Lineup

by Liad Shoham

  Meshulam sat there for a long time after the street had emptied out, compulsively punching the steering wheel and cursing under his breath. Faro’d been arrested before. The cops picked him up periodically just to flex their muscles, to show them who was in charge. But he’d never seen anything like this media circus before.

  His thoughts turned to the expression on Faro’s face. He’d looked flustered, as if he also sensed there was something different about this arrest, as if he could tell it wasn’t just for show. An appalling idea suddenly formed in Meshulam’s mind. Was it possible the whole thing with Nevo was part of a sting operation? He should have known something wasn’t right when he couldn’t find the bitch’s car. The cops had been biding their time, waiting to pounce on them the moment they were confident Nevo hadn’t squealed and they let their guard down.

  Chapter 34

  GILI climbed onto the bed, waking her up. Merav opened her eyes and watched him crawl between her and Ziv, cover himself with the heavy blanket, and lay his little head on the pillow beside her before closing his eyes.

  It was all happening so fast. Too fast. If anyone had told her a week ago that she’d wake up like this one morning, she would’ve laughed it off as a preposterous fantasy. But here she was, lying in bed with her son and her ex-husband like the happy family they once were.

  Gili flopped over and put his tiny hand on her shoulder, hugging her in his sleep. He didn’t need time to adjust. As soon as he saw his parents together again, he settled blithely into the new-old reality. How would he react when they went back to real life, when they had to leave this paradise?

  She got up carefully so as not to wake Gili and Ziv and slipped into the top and panties Ziv had pulled off her last night. She looked at the two of them sleeping, both lying in almost the exact same position, and tears welled up in her eyes. It seemed so right.

  It was cold out, but inside the idyllic house was bathed in a pleasant warmth. Moving quietly, she went into the kitchen and switched on the electric kettle. She needed time to herself, time to think and process the events of the last few days.

  The kitchen window looked out on the vast desert landscape. It’s so peaceful here, so beautiful, so remote from everything we left behind, she thought as she gazed at the winter sun rising over the imposing rose-tinted mountains.

  Last night was still fresh in her mind. She recalled how he’d stroked her belly, her breasts, her nipples, drawing tiny circles that gradually grew bigger, just the way he knew she liked it. Purring with pleasure, she’d passed her hand over him in the way she knew aroused him. It wasn’t long before he was inside her, his body pressed against her, her body rising to meet his.

  She was pouring the boiling water into two mugs when she heard Ziv getting out of bed. She’d been out with a few men since the divorce, but all they wanted was to get laid and be gone the next morning. A lonely, single mother was easy prey. One man turned out to be married, one hadn’t gotten over the breakup from his wife, one wasn’t looking for commitment—the excuses were endless and left her feeling hurt and bitter. Before falling asleep, she’d decided it would be best if they put last night behind them. It was only a temporary lapse, a momentary connection forged out of lust, fear, and solitude.

  Ziv put his arms around her from behind, drawing her closer and kissing her neck. They held the embrace for a long moment, both gazing through the window at the glorious, endless desert spread out before them. How wonderful it felt to be cut off from the rest of the world.

  “I could stay here forever,” he said softly, giving her another kiss on the neck that made her body quiver. She raised her arms and twisted them around his head.

  “Tomorrow I’m going back to Tel Aviv to talk to them,” he said.

  “You think you can get them to leave us alone?”

  “The fact that the cops haven’t come down on them should speak for itself, shouldn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. I hope so,” she said, making an effort to hide her anxiety.

  “In the meantime, let’s enjoy what we’ve got,” he whispered in her ear. She nodded, pulling his head down for a kiss.

  Chapter 35

  SINCE Eli Nachum had no way of knowing where Nevo might be hiding, he decided to wait until after midnight, when he was sure everyone in the house was asleep, and then set out for the suspect’s apartment in the hope of uncovering a clue to his whereabouts. He knew Ohad and his team had already turned the place upside down, but he also knew that Ohad could be sloppy. With his own orderly, methodical habits and greater experience, he might turn up something they’d missed.

  He stood outside the building and looked it over. Despite the late hour, the lights were still on in several apartments, but, as he expected, the blinds were drawn over Nevo’s windows. As far as he could tell, it was dark inside. He zipped up his jacket and strode quickly to the front door, making sure no one had eyes on him. What would he say if he ran into a cop, he wondered. But he very much doubted the place was under surveillance. Ohad didn’t have the budget for it—police budgets were constantly being cut. When he saw the resources at the disposal of the police in American movies, he always felt jealous.

  The stairwell was empty. To avoid attracting the attention of the neighbors, who’d probably been asked to report anything suspicious, he chose not to turn on the light, and climbed quickly and quietly up to Nevo’s apartment in the dark. He was startled by loud barking behind one of the doors. “Quiet, Fritz,” he heard a man’s voice command. The dog went on barking, scratching at the door.

