Pattern crimes

THE NINTH OF AV

When the story broke in the press the references were discreetly veiled:

Sources within the Ministry of Justice allege…

Sources have revealed that persons as yet unnamed…

Knowledgeable sources suggest that murders were committed to cover up a conspiracy that reached into the highest levels of the government…

But then, when the Ministry of Justice spokesman refused to comment, shrewd editors, smelling something big, sent out their best reporters to dig around.

On the following morning the dispatches were sharply focused. Over breakfast David translated a story for Anna entitled "The Ninth of Av Conspiracy." He had given a long background only interview to its author and was now pleased to find himself described as "a confidential source within the Jerusalem police":

Wild rumors are circulating at the Etzion Airbase that a Lieutenant Ya'akov Ben-Eleizer, a pilot, has been placed under arrest. Lt. Ben-Eleizer, it is rumored, had been paid to bomb Jerusalem's Dome of the Rock at noon on the recent holiday, the Ninth of Av.

There are rumors too that soon after the arrest a large number of army bulldozers were sent into the Negev to destroy a surreptitiously constructed bombing target there. Unnamed IDF sources confirm that the money used to construct this target was diverted from funds appropriated for the cultural improvement of military personnel.

These same sources state that the designs for the target were prepared under the auspices of an obscure American charitable arts foundation with offices in Jerusalem. Attempts to obtain confirmation have met with official rebuffs.

But a confidential source within the Jerusalem police, who spoke only on condition that he would not be named, has confirmed that the bombing plot is connected to a string of unsolved killings, including the double murders of Aaron Horev and Ruth Isaacson, which rocked the capital this past spring.

This same police source, who is very close to the investigation, points to a power struggle now taking place between the Police Minister and the Director of the General Security Services. According to this source this struggle revolves around the roles played in these killings by certain unnamed Security Services personnel.

Arrests, this source says, are imminent. Meantime, there are rumors that a well-known religious figure and politician may also be involved. Rabbi Mordecai Katzer has publically called many times for the destruction of the Dome of the Rock. And a retired Air Force general, whose name is a household word, is reported to have left the country hurriedly…

When the phone rang, David and Anna were still sipping coffee discussing the article. It was Latsky's Moroccan secretary, The Claw.

"The superintendent's shitting green," said The Claw. "He wants to know what the hell you think you're doing."

"Right now, dear, I'm reading the papers. Sorry he's having trouble with his bowels."

"Cut the crap, David," she said. "People around here think you're the leak."

"So what can I do about it? People can think what they like."

"People can also wonder why you're looking for a lot of trouble."

"I'm looking to close out my case. If Latsky would listen I'd explain to him why he ought to divide it in two. Let the national headquarters big shots investigate the bombing conspiracy. Just let me wrap up the homicides."

"Hmmm. Interesting idea."

"Why don't you see that it gets around."

"I just might do that," said The Claw. "Of course, this isn't official."

"Of course not," David said. He grinned at Anna. "So tell me: How long, really, are your nails?"

"The Dome's one thing," he explained to Anna, "a political-religious conspiracy. That's solved for now, though I haven't the slightest doubt that sooner or later fanatics will try to blow it up again. The killings, however, are something else."

"You feel that way because of Gideon."

"Sure, I admit the case got personal with me, but there's another reason too. Latsky says: 'Don't rock the boat. You saved the Dome. Isn't that enough?' Not nearly enough! To leave it at that is to tell the Security Services: 'You can get away with murder.' So what message does that send to people who work in all the other special bureaus? 'You're immune from Justice. You can do anything in the name of National Security. You can kill and go unpunished.' That's intolerable. When people start believing that, then Israel is finished."

Later he said to her: "Sure, maybe someday they'll bomb the Dome, but if they do I think they'll be surprised. They'll have their riot all right, they'll have their war, but their Messiah won't appear."

Even as he said that he was startled by his tone: He knew he'd sounded just like his father.

Just after lunch, Rafi called him in.

