The conversations with Ilan grew longer and longer. They soon left the chatroom and switched to Skype. Ilan's spoken Russian was perfect. In their first video conversation, Anya discovered that Ilan was as handsome as his picture. He was pleasant, courteous, and had a wonderful sense of humor. His stories about Israel charmed her. He told her that he had studied software engineering and had an MBA. He had set up a start-up company with a friend, which had been sold to Microsoft after five years for a large sum, which he preferred not to specify.
Anya was somewhat skeptical about Ilan's success stories, but after that conversation she conducted a quick search on the internet and found that, two years earlier, Microsoft had bought the company specified by Ilan for 50 million $US. She still could not be certain that Ilan was, indeed, the man he had claimed to be, but he definitely won her esteem. Ilan told her about the advanced high-tech industry in Israel and hinted that a talented engineer like her could easily find work in Israel.
"But I’m not Jewish," she laughed. "I can’t immigrate to Israel."
"You could marry an Israeli," he winked.
Anya still found it difficult to understand why a young, handsome and wealthy guy like Ilan was searching for a romantic relationship on an international dating website. As a matter of fact, she realized, she could ask the same question about herself. Finally, she asked Ilan about it. She discovered that he had registered with the website for the same reason she had registered. Ilan told her that he did not like the mentality of Israeli women, and was looking for a woman from a Russian background. "Like Mama," he laughed. Anya was somewhat concerned that she might travel all the way to Israel just to discover that the man she liked so much from a distance was just the same as any typical Russian man. But the more she talked to Ilan, the more her concern diminished. Ilan was well-mannered and pleasant. Two weeks after they had started Skyping, Ilan told her he must meet her face to face and booked a flight to Moscow. Anya met him at the airport, and, as soon as she saw him, had no doubt that she was in love. She accompanied him to his hotel, the most extravagant in Moscow. Despite her instant attraction, she refrained from going with him to his room. She did not want to appear desperate. They spent an incredible weekend. Ilan behaved like a perfect gentleman and did not attempt to touch her without her consent. Three days later, she gave way to her desire and they made love.
Their parting was difficult, but the meeting made it clear to Anya that she had found the love of her life. Now she only hoped she would love Israel. Before she could even start looking for a good deal for her flight, Ilan surprised her with a business class ticket as a gift.
Her boss did not like her request for vacation at such a short notice, but Anya already knew that she would probably not return to her dull work in the warehouse, sorting and cataloging electronic components.
Indeed, she never did return to her work there.
The flight to Israel was wonderful. Though she had never flown business class and was thrilled with the various perks, she was eager to land, meet Ilan again and get to know Israel, the country which would probably become her home.
After collecting her small suitcase, she went out to the arrivals hall. Ilan was waiting for her, holding a red rose in his hand. She ran toward him and they kissed passionately. He stroked her flowing hair and told her excitedly how much he had missed her. She was floating with happiness. This euphoria changed a few minutes later when they exited the terminal building into the open air and the Israeli humidity. It was in the middle of October. In Moscow, heaters were already working at full capacity, but in Israel it was as if someone had left the heaters on outside! Anya could not believe that it could be so hot in October. Ilan smiled as he opened the door of a luxury car for her. She sat down in the front seat next to the driver, buckled her seatbelt and fell asleep right away.
When she woke up several hours later in a dark, suffocating room, she realized that she had actually arrived in Hell. She thought that she and Ilan must have been kidnapped. But as she struggled to recall what had happened before she fell asleep, she realized to her horror that Ilan was the kidnapper. From sweet euphoria, she descended into misery and bitter despair. She remembered his smile as he opened the door of a large, black car with dark windows. She had thought that, in Israel, everyone drove such cars because of the strong sun. She remembered glimpsing an additional person in the back seat and recalled seeing him pulling out a syringe, and a light sting in her arm as she buckled herself in. She remembered nothing else after that.
Having committed no crime, she was now locked up for twenty months in a prison where all the prisoners were miserable women.
She did not see Ilan again, but she saw many other men, for sure. At first, she refused to cooperate. However, to her regret, there were men who wanted her even more because of that, and scores of them raped her, sometimes several of them together. In time, she came to understand that if she wanted to survive and befriend the other girls, she would have to accept her fate. She began to talk to her fellow-sufferers and discovered that most of the girls in that "prison" (this was how she thought of the place, knowing no other details about it) were simple girls from isolated villages in Eastern Europe. Some of them had known that they were coming to Israel to work in prostitution; some had thought that they would be sold to Israeli men as brides, and others had been told that they would work as housekeepers. She was the only one who had arrived from a big city, the only one with an academic degree, a stranger among strangers. She understood that Ilan had seduced her because she had been alone and nobody would be looking for her.
