Hill of Secrets: An Israeli Jewish mystery novel

by Michal Hartstein

  "And they fought about it?"

  "Wow." She rolled her eyes. "Endlessly!"

  "And who do you think was overreacting?"

  "I think Meir, but of course I'm not objective. Hanni was like a sister to me and I only heard her side."

  "And what did she tell you?"

  "That he wouldn't stop telling her off about everything she bought."

  "Can you give me an example?"

  Iris thought for a moment and then began. "This is the latest example I have, from just a few weeks ago. On the Tuesday before this horrible murder, we celebrated Galitush's birthday. Believe me, it wasn't anything too extravagant, just a party in the community room in their building: some snacks and a local clown who does magic tricks and Meir just gave her hell about it. I've been to so many birthday parties that cost the parents a fortune and Meir was raging when she also booked a clown.

  He wanted to just have games like in old times, without an outside host, because it cost 450 shekels. It's not like she booked an expensive activity, they have someone in the neighborhood who's great with kids and does birthday parties as a sideline. I thought it was great, worth every shekel. You get what I'm talking about - he came down on her about sums like those."

  "Maybe she did too much shopping? Maybe 450 shekels here and 500 shekels there and together it adds up to a lot of money?"

  "I already told you that she was quite a bit of a spender, but I don't think they led a lifestyle that was too extravagant or showy, not more than I did, anyway." I realized that Iris was actually a sort of gauge of standard for Hanni.

  "May I ask what you do for a living?"

  "I have a degree in education and bible studies."

  "You mean you're a bible teacher?"

  "No," she smiled. "I'm a full time mom."

  "What does your husband do, if I may ask?" It interested me to know how a family in Israel could manage with one salary.

  "My husband studied law and business management, but he works in his father's investment firm." Now everything was understood.

  "Hanni shared their financial issues with you. Did you know, for instance, what their financial situation was after Meir was fired from Fiberlight?"

  "From where?"

  "The start-up company."

  "Huh," she nodded, "do you think I saw their bank balances? Of course not…" she smiled "that's highly unacceptable. We were like sisters, but even my brothers don't know how much money I have in the bank. Besides, I don't think Hanni herself knew how much money she had in the bank."

  "How do you explain that? Hanni was a lawyer, not exactly someone who couldn't handle a bank account."

  "I don't know. Hanni never liked to deal with bills, she left that to Meir. Don't forget, Meir was an economist. He was good at it, too good. He didn't stop driving her crazy about it."

  "Maybe he had good reason to? Maybe she really was spending too much?"

  Iris stretched out in her chair, a gesture I noticed she repeated every time she was about to say something she wasn't very comfortable with. "I told you that Hanni married Meir also because of the money. Meir could have sat at home and not worked and it wouldn't have changed anything. His parents are sitting pretty, as they say. He had no reason to be so stingy."

  "Then maybe he was uncomfortable asking his parents for money?"

  "I know there was some issue there," she stretched again. "Hanni didn't like talking about it too much because it was a sensitive subject. I think she was barely speaking to her in-laws, but she and I both had no doubt that that if the situation was very bad, they'd have their back."

  *

  It was already five-thirty. Talking to Iris was interesting. I discovered some interesting things, mainly the story with Avinadav, but most of the things I'd already heard in earlier interrogations of family members. I wanted to have time to go to Shira's and show her the picture.

  Iris was already at the door when I decided to see if she knew the man in the picture. I have no idea why I did it, I didn't think that Iris would know the man at first, but I suddenly got the thought that maybe he was a mutual acquaintance.

  "Do you recognize the man in this picture?"

  Iris got closer to the table and looked at the picture thoroughly. It was evident in her eyes that she recognized him immediately. "Of course I know him," she smiled. "It's Chubby Yigal, that clown I told you about. He's excellent."

  She was curious to know why I’d be interested in a children’s entertainer, but I rushed to send her off, curious to find out more about the clown.

