Asylum City (14 page)

He hoped that would be the end of it, but he couldn't be sure. What if she told the cops? They could decide to shift the focus of their investigation. He called Kobi again and his friend told him he had nothing to worry about. Galit liked to think she was better than everyone else, and never missed an opportunity to tell them so. In Kobi's opinion, Galit wouldn't do anything about it, and even if she did, what difference did it make? The cops were looking for a black illegal, not a white attorney. Besides, Kobi said with a knowing laugh, when did the police start second-guessing themselves?

YARIV
reread the complaint for the hundredth time. Michal claimed that Hagos's death was the direct result of Yariv Ninio's actions and his insistence that the deportees were not in any danger.

Now that Michal was dead, nobody was showing any particular interest in her complaint. It was highly unlikely that the Bar Association would exchange information with the Foreign Ministry. And there were very few people in the ministry itself who even knew of the existence of any legal opinion written by Dr. Yigal Shemesh regarding the fate of the deportees. Yariv still had to submit a response for the record, but with Michal out of the picture, they'd file the whole thing away and forget about it. Why bother with lengthy explanations?

“The undersigned has no knowledge of the legal opinion referred to in the complaint. The alleged facts presented are solely figments of the complainant's imagination. No such document has ever come to my attention,” Yariv typed, watching the words take shape on the screen. That was the best way to go about it, he thought—deny everything. If he never saw the document and didn't know of its existence, then he didn't do anything wrong.

GABRIEL
was standing in an alcove across from the familiar building. He'd picked the darkest, most isolated spot he could find from which to keep watch. Another light went out. It was time.

He checked to make sure there was no one around. This was a busy street during the day, filled with people and cars going in and out of the many body shops in the area. But at night it was deserted. Gabriel stepped out of his hiding place and quickly crossed the road. He couldn't allow himself time to think. He had to do it now. It was the only way to save Liddie. What kind of future could he make for himself in this country anyway? The Israelis didn't want him here. Every day, more Eritreans arrived, and it was getting harder and harder to find work. He couldn't leave, either. Where would he go? No country wanted him, and returning to Eritrea meant certain death.

Gabriel was frightened and apprehensive, but he also felt a deep sense of shame. What would his father say if he knew what he was about to do?

He climbed the stairs to the second floor. He didn't hear any sounds, but what if he wasn't alone? In order for his plan to work, he had to be alone.

Gabriel stood in front of the closed door and knocked.

“Who's there,” he heard the familiar voice call out. “Who is it?”

ANAT
hadn't been planning to question Itai Fisher herself, but fifteen minutes before he was scheduled to arrive, they got a tip that the scar-faced African had been spotted near the old bus station. Yaron, acting as her second in command for the time being, was so eager to rush over there and haul the guy in himself that she didn't argue with him. With the investigation treading water, she knew her team needed action. Nothing improved cops' morale faster than telling them to put on their vests, briefing them for an operation, and letting them race through the city with lights flashing and sirens screaming. She'd learned that sometimes it was best if she kept out of the way. Most cops believed policewomen should stick to searching female suspects and interviewing rape victims. They were useless, even a nuisance, when it came to things like breaking up brawls or making an arrest where the use of force was required. Anat tried to absent herself from such incidents so as not to interfere with their male bonding. The fact that it was freezing outside made the decision even easier. And it would give her a chance to think in peace.

Michal Poleg's body was found five days ago, and there'd been no sign of Gabriel until now. This morning, when she went to deliver the daily report Yochai demanded, he made it abundantly clear that he wasn't happy with the way she was handling the case. “I want results, not theories,” he said with a tone of condescension. At least this time he didn't lick his lip. Anat restrained herself, and instead of turning their meeting into a confrontation, she outlined what they'd done thus far and asked as sweetly as possible if there was anything he thought they'd missed. Naturally, he had no answer for her.

Fisher called the station just as she was leaving the DC's office, claiming it was urgent that he speak to the lead detective on the case. Yaron had questioned him the first time around, so she wanted him to be the one to talk to Fisher now. But meanwhile, the tip had come in and Yaron had gone off to play cops and robbers.

“YOU
said it was urgent,” Anat began, getting straight to the point. “What's up?” People respond differently to being interviewed by a police officer. Itai Fisher was nervous. And trying to hide it was making him even more nervous.

He passed his hand through his hair. It was long, not a common sight among men his age. Anat had been on enough dates with guys over thirty to know that for a fact.

“I just wanted to know how the investigation is going,” he said, fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat.

“That's what you call urgent?” Anat asked, deliberately feeding his uneasiness.

“Michal was very devoted to her work. We worked side by side for a long time. It's only natural . . . you came to the office the other day . . . I was out . . . I thought,” he stammered.

Anat kept silent. Silence made people anxious, so they kept talking.

“I understand you're looking for Gabriel.”

Anat nodded, not speaking.

“Can I ask why? What makes you think he's your prime suspect?” Itai's tone was becoming more assertive. He crossed his hands on his chest.

She could say it was none of his business, that she was asking the questions, not him. But instead she merely remained silent.

“Gabriel didn't kill Michal. She was helping him. She was good to him. What reason would he have to kill her? I guess it's easy to pin it on the African. Ehud Regev's demagoguery works on cops, too, right?” Itai's puny attempt to go on the attack seemed to encourage him. His voice was steadier and more confident.

Anat's cell phone beeped. Yaron. They'd located the target. “Good luck,” she texted back quickly.

“So who killed her?” she asked. The text from Yaron had eased her mind. Finally. They'd been chasing a ghost. The guy had vanished into thin air. People say it's hard to disappear in Israel, that Israelis are too nosy. You can move to another city, switch jobs, but it won't work. Your new neighbors will want to know where you went to school, what you did in the army, who you're seeing, how come you're not married, what friends you have in common. But it was different with migrants.

