Doron sat down. He had to persuade her to cooperate. “I’m sorry,” he said, extending his hand. “I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Commander Doron Yellin.”
The director’s eyebrows went up in surprise at this information, and she extended her hand as well. “So I was right, that is why you’re here; but now I’d like to hear your reaction, as a police officer and as her husband. The nurses and I emphasized to your colleagues that we think this is all a big mistake. There’s just no way that such a wonderful young woman, who took care of her grandfather with such dedication, could possibly be involved in such a crime.”
Doron smiled at her. “I agree, one hundred percent. I’m not here to find incriminating evidence. On the contrary, I am confident that Galia is innocent. I’m trying to tie up loose ends so I can prove that to be the case.”
Her face seemed to have softened a bit. “So, Commander Yellin, you’re conducting a private investigation? If that’s what you’re up to, I’d be happy to help you.”
Doron relaxed. He was glad to find someone who was on his side. Still, his voice trembled as he asked: “Do you have any idea why Galia would have hidden the existence of her grandfather from me?”
The director saw how hard it was for Doron to accept the fact that his wife had hid important information from him. Just like him, she could read the emotions of those whom she interacted with. She felt sympathy for the man with the sad blue eyes, who sat before her trying desperately to understand his wife and everything about her.
“Commander Yellin...”
“You can call me Doron.”
“Doron, then. I can only guess why, based on knowing Galia for many years. We’ve gone through a lot together. Galia and her mother went through quite a crisis when Yehuda stopped communicating. Then when Haya passed away, we suggested that she stop visiting, since it was so emotionally difficult for her. I have to add — if my memory doesn’t fail me — that she was going through something else, besides the death of her mother. I think it was a self-defense mechanism, which she needed to get through that tough period. It might have kept her from sharing with you or others what she was experiencing. This self-defense mechanism made her close her heart to you. If you confront her about it, the dam will break. These difficult feelings will flood her again. It could very well be that in all the time since you’ve met, she hasn’t felt emotionally prepared to talk about her experience and to let all those memories and feelings wash over her anew.”
Doron sat fascinated as he listened to the explanation given to him. It was so important for him to hear every detail about Galia. The director was happy to oblige and answer all of his questions. Doron knew that he could not delay the inevitable. He dared to ask if he could meet Grandpa Yehuda. He noted her hesitation — which he fully understood — but he would not relent.
“Listen, this is part of my wife’s life, a part I know nothing about. From the first second I heard about him, I felt a need to see him, to meet him, to try to engage him in conversation. He can tell me things that Galia apparently will never find the courage to tell me.”
The director rose. “If I were you, I would not pin my hopes on Yehuda Hador. He has practically lost the power of speech; it’s been months since he’s said anything, and that was just a few isolated words. Come, I’ll take you to him. I hope he hasn’t fallen asleep already. He’s had quite a day, mainly thanks to those other detectives.”
Doron walked alongside her. His heart was beating rapidly, and he was profoundly agitated. Would Grandpa Yehuda look like Galia? The director opened the door and entered, Doron following. Yehuda was lying in his bed, starting up at the ceiling with glazed eyes. She sat next to him and held his hand.
“Yehuda, you have a guest. His name is Doron. He’s Galia’s husband. You remember Galia, your granddaughter? He wants to talk to you about her. Please tell him what you can. It’s all right.”
The grandfather’s gaze was still fixed on the ceiling. The director got up and gestured to Doron to take her seat. “I’m going to leave the two of you together, and I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she said.
Doron conveyed his gratitude with a glance and sat down on the bed. He looked at the profile of the old man lying there. The passage of many years was carved into his face. His white hair was thin, his face deeply lined with wrinkles. How old was he? Doron imagined Yehuda had to be in his late eighties. How could he engage him in conversation? He could see a tear in one eye. Doron struggled to keep his emotions in check; he had never felt like this before. With one hand, he shook Yehuda’s hand, while with his other hand he gently turned the elderly man’s face towards him. Doron was struck by how similar the eyes were to his beloved’s. Now there were tears in Doron’s eyes as well. Yehuda appeared to be looking at him, but could he truly see him?