  I was surprised. The information Iris gave me about Hanni, though interesting, did not add give me a lot to work with. The quick identification of the rapist in the bushes definitely moved along our investigation. I shuddered at the thought that (Chubby) Yigal was a children's entertainer, but it didn't especially surprise me. Many pedophiles choose to work or volunteer with children. Yigal apparently had the right approach and a familiarity, even a shallow one, with a large number of children, who, presumably, trusted him fully. I thought about Shira and my precious nephews. Did they also know this clown from hell?

  I stopped myself from calling her. I'd get the answer to that soon. I was sure of it.

  I went to the computer, and after a quick web search, I reached Chubby Yigal's fairly impressive website, which included pictures of Yigal, photos from birthday parties and recommendations from parents. Chubby Yigal, or, by his full name, Yigal Einav, explained to those interested in an activity for a birthday party, that he did "Simple activities like the old days, without any effects or bouncing castles—just laughs and magic that children love."

  In most of the pictures, Yigal appeared in especially colorful clothes, but without any makeup, which was why Iris was able to identify him so easily. On the site was a link to a page where Yigal talked about himself. On the side of the page was a clear image of Yigal in "regular" clothes. I had no doubt that this was the man in Meir's video. It turned out Yigal was also, (or actually, mainly) an electronics engineer. From a young age he’d been an amateur magician and his love of children (I cringed when reading this) led him to perform and host activities for children. It began by volunteering in children's wards in hospitals, and, due to great demand, he began preforming for a low fee. Yigal had been married to Dina for sixteen years and they had three daughters.

  At the bottom of the page was his contact information: phone number, email address and home address.

  Yigal was from Givaat Shmuel. Just as I thought, and probably why he looked familiar to me.

  Chapter 23

  Monday, 6.1.2009

  I knew the video alone would not be enough to keep Yigal under arrest, and was certainly not enough to indict him. I knew I could manage to get a warrant for his arrest, but any rookie lawyer would have been able to get him out on bail in less than twenty-four hours. Actually, the video didn't show anything. If I hadn't found it rolled up in Meir's socks, I may have not jumped to conclusions. On the other hand, an arrest warrant and a warrant to search an apartment are the kind of warrants that can bring an investigation down, because this is when the suspect knows he's under investigation and is able to tamper with evidence.

  Alon and I decided to keep everything very secret. The less people knew about the story, the easier it would be to get quick results without anything leaking to the press. Shachar finished his investigation at the bank empty-handed. It was now clear to us that investigations at the bank were pointless, and Alon sent him to tail Yigal. Shachar didn't ask too many questions, and, in fact, wasn't aware of why he was following Yigal, except that, of course, he knew it had to do with the Danilowitz family investigation.

  I rushed to court in the morning and requested a warrant to inspect Yigal Einav's bank accounts without his knowledge. I knew that if we could link the cash deposits in Meir's account to cash withdrawals in Yigal's account, we'd have a good base.

  I obtained the warrant in the morning. Yigal had two bank accounts. I requested printouts of
the last two years, and was promised they'd be on my desk by noon, so I decided to go visit Shachar, and maybe get a close look at Yigal.

  Shachar was happy to see me. Following Yigal turned out to be especially boring. Yigal got up in the morning, drove his two younger girls to school and went to Ramat Hachayal, where he worked as an electronics engineer for one of the global media giants. The judge had also given us a warrant to bug him, which allowed Shachar to monitor all of Yigal's cell phone calls. There was nothing to report. Another day of a typical high-tech slave.

  "Can you tell me why I'm monitoring this tedium?"

  "I promise you that today, tomorrow tops, you'll know everything. We decided it would be best if as few people as possible know what this is about."

  The call-monitoring device beeped. Yigal was receiving a call.

  Shachar tuned into it immediately:

  "Are you here?"

  "Yes, I'm sitting in the coffee shop where we sat last time, right across from your building."

  "I'll be right down."

  The caller hung up.

