Lineup

by Liad Shoham

  “Six months’ probation.”

  “For rape?” Galit replied, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Reduce the charge to assault.”

  “But he raped her!”

  “If you were so sure of that, I wouldn’t be here, would I?”

  “If your client was so sure he was innocent, you’d tell me where to shove my offer and you’d go to trial, wouldn’t you?” she shot back.

  They sat facing each other in silence, like two poker players just before they reveal their hands. But there were no chips or bills on the table. Here they were playing for a man’s freedom.

  “You go jogging in the middle of the day?” Rosen asked, gesturing with his head at a pair of red sneakers sitting under a file cabinet. He was hoping to ease the tension in the room.

  “No, I’ve been walking to work. I lent my car to my brother. He and his wife flew in for a visit.” She had a captivating smile. He remembered his dream again.

  “So what now?” he asked, pulling himself back down to the real world.

  “Aggravated assault. Two years’ probation with time served.”

  He was right. They were in serious trouble with this case. He debated taking the offer to Nevo but decided there was no need. Even if he was innocent and was being threatened, it wasn’t relevant. His instructions were clear. Rosen had told him it would be a mistake to confess, but Nevo hadn’t budged an inch. On the other hand, he hadn’t forbidden him to strike a deal for a reduced sentence either.

  “What do you say, Assaf?” Galit was waiting for an answer.

  Chapter 21

  GALIT hated what she was being forced to do. If Nevo was guilty, her offer was scandalous. If he wasn’t, she was making an innocent man confess to a crime he hadn’t committed, a crime that would leave a stain on him for the rest of his life. But what choice did she have? The lineup was useless, she didn’t have any hard evidence, and the victim had withdrawn her identification. All she had was the gut feeling of a longtime cop, who might be right and might be wrong.

  “Deal, aggravated assault, two years’ probation with time served,” Rosen said finally.

  Galit detested most of the defense attorneys she had to bargain with. They were unprincipled liars who’d use any dirty trick to get their clients off. But she had a fondness for Assaf Rosen, and not just because he was good-looking (a fact all the women in the office agreed on). She had the feeling he liked her too. Several times she’d been tempted to see if their relationship could go beyond the professional, but she decided it wouldn’t be proper. She was a good girl who always did the right thing. If Alon hadn’t announced just before the wedding, after they’d been together for ten years, that he wanted a different life that didn’t include her, she’d probably be married by now. She might even be a mother.

  “We’re going to have to sell it to the press. The case got a lot of media attention. To the man in the street, probation is the same as acquittal. And the local paper’s been running a story about it every week,” Rosen said, merely stating out loud what she already knew. In fact, she was much more worried about how she’d sell it to the press than about how she’d sell it to her boss.

  “No problem. We’ll just explain that Nevo had this ace lawyer who made the DA’s Office look like a bunch of clowns,” she said with a smile. Seeing he wasn’t amused, she added seriously, “The victim and her family agreed to the deal. There won’t be any human interest stories about how the DA sold her down the river, didn’t believe her, didn’t take it seriously. No op-eds about lack of consideration for the victim’s feelings.”

  At Nachum’s request, she’d met with Adi yesterday. What she saw was a girl who was confused, hurt, and angry, and immediately agreed with Nachum’s assessment that she’d changed her story for reasons that had nothing to do with whether or not she could honestly ID Nevo. Even if she could coax Adi to change her mind, there was no telling what she’d say under cross-examination. It’d be better for her to close the case with a plea bargain that was hard to swallow than to hear the victim testify on the stand that the police and the prosecution had forced her to point the finger at the defendant against her will.

  Rosen was staring at her in silence. She knew exactly what he was thinking. How come the DA was willing to reduce the charges from rape to assault? What were they hiding from him? He was smart enough to know that something was going on. But Galit was no fool herself, and she sensed there was a reason Rosen didn’t want the case to go to court either. She’d come up against him before and she knew he didn’t scare easily. The smart thing for him to do would be to wait for the indictment when he could see the holes in their case. But here he was, ready to plead out.

  “You’ll still have to explain what happened to the rape charge, why you only indicted him for assault with no mention of any indecent acts,” he insisted.

  “We’re used to getting fried by the press. We can take it. It isn’t pleasant, but we’ll get over it,” Galit said, getting up to put an end to the discussion. The deeper he dug, the more questions he asked, the harder it would be for her to close the deal. In the end, he might back out and she’d lose the little she’d managed to salvage.

  Rosen rose and held out his hand. She noted how firm and warm his grip was. She nearly suggested they go out for coffee but stopped herself in time.

  “You’ll send me a draft of the indictment?” he asked, without letting go of her hand. It seemed to her he was holding on to it a little longer than necessary.

  “Naturally,” she replied with a smile, withdrawing her hand. “Tomorrow. Maybe even later today.”