“Yehuda, my name is Doron. I’m married to your granddaughter Galia. We have a wonderful daughter, named Shir.” He took out his wallet, showing Yehuda the picture of Galia and Shir. For a moment, it seemed that Yehuda couldn’t see the picture at all, but a few seconds later, he reached out for it, with a shaky hand. It seemed like he was caressing the photograph. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out.
Doron continued, leaving the picture in the grandfather’s hand. “Yehuda, Galia is in a lot of trouble. They say she did something terrible. I really want to help her, but she won’t talk to me. She won’t cooperate. I keep discovering new things about her. I love her more than my own life, but I don’t know how to help her. You are the only family she has left. Maybe you can help me.”
Yehuda’s gaze was fixed on Galia’s beautiful face. He caressed the picture, appearing to whisper her name. Doron leaned in, and yes, Yehuda was whispering “Galia, Galia.”
“I’m sure Galia misses you very much. Once everything is straightened out, we can come to visit you, all of us.”
Yehuda lifted his head a bit, a far-off look in his eyes. Another tear was welling up in his eyes, falling on the picture. Doron’s heart pounded. He could only think about how difficult it was to grow old. He remembered his own grandparents, before they had passed; he had loved them so much, they had loved him so much, but visiting them in their final years had been so tough: faltering memory, betrayal by a weakened body. He looked at Grandpa Yehuda, thinking about what a full life lay behind his frail appearance.
With his shaking hand, Yehuda gave Doron the photo back. He whispered, “Bring them.”
Doron had to bend down to hear the old man. “Bring them,” he repeated. “And bring Naama too.”
Doron was worried that he had misunderstood Yehuda’s low tones: “Naama?” Who was Naama? Galia’s mother was Haya. Had Yehuda meant her? If so, Doron had no intention of correcting him and explaining that his daughter had been dead for several years. He took the picture back. “Of course, we’ll all come visit,” he promised. “We’ll bring Haya too.”
I guess he can’t help me, Doron reflected sadly, but at least I had the chance to visit and to meet him. He hugged the old man and moved to cover him with a blanket.
“Bring them,” the old man repeated. “Haya and the twins,” he murmured.
Doron stopped for a second, holding the blanket. His breath caught. “Haya and the twins?” he asked, as the room spun around him.
“Yes,” Yehuda replied as he closed his eyes. “Haya and the twins.”
Doron felt his heart hammering in his chest. What the hell was the old man talking about? He touched Yehuda’s shoulder to rouse him, but it appeared that he was in deep slumber already. Doron looked at him with pity, covered him gently and left the room, leaving the photograph of Galia and Shir on the dresser. His heart was pounding so furiously he was almost paralyzed; his ribs ached horrifically, and the pain was only growing worse.
On his way out, the director smiled at him. “Now you’ve seen for yourself that this old man is in no position to communicate with any v
isitors.”
Doron stood up straight. “On the contrary, he said something that I’d like to find an explanation for.”
“Yehuda talked to you?” She was shocked.
“Not quite, he asked us to visit. ‘Bring them,’ he said. Haya, Galia, and Naama, the twins. But who’s Naama? What twins? Do you have an explanation for that?”
“I cannot explain Naama, but he’s mentioned her name a number of times over the years. We assumed she was some acquaintance from his past, perhaps even an old flame. As for twins, I’ve never heard that before. It’s very strange.”
Doron sat down, holding his aching ribs, but he refused to consider leaving now. A harsh sensation washed over his entire body. He felt a desperate need to dig into the whole matter.
“Okay, but what do you think he meant about twins?”