The other girls did not like her. Most of them had serious orthodontic problems, while others looked older than their age, with their flabby skin and sagging breasts. She was young and beautiful, and the moment she stopped resisting, the demand for her soared and she received a more considerate attitude and more positive attention from the pimps. However, Anya was in great distress, and struggling. She did not want to make enemies. Several rowdy confrontations made it clear to her that she must find a way to win the hearts of the other girls. She understood from her few conversations with the girls that they were receiving hard drugs that dulled the pain of their existence. Most of them wanted additional fixes, but did not get them because their captors wanted them to be cheerful, not dazed. She began asking for drugs herself and distributed her quota among the women she identified as the leaders of the bunch. Her social position improved miraculously and she began thinking about an escape plan. She knew that she must remain lucid and wait for the right moment.
After six months of imprisonment, she was allowed out of the house as a reward for her good and obedient behavior. Alex, the loyal assistant of Itzik, the proprietor of the place, accompanied her on her first stroll in Israel. Anya decided not to use this excursion to escape, but to examine her surroundings.
She was shocked. The promotional videos she had seen before leaving Moscow had presented a very different Israel than the one she saw before her. The streets surrounding the house where she was being held were crowded, dirty and old. There were filthy beggars, drug addicts and drunks lying on the sidewalks. She had not understood why so many of the clients were dark skinned. She thought Israelis had lighter skin. Now that she was walking around outside, she saw that most of the passers-by were of African origin. Her escort took her to a hairdresser, also of African origin, to cut and style her hair. Then they walked over to a street where there were several vendor stands and Anya was allowed to buy herself new clothes and cosmetic products.
The excursion taught Anya several important things. First, she understood that the house where she was being held was in one of the poorest neighborhoods in Israel. In the hairdresser’s salon, she saw drugs being bought and sold right in front of her. One thing she did not see were cops. She knew that when she did manage to escape, she would have to run far away.
After that excursion, Anya was allowed to leave a few more times, but she did not try to escape. She knew she had to w
ait for the appropriate opportunity, because if she failed, she would not get another chance.
The right opportunity arrived after twenty months and hundreds of men. One morning, a few hours before the beginning of "working hours," black smoke penetrated the apartment and spread through the rooms. The girls woke up in panic and started to run in every direction. They were locked in their living quarters because the door separating their rooms from the area where they received the clients was locked, as usual. Anya knew that the moment she was waiting for had arrived. She put on the running shoes she had prepared in advance, put several items in a small bag, and waited by the door for the firefighters to arrive. The smoke in the apartment became thicker, the girls became hysterical and were crying, but there was no sound on the other side of the door. Not the siren of the Fire and Rescue truck, nor the voices of the pimps. They were abandoned to their fate. Hysteria and panic took over. Katya, one of the older women, fainted; others banged on the locked door with all their strength. Suddenly, there were voices on the other side of the door. Anya became alert. To her regret, she identified the voices of Itzik and Alex. The door opened and the girls burst out, running, petrified – and stopped at once. Alex and Itzik pointed their guns at them and instructed them not to move. Alex shouted that there was a small fire on the floor above them and there was no cause for alarm. The girls shouted back that they could not breathe and that Katya had fainted. Alex and Itzik consulted each other and Anya knew that this was her moment. Through the clouds of smoke, she saw that the door of the apartment was open, and planned to walk over there quietly and cautiously. She started toward the door and stopped. Eera, one of the veteran women in the house, an embittered, heavy addict, was watching her with great interest. Anya knew that Eera would not hesitate to yell and point her out, because she would be rewarded with a fix. She was prepared for that. She put her finger to her mouth in a silent, quick motion, signaled Eera to keep quiet, and at the same time tossed toward her a generous packet of drugs. Eera grabbed the packet, peeked inside, smiled a toothless smile and waved her farewell.
Anya started running. She was weak from the smoke she had inhaled and from the many months of malnutrition, but she overcame her weakness and managed to get far away. When she was sure she was far enough away, she switched to moderate walking. The old, ugly houses changed into fashionable cafés and stylish houses. She no longer saw addicts lying on the sidewalks, nor any Africans. She stopped the first cop she saw and started crying.
I heard Anya's story from the policewoman who first interviewed her. Anya had no papers or money. The policewoman, who spoke Russian, verified Anya's identity. She managed to contact a distant relative of Anya’s, who confirmed her story.
During the interview, Anya described the area surrounding the house where she had stayed. It was clear to the policewoman where the brothel was operating – the old Central Station of Tel-Aviv. The place was only a few hundred yards from refurbished Jaffa and the trendy, Bohemian area of South Tel-Aviv – but in reality, it was light years away from them.
The raid was quick and effective. Two hours after the special operations unit had broken into the place, all the women were transported to the station for continued treatment by the welfare authorities. The men who had been in the apartment at the time, Alex and Itzik, and four stunned customers, were arrested at once.