  Neither of them mentioned that they still had to go before a judge. Plea bargains in criminal cases weren’t the same as settlement agreements in civil suits. The judge didn’t have to sign off on them. But they’d been doing this for quite a few years, and they both anticipated the same scenario: the court would grant its approval. The judge might raise an eyebrow, ask a question or two. Some liked to make background noise first, to bully the prosecution and the defense and remind them that the judge wasn’t just a rubber stamp. But in the end they all accepted what was placed in front of them.

  A large percentage of criminal cases ended in plea bargains. No witnesses ever testified, no defendants ever told their story, no juries ever got to deliver a verdict on the basis of the evidence. Galit found it depressing. She was infuriated by the statistics her office gave out showing their high conviction rate. Most of those convictions were achieved through plea bargains, which meant negotiating and handing out reduced sentences. As a result, most offenders got a lot less than was coming to them.

  But that was life. Without plea bargains, the system would collapse. The court would sign off on her deal with Rosen without any complications and no one would ever know what had gone on here today. To be honest, no one would even care.

  In a little while, Nevo would be a free man. She remembered what Nachum had said to her: “At least get probation for when he rapes the next woman.” Had she just helped to put a rapist back on the street?

  Chapter 22

  WHEN Amit Giladi heard about the plea bargain, he was outraged. It was ludicrous. “Aggravated assault?” Adi Regev had been raped! He used all his contacts to try to get more information, but no one was talking. Not the cops, not the DA, not the defense attorney—no one. He couldn’t get a word out of anyone. This vow of silence only made him more suspicious. In his short career as a reporter, he’d learned that people love to talk, gossip, criticize. But this time there was nothing.

  He hadn’t been eager to stay on the rape story. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d become a journalist for. He wanted to be an investigative reporter, but Dori told him to keep leaning on the cops.

  Amit was no idiot. He knew very well why Dori wanted him to keep the story alive. It sold papers. It played on the fear of women that it could happen to them. Bu
t with all due respect, he wasn’t here to terrify women. That wasn’t his goal in life.

  Still, the inexplicable plea bargain changed the picture. He had a feeling something big was behind it, that it was part of some larger conspiracy.

  Ever since the call from “Deep Throat,” with his claims of explosive information about police corruption that reached to the highest echelons, all his time had been taken up by drivel. That was the lot of a reporter in charge of the crime and education beats for a local paper. But this might be his big chance. It was because of the rape that he’d missed the call from “Deep Throat.” Maybe the plea bargain would give him the opportunity to make up for it.

  He went to ask for Dori’s advice on how to attack the story, but to his surprise, the editor displayed little interest in it. “Who gives a fuck? They make lousy deals all the time. The rape story is dead, at least till the next one,” he said, waving Amit away. He’d given up trying to understand what made Dori tick a long time ago. He’d been a senior editor at a major national paper until he was booted out for some reason no one seemed to know, and ever since he’d been stuck at the local rag. It was rumored he’d had an affair with the wife of the editor in chief, although some people claimed he’d fabricated a story. Bottom line: nobody knew what had really happened.

  Screw Dori, he wasn’t going to let it slide. His gut was telling him to keep digging, that the plea bargain was a cover for something that could turn out to be a gold mine for him. The only question was where he would get the information he needed, how he was going to find out why they agreed to this outlandish deal.

  And then it came to him. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? From the beginning, Dori had pushed him to interview Adi Regev. He’d used every trick in the book to get out of it. What journalistic value would it have? She’d been through enough without having him harass her just so a few readers could shed a sympathetic tear and mutter “poor dear.”

  He kept coming up with excuses. He was busy with another story: the principal of a prestigious high school who tweaked students’ grades in exchange for donations from their parents; the son of a city counselor who got wasted and was caught naked in the fountain outside his father’s office. Dori had even provided him with a list of questions for Adi: What went through your mind when you saw the rapist? Do you still have nightmares? Tell me about the moment you realized what was happening. The questions only strengthened Amit’s determination not to do the interview.

  But the situation had changed. Now there might be real value in talking to Adi. It was no longer just an excuse for a soap opera disguised as news.

  HE tensed when he saw her leaving the building. He’d considered going upstairs, knocking on her door, and introducing himself like a gentleman, but decided it would be best to wait for her to come out. After everything that’d happened to her, there was no chance she’d let a strange man into her apartment. Even when Dori had been urging him to interview her, he’d told him to wait for her outside, take her by surprise.

  He chewed on his lips. He wasn’t happy about what he was doing, but he had a good reason. Something bigger than both of them was going on, and it was his job as a reporter to find out what it was.

  As he started toward her, he realized he’d never actually seen her in person. The detective, Nachum, had shown him pictures of her injured face for the shock value, but that was it. Now he saw she was definitely worth a second look. She had beautiful eyes, long flowing hair, and a cute butt. Under any other circumstances, he might’ve hit on her. He was twenty-six and single. Every now and then he met a girl on Facebook, and even managed to get some of them into bed, but that was as far as it went. Dori once said that real journalists could never have a serious relationship because they were committed to the truth and relationships were inevitably based on lies. Who knows, maybe he was right.

  Adi was walking rapidly. She was about to turn into Pinkas Street, which was busy at this time of day. With so many people around, it would be hard to get anything out of her.

