Missing

by Adiva Geffen

“You think this is about money? A child is gone, Shoshkowitz! What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me?” I stifled the sob threatening to escape. If I hadn’t played ace detective and managed to find Daria, if I hadn’t captured the girl on her mother’s orders, perhaps she wouldn’t have jumped to her death and would be sitting with Old Man Jonah right now, laughing and feeding him through a straw. But I didn’t tell Sammy all that. Instead, I just said, “What’s wrong with me is that I can’t find my cell phone. I have a feeling a lot of freaky things happened last night.”

  “Listen, Shoshkowitz, take fifty steps forward, raise your hands, open the cabinet, pull out the whiskey bottle you stashed behind your copy of War and Peace, and take a long drink from it. For once, this is actually the appropriate thing to do. Then hit the shower, wash your hair, manicure your ass if that’s what it takes to make you feel better, and remember not to cry to the cops about how guilty you feel. They might take it the wrong way.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the doorbell rang. Police detectives. A few months earlier, I had crossed paths with a tough detective, Superintendent Bender. Turns out he’s so hot any woman who’s still breathing would confess to things worse than murder for just one roll in the hay. But the tempestuous detective had decided to get back together with his wife. At least that’s what I’d been told. He missed her. I was just a sort of temporary pain relief medicine. When I shared my medical hypothesis with him — a regrettable error — he got insulted and stopped calling.

  Now two unfamiliar detectives stood on my doorstep. A woman with cropped hair and a determined face and a man with a long jaw and an impressive set of muscles. Which one should I take to bed this time?

  Cropped Hair nearly broke my hand while shaking it. “Nirit,” she announced. “Nirit Cohen. Bender says hi. You know he’s going to Boston next week?” A not-so-subtle hint that she had some inside intel about me and my bedside manner.

  “Pleased to meet you.” I shook her hand, hoping not a single muscle moved on my face.

  The second detective identified himself as Chief Inspector Amos.

  “Sit down,” said Nirit, as if we were in her office.

  “I’d love some coffee…thanks for asking,” I told Amos and pointed at the kitchen.

  He looked stunned. “What?”

  “Nothing. Let me go make some coffee.”

  When I came back, I found Nirit sitting cross-legged on the sofa. “Is it all right if I smoke?” she asked and took out a cigarette.

  “Sorry, but not in here,” I said, celebrating my little victory as if we were arm wrestling.

  She left the unlit cigarette in her mouth, took out a bunch of papers from her bag, and forced me to sit there while she leafed through the pages.

  From the corner of my eye, I watched Amos walking around the room, examining my bookshelves, picking up a few of the photos that had accumulated there. I didn’t say anything. This wasn’t my first rodeo, and I knew any protest could and would be used against me. “Stop feeling guilty!” Sammy screamed inside my head. I turned towards Detective Cohen and smiled.

  “Tell me,” said Nirit. “Tell me everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Yes. Everything. Start at the beginning.”

  “All right. I was born in Holon. My dad worked in a coal mine to be able to afford diapers and baby powder. My mother sold matchsticks and candles on the street…”

  Amos chuckled.

  “Dikla, how do you know Daria?” Nirit snapped at me.

  “I don’t know her.”

  “What was she doing in your apartment, then?”

  “Daria was my assignment.”

  “Assignment?”

  “Her parents contacted the investigation agency I work for and asked us to find her.”

  “Why didn’t they go to the police?”

  “You’ll have to ask them. But Eve, the mother, said the police wouldn’t lift a finger.”

  “Obviously. There’s no record of anyone filing a missing person report. But let’s go on. We understand you found her at a nursing home in Ramat Gan. Actually, when we questioned the employees, we got the impression you bascially kidnapped Daria.”

  I got scared. “Why aren’t you talking with her parents? They’re the ones who hired us! Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Not yet,” she said and wrote something in her notebook. Her face remained expressionless. “But you’d best be prepared. There are a lot of irregular things about this suicide.”

  “There’s nothing regular about a young person who commits suicide,” I said, suppressing another round of tears. “You think I don’t have my own doubts? That I’m happy with what happened?”

  I told the two detectives everything I knew, which wasn’t much. When I was finished, they walked around the apartment and looked for clues. Amos had a little fun with my Neolithic computer. Nirit checked the bedroom. They didn’t find anything. Daria hadn’t left a suicide note, hadn’t said goodbye to anyone. At least not in the last few hours of her life. What did she do after I had collapsed on the bed? Did she continue to sit and stare? Did she take the keys from my room and climb up to the roof to jump to her death?

  They asked to go up to the roof, and I led them there. The door was open.

  “Where’s your key?” Amos asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?”

  “I suppose Daria took it from my key ring.”

  “And when did you notice that?”

  “After she… My cell phone went missing with her. She must have thought she’d need it in—” I knew my comment was in very poor taste.

  “We found it.”

  “Can I get it back? I’m very attached to it.”

  “No, it’s undergoing a forensic examination.”

  “Till when?”

  “Till we decide we don’t need it anymore. If you decide to leave the country, let us know twenty-four hours in advance, please.”