"Okay, you've got the go-ahead. Cohen and his four goons will meet you in front of the compound tomorrow at seven A.M. Colonel Levin's ordered them to submit to arrest. You can hold and interrogate them for a week. Only condition: So long as they're in custody here they're to be kept separate from everybody else."

"Private cells? Must be afraid we'll bunk them with informers. What about the girl?"

"She was just a secretary."

"They've cooked something up, haven't they, Rafi?"

Rafi tapped out his pipe. "If I were them I sure as hell would," he said.

Two hours into the preliminary questioning David understood their strategy: Deny any connection to the homicides; produce unimpeachable alibis from impeccable Israeli citizens; stick to a claim that they constituted a special unit assigned to infiltrate right-wing Jewish terrorist groups.

Ephraim Cohen had brought along a file of his orders, each one properly dated and signed. He tried not to smirk as David read them, but couldn't disguise his confidence that very soon he'd have to be released.

At eight that evening, David called his people together. "We're going to have to scam these guys."

"They're tough motherfuckers," Uri said.

"Right, so first we've got to wear them down. They think we're finished with them for the night, so in half an hour we'll start in on them again. Hard tough questioning. Make them go over everything ten, fifteen times. Start chipping at those phony alibis. 'What color shirt were you wearing?' 'What color shoes?' 'What did you eat for dinner that night?' Make them think their stories maybe aren't meshing all that well. Every so often ask if they're sure they don't want a lawyer. Confer in whispers. Smile knowingly. I don't care how tough they are. Cohen chose them because they're goons. If we play them right, we can make that choice backfire in his face."

Because his prisoners had put together a phony story, he reasoned that sooner or later it would have to fall apart. He didn't spend much time with them; he'd drop in every so often, but mostly he listened and watched from the observation rooms. He was looking for stress points, the little things that made them hesitate. Their reactions to each other too, the particular way their eyes would move at the mention of their colleagues' names.

When he did enter one of the tiny basement interrogation rooms he went out of his way to sound reasonable: "Need anything? A sandwich? A glass of water? A lawyer? You're not being mistreated, are you? No one here's going to be abused or hurt."

He stayed completely clear of Ephraim Cohen. He knew Ephraim would wonder about that, prepare himself to be on guard when and if he did appear. Maybe he'd wonder if David had been taken off the case, or if he'd disqualified himself because of Gideon.

At the end of the second day, he had them sorted out. Two sets, he decided, the first smarter and more efficient than the second. The two European-types who'd been in the office, Gabi and Yoni, were the senior men. The two North Africans who'd stood before the gate, Ari and Shlomo, were the thugs. The senior guys had done the planning; the thugs had done the bad stuff. They'd picked up the victims, dumped the bodies, fired on him from the van, killed and dumped Peretz.

By the third morning David's people had narrowed the weak spot down to two: Ari, the Tunisian who'd set him up at the zoo, and Yoni, the short muscular one who'd pulled the gun in the Lover of Zion Street office and had stored the van out in Ein Kerem.

Uri and Micha liked Ari, because, they said, he seemed the angriest of the lot. Dov and Shoshana preferred Yoni, because, they felt, he had the most to lose.

"Why should Yoni do heavy prison time for Cohen?" Dov asked. "He followed orders, and he never actually killed anyone."

"Yeah, but Ari's bitter," Micha said. "He knows he's got no future here. And just because he was a triggerman doesn't mean he wants to spend the rest of his life in prison, especially when he thinks of Ephraim Cohen strutting around free in his hand-tailored British suits."

They turned to David for a decision. He said he liked Yoni best.

"They don't know we found the van. Yoni stored it out there, so on that he's vulnerable. If we play him right, he'll think he was betrayed. If he asks for a lawyer, we'll know he's ready to deal."

"Shouldn't I go out there and unwire that ignition?" Micha asked.

"No, we're going to be using that. Leave it just the way it is."

They drove out to Ein Kerem after lunch in a three-car caravan, Yoni with Micha and Uri in the lead, Dov and Shoshana with the videotape equipment just behind. David, with Ephraim Cohen and two pairs of high-powered binoculars, trailed the two lead cars by several hundred meters.