Anat was stunned by the places she'd seen in the course of this investigation. In the middle of Tel Aviv, just under the surface, there was another country with its own foods, smells, colors, and customs. It was like she was entering a foreign land governed by a secret code she didn't understand. She'd been struggling to make sense of it all, to read the faces of the migrants and interpret what they said. But she didn't have the necessary tools.

More than anything else, her forays into this territory left her feeling depressed. She had pity for the Africans living in such abject poverty, as well as for the Israelis who still resided in those neighborhoods, the people who'd been left behind. With twenty or thirty migrants occupying the apartments all around them, they were afraid to leave their homes.

As a detective, she had to be able to read people, to unearth their motives, their concerns, their ambitions. But the deeper she delved into the world of the migrants, the more she realized how convoluted the issues were. The soldiers at the border were forbidden to help them cross into Israel so as not to encourage others to follow. On the other side of the border, the Bedouins were out for their blood. And it wasn't long before terrorists took advantage of the situation and started insinuating themselves into the groups of Africans trying to steal across the border. Then, if you made it easy for those who snuck into the country to get a work permit, there were fewer jobs for disadvantaged Israelis, but if you didn't, you had hundreds of hungry people loitering in the streets—a crime wave waiting to happen. There was no easy way out of this maze. People thought there was a quick fix even for complicated problems, but she knew from her experience on the force that there was no such thing. Sometimes there was no kind of fix at all.

“I told that detective, Yaron, who did it . . . Michal did more than just go to the police. She took pictures of those people, screamed at them in front of witnesses, confronted them in the street. They dragged her away. They're violent people. They must have been the ones who beat her up outside her house. Why aren't you going after them?” Itai asked. Civilians always had theories. They come up with a simple answer and they're sure it never occurred to the police. But a good cop knows better than to start with a theory. First you have to get as much information as you can. And the answer is rarely simple.

Anat's phone beeped again. Yaron. “One minute,” she read.

“Am I keeping you?” Itai asked, annoyed.

“Not at all. We're well aware of everything you said. We read Michal's testimony. We take all the information we get very seriously.”

Itai gave her a skeptical look.

To prove she wasn't just trying to mollify him, Anat pulled a file from the shelf behind her. Leafing through it until she found the report of Michal's allegations, she spun the binder around for him to see.

“Do you know the name of the man she photographed?” Itai shook his head.

“Do you have any evidence that they assaulted her outside her home?” she went on, closing the file and pushing it aside. The fact that the incident had taken place the day before she was killed still gnawed at Anat, even though she didn't believe it was directly connected to her death. Michal knew her murderer. She opened the door to him. But both her own allegations and Itai's testimony indicated that she had no idea who the “Banker” was.

Once again her phone beeped. Anat looked at the screen and her heart sank. “Wrong guy. Sorry,” the message read.

“Sure?” she texted, deeply disappointed.

“Forty, scar on right cheek, not our guy,” Yaron texted back.

“INSPECTOR
Nachmias, you've got to listen to me. Gabriel didn't do it,” Itai insisted, breaking the silence. He sounded desperate. “Forget the stereotypes and the rhetoric. Being African doesn't make him a murderer. Neither does running and hiding. Asylum seekers come from countries where people are persecuted and tortured by the government. Cooperating with the police isn't part of their world. And you've got to understand, they don't know our language or our norms. Israelis frighten them. They see a police officer and automatically they think of torture and deportation. You have to understand the cultural context.”

Anat found Itai's self-righteous tone abrasive. “We're not dealing with stereotypes here, Mr. Fisher. Just facts and evidence. You may be convinced that Gabriel didn't kill Michal, but I don't know whether he did or not. All I
do
know is that someone saw him outside her apartment on the day she was murdered. So we're looking for him. As soon as we find him, he'll be able to tell us exactly what he was doing there. I'd be grateful for any help you can give us. Otherwise . . .” Anat stood up.

“All I'm asking is that you don't assume he's guilty. Just listen to him when you question him. Really listen. He's not like the suspects you're used to interrogating. You have to understand his circumstances. People like him are preyed on. They're coerced, threatened. They live in a constant state of fear. You have to read between the lines, see the big picture. Even if they confess, it doesn't mean they're guilty.” Itai remained seated.

“I can assure you, we know how to do our job,” Anat said, making no effort to hide her impatience. “Now, if you don't mind . . .”

Anat stopped in mid-sentence and stared at Fisher, who was still sitting there looking at her. He was telling her something, but she'd been so preoccupied by the futile chase that she hadn't been listening.

“You know where he is, don't you?” She returned to her chair and trained her eyes on him.

Itai nodded. “Yes, Inspector. I know where he is. He told me the whole story.”

ITAI
was alone in the room. He'd told Nachmias how Gabriel had shown up at the office last night, what he said, and where she could find him. The policewoman had become very agitated. “Wait here,” she ordered, hurrying out of the room.

Although Itai had been searching everywhere for Gabriel, he was taken by surprise when the young man knocked on the OMA door late in the evening. Itai was dismayed by the look on his face. He seemed extremely tense and flustered.

“Gabriel, where have you been? I've been very worried about you. I've been trying to get in touch with you for days.”

Gabriel avoided his eyes. “I did something terrible, Itai. Please, please, don't be mad at me,” he said, his voice trembling. Then he burst into tears.

Itai stared at him, petrified.

“What are you trying to tell me?” he asked. His own voice was unsteady as well.

Gabriel just kept on sobbing.

“Is it because the cops are looking for you?” Itai asked hesitantly.