by Adam Palmer
“Well basically it’s his conjugal duties.”
HaTzadik looked embarrassed when he said this.
“That’s a religious obligation?”
“For the husband. For the wife it’s a right.”
“What if she’s not in the mood?”
“She can say no.”
“What if he’s not in the mood?”
Again Shalom Tikva looked uncomfortable.”
“He’s supposed to do it when she wants.”
“What… whenever she asks?”
“He’s… not supposed to wait for her to ask. He’s supposed to look for signs that she wants it and then offer it.”
“Cor blimey! Who needs feminism when they’ve got Judaism?”
“There were subsequent clarifications of the law in the Shulhan Aruch.”
“What’s that?”
“A codified form of the Jewish law, stripped down to the essentials. It basically describes a man’s conjugal obligations in terms of where he works and how far he has to travel to work.”
“You mean… like… it takes account of whether he’s too tired?”
Morgan was grinning from ear to ear, both at what he was hearing and at HaTzadik’s discomfort at talking about it.
“Basically yes.”
“So if his missus was in the mood, he couldn’t refuse point blank… but he could say he was shagged out after a hard days work?”
The puerile grin remained on Sam Morgan’s face.
“Except on the Sabbath.”
The grin vanished — replaced by a look of confusion.
“But I thought the Sabbath was a holy day? Aren’t you people supposed to be thinking about God and all that holy shi — holy stuff?”
HaTzadik looked at Morgan with growing irritation.
“Between a man and his wife, sex is a holy act. Now will you please drop the subject.”
“Okay,” said Morgan, nodding slowly. “But does that mean that this parchment is what I thought it was.”
Again HaTzadik thought carefully before speaking.
“It would appear to be.”
The look on Shalom Tikva’s face was grave. But before either of them could say any more, the tension that hung in the air was broken by a loud knock on the door, and a voice shouting from outside. The voice was that of Baruch Tikva — Shalom’s son.
And he sounded agitated.
Chapter 18
A wry smile came to Daniel’s lips as he lay on the bunk in the police cell bed looking up at the ceiling. He was imagining how his spoilt, pampered ex-wife would cope if she banged up in such austere conditions as this police cell.
She’d go out of her mind.
For Daniel it was different. He had never developed a taste for luxury. He could enjoy it when it was presented to him on a plate. But he could manage equally well without it. He remembered how, not long ago, he had slept for several days on the open deck of a felucca — a river boat on the Nile. And then for the next few days he had slept under the stars in the Sinai Peninsula, travelling towards Sharm-el-Sheikh by camel with a Bedouin caravan.
Charlotte would probably have mocked him with some cutting remark accusing him of masquerading as Lawrence of Arabia.
He stopped thinking about her. There were more important things to think about. Like when they were going to release him.
If they were going to release him.
Up until the end of the last interview, he had been sure that they would. Indeed it looked like they didn’t have a choice. But now he was not so sure. When they told him about the “witness” who had “seen” him siphoning off petrol, it had completely blindsided him. He would have dismissed it as a police trick designed to elicit a confession. But unlike America, the British police are not allowed to use such trickery and any evidence obtained thereby is inadmissible in court.
But it all fell into place when the police had used the words “anonymous tip-off.” That alone made it clear what was actually happening. Whoever started the fire had also called the police afterwards. Presumably, thought Daniel, the original plan had been to kill both of them and then when that failed, the killer did the next best thing and framed him.
But there was more to it than that. Daniel had seen the protruding feet and thought that it might be a dead body. Sergeant Connor had confirmed that he was already dead and that he had been bludgeoned to death. So presumably whoever killed him had either killed him there at the house or brought the body there and then prepared the place for the arson attack. That would make perfect sense, because the fire would also conceal the time of death.
Of course, it would have been quite hard to get the body there. For a start, there was no access by car. The house was only accessible via a long footpath. Lugging a body there undetected in broad daylight would have been even harder than siphoning off petrol from a car without being seen.
On the other hand there was a parallel road nearby and the body did not have to have been brought there in daylight. It would all depend on when Costa was killed. A determined killer could have parked nearby and carried the body (possibly wrapped in a blanket) up the slope and through the bramble that separated the road from footpath. It would have been awkward but not impossible.
But the question then was when was Costa killed?
Whoever killed him and set this up would have to have known about the meeting between them. Of course the killer might have killed him and then taken a look at the text messages on his mobile phone. They might have killed him to shut him up and taken his phone to see who he had contacted. That would have told them all they needed to know.
But then another thought struck Daniel.
What if the killer had killed him as soon as he sent the original SMS. If everything came down to that SMS with the picture — if this whole thing was about damage limitation and suppressing something that some one wanted to keep secret — then maybe Costa was killed right after he sent the message. That would explain a lot of things. Why he didn’t answer the phone when Daniel called back. Why he replied by text, insisting that he was short on credit and that the battery was low. That way he could avoid talking. His voice would have given away that it wasn’t Costa. But the texts betrayed nothing.
