GLEASON
My ass.
YOO-HOO
He was scared. He wanted my help.
GLEASON
Cut the shit.
YOO-HOO
He thought someone was following him. Stalking him.
GLEASON
So he called you?
YOO-HOO
What are you, deaf?
GLEASON
He phoned you. Why the fuck would he phone you?
YOO-HOO
I’m his cousin.
GLEASON
What?
YOO-HOO
I’m his fucking cousin.
Gleason glances to Silver.
YOO-HOO
We grew up two blocks from each other. I talk to him every day.
Even on the black-and-white video you can see all color drain from Gleason’s cheeks.
YOO-HOO
You guys didn’t know that? Holy shit.
You’re even dumber than I thought.
GLEASON
You’re his cousin?
YOO-HOO
Look it up.
GLEASON
You’re Nathan Davis’s cousin?
I don’t have to glance to Manning to know what he’s thinking.
Never overlook the obvious.
A day later, when this story hits network and cable, it will be augmented online by yearbook stills of Yoo-hoo and Davis at New Utrecht High School, Class of ’03, side by side on the varsity basketball team—the “Utes.” These photos will be accompanied by vacation video of Yoo-hoo, Davis, and their wives at the Ocean Club in Bermuda and several other high-end getaways.
The kicker, which I catch forty-eight hours later on CNN, is home video of a tuxedo-clad Yoo-hoo, eighteen months ago, beaming beside Nathan Davis’s thirteen-year-old son, Marshall, at the boy’s bar mitzvah at Temple Emanu-El on East Sixty-Fifth Street in Manhattan.
YOO-HOO
(to Gleason and Silver, on-camera in interrogation room)
Wow. You geniuses have fucked yourself in the ass big-time.
At this moment, a message box opens on my terminal screen. Uribe’s face appears. He looks flushed and frantic.
URIBE
Jimmy, it’s me. Grab your shit!
Behind Uribe I glimpse parked vehicles, two mechanics in overalls, a garage service lift. Manning asks, “Where are you?”
URIBE
At the Flushing impound lot, breaking down the girl rabbi’s vehicle. Since when does a congregation leader pack one of these?
On-screen Uribe holds up a folding-stock Uzi submachine gun and a fistful of high-capacity magazines. Ms. Davidson’s Hi-Top van is visible prominently behind Uribe, suspended on a lift rack with Uribe’s Crime Scene team excavating its innards.
URIBE
That’s only half of what we found, Jimmy. Get over here ASAP. This babe is in these murders up to her eyeballs.
BOOK FIVE
A TURNING TOWARD EVIL
17
IMPOUND LOT
RACHEL DAVIDSON’S VAN, which was impounded in Brooklyn, has been hauled to the Queens tow pound on College Point Boulevard in Flushing, a catchall for vehicles impounded during the arrests of their owners, or vehicles used in crimes and/or seized as evidence.
Uribe is waiting on subterranean Level #3 as the elevator doors open and Manning steps out. Uribe meets Manning’s glance. He rolls his eyes toward the spotlighted space in which sits the impounded Hi-Top.
Next to the vehicle stand Rachel and a striking-looking man of about forty whom I recognize at once, from his TED talks, as Dr. Amos Ben-David, the Israeli anthropologist and climate activist.
URIBE
(to Manning)
They dropped outta the blue twenty minutes ago. The girl wants her ride back and everything in it.
MANNING
What did you tell her?
URIBE
I told her forget it. I got a warrant.
MANNING
Do you?
URIBE
Fuck, no. But the weapon and mags I showed you . . . they’re the least of it. Wait till you see what else we found.
Time is 0845. In the nine hours since the conclusion of the Brighton Beach warrant service, two fresh factors have been incorporated into the LV murder files.