  Nachum quickened his pace, taking the stairs nearly at a run. Finally, he stood outside Nevo’s apartment, pausing to catch his breath. He reached for the door handle and was surprised to feel it give way. He’d assumed he’d have to jimmy the lock and was glad to find there was no need. The odor of stale air and mildew issued from the dark rooms. He felt on the wall for the light switch but came up empty. He could still hear the neighbor’s dog barking. Then a door opened on a floor below. He slipped inside and closed the door behind him. He couldn’t afford to be caught here.

  The apartment was silent and almost pitch-black, with only a thin glimmer of pale light from a streetlamp below that seeped in through a broken slat in the blind. He moved rapidly along the wall until he finally found the light switch and flipped it on. Nothing happened. Another switch nearby produced the same result. He debated going into the hall and checking the fuse box but decided against it when he heard the neighbor step out of his apartment with the barking dog. He was reaching into his back pocket for the small flashlight he’d brought with him when he froze. Not far away from him, something, or someone, had moved. For a moment he thought he might be mistaken, that maybe the sound had come from outside, but his first instinct was confirmed when he heard it again, closer. Footsteps? Was someone moving toward him? He spun around, searching for the source of the noise.

  “Who’s there?” he called out in the darkness. Silence. Nachum’s heart was pounding. He couldn’t see anything, but he could sense a presence. Someone was standing there. He could smell the sweat on his body, hear the sound of his breathing. He should have realized something was wrong when he found the door unlocked. Maybe they were right and he was getting too old for this.

  “Who’s there?” he called again.

  Everything happened very quickly. He felt a powerful kick to his left knee. He could actually hear the bone breaking. The pain was excruciating. He dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, fighting the scream that threatened to burst out of him. His blood froze at the realization that whoever had landed that kick knew exactly what he was doing, how to disable him.

  Another kick to the left side of his face made his teeth rattle. He was shaking. His attacker wasn’t finished. He aimed a third kick at Nachum’s gut. The detective struggled to twist his body out of the way, but the stranger was too quick. He sat on him, immobilizing him, and pointed a hars
h, blinding light at his eyes, which were already tearing up in pain. Nachum tried to look away, but the man seized his injured jaw, making it impossible for him to move his head.

  “You his old man?” a raspy voice asked, disabusing him of the idea that the stranger might be Nevo himself.

  Nachum felt his mouth filling with blood. His leg was screaming in pain, his ribs protesting loudly with every breath he took. Before leaving the house, he’d considered taking his gun but decided to leave it at home. He was still on suspension. Now he cursed himself for his high principles, his obsessive need to play by the rules.

  The man applied more pressure to his ribs. It was too much for him. The sensation of being stabbed by a thousand blades at once forced a shriek of pain out of his throat.

  “I asked you a question,” his attacker said emotionlessly, almost indifferently. Nachum tried in vain to focus his eyes on the man’s face, but he was blinded by the light.

  “Who wants to know?” he heard himself ask. The words coming from his bruised, bleeding mouth were slurred.

  The man put his hand on Nachum’s throat and started to press down. “Cut the crap. I’ll ask the questions.”

  Nachum couldn’t breathe. He tried to fight the stranger who was pinning him down, but the slightest movement was agony.

  “Where is he?” the man asked, loosening his grip on Nachum’s throat.

  Nachum coughed and fought for breath, flinching from the pain in his ribs. The man repositioned himself as if he were about to lean on his chest again. Nachum spread his arms to the side in a gesture of surrender. He was sure at least one of his ribs was broken. Any more pressure and it could puncture his lung. His outstretched hand touched something. Cautiously, he moved his fingers along the object and identified it immediately: a beer bottle.

  “You got a death wish?” his attacker grunted. Nachum grabbed the bottle and swung it at his face.

  Stunned by the unexpected blow, the man recoiled. Knowing he had to act fast if he wanted to take advantage of the element of surprise, Nachum aimed his fist at his assailant’s face and landed a crisp punch smack on the nose. He heard him stifle a scream.

  The man rolled off Nachum, holding his bleeding nose. The ball was now in the detective’s court. Despite the pain, he managed to elbow his attacker straight in the groin. The man doubled over, shrieking in agony. With a supreme effort, Nachum slowly pulled himself to his feet, leaning his weight on the right leg, and looked down at the man on the floor. He didn’t have a clue who he was or where he’d come from. His head was throbbing and the pain in his knee and face was torture. He had to use his momentary advantage to get out of there as quickly as possible. The man was younger and stronger than he was. It wouldn’t be long before he recovered and came at him again. Nachum had a family that loved him and relied on him. He had responsibilities. He couldn’t afford to tempt fate. If he left now, he would get out alive. But his curiosity and obsession with the case got the better of him. Police work was in his blood. It had always been. After the accident in Netanya, Leah had made him swear he’d never risk his life like that again. He’d promised, and he’d kept his promise, maybe because he’d never had the opportunity to break it. But here he was, years later, face-to-face with a thug who would rip him apart as soon as he got his breath back, and he wasn’t able to turn and run.

