Asylum City (19 page)

Then Itzik comes and tells him that Michal Poleg took pictures of Boaz near the old bus station and now the cops have them, and some clown by the name of Itai Fisher, a friend of the dearly departed, is going around and showing them to everyone. He even had the gall to visit one of Faro's enterprises, but the guys on his payroll beat him up and kicked him out.

“You're suddenly a male model?” Faro screamed at Boaz, who kept his silence. “You didn't see she was taking pictures? Don't you have eyes in your head?”

Boaz mumbled something incomprehensible.

“And what about you?” Faro went on, turning his attention to Itzik. “Forget Boaz, he doesn't know his ass from his elbow. But you? Why didn't you stop her? How did you let a cunt like her, barely five feet tall, set you up? For the life of me, I can't understand it.”

Itzik, too, held his peace. They both knew better than to talk back to Faro.

The boss wasn't through. “And how the hell did the cops get their hands on the pictures without you knowing about it?”

“Shimon, I'm telling you, you've got nothing to worry about. Nobody read the report and nobody's gonna read it. Not now, for sure,” Itzik said, his voice trembling. “I swear, the African went to the cops and told them he did it. Nobody's ever gonna piss in the direction of that report anymore.”

“We've got that Fisher kook on our back now,” Faro went on, slamming his fist on the desk. “What are we supposed to do about him? Take him out?”

Itzik was about to say that didn't sound like a bad idea, but he changed his mind as soon as he saw the look Faro threw at him. You don't waste anyone unless it's absolutely necessary, the boss always said.

The problem was that he had morons working for him. He had plenty of candidates to choose from if he needed to use force. But when it came to brains? Who could he call on? How could he run a business when he was surrounded by retards? No business could grow when one person had to do all the thinking.

Boaz wasn't a total imbecile. But he was a fucking idiot to let her take those pictures. If he could, he'd throw him out on his ass, but then who would he replace him with? He didn't have enough quality people, that was his problem.

At least that nut job only took pictures of Boaz, not the “General.” Otherwise, they'd have a bigger problem on their hands.

Boaz glanced at his watch discreetly, but not discreetly enough that Faro didn't notice the slight movement of his wrist. The little shit must be over the moon, Faro thought. He knew how much Boaz hated the trips he was forced to make to the old bus station, how much he prayed to be released from that responsibility. Maybe he needed a little reminder of why he was here and what Faro had done for him. If he hadn't had a private talk with the owners of the accounting firm, Boaz would be in prison now.

“Am I boring you, Mr. Yavin? Is there somewhere you have to be? Am I keeping you?” Faro asked, piercing Boaz with his eyes.

“No . . . no, of course not . . . I . . . ,” Boaz muttered.

“I've had enough of you two. Get out of here, both of you,” Faro said angrily.

It would be a mistake to keep Boaz around now. The smart move would be to put as much distance between them as possible, tell him to go to another country and stay there. Even that might not be enough. But where would that leave him? He needed the deal in Argentina. He didn't have any choice. He had to send Boaz. Anyone who ran a business will tell you that you sometimes have to take risks.

“I
have to talk to you,” Anat said firmly, walking unannounced into Yochai's office. She had to explain what she'd done and why before he heard about it from someone else. She and Yaron had barely exchanged a word on the way back to the station. She was furious with him. Blatantly putting words in the suspect's mouth was crossing every red line in the book.

She told Yaron to escort Gabriel to the interrogation room and informed him she was going to talk to Yochai. “It's your funeral, Nachmias. Use your head. It isn't all about you. You're part of the system. You've got to understand how it works,” Yaron replied calmly as he led Gabriel away.

“Make it snappy,” Yochai said, getting out of his chair. “I've got a meeting with the Chief. But I want a report. How did it go at the scene? I promised the Chief it would all be tied up in a pretty bow today.”

Anat kept silent. She was eager to explain, but she didn't want to have to do it in shorthand when she didn't have his full attention.