  Across from the building were a number of coffee shops. Shachar got out of the car and waited for Yigal.

  A few minutes later Yigal came out of the building. He was, indeed, chubby. The picture on the site was taken when he was at least twenty kilos lighter than his current weight. Even compared to the person in the video, it was evident that Yigal had gained weight in the last year. Compulsive eating is often a sign of emotional distress. If Yigal was being extorted in the past year, he was definitely in distress.

  According to our records, Yigal was forty-two years old. If I hadn't known this, I would have guessed he was at least fifty. A fat, balding man, Yigal refrained from shaving his head completely bald, unlike the current fashion, which made him look even older. He wore a tailored shirt and a tie that matched his pants. Yigal was a senior engineer.

  Shachar waited across from the coffee shop and went in after Yigal, who joined another man sitting at a side table. He went into the bathroom and when he came out, he collected the two cups of coffee he’d ordered for us.

  "I hope you like yours with a lot of foam."

  "Did you bring sugar?" I asked.

  "Yes," he passed me three packets of sugar and was astounded to see me pour all of them into my coffee.

  "It's a big cup!" I reasoned.

  Shachar flipped to another channel in the receiver of his car and we could now hear Yigal’s conversation with the other man. On his way to the restroom, Shachar had taped a tiny bugging device to Yigal's table.

  "…. I hope this is clear to you," Yigal whispered.

  "Don't worry, we understand it's sensitive."

  "And how can I be sure you'll wait for me?"

  "As far as we're concerned, you can start tomorrow and we're willing to pay you the signing bonus as soon as today if you want."

  Yigal huffed. "I wish I could, but I'm completely tied up in my contract. I can't work for the competition for at least six months after I leave. I'd have to sit at home for six months without a salary."

  "I heard you're a pretty good clown."

  Yigal snickered. "Your kids got a birthday soon? I'll give you a good price."

  The other man laughed. "Don't worry, you'll get severance and unemployment and in six months, when you start working for us you'll get a signing bonus that'll make up for your six months of unemployment."

  Yigal finished his cup of coffee and collected a chocolate croissant on his way back to the office.

  Yigal was planning on transferring to the competition, for a very high salary. Was he doing this because of the extortion?

  My cell phone rang. Riki informed me that the material I requested from Bank Hapoalim and Bank Mizrahi arrived.

  I’d noted down the sums of the unexplained deposits to Meir and Hanni's account in the recent year in advance, so now I searched Yigal's bank account for withdrawals of similar amounts in the days leading up to the date of the deposits.

  The Mizrahi Bank account was relatively dormant and there wasn't anything to see in it, but after short consideration of the Hapoalim Bank statements, I had no doubt. Yigal was giving Meir the money that was deposited into his account.

  Not all of the sums were identical. It's possible that Meir didn't deposit all of the money he was given, or that Yigal didn't give Meir all of the money he withdrew, but against every deposit there was a withdrawal from Yigal's account of a similar or identical sum, about a week before the deposit in Meir and Hanni's account.

  It was still circumstantial, but I knew I had to move forward, and the only way to do that was to take out a search and arrest warrant for Yigal.

  Since Shachar was already in Yigal's vicinity, I decided that he could conduct the arrest and take his personal computer for investigation. I took two patrol officers with me to help me, in case of resistance, and drove to Yigal's house. I wanted the search and the arrest to happen simultaneously. If Yigal had something to hide, he wouldn't have the time to hide it.

  The other implication of a search and arrest was the fact that it was only a matter of time before our dear friends from the media found out what was going on. It had already been two weeks since the murder/suicide, and all of a sudden we were holding a search and arrest of the Danilowitz family neighbor, an outstanding family man and an executive in the high-tech industry.

  On the way to Yigal's house, Shachar updated me that the suspect was in custody. We didn't say any more because the suspect was in the police car with Shachar. I was curious to know how he reacted to the arrest.