First, exhaustive canvassing of Borough Park/Crown Heights and Columbia University/Morningside Heights has turned up nothing on Jake Instancer. The department of Judaic studies has no record of him either as a student or a faculty member. He is unknown at every apartment and dormitory complex within ten blocks of the campus. Nor has his likeness drawn recognition from the proprietors of any local market, deli, bodega, newsstand, or dry cleaner. He has never ordered a pizza at Ray’s or a caramel macchiato at Starbucks, dated a coed, propositioned a hooker, created a Facebook profile, or jogged on the grass in Riverside Park.
Ditto for Borough Park and the Chasidic community.
Instancer is a ghost.
Everything he told Manning is a lie.
Second, four more murders matching Instancer’s MO have been turned up in searches of overseas databases—all committed within the past thirteen days. One in Brazil, another in China. The third is a Tarahumara Indian, killed in Colombia. Homicide #4 is from Germany.
Known total now, counting the Rebbe: nine.
Manning falls in step beside Uribe. His glance takes in the impound floor, Uribe’s Crime Scene team, the Hi-Top van, as well as Rachel and Ben-David waiting beside the vehicle with expressions of impatience and indignation. I catch Manning’s eye and start to alert him to who Ben-David is and what stature he carries in the wider world.
MANNING
I know.
One of Manning’s prime assets as an investigator is he can sling bullshit with anyone, at any level of society. He crosses in stride to Ms. Davidson, whose eyes remain blacked and bloodshot forty-eight hours after her get-together with a highway abutment. The left side of her face shines, livid and swollen; her hair is a rat’s nest. Her right arm is in a sling. Inside her Converse low-tops I spy non-skid socklets from the hospital.
Manning greets Ms. Davidson and introduces himself and me to Dr. Ben-David.
Have our guests been offered coffee? Can Manning get them some? Bottled water? A soft drink?
Manning inquires after Ms. Davidson’s physical well-being. Was her treatment at Maimonides satisfactory? Did the hospital run a concussion protocol on her? Has she been X-rayed for possible rib injuries? How about fluids? Is she hydrated? Has she gotten any sleep? Is she in pain?
I’m studying Ben-David.
The man, I confess, is a bit of a hero to me. I know his CV by heart. He’s American-born (Long Island somewhere), undergrad at Yale, doctorate in Earth and Planetary Science from Johns Hopkins. He “made aliyah” to Israel at twenty-eight and immediately enlisted in the IDF as a private. Within eighteen months he was a captain. He’s a major now, commanding a reserve paratroop battalion. In person he’s shorter than I thought he’d be, but with forearms like a stevedore’s and a presence in its own way as imposing as Manning’s.
Ben-David informs Manning, “as a matter of courtesy,” that he has engaged legal representation for Rabbi Davidson.
He names Ellie Landau.
Manning thanks Ben-David for so informing him and replies that he is aware of Ms. Landau’s retention. He expresses admiration for Ms. Landau’s professional standing and commends Ben-David on his discerning choice of representation.
Ben-David thanks me for sending the Mayday text from the hospital. “Forgive me if I have not responded,” he says. “Things have been a bit hectic.”
He adds, to Manning, that he has phoned Ms. Landau’s office some ten or fifteen minutes ago and has been informed that Ms. Landau is on her way here to the impound lot as we speak.
Uribe joins the group, bringing coffee in Styrofoam cups with sugar, sweetener, powdered creamer, stirrers, and a half box of Yum Yum donuts.
BEN-DAVID
(indicatin
g Uribe)
Detective Manning, your associate informs us he has a search warrant, but so far he has failed to produce it.
Manning apologizes at once. Warrants these days, he says, are issued digitally. They’re on your phone. Uribe, he explains, is a bit of a klutz; apparently he misfiled the document and can’t figure out how to retrieve it.
We’ll straighten the situation out, Manning promises.
“Meanwhile,” he says, “as I’m sure you’re aware or have been informed by these officers, possession of an automatic weapon and/or high-capacity magazines is a Class A felony under the Anti-Terrorism Act of 2031, in which instance probable cause is waived and the requirement of a search warrant becomes moot.”