"Where are we going?"

David glanced at Ephraim. "Out for a drive," he said. Ephraim smiled. He looked, David thought, particularly handsome today, an idealized Israeli male with fair hair, clear eyes, and tanned and sculpted cheeks.

"I know you're pissed at me," Ephraim said. "And not just because of Peretz. On account of Gideon." Then, before David could respond: "I wish you could believe this-I considered him my closest friend."

"Almost like a brother?" And then, when Ephraim nodded: "Little bit like a lover too?"

Ephraim turned away. When he answered his voice was subdued. "Yes, that too for a while."

"So tell me something, Ephraim-since you cared for him so much, why did you betray him the way you did?"

"Oh, David, really-I didn't."

"He thought you did. Doesn't that maybe make you feel just a little bad?"

"He was unstable. You know that."

"You exploited his instability."

"It wasn't like that. I didn't deliberately-"

"Oh, I get it," David said. "Your blackmail was unintentional." He showed Ephraim his most sarcastic grin. "Yeah. I understand."

They drove on in silence after that. Then Ephraim turned to him again. "Because of you, David, the Dome plot came apart. In some circles you're a hero now."

"So?"

"Why not rest on your laurels?"

"Still a few little things that bother me." David looked at him. "Such as seven homicides."

"You're not going to get anywhere with that. Quit now and save yourself the trouble."

"Just give up, is that what you're saying? Withdraw honorably from the field?" When Ephraim nodded, David said: "I'm a cop. We don't fold our tents."

After that they didn't speak until they reached Ein Kerem. Ephraim glanced at him, confused when the other two cars turned off toward the farmhouse and David continued to drive straight on. Then, when David parked at the foot of the drive that led up to the Franciscan church, Ephraim shook his head.

"What are we doing here? Is this some kind of outing?"

"Sort of. Let's take a walk." David motioned toward the top of the hill. "Help yourself to a pair of binoculars, Ephraim. You'll want to take full advantage of the view."

He got out of the car. Ephraim scowled but took the binoculars, then the two of them started walking up the drive. It was a fine day for a walk in the country, David thought, the air fresh and clear, butterflies fluttering and bees humming and songbirds flitting from tree to tree.

David paused outside the gates of St. John's. Here, from a stone wall, there was a direct sightline to the ruined farmhouse below. David set his field radio on the wall, leaned against it, and began to sight in his binoculars. Ephraim stood beside him and did the same.

"I see them," Ephraim said. "They're down there in a field of rubble."

"Your man, Yoni-he's looking kind of nervous."

"He's going to show you the van. What's that going to prove?"

David continued to observe the scene. He spoke casually. "You've got it wrong, Ephraim. Yoni hasn't said a word. Not yet. But I think he will. Just keep a watch on his face. It'll be interesting to see his expression turn when he realizes he's been betrayed."

Uri and Dov had gone around behind the stone barn. Now they were returning with the broken panel door.

"See that door? Yoni's wondering how we found it. He stashed the van, and, since he didn't tell us about that, he knew, when we drove him out here, that one of his pals had blabbed. But that door's something else, an added complication, because it was damaged in the original accident. That was long before there were any pickups or killings of whores and hustlers and soldier girls. In a way you could say that door is what those killings were about. So now Yoni's maybe wondering if the person who blabbed was you."

Ephraim laughed. "Very clever, David, but, believe me, it's not going to work. Not with Yoni anyway. His balls are made of brass."

"We'll see. Personally I think he'll spill. Don't forget: He knows how far you'll go to cover something up."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"That under the right kind of pressure he'll wonder if you'd kill him too. To save yourself. It's only logical. After all, if you'd order the killing of a soldier girl to fancy up a phony murder series, why would you hesitate to kill the very guy to whom you gave that order, a guy who could really roast you if it came down to a forced choice between him and you."

"Bullshit, David. You'll never force that kind of choice."

"Let's just see what happens, shall we?"