  When we arrived at his house it was one-thirty in the afternoon. I had no idea if anyone was at home, but I hoped someone was.

  Yigal lived in one of the private homes at the edge of the neighborhood. I imagined it was a pretty expensive piece of real estate. I didn't look too deeply into the numbers I had received earlier from the bank, but I remembered his paycheck was especially big and he had quite a bit in savings and investment accounts. Yigal was a wealthy man. Meir knew who to extort.

  I rang the doorbell.

  "Who's there?" I heard a woman's voice.

  "Police," I replied.

  A few seconds later, the door opened. Dina Einav stood in front of me, a look of awe on her face.

  "How may I help you?" she asked. She had no idea what was going on.

  "Mrs. Einav?" I asked and she nodded. "Dina Einav?" she nodded again, she was getting nervous. I assumed the first thought that was running through her head was that something happened to one of her relatives, so I immediately continued. "My name is Inspector Hadas Levinger from Israel Police. I have a search warrant for Yigal Einav, your husband. Please open the door and let us in." I handed her the search warrant that I had received a short while earlier from the judge on call.

  I placed the warrant in her hand and she didn't look at it. Her stunned gaze was fixed on me. She stared at me with her eyes agape. She had no idea how she was supposed to act. This wasn't exactly a drug baron's wife, used to having her house searched.

  After a long while she snapped back to life and said, "Wait here for a moment. I'll just call my husband."

  "Your husband was taken into custody just a few minutes ago."

  Her face turned white and I realized she was about to lose her balance. I caught her before she fell and asked one of the officers who had come with me to help me take her inside.

  She sat on a chair in the spacious dining room. I went into the adjoining kitchen to get her a glass of water. While she sipped from the glass, I took the chance to get a look at my surroundings. The house was carefully furnished, very clean and tidy. Next to the dining room was a heavy wooden cupboard with a glass vitrine. Through the glass shone heavy and expensive silver wares, candlesticks for Shabbat candles, a giant Menorah, Kiddush goblets and a decorated plate. A few baby toys were scattered in the living room. That seemed a bit strange to me. Dina and Yigal had grown daughters, but not old enough for the couple to have grandchildren.
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  Dina was thirty-eight years old, fairly pretty and well groomed. Although she’d spent her morning at home, she was dressed and put together. When I spend my morning at home, I spend the day looking as if I had just been yanked out of bed, disheveled and dazed. The only items of clothing that gave away the fact that she was in her house were the slippers on her feet.

  She wore jeggings and a wide, slightly kitschy sweatshirt. Her hair was carefully pulled back, her nails were painted red. She wore little jewelry, but it was obvious that each ring or bracelet was pretty expensive. She seemed like a real balabusta: one of those women who manage to keep both themselves and their house in tip-top shape. I was certain that if I opened the fridge, I’d find it full of homemade food.

  Dina emptied her glass and placed it next to the search warrant, which she’d put on the table earlier. She placed her hand on the search warrant and asked in a low voice, "Could I call a lawyer first? Is it possible that you come back later?"

  "No," I replied in a calm but assertive voice. "You can call a lawyer if you want, but we're not leaving this apartment before we finish the search."

  "I have two little babies here; I don't want you to wake them."

  I looked at her in shock. According to the information we had, the couple had three daughters aged seventeen, twelve and nine. "There are babies here?" I asked, surprised.

  "I run a sort of nursery."

  "If you don't get in our way, I promise you we'll be quiet."

  Just as I finished the sentence, the door swung open, and Hagit and Noga appeared, home from school. Tears came to Dina's eyes. How could she explain the awkward situation that she was in to her young daughters? She looked at me desperately.

  "Do you have any neighbors they could maybe go to for an hour or two?" I whispered.

  She thought for a second. "My mother lives not far from here, I can call her."

  "Go ahead," I replied.

  She went to her daughters who stood frozen over their school bags, whispered something and hugged them and then went into the kitchen and spoke briefly on the phone to her mother.