Manning indicates Uribe, whose team stands to his rear, beside the van, with the seized Uzi and its magazines displayed on an adjacent shop counter.
Manning begs Ms. Davidson and Dr. Ben-David’s forgiveness if his colleague’s tone or comportment have been brusque or “in any way untoward.”
Did Ms. Davidson and Dr. Ben-David know, Manning asks, that Uribe is an MD? Indeed he is a licensed physician, medical examiner with the OCME, as well as a specialist in crime scene investigation. Dr. Uribe meant no disrespect, Manning assures Rachel and Ben-David, if “in the exigency of the moment” he has, perhaps, expressed himself in “the urban idiom.”
Manning informs Ms. Davidson and Dr. Ben-David “as a courtesy, as well as a mandate of the statutory code” that he and his associates, i.e., Uribe and me, are required by law to wear on their persons at all times lapel cameras and digital recording devices. He indicates his own, pinned to his suit jacket—a device no bigger than a tie tack.
“This is for your protection as well as ours as law enforcement professionals,” Manning says, “to ensure that all procedures are scrupulously adhered to. But you need to be aware, for your own sake, that everything any of us says or does is being recorded and may under certain circumstances be introduced as evidence in a criminal proceeding.”
Ben-David thanks Manning. He asks if Manning wishes to be called “Detective” or “Lieutenant.”
MANNING
Call me Jim.
(to Rachel)
Ma’am, do you wish to be addressed as “Rabbi”?
Ms. Davidson glances from Manning to me. How much she recalls of our private exchange in her hospital room two nights ago, I have no idea. My own feelings toward her remain, despite my better judgment, protective.
RACHEL
“Ms. Davidson” will be fine.
MANNING
Ms. Davidson, Dr. Uribe informs me that his team has discovered within this vehicle . . . your vehicle, as your presence here and your demand to reclaim it attest . . .
Manning turns his body so that his lapel camera picks up the van.
MANNING
. . . certain “items of interest” to Homicide Division Six and to the Manhattan District Attorney’s Office. Do you have any objection to me and Detective Dewey continuing the search that Dr. Uribe initiated?
RACHEL
I do.
BEN-DAVID
Detective, is this necessary?
MANNING
I’m afraid it is.
Ten minutes later Manning is standing beside the evidence table, jaw-to-jaw with Rachel and Ben-David.
All civil niceties have been deep-sixed.
Rachel’s “Obsession Wall” has been taken from the van and brought forward under the lights. At its epicenter is the poster-sized photo of Jake Instancer.
The X’d out photographs of men, which Manning and I glimpsed thirty-six hours ago in the haste and dislocation after Ms. Davidson’s vehicle crash, are seen now to be pix of the “LV” victims—Davis and Justman, the two in Russia, and the four others that Manning and DivSix had till only a few moments earlier been unaware of.
But the kicker, plucked by Uribe from the margins of the Obsession Wall, is a list of thirty-six names. The document is headed:
TZADIKIM NISTARIM
meaning in Hebrew, as Uribe informs us:
THE HIDDEN RIGHTEOUS MEN
Uribe hands the list to Manning. He states for Rachel and Ben-David’s benefit as well as Manning’s that his team has run the roster through DivSix’s international crime database. On the list, Uribe says, is every “LV” victim so far, including the four newest ones.
MANNING
(to Uribe)
Lemme guess. Famous men, all known for their moral rectitude and upright character.
Manning turns to Rachel.
MANNING
Ms. Davidson, are you the author of this list?
BEN-DAVID
Rabbi Davidson is saying nothing without the advice of counsel.
Ben-David steps to Rachel’s side, confronting Manning. Manning holds the list up before them.
MANNING
(to Rachel)
You compiled this document. This is your name on the title page.
Manning points to the blow-up photo of Instancer.
MANNING
Who is this man? What is your connection to him?
