Behind God's Back

15

The Oxbaums lived in Lauttasaari, in a big, light-filled brick house. You could tell the place was no package design for the average homeowner; it was an architect’s custom work that integrated the terrain and orientation. The picture window in the living room faced onto a view of a pine-dotted rock, and beyond that the sea. A view like that cost a nice chunk of change.

I had always considered Ruth a naive, almost pathetic figure, because she accepted Max’s misdeeds with endless good nature and a hen-like maternalism. I had wondered on more than one occasion whether she was stupid, whether she was lying to herself, or whether she just didn’t care. She had been a housewife for as long as I could remember. She didn’t appear to have an iota of professional ambition, even though she had a master’s degree in political science. Her ambitions were channelled into her home and her children — those arenas she had managed brilliantly. The house could have graced the cover of an interior design magazine any time.

I was surprised by how calmly Ruth was able to discuss Max’s death, even though she had been a wreck the previous evening. Her sister was still there supporting her, and intermittently shot me cautionary glances.

“I’m sorry, I’m going to have to ask about some unpleasant matters.”

“It’s fine. I understand.”

Ruth was leaning forward on the buttery-soft Italian leather sofa. Behind her hung an enormous abstract, an acrylic glowing in vivid yellows and oranges. With the dazzling autumn sun shining on it, it seemed to illuminate the whole wall. I recognized the artist, and guessed that the work cost as much as a mid-priced automobile.

“We’re interested in knowing what exactly Max was involved in. No one is killed this way for no reason. Evidently he was in some sort of predicament. Do you know what it could have been?”

Ruth fiddled nervously with her wedding ring. Her fingers were long and beautiful, and Ruth wasn’t bad-looking herself. She had a gentle domesticity about her. I could imagine her taking her prodigal, careworn husband into her arms and comforting him like a little boy who had cut his finger.

“As his wife, I suppose I should know. Unfortunately I don’t, no matter how badly I wish I did. He had been acting strange for several weeks, letting trivial things upset him, but when I asked him what was wrong, he just put it down to pressure at the office.”

“How did he react to Jacobson’s death?”

“I could tell he was shocked, but he didn’t want to talk about that, either.”

“Are your financial affairs in order?”

Ruth looked almost offended. “Max handled them, and everything should be fine. I asked Max if that’s what it was, and he said that the money was the last thing he was worried about.”

“This is an expensive house,” Stenman continued tentatively.

“Lawyers make a good living,” Ruth retorted.

“Did Max have enemies, or did he ever mention having received any threats?”

“As far as I know he didn’t have any enemies nor had he been threatened — at least he didn’t mention anything of the sort.”

“We have reason to believe he was being blackmailed, but why, we don’t know. Money is the first thing to come to mind,” I said.

“Don’t lie to me. You know you believe Max was being blackmailed because of his other women,” Ruth snapped.

“Did he have other women?”

“Of course he did, and you know it. But in their infinite wisdom, our mothers taught us that a smart wife turns a blind eye. Max knew that our marriage wouldn’t have ended over something like that. That couldn’t have been the real reason.”

I struck an unexpected blow: “And what about you? Did you have other men?”

Ruth’s breath seemed to catch for an instant, and she glanced at her sister.

“I don’t suppose it makes any difference any more… I did, but only once. It happened last spring, when a friend saw Max kissing a young woman on the street. God knows how many times it had happened before, and I decided I’d get my revenge. You can be sure it had nothing to do with Max’s death.”

“Who was the guy?”

Ruth snorted glumly. “I don’t think you want to know.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“Your brother. We screwed on the sofa in the office.”

The word “screwed” sounded incongruous uttered by milk-and-cookies Ruth. It was even harder imagining her and Eli having wanton sex on the leather sofa where I had sat in innocent ignorance. I was a little shocked.

“Not money, not women — what’s left? What about his reputation in the congregation? Could he have been blackmailed with, for instance, photos of a sensitive nature being sent to members of the congregation and his clients?”

“Blackmailed how?”

“Into providing information about Jacobson, for instance.”

“I suppose it depends on the information. As an attorney, Max’s reputation was important to him, but how important, I don’t know. Do you think that Max had something to do with Jacobson’s death?” Ruth asked, proving that she was anything but stupid.

“Max handled Jacobson’s company’s loans, and the company Max represented is suspected in Israel of money laundering. Max called Jacobson twice only a few hours before he was shot.”

“Max was fond of old man Jacobson. He never would have got involved in anything that would have caused problems for him.”

“Did Max ever mention Jacobson?”

“Nothing involving work. They were both on the congregation’s board and met at each other’s homes in that capacity. They didn’t socialize otherwise.”

“Did Jacobson come to the house?”

“Yes. Most recently, three weeks ago.”

“What did they talk about?”

“I don’t know. They were in the office. I went in to bring them coffee, but I didn’t stay to listen. I imagined it had something to do with congregation business.”

“More coffee?” Ruth’s sister asked, filling my cup without waiting for an answer. Her cheeks were still burning from her older sister’s revelation.

“And did Max ever meet Jacobson’s son, Roni?”

“Why would he have?”

“Roni had also taken out a loan through Max.”

“Max didn’t care for him, and they had very little to do with each other.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. He spoke as if the company’s troubles were the son’s fault, not the father’s. I thought it was unfair, because wasn’t the recession really the underlying cause?”

“Did Max ever talk about the company he brokered loans for? The name of the company is Baltic Invest.”

“No… or once he said something to the effect of it having been a mistake getting involved in the finance business. He didn’t say any more, and I didn’t ask.”

“Do the names Benjamin Hararin or Amos Jakov mean anything to you?”

“Nothing. I’ve never heard of either.”

“Is Jakov that Israeli billionaire?” the sister asked.

“That would be him.”

“Why should I know an Israeli billionaire?” Ruth asked.

“He owns Baltic Invest, and Max met him when he went to Israel.”

“Max didn’t talk about his business affairs, because he knew I wasn’t interested.”

“And did Max ever mention Jacobson’s daughter’s husband, Joel Kazan?”

“Only that he saw him and Jacobson’s daughter when he went to Israel. My understanding was that Kazan acted as a host of sorts.”

Ruth’s sister gave me a look indicating that it was time for the interrogation to come to an end.

“Max called me and asked me to come to the boat to talk to him. He promised to give me confidential information about something that would help me in my investigation of Jacobson’s murder. That proves that Max was mixed up in the case somehow. When I went there, I found him dead. You do understand, don’t you, that if you know anything about it, it’s to your own advantage to tell me?”

Ruth looked at me coldly, but didn’t respond.

“One more thing,” I continued tenaciously. I had been wondering why Max warned me about buying a Benz SUV even though I had no intention of doing so. Had he been losing his grip and blurting out whatever popped into his mind, or did his words contain a message of some sort? “This may sound a little odd. Eli said that the last time he saw Max, Max warned me not to buy the same kind of SUV he drives, because it only gets a hundred kilometres to thirteen litres. I’d never mentioned anything to Max about buying a Benz SUV, nor did I have any intention of buying one. Why would he say that?”

Ruth looked moved.

“Maybe he was losing it… That’s the only thing I can think of —” For the first time, Ruth’s control failed her. She made a noise that sounded like the howl of a dog and then sobbed: “It would have been our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary next week.”