It was a trap all along!
But who had set it? Who had killed Martin Costa and used his phone to lure Daniel into a trap that nearly cost him his life? Who had made that call to frame Daniel? Who wanted to suppress whatever it was they feared that Daniel might reveal? And perhaps more important what was it that they wanted to suppress?
The image on the phone had been blurred and unclear. Had the meeting gone ahead he might have been able to see the original. But presumably that was gone now. Whoever had killed Costa had surely made off with the document that Costa wanted to show Daniel. It might have been possible to study the image from the phone at leisure. But Daniel had dropped his phone in the burning building and it had presumably been incinerated.
At the back of Daniel’s mind was the thought that there might be a solution to this problem — and even that the solution was starting him in the face. He was still thinking about this when he heard a clanking sound. He sat up on the bed as his cell door opened. Standing there in the doorway was a smug-looking Sergeant Connor and a dour-faced Chief Inspector Vincent.
“It’s not looking too good for you sunshine,” said the sergeant, obviously enjoying himself as he put on his best tough-guy voice. “We’re charging you with murder.”
Chapter 19
Sam Morgan had stayed in the living room while HaTzadik had gone to answer the door. The voices were raised… agitated. More than that… there was anger. Both men were shouting.
Morgan didn’t have a clue what it was about. He didn’t speak a word of Hebrew — or was it Yiddish? In any case, it was quite frightening, the level of anger that seemed to have been generated between them. He was glad that they were angry with each other and not with him.
Looking down at the manuscript, he tried
to blot out their shouting as he contemplated the contents. Of course he couldn’t read it any more than he could understand the spoken language. But he thought about what a great find it was. And how glad he was that Shalom Tikva wanted it so badly. He had told HaTzadik that he was sympathetic to their cause… that he too was opposed to Godless Zionism — albeit from a Christian perspective rather than a Jewish one. But at the same time, he needed to be compensated for his efforts. His work involved risk. And risk entitled him to reward.
The shouting seemed to subside and he thought that Baruch Tikva would soon be leaving. But instead, the door to the living room opened and both Shalom and his son entered the room. And what was more alarming was that they were both looking at him with anger in their eyes. In the case of the older, average-sized Shalom, this was not particularly frightening, despite his narrow, penetrating eyes.
But in the case of Baruch, who was about six foot six tall, it was quite menacing.
It was the father who spoke.
“Why did you lie to me?” he asked.
Morgan tried to hold his gaze, but was momentarily forced to look away. When his eyes again met those of HaTazadik, he was barely able to mumble a pale “what do you mean?”
“Why did you lie to me!”
It started a quietly menacing growl and ended up a monstrous roar of anger.
“About what?”
Morgan was wondering if HaTzadik was starting to question the authenticity of the manuscript. There was surely no reason to. He was quite sure that it was genuine.
“About Daniel Klein! You told me you killed him!”
Chapter 20
“They should be able to get the records of Costa’s text messages — and your replies — from the phone company. They may even be able to get the actual content of the texts. But, of course, that doesn’t stop them putting their own interpretation on it.”
“What about the anonymous tip-off?”
Daniel was consulting his lawyer in a meeting room at the police station. The lawyer in question was in fact the duty solicitor assigned to the police station to help suspects who didn’t have a lawyer of their own.
“They probably won’t be allowed to use it in court. It didn’t trigger a specific action by the police like a search or anything that in turn led to the discovery of more evidence, let alone evidence that can be cross-verified by another means. I’m assuming, of course, that there is no physical evidence that petrol was siphoned off from the tank.”
“There’s no way there could be. I certainly didn’t siphon any off, and I don’t think there’d have been time for anyone else to. I mean I walked to the house at reasonable speed and the attack occurred within about a minute of me entering.”
The duty solicitor had advised him that he could get another lawyer and that he could do this either now or at a later stage. He decided for the time being to stick to the duty solicitor and decide later whether to get some one else. In any case, because he was being charged, the more important task was to make sure the solicitor found a good barrister to represent him in court.
“Well if you’re sure of that, then I have a suggestion that might help. We could ask the police to check the level of petrol in the hired car and compare it to the level when you hired it. I assume you started with a full tank?”
Daniel nodded.
“They can calculate the approximate fuel consumption and compare it to the amount you actually used. And of course we’d also ask them to check the mileage indicator against the records of the car hire company.”
“I don’t know why they didn’t do that first,” said Daniel irritably.
“They were probably being just a little too eager. I think they’re placing too much emphasis on your motive.”
“I don’t have a motive.”
“Well their theory is — ”
“I know what their theory is! But it’s all based on a false assumption — that he changed his mind.”
“But if he never got the chance to talk to you, then how do you know that he didn’t change his mind.”