  “You don’t have a warrant, and you don’t have the right to do that.”

  “Don’t be a wiseass.” Amos turned serious. “We’re still checking a few interesting leads...”

  Nirit packed up her paperwork, nodded at Chief Inspector Amos, and they hurried to leave my apartment.

  But they hadn’t asked the main question: What caused Daria to come into my bedroom, take my cell phone and my key, and jump from the roof? Had she planned her suicide, or was it a fit of madness? What had made her so frightened? Who did she want to call? She was just about to meet with her parents…

  What had I missed?

  18

  “Need help?”

  Cooper. In jeans again. This time with a green t-shirt that transformed his eyes into two clear pools of water.

  “No, I’m doing just fine.” That wasn’t exactly true. I was standing next to my car, lost and helpless. I’d intended to go to the office to try and clear my thoughts, but the damn car wouldn’t start.

  “Dickie, if you’d just let me—”

  “Sorry, your time is up,” I said and started to walk toward Ben Yehuda Street.

  I hoped he was following me. I wanted him to ask again. I wanted to turn around, press myself against the body I’d loved to love, pull him into the backseat of my tiny car. But no. Or maybe, not just yet. When I reached the crowded street, I turned around — he wasn’t there.

  The office was quiet, and the air was stuffy. I sat in front of my computer and did my best to organize my thoughts. I tried to remember everything I could about Daria during the time we had spent together. Her mood swings, her strange ramblings, the look in her eyes, sentences she had said, words, fragments of words…

  Suddenly the office door slammed open, and Sammy barreled in, howling with anger and pain. I hurried to offer her a chair.

  “You’
re never going to believe this, Shoshkowitz. What a mess,” she groaned and limped over to me. “Come on, help me lift this damn foot on a chair, give me a glass of water, open the window, and sit down so I can tell you everything. You’ll never believe it. They managed to move Daria’s body to Yokneam, right under my nose.”

  “Weren’t you supposed to meet with them?”

  “I was waiting for them at the forensic institute, but it turned out they had already been there, and the body was on its way to Yokneam.”

  “Just like that?”

  “Eve told me everything on the telephone. They were on their way back to Yokneam by the time we spoke.”

  “And the police allowed them to do that?”

  “It sounded unusual to me too, but yes, the coroner approved their taking the body without an autopsy. According to her, the police thought the cause of death was obvious, and there were no signs of violence, so there was no point in performing an autopsy.”

  “And the coroner is the one who gets to decide?”

  “Shoshkowitz, what do you want from me? This is just the way things went down.”

  “Did you talk to anyone from the police?”

  “The case is closed, Shoshkowitz: suicide. Last I checked, a person can commit suicide without standing trial for it.”

  “And you let it go, just like that? That’s not like you, Sammy. Why was it so urgent for them?”

  “What’s not like me?” She scrunched her face in discomfort. “I pleaded, I screamed, I threatened to file a complaint, but the case is closed and hermetically sealed. They said there wasn’t any need for an autopsy. The fall caused internal bleeding and severe trauma to the spine. She died on the spot. No suspects, it’s clear what happened, end of story. At least they won’t hassle you anymore.”

  They won’t hassle me, I thought, but that’s not what this is about. Daria had left me riddled with regrets, sorrow, and doubts. Something about the case stank to high heaven.

  “Talk to that coroner lady. You probably know her from the days when you were the one driving the police force crazy instead of having me do it.”

  “Well, what do you know? The student has become the master. I appreciate the advice. I’ve already spoken with her, but she’s a new coroner, not from my era.”

  “We need to find out who authorized them to kidnap the body.”

  “Kidnap? What are you talking about? She’s their daughter. Stop turning your guilty conscience into a weapon to use against them.”

  “What if there were signs of violence on the body? What if someone helped her to fall?”

  “You’ve been watching too much Law and Order again,” she speculated.

  “Sammy, I’m telling you not everything is what it appears to be. That mother—”

  “That’s enough, Shoshkowitz. She was by herself when she decided to jump. What’s important is that we’re able to close this case and forget all about Evie, the czardas princess. Come on, Shoshkowitz, let’s put it behind us, find a new client.”

  “I can’t.”

  “The case is closed, signed, and sealed. The girl jumped. There are no signs of violence, not a hint that someone was with her on the roof. Just move on, sweetie. Go out there and find us a normal client, some stock exchange crook who needs exposing.”

  “We need to understand why they released the body without checking anything,” I insisted, and without waiting for a reply, I rose and went out of the room.

  I called Bender. He answered right away.

  “Dikla, I’m on vacation,” he protested when I asked him to find out more information about the coroner and her actions that morning.

  “You’re a superintendent, they’ll talk to you. Just do this one last thing for me, Bender — find out why the police didn’t check every angle. Maybe someone helped her jump?”

  “Only if you agree to see me before I leave.”

  “Blackmail is a serious felony.”

  “It’s extortion, and I’m only asking for dinner, breakfast, or lunch. Dikla, I don’t understand you. I’m going away for a few months for a seminar and I—”

  “Bender,” I cut him short, “you’re the one going away. I’m the one staying. You are leaving of your own free will, and I have no intention of giving you one last joy ride before you go,” I said and hung up. I knew he’d help me anyway.