As he peered down again through his binoculars, he sensed that Ephraim was becoming unstrung. David's posture throughout had been directed at convincing him that, on account of his bitterness over Gideon, he was prepared to go a lot further than a cop might ordinarily go.

The view through the binoculars was extraordinarily clear; the light fell just right upon the group below. David could see the strained expression on Yoni's face as Dov gestured toward the barn. The doors were open now. He could see the gleaming front end of the van, and the ruined panel door lying on the ground. Yoni seemed to hesitate. But then he shrugged and began to move.

He walked straight into the barn. After David lost sight of him he imagined him squeezing himself inside the van, then rolling down the window to air the vehicle out. Dov would call to him: "Drive it out," and Yoni would fumble around searching for the key. He'd remember finally where he'd hidden it, on top of the visor on the passenger side. He'd reach for it, bring it down, then insert it into the ignition switch. And then he'd hesitate again.

"What are you waiting for? Get that crate out of there," Dov would shout.

Yoni would sense that something was wrong, but he wouldn't know exactly what. Ephraim had told him to wipe everything clean and now he was leaving prints on the steering wheel and the key. But what difference would prints make if someone had actually squawked? So, okay, he'd drive the damn van out and pray there weren't any old prints or bloodstains in the back.

David imagined him reaching down, turning the key, pumping on the gas. And then how the whole front end of the van would seem to explode right in his face.

Smoke poured out of the barn.

Ephraim turned to him. "What the hell!"

But David didn't turn, just planted his elbows on the wall to steady his binoculars, and continued to observe.

They all ran forward at once to pull Yoni from the driver's seat. They brought him out, badly shaken, then laid him carefully on the ground. Shoshana, playing Good Nurse, knelt beside him and began to mop his brow.

"What happened?" Ephraim demanded.

"Someone wired up your van."

"You!"

David shrugged. "Question now is, what does Yoni think. My guess is he thinks it was you."

"Your people wouldn't be trying now to put that crazy notion in his head?"

"I have to admit that in this particular case, Ephraim, my people most definitely are."

"That's coercion. Coerced testimony can't be used in court."

"Up to Yoni to say whether or not he felt coerced. I'm betting he'll say he wasn't. But let's not argue about it. Let's see how it goes. His ears are ringing and he's scared and he's not all that bright anyway. My people are telling him what they think must have happened, and, believe me, he's getting the idea. You blabbed on the van so we'd bring him out here, but you'd had it wired so it would kill him when he started it up. Something went wrong. The charge wasn't big enough. So he escaped, he's shaken up, and now he's starting to grasp the implications. And here comes the clincher, Ephraim. Watch this carefully. This is the part where you actually get to see him turn."

Yoni was sitting up now. Dov and Shoshana were talking to him, showing him the kind of sympathy a man betrayed and nearly killed deserved. Shoshana handed him a pair of binoculars, while Dov pointed up at the church. Yoni put the binoculars to his eyes, peered through them, and saw David and Ephraim spying down on him. "See, Yoni," Dov was saying, "he's up there watching. He set you up." And then Yoni grasped it-like a lightning bolt it suddenly struck him in the brain: Ephraim wanted him dead, and the only way he was going to survive was to tell these people every single thing he knew.

David turned on his field radio.

"Micha, how's it going?"

"He says he wants to talk, and that he doesn't need a lawyer. We're setting up now to videotape."

David shut the radio off and turned to Ephraim. "Well, guess that kind of settles it," he said.

"You can't do it like that."

"We can't? Why not?"

"Because it's not legal, dammit!" Ephraim kicked the wall.

David turned to him then, and examined him with great curiosity. "Tell me something, Ephraim: Just what kind of game is it that you think we're playing here, where there's one set of rules for you and another set for us?"