  “Excuse me,” he called after her.

  She turned to look at him, alarmed. He had to be careful. In her fragile state, she could shatter as easily as a piece of glass.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said, trying to calm her fears. But his words had the opposite effect.

  “I’m late,” she said, turning around quickly and walking away.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” Amit insisted. “I’m a reporter. I just have a few questions . . . ,” he said, running to catch up with her.

  Adi didn’t stop. What was it with this girl?

  “I don’t know if they told you, but the DA closed a deal with the guy who raped you. He’s getting out. I want to talk to you about it. I don’t think it’s right. I think they’re selling you out.” By now he was jogging alongside her, panting.

  They were on Pinkas Street now. Adi kept walking swiftly toward Ibn Gvirol Street, not turning her head even once.

  “I’m on your side. I want the bastard to rot in prison. He shouldn’t go free because of a disgraceful plea bargain,” he said, entreating her to listen.

  When she reached Ibn Gvirol, she stopped and looked at him for the first time. Amit tried to read her expression. Had he finally gotten through to her? Maybe she hadn’t even known about the plea bargain.

  “Leave me alone,” she spat. “Go away!”

  He grabbed her arm to keep her from walking off, but she pulled out of his grip and yelled at him. “I told you to leave me alone.”

  Her shout startled him. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that passersby were watching them.

  “Adi, I’m on your side. If it had happened to my sister or my girlfriend, I wouldn’t want . . . ,” he tried again.

  She started crying. Some stranger who looked like a local version of Arnold Schwarzenegger clamped a huge hand on Amit’s shoulder.

  “Is this creep bothering you?” he asked Adi.

  Without speaking, she turned and ran.

  “Leave her alone, you hear me?” the stranger said, removing his hand.

  Chapter 23

  WHEN Ziv stepped out of the Tel Aviv courthouse, his eyes were blinded by the bright sunlight. The hearing had ended half an hour ago, with Judge Spiegler approving the plea bargain. Rosen had prepared him for the possibility of complications, but everything seemed to go very smoothly. The performance went off without a hitch. The charges against him told a fictitious tale about how he’d assaulted Adi, causing her bodily harm, and he and his attorney confirmed the prosecution’s lie. In the courtroom, the judge asked indifferently, reciting a time-worn formula, if he admitted to the facts in the indictment, if he understood what he was confessing to, if he had anything further to add, and he’d answered, yes, yes, no, just as Rosen had instructed him. The judge barely looked at him. She convicted him of aggravated assault on the basis of his confession and then listened with undisguised boredom as the prosecution and the defense explained in pat phrases why she should accept the plea bargain they’d agreed on. Nodding mechanically the whole time, she concluded the proceedings by signifying her approval.

  “That’s it. You’re free to go. Take care of yourself,” Rosen said, shaking his hand hurriedly and turning to talk to the pretty ADA with the long brown hair and green eyes. The whole thing took less than half an hour.

  Rosen warned him there might be reporters in the courtroom and cautioned him not to speak with them. “I’ll do all the talking for you,” he assured him. But there was only one reporter from some local paper, a guy whose face he remembered from his initial remand hearing, and both Rosen and the prosecution simply ignored his questions. Aside from him, the press no longer seemed interested in the case. The rape that had once earned banner headlines had been forgotten.

  When he’d first walked into court, he’d seen a few people nodding on the long, brown benches. In response to his question, Rosen said he
didn’t see the victim among them. He wondered what she thought about it all, why she’d agreed to this circus. Why didn’t she get up and scream that she wouldn’t allow the man who raped her to be convicted of something as absurd as aggravated assault and get off with no more than two years’ probation? He realized he felt sorry for her.

  Turning on his cell phone as he left the building, Ziv was disappointed to see that no one had called. No one had come to any of the hearings, and no one was there to pick him up. He missed Gili terribly and was dying to see him. He hadn’t asked Merav to bring him to the detention facility. The place was too frightening and depressing. Naturally, she didn’t offer to bring him either.

  He dialed her number. It was busy. What he wanted most in the world right now was to hug Gili close, to kiss him, hold him, and breathe in his smell. He tried again. She didn’t pick up. She must be screening his calls.

  He’d just been set free with a much lighter sentence than he’d expected. He should feel happy, but he didn’t. All he felt was utterly alone, and angry—angry at Merav for being unwilling to forgive him for the one mistake he made in their whole marriage, angry at his brother who’d turned his back on him, angry at Shimon Faro and Meshulam for sacrificing him without a second thought, like a pawn in a chess game. If it weren’t for the prosecutor’s sudden change of heart, he’d be rotting in jail for years for a crime he didn’t commit.

  He was sick of everyone trampling him underfoot as if he didn’t matter. He had to pull himself out of this slump. What he needed was some grand gesture that would turn his life around. He just didn’t know what it was.

  Deep in thought, Ziv didn’t notice he was being followed. As he was about to cross the street, a black car pulled up alongside him. His heart missed a beat when Meir stuck his head out the window. “Get in,” said the man who had almost strangled him in Abu Kabir.