  I went back to my cubbyhole and scrolled through the news website. The suicide didn’t appear in any of the red headlines. I clicked the crime section. Nothing. Well, not nothing. A man had shot his wife and mother-in-law. A fifty-year-old man had been found beaten to death. Another lunatic had shot his wife. Life goes on, and so does death. Daria was no longer exciting news.

  I was the only one with a bee in her bonnet. Could I have prevented her death?

  Case closed. Sammy’s words echoed in my mind. We’re moving on.

  I sent notices to a few customers who had “forgotten” to pay us, called a couple more customers whose checks had bounced, then stomped into Sammy’s office.

  “Things are shitty,” I let her know. “This whole thing is unbearable. And I want to remind you that I’m the only thing you have left, so please help me. The only question is—”

  “What are we having for lunch?”

  “The only question is, when are you going to find this Galia for me?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Knowledge is power, right, Sammy? Did you forget that?”

  “Case closed means that the case is closed, did you forget that?”

  “Galia, the girl who told me on the telephone, ‘I hope you never find Daria.’ She knows something. We agreed that we needed to find her. Something is rotten in the state of Yokneam. I don’t know what it is yet, but I can smell the stench all the way to Tel Aviv.”

  “The only thing I smell, Dikla, is your guilty conscience. This is all completely pointless. It wasn’t your fault. Get that through your head.”

  “So let’s put it another way — why would a woman who owns a fleet of Mercedes cars and a house the size of Trump Tower hire — please forgive me — the shittiest investigation agency in town instead of hiring Sherlock Holmes and his mother?”

  “Because she knows that, despite appearances, we’re the best. And Sherlock Holmes’ mother wasn’t available.”

  “Sammy, we are the best. We’re also the only two people in the country who know that. What is your problem, why won’t you help?”

  “My problem is that I’ll probably have to kill you unless you help me get to the nearest restaurant. I’m too hungry to think straight.” She got up and leaned on me with all her considerable weight, grunting with agony to arouse my sympathy. “I agree that something stinks to high heaven here,” she finally admitted as we stumbled to the office door. “I have no doubt that you’re right. It’s just none of our business anymore.”

  19

  I left Sammy at the restaurant and took a taxi home. After the upheavals of the last week, all I wanted was to spend some quality time with my good friend, Mr. Whiskey, and let him guide me down the rabbit hole leading into a deep, sweet sleep. The last few days had really taken it out of me, and I needed the peace and quiet that only my apartment, as shabby as it was, could offer me. My home is my castle and all.

  Once again, I was wrong.

  When I arrived out of breath at the last flight of stairs leading to my apartment, I stopped short. I could clearly see that the door was open. Just a tiny crack, but it was open. I knew there wasn’t a chance in the world I had left it open. I remained standing, looking up at it, considering what to do next. Should I go downstairs and call the police, or should I just march in and face the burglar?

  I quietly rummaged through my bag, trying to find my pepper spray. While I was fumbling around, fishing out used tissues and sticky coins, the door flew open and a spaceman raced out of my apartment an
d hurtled down the stairs straight at me. All I managed to see was a huge helmet that covered his head and a greenish visor that covered his eyes.

  “Stop! What the…” I grabbed the intruder’s neck. I wanted to catch him and cuff him with the plastic handcuffs I kept on me for emergencies, but he escaped my grip easily, leaped to the stairwell with the ease of a Bolshoi ballerina, and vanished.

  I leaned against the wall, shocked, wondering if he was going to get his friends or his gun, or if he had simply completed his job, stolen my computer for the fifth (yes, I’m counting) time, and taken off.

  My next-door neighbor’s dog started to bark wildly. Idiot, now he notices?

  Someone was climbing up the stairs. The footsteps barely audible. I looked down the stairwell in a panic.

  “Cooper!” I screamed when his cropped head appeared in front of me. To his amazement — and mine — I simply fell into his arms. Only when he held me did I allow myself to cry. Quietly. Just a little. Leaning against his chest. He didn’t say a word, just hugged me quietly. We stood like that for an hour. Maybe a week. He didn’t breathe. Neither did I. We floated between feathery clouds in a blue sky. I was trembling, and I knew he could feel it. Just one more minute, I asked in my heart, another second, let me settle down. I felt his lips fluttering on my hair and the familiar tingling starting to run up and down my body. No, he’s not getting off that easy. I tried to pull away, but he held me close and whispered in the voice I loved so much, “God, I missed your smell.”

  I broke away from his embrace and stepped back, trying not to look in his eyes.

  “Dickie, wait, you’re shaking all over, let’s sit down and relax, sweetie.”

  God, how I wanted to sit like that forever and feel our hearts opening up to each other again. Instead, I said, “Forget about what just happened. It was a mistake.”

  “Don’t leave me. You need to understand what was going—”

  “I thought we’d agreed,” I said harshly. “No surprise visits.”

  “I was worried about you. I saw someone with a helmet running out of the building and thought something might have happened to you.”