Yoni talked for three days straight; it took him that long to tell them everything. They followed him around frantically with camera and videotape recorder as he led them to the killing house in Mei Naftoah, the place on the Tel Aviv beach where Shlomo had picked up Halil Ghemaiem, the hitching stop at Ben-Gurion Airport, the Damascus Gate, and the place Yaakov Schneiderman had parked his truck the night that Ari had hidden in the back. Then on to all the different places where the bodies had been dumped: the ditch beside the road to Mevasseret; the Old City wall near the Dung Gate; the construction site behind the Augusta Victoria Hospital; the road up the Hill of Evil Counsel; and the dumpster in Bloomfield Park.

He talked so fast, so furiously, and with such conviction, that no one who would later see the tapes could doubt for a moment that his confession was freely given. He offered so many details that, when the others were confronted with them, they too quickly crumbled and confessed. And then there ensued a kind of contest in which each of the four tried to outdo the other in quality of testimony and remembrance of detail. In the end David had four sets of videotapes containing four interlocking confessions. And whenever he asked the questions: "Who gave these orders?" Who told you to do this?" "Who ordered this to be done?," the answer came back, "Ephraim Cohen," "Major Cohen," always the same, again and again.

The night after he turned everything over to the prosecutors, David said to Anna: "Now it's done. It involved everything, you know-my father, my brother, my sense of myself. It consumed my life and now that it's all over I feel empty just a little bit. But you know something? The more I think about Gideon, the more I admire what he did. He was a real patriot; he preferred to kill himself rather than start a war. Gati had contempt for him for destroying his aircraft, but if he'd gone quietly, his death wouldn't have haunted me as it did. In a strange and unforeseeable way he sent me a message. If I hadn't been so disturbed by the way he'd died, I don't think I'd have broken the case."

The next morning he drove down to Haifa, met Hagith, and took her out for the day. Judith was in the front hall when he arrived.

"Congratulations, David," Judith said. Hagith ran toward him, then threw herself into his arms.

Later, when he returned Hagith to the house, Joe Raskow opened the door. He didn't say anything and he didn't meet David's eyes. Judith did not appear.

He had solved his case but still something bothered him: Hurwitz, the phony cop.

Yoni and the others had admitted that "Hurwitz" was a floating false identity. They had all carried fake Hurwitz ID, to be used whenever they felt it necessary. Yet not one of them would admit he had been in the van at the time of the accident, a relatively trivial matter in the context of the seven homicides.

Amit Nissim, confronted with them in a lineup, could not identify any of them as the difficult cop she'd seen. So who was this Hurwitz, this mean non-English-speaking cop who had driven the three conspirators around Jerusalem?

The question nagged at David; he could not get rid of it and he knew that it had to be answered. Because the man who had driven the van that day was the only witness to the conversation between Gati, Katzer, and Stone, and thus the only link between the killings and the Ninth of Av conspiracy.

Although Amit had not picked out Ephraim Cohen, David still thought he might be Hurwitz. He asked Micha to check out his alibi. Two days later Micha reported back.

"It wasn't him, David. I know most of his alibis are phony, but on the day of the accident Ephraim Cohen was definitely not in Israel."

"Where was he?"

"London. Seems he and his wife travel there every spring. Probably to order a couple of new suits, the fancy kind he likes. His passport confirms that he was there, so do the customs and immigration records, and so do the airline passenger lists."

"Could he have faked all that?"

"He could have, but he didn't. Look, I know you're wondering how, if he was that far away, he was able to call Dr. Mendler on behalf of Harrison Stone. I don't know how, David, but somehow someone got in touch with him. Because in the billing files of the Hotel Dorset in London there's a record that he called Mendler, and that's something even he couldn't fake."

He went to see Jacob Gutman. It was late afternoon, the floors of the jail were shiny, the corridors reeked of disinfectant, cigarette smoke, and prisoners' sweat.

Gutman grinned when the guard showed David in.

"So it's you, sonny-boy? They're all talking about you now. You did some pretty fancy stuff, I hear."

David handed him a carton of cigarettes. "From my father. He sends his best."

"Thank him for me."

David nodded. "Netzer told me you won't have to go to trial. Said you're going to plead guilty and then he'll move for a suspended sentence."

"So what do you think of that? You didn't put in the good word by any chance?"