“Speak up. We'll have to walk and talk,” Yochai said, leaving the office.

Anat followed after him. “It was a disaster. The suspect didn't open his mouth. Yaron tried to get him to open up, but he pressed too hard, started putting words in his mouth. The African just clammed up even tighter. I had to stop the recording before the whole case fell apart.”

“You did what?” Yochai spluttered, stopping in his tracks and staring at her. Startled by his vehemence, Anat took a step backward. They were standing at the door to the squad room, which was buzzing with cops.

“Let's talk later,” she said softly. The last thing she wanted was a public scene.

“No! We'll do it now!” Yochai was nearly screaming. “I want to hear it now!”

“What choice did I have? Yaron . . . ,” Anat began.

“What is it with you, honey?” Yochai cut in. “Did you lose the plot? Is it that time of the month?”

Stunned, Anat could only stare back at him, speechless. Out of the corner of her eye she could see the cops in the squad room watching. She felt her face go red.

“What do you think we do here? Play with ourselves? You had a suspect who confessed of his own free will, nobody coerced him, and you . . . you . . . you fucked it all up. You just shit on everything. Do you even understand what you did?” he raged, waving a finger in front of her face.

Anat's legs were shaking. Obviously, she hadn't expected Yochai to be pleased by the way things played out. She herself was deeply disappointed at their failure to get Gabriel to reenact the crime. But she hadn't anticipated being yelled at in front of everyone, being publicly humiliated.

“And for what? For who?”

“Calm down, Yochai. Let's talk calmly,” Anat whispered, her face burning. “There are problems with the case that have nothing to do with the reenactment. We have to rethink everything. I don't think Gabriel did it.” No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't keep her voice steady. She'd never seen Yochai like this. And she'd never felt so demeaned. It shouldn't surprise her. Racism and sexism always went hand in hand.

“So why did he confess?” Yochai shouted, his face red. “Explain it to me!”

Anat cleared her throat and forced herself to get the words out. “There are a lot of reasons why people confess. You know that as well as I do,” she said. All eyes in the room were turned to her. She knew all these cops. She worked with them. How could she go on working with them after this?

“Listen up, baby,” Yochai cut in again. The vein in his forehead looked about to burst. “I've been on the job for over thirty years. I don't need some young filly with a law degree, a little girl who probably became a cop just to annoy her parents, to teach me anything. You had a textbook confession. The guy comes of his own free will, sits himself down in front of you, and without you saying anything or pressuring him in any way, he says, ‘I killed her.' So explain it to me, goddammit, what's your problem?”

Yochai turned and started walking away. Anat hurried after him. At least they wouldn't have an audience anymore.

“Why? Can you tell me why?” he demanded, stopping suddenly and turning around. “I could understand if the guy had a team of hot-shot lawyers looking to trip us up. But all we've got is a confession, and there's not a shred of evidence to refute it. And in front of the press, too? You're unbelievable, that's all I can say, unbelievable.”

“I didn't let the reporter inside,” Anat hastened to explain.

“Thank God for that.” But the information didn't seem to appease him in the slightest.

Anat took a deep breath. “I suggest we continue this conversation later,” she said in a quiet voice. “We have to consider how to proceed from here.” She didn't see any point in running down the corridor behind him while he went on chewing her out.

“That's the first sensible thing I've heard out of your mouth,” he said acerbically as he turned and walked away.

YARIV
bit into the pita bread, savoring the taste of the crisp falafel balls inside. The bright sun and clear blue sky added to his light mood.

It turned out he'd been worried about his meeting with Aloni in his office for no reason. His boss had called him in to inform him that he was raising his job status to “permanent.” Of course, he made the announcement with a sour face and undisguised distaste. It was obvious that the order had come down from up above, from as high as you can get.

“Let me give you some advice, Ninio,” Aloni said before dismissing him. “Politicians can't be trusted. They come and go. As a state attorney, your loyalty should be only to the law, not to anything or anyone else.”