The director seemed bothered by this riddle. She had no idea how to unravel it. She admitted that she was also curious: “Haya and the twins?” she repeated Yehuda’s enigmatic words. “Okay, so Haya was his daughter, and she was Galia’s mother. But twins…” Suddenly she jumped up and ran out, leaving Doron alone in her office.
Doron stood up, desperate for a smoke to soothe his frayed nerves. He paced back and forth in the office, waiting for the director’s return. It seemed like an eternity, but she came back with a folder, on which “Yehuda Hador” was written in black marker. The folder was more than a little old and tattered.
“Sorry I ran out, but I had an idea. Let’s look through his original file. Nowadays everything’s computerized, but there may be some details in here that didn’t seem relevant when they inputted his data.”
The director flipped through the pages of the folder as they both stood next to it. Doron tried to sneak a peek, as he was desperate for any morsel of information. But the director shook her head. “No, I don’t think there’s anything here but Mr. Hador’s medical details…” She looked at Doron’s disappointed face.
“May I?” he asked as he reached for the folder. “I’m a detective, and a pretty good one, they tell me. Maybe I can glean something that you missed.” His eyes silently pleaded with her.
The director surrendered the file to Doron. “Fine, have a seat. I’ll be right back. I just want to get you something to drink.” Doron sat near her desk and began flipping through the pages of the file. He analyzed and captured an image of each in his mind.
The director was right, for the most part: the file was full of medical documents and prescriptions. He had almost given up when his eyes fell on a page titled, “Personal Details.” This was the intake form filled out when Yehuda had first arrived at Maoz Yom, almost three decades earlier. He looked at the bottom, where Haya, Galia’s mother, had signed her name. Doron’s eyes searched for the details he hoped to find. There it was, at the bottom, an addendum listing all Yehuda’s relatives. Black on white, there it was: “Granddaughters, Galia and Naama, born 1974.” It was the only record of Galia having a twin sister.
Doron sprang to his feet, feeling dizzy. The director returned at precisely that moment. “So, Mr. Detective, have you found something?”
“Actually… yeah. Look at this.” He handed her back the file, pointing to the “Personal Details” page.
The director was shocked. She smiled apologetically: “Well, like you said, you’re the professional.”
“You have no idea how important this is for me, personally and for the investigation. I have no idea how to thank you! I just have to think of what I’m going to do with everything I’ve learned today, and how I can use it to help Galia.”
Doron apologized that he had to leave precipitously; he didn’t have time to drink that cup of coffee. He said goodbye, promising, “We will all be back here, you can count on that.”
He hurried to his car with all the haste his wounded body could stand. As he got into his car, his pain suddenly subsided. He turned on the engine and sped off, headed for the northern end of Haifa.
Meanwhile, the SIU detectives were speeding towards the Karnei Re’em yeshiva in the Ein Regev settlement, near Homesh and Sa-Nur, convinced they finally had the key to the case. They were developing a theory of how everything had unfolded: Galia, editor-in-chief of a local newspaper and proponent of extremist right-wing ideas, would sometimes contribute to a yeshiva espousing even more extremist ideas. Using this money, as well as other contributions which they must have received, the detectives were convinced, the yeshiva had managed to get its hands on the weapons cache which the police had seized years earlier.
The detectives were confident they would now find a new cache of weapons the residents of the area hoped to use to oppose the evacuation, weapons to be turned against the security forces and anyone else who might attempt to relocate them. The unit’s investigators were quite pleased with themselves.
Doron was also certain that he had the key to the whole matter. Galia was protecting her twin sister, Naama! Naama must be connected to the yeshiva somehow. But why would she protect her? Doron had many questions. Why hadn’t she told him about her sister? Why was she protecting her? Why was she still hiding the details which could extricate her from her predicament? He had no answers yet, but he knew that he would demand that Galia supply them. And he would not relent until he got them.