Ben-David again protests. If indeed Manning’s words are being recorded, he says, they are going to look like bullying and intimidation when played back in a judicial hearing or a court of law.
Manning ignores this.
MANNING
(to Rachel)
Someone is murdering the Righteous Men, aren’t they? Who? You? You sent me that “lamed vav” text—and the follow-up saying that all the victims are Jews. Why?
RACHEL
(to Ben-David)
Where’s Ellie? You said she was on her way—
MANNING
We tracked down your burner phone, Ms. Davidson. And you’re talking to me. Answer my question!
BEN-DAVID
(to Manning)
No one’s talking to you without an attorney!
MANNING
(to Rachel)
Your list is a hit list. You compiled it for the purpose of murder. Nine so far, to be exact.
BEN-DAVID
Stop this, Detective! Can’t you see this young woman is in no state to answer you?
MANNING
(to Rachel)
You’re working with Instancer. He’s murdering people off the list you compiled.
Rachel tries to snatch the document back from Manning. He jerks it away from her.
MANNING
Why were you at the Georgetown murder scene? You came all the way from New York. How did you know to be there?
Rachel’s face shines purple and swollen beneath the lamps. I see tears welling in her blacked eyes.
MANNING
How did you know about the “LV” sign? Why did you shout it out at Georgetown? Why did you shout it at me?
RACHEL
Because you’re the big-shot Detective. You’re DivSix. You’re the All-Star.
Ben-David steps forward, thrusting himself physically between Rachel and Manning.
BEN-DAVID
Leave her alone! Can’t you see what you’re doing to her?
MANNING
(to Rachel)
Why were you at the Rebbe’s two nights ago? And don’t hand me the bullshit you gave Dewey about “following” me.
RACHEL
I did follow you.
MANNING
Why did you run when I ordered you to stop?
RACHEL
To get you to chase me.
A vein stands out on Manning’s temple.
MANNING
I can arrest you for murder right now, Ms. Davidson, based on nothing more than this list. And I can put you away for ten years for possession of that submachine gun.
At intervals in this exchange, I’ve been scanning the names on Rachel’s list. Two leap out at me. I catch Manning’s elbow. He won’t look. He’s too engaged in the moment.
BEN-DAVID
(to Manning)
The list is Rabbi Davidson’s Ph.D. thesis. She compiled this do
cument three years ago, using the principles of gematria—
MANNING
Of what?
BEN-DAVID
Hebrew language numerology. This is a legitimate scholarly paper, Detective, compiled for academic purposes only. Rabbi Davidson has suffered enough because of it already.
For the first time Manning’s eyes show real anger. He tugs Ben-David’s arm, pulls it away from Rachel.
MANNING
(to Rachel)
You were at the Rebbe’s because you knew Instancer was going to murder him. You’re working with him. Who is he? Who is Instancer?
RACHEL
You know who he is.
MANNING
Tell me.
RACHEL
You know exactly who he is.
I break in on Manning a second time. He still won’t look down at the names on the list.
RACHEL
Answer me this, Mr. Detective. Why were you at the Rebbe’s? Instancer brought you, didn’t he? How did he find you? Huh? Huh, Mr. Smart Guy?
Rachel thrusts herself into Manning’s face. Despite himself Manning backs off half a step.
RACHEL
Yeah, I followed you. I found out where you live, at that crummy athletic club. I followed you to the Jewish library. I saw Instancer approach you. You fell for his act like a ton of bricks. Tell me. What line of bullshit did he feed you?
This accusation chills Manning. Rachel sees it.
RACHEL
He was waiting for you, you dumb fuck! He picked you! You’re being played, just like the rest of us!
Ben-David tries to contain Rachel. She twists free.
RACHEL
(to Manning)
How did I know about the “LV” sign? I’ve been tracking these murders in Europe for months. Why did I run from you outside the Rebbe’s? Because I had to make you see. I had to make you part of this.
36 Righteous Men Page 11