Anya identified Alex and Itzik immediately in the lineup, and they were transferred for interrogation on suspected trafficking in women, solicitation and drug dealing.
Itzik's police file revealed that his last name was Levayev, and that he had a rather scant criminal record. He had been arrested in the past for small property offenses, but never indicted. The reason was simple. Itzik traded in stolen property, in drugs, in women, and in information as well.
"I may know who murdered Koby Ozri and that girl in Tel-Aviv few days ago," he announced to the interrogators before they even started the interrogation.
CHAPTER 9
I studied Itzik Levayev through the one-way mirror. He looked bored, almost sleepy. I was repelled by him. For me, he was a felon of the lowest level, one of those who commit terrible, horrific crimes but manage to avoid punishment.
I went to see the women who had been released from the apartment of horrors. Some were crying, while some were sitting and staring at the wall with a hollow gaze. One woman, quite old, was sitting on the floor, holding her knees and moving rhythmically. The Russian-speaking policewoman told me it was Eera, from Anya's story, and that she was the most heavily addicted. I felt sick at heart. The policewoman said that the psychiatrist on call had been summoned and that he would arrive shortly with a methadone supply.
I felt like entering the interrogation room, smiling at Itzik disdainfully and telling him that we would manage without his testimony; that, this time, he would pay for his actions. But I could not. I had a debt to Koby, to his family, and to Shirley's family. I had to do all I could to catch the murderer, even if it involved a deal with the devil. Furthermore, I would not be the one to cut the deal; it was a matter for the District Attorney's office. I only had to verify that such an agreement had a genuine value.
When I finally entered the interrogation room, Itzik raised his head toward me. He did not look confused or surprised, only a little tired. It was not his first interrogation, nor the first time he was about to become a witness for the state.
"Itzik Levayev?" I asked coldly.
"Correct," he answered hoarsely. "May I have some water?"
"Right away," I said. I wanted to give him a glass of gasoline. "My name’s Hadas Levinger; I’m investigating the murder of Koby Ozri and Shirley Navon. I understand you claim to know who murdered them."
He looked at me, looking bored, then licked his lips and slowly swallowed his saliva. "I'm thirsty," he finally said. "I’ve been sitting here handcuffed to the desk for over an hour, without anyone coming in and asking me if I needed anything. I don’t think the police need more headlines on the mistreatment of detainees."
The little squealer had no hesitation in threatening me. For a moment, I felt like giving him several more good reasons for the headline he wanted to issue. But it was obviously pointless. The bottom line was that he was not my detainee and I was not in charge of his interrogation on the trafficking of women. There was no point fighting with him; all I needed from him was a name.
"Someone bring water for Mr. Levayev!" I called toward the two-way mirror.
"A sealed bottle of mineral water," he added immediately, loudly.
I looked at him in surprise.
"You think I don't know you people spit into glasses of water?" He smiled a wise-ass smile.
Several minutes later, a sealed bottle of mineral water was placed before him. He opened the bottle and took a little sip, as if to emphasize to me that he was not particularly thirsty. It was important for him to prove who was running the show. I reminded myself who had the upper hand here.
"So what can you tell me about the murder of Koby and Shirley?" I asked him after he had closed the bottle.
He smiled with tight lips and said, "You surely don't expect me to answer that before I have a signed agreement from the D.A.’s office?"
I smiled back at him broadly. "In order for you to get a signed agreement from the D.A.'s office, I have to confirm that I’m interested in you as a witness."
His twitch of a smile was erased right away. "But if I tell you who the murderer is, what guarantee do I have that I’ll get what I want?"
"Nobody said you have to give a full testimony now. The rules are clear to all parties. You give us a name, and in return you’ll receive a reduced indictment, on condition, of course, that we can prove it was, indeed, the murderer."
"Believe me, he’s the murderer." His voice abounded with confidence.
"I’m not in the business of belief; I’m in the business of evidence and proof."
"How can I convince you?"
"You won’t convince me, I can promise you th
at. But you can tell me how you think you know who the murderer is. I’m not asking for a name or complete details. We’ll have those after the agreement’s signed. But - since, to the best of my knowledge, you weren’t present at the murder scene, I’m curious to know how you know who the murderer is?”
"Let's just say, he’s one of my regulars and I happened to hear him talking about it."
"He confessed to you about the murder?" I had not expected this.
"Shit, no! Do I look like a confessor to you?" He chuckled aloud and was very pleased with himself. "I heard him talking about something related and put two and two together."
Now it was my turn to chuckle. "You mean to tell me that you expect to have a signed agreement accepting you as a State’s witness, which would give you reduced charges on the grave felony of trafficking in women, on the basis of your perception you have about the murderer?!"
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