Galia walked through her house, pacing like a caged lion. On the one hand, she was happy about everything that Doron discovered; it would spare her mental energy later. On the other hand, her worry was now unbearable. At this stage, Doron could not be allowed to discover all her secrets. Naama had been very clear about this. She had asked for at least five days to organized herself. Her cold voice echoed in Galia’s head. How could her sister, flesh of her flesh, threaten Galia’s daughter, Naama’s own little niece, innocent of any wrongdoing?!
The longing for Shir threatened to eliminate any logical thought from her mind She tried to convince herself that there was no chance that Naama could hurt Shir, but the undeniable fact was that she had shot a minister of the Israeli government. Had Naama been shooting to wound? Galia laughed to herself. Whom was she trying to protect? Naama had shot to kill… she was clearly a heartless psychopath, Galia was sure. She tried to think of what could go through a person’s mind, what could cause them to use such violence, even if they held different political opinions than most of their fellow citizens. The very thought of taking a life made Galia feel chills through her body.
She released a deep sigh and sank down into the sofa in the living room. Waiting for Doron was nerve wracking. She was happy that she had managed to persuade Roni to go. She needed time alone, to get her thoughts in order and prepare for what was coming.
Somewhere in Samaria
The strong wind hit all the windows and blinds in the house. It whistled and echoed throughout the space. The sound of rain pounding on the tin roof of the parking lot was disturbing and heralded the storm at the door.
Shir suddenly awoke from a late-afternoon nap. The room was dark, and the thunder made her very frightened. Naama and Immanuel were also disturbed by the inclement weather, unable to find the rest they needed before their departure. As their stress ratcheted up, Immanuel’s pain was getting worse.
He had spent the day with his father. They had both prayed in the settlement’s synagogue. The others praying there also felt the tension in the air. All the residents of Ein Regev and the adjacent outpost knew that they were facing a fierce offensive. Nevertheless, they were all prepared to help and stand watch. The dean of the yeshiva appreciated their support, and he promised that he would do everything to prevent a riot which could lead to locals being injured. Now, as they were still resting, Naama and Immanuel were on a razor’s edge. A distant flash of lightning, thunder echoing from afar—it was too much, and Naama bounced to her feet to look around the home she was about to abandon. Their suitcases had been packed since yesterday. They had to be ready to flee at any moment. She heard Shir call
ing her.
It appeared that her niece was also sensitive to the tension in the air, and she could not sleep peacefully. Naama had no idea how to calm her down. She tried to imagine what Galia would have done in the case of a nightmare, but failed. She put her hand on the girl’s head to caress it, trying to calm her own nerves. Daniela then came in with a glass of warm milk.
“Try to drink this, dear, it will calm you down. If you can fall asleep again, you’ll have pleasant dreams,” she said to the little girl gently. Shir drank some of the warm milk as she yawned extravagantly. Her eyelids were heavy, and soon she was asleep again.
Naama and her mother went to sit in the kitchen. Naama sipped the rest of the warm milk. “Maybe it’ll calm me down too…”
“You must calm down. Otherwise you won’t be able to think logically, and I have something to tell you,” her mother said restrainedly.
“Mom, I know what you’re going to say, but nothing will change my mind. Do we have to spend the time we have left together arguing?” Naama spoke aggressively, determinedly. She massaged her temples, trying to quiet the headache which had been disturbing her for hours.
“You must relax,” her mother said, putting her warm hand on Naama’s. “Try to breathe deeply. You’re too stressed.”
“I’ll breathe deeply when Immanuel and I are safely away from this place. When we’re far away from all the cops, especially Galia’s husband…”
“Do you really think there’s a chance he’ll catch up to you that quickly? Your father changed the family name when he got here, after all.”
“Yeah, but nothing will stop him from clearing Galia’s name. If he’s not here yet, that must mean that Galia hasn’t told him yet. But he’ll be here, I’m sure.”
“Well, if that’s true, shouldn’t you leave tonight?”
Forced Silence Page 16