Yariv looked at him impassively. What did Aloni know? He belonged to a different generation. He still didn't get that the world had changed, that it didn't play by the same rules anymore.

As soon as he got back to his office, Yariv called to thank Regev.

“You've got a great future ahead of you, Ninio,” his patron said. Yariv lapped up every word. And to think that only a few days ago he'd been walking around in a daze because of that business with Michal, trying desperately to figure out if he killed her or not. He almost went to the police. Lucky he didn't.

He still couldn't remember anything about that night, but it didn't matter anymore. He didn't do it. That Eritrean did. Yariv was ecstatic when he heard about the confession.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling contented. He thought about Inbar, the way she smelled, how soft her skin was. They hadn't had sex in a long time. He was sick of jerking off in front of some porn site on the computer. He needed to fuck her. Maybe tonight. They'd both feel better afterward.

Tomorrow he had to argue against another petition filed by another illegal. Another sob story. Another time he'd say, “However much we might regret it, the law requires deportation.” Another case he'd undoubtedly win.

The change in his status came at just the right moment. It gave him immunity, enabled him to make demands. The first would be a transfer out of the illegal alien division. He was sick of it. The problem was how to convince Regev. He had to find someone with white skin for Regev to turn his sights on. There were plenty to choose from. He remembered how enraged the politician was when Michal and her cohorts demonstrated across the street from his house. He said they were lynching him in the press, ruining his reputation. Michal in particular made his blood boil. She'd organized the demonstration and stayed behind long after the others had left, even came back a few times on her own. Another target like her would be just the right thing for Regev.

Yariv switched on his computer. The latest news flashed on the screen. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the headline: “No Reenactment of Michal Poleg's Murder.” He bit down hard on his lip, drawing blood.

ANAT
was furious. How could Yochai speak to her like that? He wouldn't dare use that tone with her if she were a man. In an instant he'd destroyed everything she'd worked so hard to achieve. He'd humiliated her in front of everybody.

She was also furious with herself. She didn't regret pulling the plug on the reenactment. It was the right decision. She was well aware that a lot of cops would disagree. Plenty of them would do the same as Yaron: ignore what they considered senseless regulations in order to bring a criminal to justice. But Anat didn't believe in bending the rules. In her opinion, you had to follow procedure, even if it wasn't perfect and you didn't always like where it led you. As she saw it, the regulations were in place for a reason; without them, the whole system would collapse.

So she wasn't kicking herself for her decision, but for how she behaved afterward. She knew Yochai would be upset. She should have handled him better, should have prepared for the meeting. Yaron warned her, but she didn't listen; she was in too much of a hurry to talk to the boss. What was the rush?

Anat was furious with herself for crumbling, for not standing her ground. Yochai was right: Gabriel confessed of his own free will. She couldn't ignore that. People didn't generally incriminate themselves without reason, certainly not when they were looking at life in prison. But Gabriel seemed too eager to put his head in the noose. And he didn't have a clue about how Michal was murdered. He was happy to go along with any version of the crime he was offered. He even nodded when she asked him if he strangled her. How could she accept his confession and declare the case closed when there were so many unanswered questions? A confession might be considered the “king of evidence,” but royalty wasn't what it used to be.

She needed to learn from this experience. The next time she walked into Yochai's office, she wouldn't whine about other cops getting in her way. She'd present him with concrete facts, new avenues of investigation.

To do that, she had to start over from the beginning, interrogate everyone who had a beef with Michal, “leave no stone unturned,” as TV cops liked to say. For instance, Shmuel Gonen said he heard shouting outside her apartment on the night of the murder. She didn't give that enough attention, didn't ask any questions. At the time, she just assumed it was the African they were looking for.

She could still fix her mistakes. Every investigation hit a rough patch from time to time. That's all this was, a hiccup. The only thing that mattered was the final outcome. She just had to believe in herself. She could do it. She knew she was a good cop.