, but he is a Hassidic
Jew.”

“That’s him.” Eldad was
now really excited. “He was not like that when we started university together,
but he’s the one. What a coincidence! I get to meet him once in a while at
conferences. He still has a strong interest in history, especially the history
of the Land of Israel. He is a good man, who could have developed into a fine
researcher. Give him my regards.”

“I will gladly do so,”
replied Luria, still surprised.

Eldad brought him back
to the ground. “Ella told me you were investigating the Stella Maris murder
case.”

“Yes, and I understand
that you knew the victim, Dr. Fernando Diaz.”

“Dr. Diaz guided me
through my doctoral thesis. It was a very rewarding relationship for me. He had
knowledge and historical perception, and was a man of exceptional qualities.”

“What was your thesis
about?” inquired Luria.

“‘Interrelationships
among the Christian Orders of the Crusades’,” answered Eldad. “Many Christian
orders emerged during the crusades, and their influence is still evident today.
There were the orders of the soldier-monks like the Templars, the Knights Hospitaller
and the Teutonic Knights. There were orders of asceticism and recluses like the
Carmelites which exist to this very day.”

“I see,” said Luria. “Dr.
Diaz, or Father Fernando, was a Carmelite.”

“Correct,” said Eldad.
“And his knowledge of Christianity was vast. His understanding and analytic
skills were on par with those of the most famous and world-renowned researchers
in this field like the Professors Bennet and Orlev of the Hebrew University. He
was not as well-known as they are, because he was first and foremost a
Carmelite monk, whose life was dedicated to the Church. His articles were
brilliant but he rarely published, and in the academic world, you do not really
exist if you do not publish. Yet, I read two of his works and chose him as my
guide. Friends warned me that having an unknown professor as a guide is not the
best way of launching an academic career, but I insisted on him. With his help,
I can say in all modesty, I came up with an excellent thesis. I still get
invitations to lecture about it at important conferences all over the world.”

“Is he… was he still
lecturing at the university this year?”

“He used to teach a
course for post graduate students. He quit two years ago, and since then we
have not met so often.”

“Why did he quit?”

“I am not sure. His
courses never attracted many students, but this was not the reason. Everybody
in the faculty valued him, and he felt quite at home here.”

“Did you ask him why he
was retiring?”

“Yes. I remember
discussing it with him two years ago. I asked him to stay.”

“And what did he say?”

“He said he might still
return some day but that, for the time being, he preferred concentrating on
research. I said this was exactly what academics in universities do. However,
he claimed that his library at the monastery had much of what he needed, and
that he could use the university library anyway. He just did not have the time
to teach anymore.”

“So he was simply fed
up with teaching?”

“I don’t think so. He
really liked teaching. Perhaps his chores at the monastery did not leave him
enough time… anyway, it seemed to work well for him. Later, whenever we met, he
always looked as happy and vital as ever. I believe he was working on a new
research.”

“What type of
research?”

“I don’t know. I cannot
even be sure that such research existed, but I know academics. He was absorbed
in something which interested and challenged him. He had that glint in his
eyes…”

“When did you last see
him?”

“He was still invited
to conferences and important lectures, and when these took place in Israel, he usually
showed up, and we would get together. About a month ago, we met at such a
conference at the Hebrew University. Professor Orlev and his colleague,
Professor Bennet, gave a thrilling lecture about Judaism and Christianity in
the first century AD. Dr. Diaz was very excited and after the lecture I saw him
sitting with these two, and they had a long discussion. By the way, your cousin
was there too.”

Luria was surprised. “Aryeh?
How is he related to these people?”

“I told you that he showed
up at conferences. He is very close to Professor Orlev, who is considered the
world’s leading authority on Kabbalah and on the history of Judaism in the time
of the Second Temple. I am surprised you did not know that.”

Luria tried to keep the
conversation focused. “Did you get to talk to Dr. Diaz on that occasion?”

“Yes, and he sounded
just great. I asked him how he was spending his free time, and he laughed,
saying he had not a second to spare, with the work of God and historical
research filling up his time. He said it was hard for him to comprehend how he
had ever found the time to teach courses at the university. I asked him whether
he planned to publish something in the near future.”

“And…”

“He said that knowledge
itself is sometimes satisfying enough. He used to say this to me often when I
was his student. Dr. Diaz never took part in the ‘Publish or Perish’ obsession
of the academic world. That’s why he never achieved worldwide recognition.”

“Anything else that you
think we should know?”

“That is all. That was
the last time I saw him.

*    *    *

“What do you think?” asked
Danny as they were driving back to town.

“I am not sure,” said
Luria. “Eldad confirmed that Dr. Diaz was working on something. He may have
possessed a document or object that the burglar was after.”

“There is, of course, a
simpler explanation,” said Danny.

Luria raised an
eyebrow.

“I mean, it could have
been a breaking and entering job with no specific target. Somebody was looking
for valuables, maybe precious ritual objects, and messed up.”

“It is possible,” agreed
Luria, “but improbable. A random burglar is not likely to enter a room so
noticeably occupied.”

“OK,” said Danny, “so
what do we do next?”

“We probe the
hypothesis that Father Fernando was on to something, or possessed a special
artifact or document. We might get some insight from talking to those two professors
from Jerusalem Dr. Eldad mentioned. I will speak to my cousin Aryeh who, as I
have just learned, happens to know these fine people.”

He thought for a while.
“There is also Ze’ev Srur. I am sure Illuz worked for him. If anybody knows
what Illuz was up to in Stella Maris in the middle of the night, it is Ze’ev
Srur, and I am going to apply some pressure to him.”

*    *    *

Luria called Aryeh later
that evening.

“Hello Yossi,” said the
voice on the other side and Luria heard the weariness in his cousin’s voice.

“I have been trying to
get hold of you for hours,” said Luria. “Is everything OK?”

“Not that great.” Aryeh
sighed. “Someone I knew passed away, murdered actually. I am still in shock.”

“You mean Dr. Diaz?”

Aryeh was taken aback.
“How did you know?”

“I am a cop,” said
Luria, “and I happen to be in charge of this case. I met Professor Eldad of the
Haifa University today, and he told me about your connection to Diaz. By the
way, he sends his regards.”

“Thanks. I was not really
that close to Professor Diaz. Professor Yeshayahu Orlev, who is a friend of
mine, knew him very well.”

“Yes, Eldad did mention
Professor Orlev. How are you two related?”

“History of Judaism and
Kabbalah,” replied Aryeh. “I never completed my bachelor’s degree, but I am an
autodidact and I attend conferences occasionally. During one of these
conferences, I heard a fascinating lecture by the professor and approached him
afterwards to discuss it. We have remained in touch ever since. I research and
provide him with information, and sometimes he discusses his work with me. It
is a rare privilege.”

“You have your special
sources of historical information?”

“I told you once that
Safed is a fountainhead of information and knowledge.”

“Eldad told me that he
saw you sitting in a discussion with Diaz about a month ago.”

“Yes,” acknowledged
Aryeh. “I was at a conference in Jerusalem with Yeshayahu, and was present at a
discussion he and Professor Bennet had with Dr. Diaz. I was merely a listener.
With those three top guns talking, I had little to contribute to the
conversation.”

“What was Diaz talking
about?”