Lineup (28 page)
ZIV
fiddled nervously with his cell phone while Merav was buying Gili a lollipop. From time to time she glanced up at him and their eyes met. He hadn’t made the call yet. He’d promised her he’d wait till the last minute.
IT
was three months since Faro had given him his life back. He still didn’t understand exactly how it happened, why they let him go so casually after they’d been so determined to get their hands on him.
He’d allowed himself a glimmer of hope when the car passed through the border crossing. After all, it would have been easy to kill him before they left the West Bank. It was the middle of the night and they were traveling on a dark, secluded road. But he was still afraid to believe he’d get out alive. So many things had gone wrong in his life. Even at the end, when Faro said, “Look out for yourself,” and his body responded with a shudder of relief, his brain still refused to take it in.
In less than a minute, he was standing in the street outside Faro’s imposing house. A heavy door slammed shut behind him and he was free. He walked away quickly, lengthening his strides the farther he went, until he was running as fast as he could in his condition. His body shrieked in pain, but he had to get as far away as possible.
Gasping for breath, he kept on running. He stopped only when he was about to collapse. Leaning against a utility pole, he looked back to be sure no one was following him, that it wasn’t just another trick. The street was empty. He was all alone.
“EL
Al Flight 325 to Paris is now boarding at Gate Two. Passengers are requested to proceed to the boarding gate.” He looked over at Merav again. She was just leaving the candy shop with Gili in her arms. She smiled at him and nodded. It was time. He could make the call.
SOME
nights he woke up covered in sweat, his heart pounding, petrified by the thought that he’d imagined it all, that he was still living the nightmare, that it wasn’t over yet. It was only when he felt the stroke of her soft hand and heard her say everything was all right that he could breathe normally again. Sometimes in the middle of the day he felt compelled to go by Gili’s preschool to see for himself that he was safe. If he could, he’d never let them leave the house.
He didn’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden all the bad had vanished from his life. The police were finally convinced that he didn’t rape anyone, the true criminal was caught (it turned out to be the editor of the local paper, the headlines screaming “Engel Is the Devil” on the day his name was released to the press), Faro was out of the picture, and what mattered most: he had his family back. It was like someone had waved a magic wand and banished the darkness, bathing him in a bright, warm light.
HE
made his way to an empty gate, his mind echoing Merav’s apprehensions. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his cell phone. His heart was racing. Was she right? Was he making a mistake? “Stop it,” he admonished himself. “You’ve made your decision. Quit agonizing over it.” He knew he might live to regret it, but it was the right thing to do.
TWO
weeks ago, he and Merav had decided to accept her uncle’s offer of a job in his flowerpot factory in Strasbourg. Ziv had always laughed off the suggestion that he go all the way to France just to sell flowerpots. He didn’t know a word of French.
But after everything they’d been through, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore. After all, they say that when one door closes, another one opens. Besides, Faro was liable to change his mind, and as for Meshulam, the hatred he’d seen in his eyes during the meeting with his boss had sent a shiver down Ziv’s spine.
He kept reminding himself that even though he was on top of the world at the moment and surviving the ordeal made him feel reborn, the euphoria was bound to wear off and then he’d go back to life as usual. He’d have to leave the security of his home and go out looking for a job, which meant he’d have to deal with the same questions about his former position and why he had been laid off. No one wanted to hire him before, and he could be certain they wouldn’t now that there was a cloud of suspicion hanging over his head, no matter that his conviction had been overturned. Where there’s smoke there’s fire, people said. In France, nobody knew who he was, nobody knew about his past, and his name didn’t immediately arouse associations with manhunts and rapists. He’d be able to start over with a clean slate.
“HELLO?”
He heard Nachum’s voice through the phone.
“It’s . . . Ziv . . . Ziv Nevo,” he said, clearing his throat.
He agreed with Merav that it was very likely he owed his release to Nachum. Something the detective said or did must have induced Faro to back off. But even though he’d saved Nachum’s life, and Nachum had probably saved his, he still couldn’t forget that night in the interrogation room, the man’s terrifying eyes, his refusal to listen, his callousness.