"I'll testify at your sentence hearing, Jacob. Unless the judge is a creep, you won't serve any time."

"Thanks, sonny-boy. Anything I can do for you?"

"Yeah. I want to know more about something we discussed that day we met in the park."

"We discussed a lot of things."

"This is about what Max Rosenfeld said. As I remember it he told you that people had stolen my father's files to cover their tracks, and, this is the important part, that they were going to 'set me up.'"

Gutman nodded.

"Is that really what he said?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"You remember his exact words?"

Gutman shook his head. "Max said they had you all set up."

"But that isn't what you told me," David said. "You told me he said they were going to set me up."

"Did I? Wait a minute. I'm getting confused. No! I remember how he said it: 'They're even playing games with Bar-Lev's boy, the cop,' Max said. 'They got him all set up.' "

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. What's the big deal anyhow?"

David didn't reply. He simply patted Gutman on the arm, left the cell, then took a long walk through the deserted night streets of M'ea Shearim.

As he stood beside the schoolyard fence waiting for Amit, he felt a welling up of melancholy. For all his pleasure in seeing Hagith he missed her daily presence in his life.

A bell rang inside, and then, a moment later, he heard the high-pitched voices of children charging down tiled halls. The kids emerged from the building in a mob, then flooded the playground, laughing, skipping, jumping, running, their packs of books and luncheon boxes bouncing on their little backs.

It was a while before he saw Amit; she spotted him at the same time. She took leave of her friends, walked slowly up to him, and shyly said hello.

"Hi," he replied.

"You want to show me pictures?" David nodded. "Where's Shoshana today?"

"She's busy. Anyway, this is confidential. Do you know what 'confidential' means?"

She looked up at him. "That means it's a secret."

"That's right," he said. "A secret just between the two of us."

They walked a block up from the school to a bus stop where there was an empty bench.

"Let's sit here," he suggested. And then, after they sat: "I've got six pictures of six different men. I've never shown them to you before."

"You want me to tell you if I recognize them." She smiled. "You know, I'm not a baby anymore."

He dealt the photographs onto the bench as if they were playing cards. While she studied them he watched her face.

"This one," she said immediately, picking up a picture. "This was the policeman who tried to take the lady's camera away."

David didn't look at the photo. Instead he peered into Amit's oversized eyes. "You're sure?"

"I'm sure." She stared straight back. "Now can I go home?"

He waited until she had disappeared, then glanced down at the photograph. Then sadly he shook his head. It was the one he'd been afraid that she would choose.

It was nearly dusk when David approached the old house on Shela Street which Rafi had inherited from his father and then subdivided, reserving the ground floor apartment for himself. While he waited at the door he marveled at the superb condition of Rafi's garden. Even now, in August, with Jerusalem so dusty and hot, the lawn and shrubbery here were dense and green. There was a sweet aroma too of hibiscus and of the exotic air orchids which Rafi bred.

Ruth Shahar answered the door. "David!" She embraced him. She was a small wiry woman with gray bangs and nervous eyes. "How's Anna? Rafi keeps saying the four of us are going to get together. But you two guys are always busy." She stood back from him, smiled. "Don't stand out here. Rafi's in the greenhouse. Wander around back. Surprise him. He'll be delighted. I know he will…"

David retraced his steps, then followed the narrow stone walk that led around the side of the house to the garden in the back. He stood there a while watching Rafi moving inside the greenhouse, an unlit pipe clenched between his teeth. The long fluorescent tubes of the greenhouse were lit, bouncing purple light off the top of Rafi's head. He carried a plastic bottle and every so often dipped into it with a dropper which he then squeezed above the hanging plants.

Rafi must have sensed the presence of a stranger; he froze and peered out toward the lawn. Then, when he recognized David, he smiled and beckoned him in

"This must be important. I've barely been home an hour. Be with you in a minute, soon as I finish giving dinner to my beauties here."