Daniel looked at the lawyer astonished. This was pure courtroom demagoguery. If Daniel didn’t know then he couldn’t have a motive. But surely the initial presumption had to be that Costa hadn’t changed his mind. There was no specific reason to think otherwise — except to twist the facts to fit the theory. Daniel tried to explain this to the solicitor in the simplest language he could think of.
“I don’t know if he changed his mind or not. But there’s nothing to suggest that he did. And my theory is that he was killed well before the meeting and the fire was to conceal the time of death — as well as to kill me.”
“Now that is pure conjecture.”
“Yes but unlike this speculative theory that he changed his mind, it fits the facts. First of all he was dead when I got there.”
“But you said he might have been unconscious.”
Daniel was by now getting irritated with the solicitor’s “devil’s advocate” approach.
“As far as I knew, he might have been unconscious! But the police told me that he didn’t die of either burns or smoke inhalation. They said he was already dead before the fire. I know that I didn’t kill him. Therefore he must have been dead already — and not merely unconscious! And another thing, if he was merely unconscious, then he might have come round and got out before they threw in whatever it was that started the fire. That would mean that the arsonist-murderer was leaving things to chance. And I don’t believe that. This whole thing was too well planned.”
“Okay but there’s a big difference between framing you and trying to kill you.”
“That maybe, but I barely made it out of there alive. I certainly didn’t have any help getting out. That means that whoever did it was trying to kill me.”
“But why would they try to kill you and frame you?”
Chapter 21
“I said I dealt with him — not that I killed him.”
“But you let me believe that you killed him.”
Sam Morgan could see that HaTzadik’s anger was not assuaged by this feeble excuse. Neither was that of Baruch Tikva, who had never liked him. Technically it was true. He had been careful to avoid saying that he had killed Daniel Klein, perhaps because he didn’t want to admit that he had tried but failed.
He had covered his tracks brilliantly, phoning Crimestoppers and effectively setting up Daniel to take the rap. But he didn’t want to emphasize that. He wanted to portray himself as a man who knew that he was doing, not an incompetent buffoon.
“I killed Martin Costa and used the fire to cover up his injuries. As far as the police are concerned, he died in the fire. And they think that it was Daniel who caused the fire. That’s why he’s been arrested.”
“He can still talk!”
“Yes but he doesn’t know anything, so there’s not much he can talk about! The picture he got is far too blurred for him to read the manuscript.”
“Don’t be too sure of that!” said Baruch Tikva. “I have heard of this man before: he is not going to give up.”
Morgan was on the back foot and he knew it. Baruch Tikva was a big man and he could be quite menacing when he was angry.
“Trust me, right now reading a blurred image sent to his phone is the least of his worries. He’ll be more worried about clearing his name. And also I heard on the news that he lost his phone in the fire.”
HaTzadik was still angry.
“I want him dead!”
“There’s no way I can kill him now. He’s behind bars and they won’t let him out on bail… not for murder.”
“Can’t you get to him in prison?”
“No way. It’s not like America. And a murder suspect will be in a Category A wing.”
“What’s that?”
“High Security. That means he’ll be impossible for me to get at.”
“I don’t mean you. Can’t you contact the family of another prisoner and get them to do it? By offering them money?”
<
br /> Morgan didn’t even hesitate in his reply.
“That would be almost impossible. They have CCTV cameras in British prisons. It would be very hard to kill some one undetected.”
“But a life prisoner would have nothing to lose. They don’t have the death penalty in England.”
Morgan smiled at HaTzadik’s naivety.
“They don’t have life either — except in rare cases. In England, life doesn’t mean life. Sometimes they can get out in as little as five years. But not if they commit another murder. The last thing any prisoner wants to do is lengthen his sentence by committing a murder for which he’s bound to get caught.”
Morgan could see the irritation on Shalom Tikva’s face — as well as that of his son, who spoke even better English. But there was nothing he could do. They had to face the facts.
“Is this Daniel Klein single?”
This made Morgan rather edgy.
“Why?”
“Leverage?”
“He’s divorced. His ex-wife is in America. But I don’t think threatening her is going to make any difference. I don’t think there’s any love lost between the two of them.
The older man turned to his son and said something in Hebrew orYiddish. The younger man replied.
“Did they have children?”
Morgan was becoming increasingly concerned by the direction this conversation had taken off in.
“No.”
Baruch Tikva said something to his father. HaTzadik replied.
“Ani rotseh sheh’ata tisa le’Anglia. Yesh li avoda ktana bishvilkha la’asot.”
Morgan didn’t understand, but a rough translation of his reply would be:
“I want you to go to England. I have a little job that I want you to do.”
Chapter 22
As a desk officer in the small tightly-knit Mossad, Dovi Shamir could be handling upward of a hundred cases at any one time. Often this meant little more than speed-reading a report from a katsa (field-based case officer). But at times he missed the cut and thrust of field work himself. That was why he had been only too happy to come out of retirement when a special assignment arose to eliminate a Hamas terrorist who had participated in the murder of two Israeli soldiers and who was planning a major operation in London.