AS
soon as the decision was made, they started getting ready to leave. Merav quit her job and they took Gili out of preschool. Ziv was about to say good-bye to his old life, but he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d done, about the bomb that was under a car somewhere waiting to go off.
Merav tried to persuade him to forget it. There was nothing he could do about it now, even if he wanted to, she said. And the price was too high. Ziv had to agree. Meir’s words in Abu Kabir still echoed in his head, and even Faro’s parting “Look out for yourself” contained a thinly veiled threat.
The smart thing to do was to keep going and not look back, but he couldn’t do it. The more he thought about it, the clearer it became to him: if he wanted to open a new door in his life, he had to close the old one first. And he couldn’t do that without fixing what he’d broken.
For a week he’d walked the streets around Louis Marshall Street looking for the car. Having learned his lesson from the last time, he conducted his search during the day with Merav by his side. But the car was gone. He went back time and again, but he couldn’t find it. After a while he gave up. If he hadn’t found the car by now, he never would. He consoled himself with the thought that the bomb might have gone off without causing any harm, or Faro might have had it dismantled in time.
Then last night as they lay in bed looking around at their empty apartment, its contents already on the way to France, he brought it up again. “I have to wrap this up before we leave,” he said to Merav, telling her he wanted to talk to Nachum. “That’s insane,” she protested. “He’s not your friend, he’s a cop. What happens if he decides to have you arrested? You committed a felony! You want me and Gili to go to the airport while you go to jail? I don’t want to lose you again,” she said, bursting into tears.
He gathered her in his arms and kissed her hair. He didn’t want to lose her again either. There had to be another way.
“HOW’S
Merav? Gili?” Nachum asked.
“They’re fine, thanks,” he mumbled. In the distance he could see the passengers lining up at the gate to board the flight to Paris. Merav and Gili were already there. He didn’t have much time.
Naturally, he wasn’t going to mention Faro’s name. Or Meshulam’s either, for that matter. He’d just give him the license plate number. That was enough. The cops could take it from there. He wasn’t going to let himself worry about what conclusions the detective drew or what he did with the information. If he wanted to, he could order his arrest and the government could request his extradition from France. He didn’t kid himself. He knew he was taking a risk.
“What’s that noise? Where are you?” Nachum asked when the last call for the flight to Paris was announced.
GALIT
was enjoying the feel of the warm sun on her skin. She didn’t have to be in court today, so she’d decided to take advantage of the opportunity to bring her car in for its annual safety inspection. She’d only gotten it back yesterday after her parents had intervened when they heard her arguing with her brother about it.
“Go for it,” Assaf had joked, kissing her before he left for work. They’d been together for a month, and so far it was going great.
She stretched and felt a stabbing pain in her back, a reminder of that night. If Eli Nachum hadn’t acted on his hunch so quickly, she would’ve been Dori Engel’s latest rape victim. Maybe even his first murder victim.
The line of cars was inching forward slowly. She should’ve listened to Assaf and let the garage take the car in for its inspection. She could’ve used the time to get some rest.
Her cell phone rang. Nachum. Any other day she would have answered immediately, but now she decided to ignore the call and switched the phone to
MUTE
. She’d promised herself a day off, and she didn’t want to think about work today.
IN
a few months, she’d have to testify against Engel in court. For the first time in her life, she’d be on the witness stand, not at the prosecutor’s desk. Engel’s conviction was a slam dunk even without her testimony. He had a tattoo on the back of his left arm (a snake, not a dragon as Sarah Glazer thought), and the rings he took from Adi and Dana were found in his apartment, along with two others from unknown victims, despite Nachum’s prediction that he’d probably gotten rid of them.
“Right turn signal, ma’am. Left turn signal,” the inspector shouted at her, interrupting her thoughts.
They’d gotten a confession out of Engel, but Sivan, the ADA on the case, told her he’d recanted. It seemed his attorney was planning to argue diminished responsibility. It was all because of his difficult childhood: his father had abandoned him, the schools and welfare agencies had turned a blind eye, and he’d been sexually molested by a friend of his mother’s. She’d heard those sob stories before. Scum like Dori always had a list of people to blame and tales to tell. He’d probably say the women asked for it, that they teased him, that it was their fault—all that chauvinistic crap. She never bought their excuses. People had free will. They didn’t have to be the product of their upbringing. Assaf thought her attitude was too simplistic and inflexible. Maybe that’s why he was a defense attorney and she was a prosecutor.