He gestured David to a wicker chair, then began to move again among the orchids. They were strange tormented-looking things clinging to bunches of bark and masses of moss that hung from the greenhouse ceiling. Sometimes, after Rafi had finished his hybridization experiments, he would release a group from his control, setting them outside in the branches of shrubs and trees where a few, although not all, survived.

"I can't tell you how relaxing it is to garden after a day of crime and punishment. Do you have a hobby, David?"

"Nothing quite like this."

"I know you love music."

"I like to listen to it, but I never learned to play."

Rafi put down his bottle and dropper and slipped into the other chair. "I'm glad to see you. I know we've been tense with each other. I'm sorry that we have."

"Why do you think there's been so much tension, Rafi?"

"Strain of the job, I guess. Stress of the case."

"Do you remember that symposium back in May, the first one we held in Latsky's conference room?"

"With Sanders and your father? Sure."

"You told them I was the best detective in Israel. Do you remember saying that?" Rafi smiled. "But you didn't mean it, did you?"

Rafi squinted at him. "Why do you say such a thing?"

"You didn't think I'd see through your bullshit then."

Rafi's face turned stern. "What's on your mind, David?"

"You were 'Hurwitz.' I know that now. You were the driver of the van. You overheard everything, and you took down all the names so that later the witnesses could be killed. You played me for a fool, Rafi, with your 'our first Israeli serial murder case' and 'consistently marred flesh' and 'you're my best man so I'm giving this to you' and 'it's a pattern crime so you solve it because you're in charge of pattern crimes.' "

Rafi stared at him. "So that's why you came. You've come here to arrest me."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"You sound bitter."

"I trusted you. How should I sound?"

"I suppose I ought to say I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, Rafi. Just tell me why did you do it? Why?"

"You've heard me complain often enough. You know how I feel about things these days."

"I thought you hated the intolerance, the polarization. I thought you hated the way the fanatics have been gaining power."

"Yes, I hate all that. But you didn't listen carefully. If you had, you'd understand why I think Gati's right, that our only long-term hope is to become bigger and more powerful."

"And if-"

"Yes, if that means making alliances with pigs like Katzer or screwballs like Stone, that's okay too. When you need allies you take what you can get. Which is why Israel's allied now with South Africa."

" A war, Rafi?"

"A war might be the best solution."

" Might be! " David shook his head. "But, you see, I don't give a damn about your politics. I only want to know how you could bring yourself to set those people up?"

"Will you believe me, David, when I tell you that that wasn't what I was trying to do, that the thought that they might be killed never entered my head? When the accident happened and Stone got hurt, my first priority was to salvage our cause. It had taken months to set up that meeting. It was the crucial meeting where the final deal would be struck. So I started shouting and pretending I didn't speak English to draw attention to myself and give the three of them time to get away. Then that damn nun started snapping pictures. I tried to grab her camera, but she wouldn't give it up. Then other people crowded around. So to distract them I took down their names. It was only later, after Cohen's assholes killed the nun, that he decided to get rid of all the witnesses and bury the killings in a case I could control. None of it was directed at you personally. I never doubted you were a fine detective, maybe even the best in Israel. But best or not you're plenty good enough, otherwise I wouldn't have you on my staff."

They sat facing one another, two men who'd once been friends. Finally David spoke.

"I can forgive you for using me, but not for being party to the murders." He stood up. "I'll arrest you in the morning. That way you have tonight to explain things to Ruth and organize your affairs."

"I did what I did for love of Israel. You must believe that, David, if nothing else."

David looked at him and shook his head. "Oh, yes, Rafi-for love. For love…" He turned away.

The next morning when Rafi did not appear, David was not surprised. He called the house. Ruth told him that Rafi had been up the whole night working in his study, and then, just before dawn, had driven off without saying good-bye.

That afternoon, when an envelope addressed to David was hand-delivered to the guardhouse of the Russian Compound, he had an idea what had happened. Inside the envelope was a complete sworn and signed confession of Rafi's role as conspirator in the Ninth of Av affair.

Two days later an army patrol found Rafi's body in the Judean Hills. His police Beretta was still in his hand. There was a single bullet in his brain.