They never talked about what happened that day in her office, how they put together a plea bargain that led to the conviction of an innocent man. He knew why she’d done it. After all, it was in all the papers. But she’d probably never know why he agreed to it. He’d never break lawyer-client confidentiality. Whatever Ziv Nevo told him, the reason he didn’t want to fight to prove his innocence would forever remain a secret.
But she did talk about it with her colleagues in the DA’s Office, including Rachel Zuriel. It shouldn’t have happened, we have to be more careful, but the bottom line is that these things happen. That’s what everyone said, and it’s what she told herself.
“We don’t have all day, ma’am. Put it in reverse, please. Brakes,” the inspector shouted, and she did as she was told.
Her cell phone flashed. Nachum again. She’d call him back when she was done here. He was more than just “work.” She owed him her life.
She’d seen him in the courthouse last week when he came to testify in one of her cases. They took advantage of the opportunity to sit down together in the cafeteria. Over coffee, he’d hinted there was a reason Faro’s henchmen had been holding Nevo. Apparently, he’d gotten mixed up with them even before that. She didn’t ask for details and he didn’t offer any. If it was true, Nevo hadn’t said a word about it when he was questioned. Faro was a dangerous man who didn’t forget and didn’t forgive. She’d gotten a taste of the brutality of the crime lord and his organization in Yariv Cohen’s trial.
“The lights are okay. Move forward, ma’am,” the inspector shouted. She drove on to the next station, stopping over the pit for inspection of the undercarriage.
Nachum called a third time. She’d be through in a minute and get back to him. He hadn’t been reinstated yet. Everyone knew he belonged on the force, but no commander wanted him on his team. In the cafeteria he’d said he might relocate to Haifa.
Galit was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t notice the commotion outside.
“Get out of the car, ma’am,” someone shouted at her over his shoulder. He seemed to be running away.
She looked around and saw that everybody had moved as far away from her as possible.
“What’s going on?” she said, sticking her head out the window.
“There’s a bomb under the car!” one of the inspectors yelled.
“What?”
“Two hand grenades stuck under your car. Get out! Now!”
ZIV
was sitting at the kitchen table looking out at the rain. It hadn’t let up for two days. The weather here was depressing. It was too cold, too wet. He missed the sunshine back home. At this time of year the days were warm and bright.
Merav and Gili were still asleep. The house was quiet, the silence broken only by the sound of the Israeli newscast coming from his computer. The newsreader was reporting breathlessly about rumors that the defense minister was preparing to announce his resignation within the hour.
Getting up from his chair, Ziv yawned and stretched. It was Sunday, the start of a new week in Israel. It was still the weekend here. That was another thing it was hard for him to adjust to. Even though they’d been in France for several months now, he kept having to remind himself that the weekend started on Saturday, not Friday. His biological clock was still set for Israeli time.
A parade of commentators followed one another on the computer screen, each analyzing the effect of the minister’s resignation on the stability of the government, the peace process, tensions with Israel’s Arab neighbors. As usual, Israelis were convinced that whatever happened in the country had global impact.
He wasn’t happy here. He didn’t belong. He didn’t have any friends. Merav’s uncle had given him a job in the warehouse in his factory. He spent his days arranging flowerpots on shelves. Her uncle promised him something better as soon as his French improved, but unlike Gili, who could already chatter away like a native, Ziv was still struggling to make sense of the language.
There were plenty of times when he felt he couldn’t do it anymore, especially when he started thinking about what his future here was going to look like. But he didn’t let those moments get the better of him. It took no more than a glance at Merav and Gili to remind him of what he had, of what he’d nearly lost for good. The experiences he’d been through had made him a better husband, a better father. At least, that’s what he wanted to believe. He and Merav were trying to get pregnant. No luck yet, but never mind. In the meantime, they were having fun trying.
Knowing he’d done the right thing helped too. He’d saved the life of that ADA, Galit Lavie. A few days after they arrived here, he read on the Internet that they’d found live grenades under her car and defused them in time. She was unharmed. He couldn’t believe the target was the prosecutor in his own case. He had no idea why Meshulam wanted him to rig a bomb to her car. He’d probably never know.
He turned on the radio. They were playing a familiar song, and he hummed along. He still knew all the words. It had been popular during his army days. They used to sing it in the car on the way to some disco in Tel Aviv when they were both on leave. When Merav got up he’d ask her if she remembered it.
The song tugged at his heart. It was always the little things that got to him: the hummus he found in a supermarket near their new home, a man walking down the street with a yarmulke on his head, pictures of the first snow in Jerusalem. “Look how beautiful it is!” he’d exclaimed, calling Gili to come see the pictures on the computer. Dressed in white, Jerusalem looked so serene and majestic. It seemed peaceful, not the scene of conflict and contention. His son gave him a puzzled look. It snowed almost every day in Strasbourg in winter. “Remember when we went to Jerusalem to see the snow?” Ziv asked, still trying to infect Gili with his excitement.
“I remember,” Merav chimed in. “We were stuck in traffic for hours at the entrance to the city.”
Two months from now, Merav and Gili would fly to Israel for her nephew’s bar mitzvah. As much as he wanted to, he wouldn’t be going with them. There was a warrant out for his arrest. He’d never be able to go back. He’d consulted with a French attorney and learned that he was safe as long as he stayed in France. Even if Israel requested his extradition, the French government wouldn’t agree, he was told. Meanwhile, no such request had been filed. Sometimes he wondered if his current situation wasn’t the result of a deliberate decision, a unique form of punishment tailor-made for him. He wasn’t behind bars, maybe because Lavie wasn’t hurt. Instead, he was condemned to serve out a life sentence remote from Israel.
Ziv sat down again and began surfing the news site. The defense minister’s resignation still occupied the headline. But it turned out the reports were unfounded. His office issued a firm denial. The rumor mill had been working overtime. A small item farther down caught Ziv’s eye. The police had identified the body that had washed up several days ago on the beach north of Caesarea. Ziv had been following the story. It was the badly decomposed body of a man in his late twenties. The police had no clue as to his identity. No one answering his description had been reported missing.
He heard Merav moving around in the bedroom. He got up and put the kettle on to make her coffee. The three of them would have breakfast together when Gili woke up. All things considered, he was a lucky man.
He went back to the computer. There was a new headline: Shimon Faro had been arrested for murder. Ziv’s heart raced as he quickly scanned the article. The body on the beach was one of Faro’s soldiers. With a shaking hand, he clicked on the link to the picture. His jaw fell when he saw the face of the man whose identity they now knew. It was David Meshulam.
The night he’d gone to Faro’s house was still fresh in his mind. He remembered the fury that had flashed in the crime lord’s eyes when he told him what Meshulam had ordered him to do. Although Faro remained silent, Ziv was certain it was the first he’d heard of it.
He devoured every word in the news item. It didn’t provide much information because the judge had issued a gag order. The report concluded with a quote from Inspector Eli Nachum, head of the special team in the Haifa district that was investigating the incident. He said the police had ironclad evidence against Shimon Faro; the murder was related to another case that had been under investigation several months ago. How come Nachum was back on the force?
Merav came into the kitchen. Ziv jumped up from his chair.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking at him questioningly.
“Nothing, nothing at all,” he mumbled. He needed time to think, to process what he’d read. And there was no reason to upset her with this the minute she got out of bed. She didn’t like it that he wasn’t able to cut his ties with their former life. She wanted to bury the past, to focus on the future.
“Really?” she asked, stroking his face.
“Really. Everything’s fine,” he said with a smile.
What did this murder mean for them? Deep down, he’d always been afraid he’d hear from Meshulam again, that he was still looking to get back at him. He couldn’t forget that the man had tried to get rid of him there in the West Bank.
It was a few seconds before Ziv realized that Merav was waving something in front of his face with a big grin. Then it dawned on him.
“That’s right, you got it,” she said with a laugh, holding out the plastic stick. “We’re pregnant!”