  The man struggled vainly to stand up. The blow he’d received had been too painful and precise. Nachum struggled to take a few deep breaths despite the pain in his ribs. He had to be calm, to slow down, moderate the flow of adrenaline in his blood. That was the only way he could control the situation. At times like this, a cool head was no less important than physical strength.

  “Who are you? What do you want with my son?” he asked. The last thing he needed was for the guy to know he’d just hit a cop. His gut told him the best way to get anything out of him was to let him go on believing he was who he thought he was, Nevo’s dad.

  The man muttered something incomprehensible. Nachum leaned over him. The stranger rolled toward him and hit him in the injured knee. Losing his balance, Nachum tumbled to the floor. The man raised his head and butted it into his chest. Nachum curled up, knowing he had lost the upper hand. Not wasting any time, his attacker rose to his feet with a grunt and got a stranglehold around Nachum’s neck.

  Nachum could feel himself losing consciousness. He’d be dead in a minute. “Where is he?” The voice seemed to be coming from very far away.

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  The man’s eyes gleamed in the darkness, black and threatening. The rage the detective saw in them was terrifying.

  Suddenly, the man released his grip. Nachum drew in air, again and again, until his ribs shrieked in protest. He would have been a goner in another second. His eyes cleared.

  “Tell him he better not forget what Meir said in Abu Kabir.”

  “Who?” Nachum asked, puzzled. Who was Meir?

  Ignoring the question, the man walked to the door. Nachum followed him with his eyes as he turned back one last time, raised his leg, and kicked him in the stomach.

  Chapter 36

  AS soon as he got on the Ayalon Highway, which crossed through Tel Aviv, Ziv felt a sense of repulsion. The time he’d spent with Merav and Gili in the south, just the three of them cut off from the world, had been the best days of his life. There’d been good days before his life fell apart, but that was a long time ago, when he’d taken it for granted that the family he’d built would always be there. Maybe the elation he was feeling now stemmed from the realization that their happiness was temporary. He and Merav knew only too well that it wouldn’t last forever, that real life was knocking on the door and they couldn’t go on ignoring it much longer.

  “I want things to go back to the way they were, like this, together, a family,” he’d whispered in her ear before getting in the car and driving away from their private paradise. “Me too,” she’d said with a smile. He was overcome by emotion.

  He had to eliminate the threat to his family from Faro and his organization. He’d made so many mistakes, and hurt so many people along the way, that he didn’t deserve a second chance. But he’d been given one anyway. He didn’t intend to waste it.

  He considered the possibility of simply calling Meshulam or Faro and telling them he didn’t inform on them, that he’d kept his mouth shut. He ran because he panicked. That was the only reason. He had nothing to hide. You can see for yourself, he’d say. I’ve been out almost a week and nothing’s happened. If I ratted you out, the cops would have done something already, right?

  But the more he thought about it, the more he understood that he had to meet with them face-to-face. They had to be able to look him in the eye and see he was telling the truth, that he wasn’t hiding anything. That was the only way to win their trust.

  HE parked Merav’s car outside his apartment and glanced at the clock on the dashboard. Three a.m. What was he doing? He hadn’t planned on coming back to this rat hole. Only bad things had ever happened to him here.

  But during the drive, an urge had taken hold of him and he couldn’t get rid of it. It was like he was possessed. He had to find his wedding band and put it on again. It had taken him a long time to bring himself to take it off. He’d kept it on even after the divorce was final. But in view of the events of the past few days, it was time for it to be back on his finger where it belonged.

  What if someone was waiting for him upstairs? Was he risking everything just to get the ring? He pushed open the door and got out of the car. This was crazy. He’d never been one for romantic gestures. But he felt powerless to stop himself. He had to put it on. The ring would give him strength. And even more important, if he didn’t come back alive, Merav would know that he was wearing it when they found his body, that in his eyes they were husband and wife again, a family.

  The familiar stench in the stairwell made him sick to his sto
mach. He detested this place. It was a symbol of the loneliness of his recent life. The last time he’d been here was the day he was arrested.

  He took the stairs rapidly. Fritz barked as he passed. “Hey, Fritz,” he called to the dog through the door of the first-floor apartment, not slowing down. As he stuck his key in the door, he was surprised to find it unlocked. I should’ve known, he thought. Why should the cops take the trouble to lock the door after they finished searching the place?

  The odor of mildew added to his nausea. All the windows must be closed, the blinds drawn. Was that how he left it? He couldn’t remember.

  The light switch wasn’t working. He went out to the hallway and flipped the safety switch in the fuse box. The lights in the apartment came on.

  Heading back inside, he pulled up short in the doorway, his heart missing a beat. A man was lying on the floor, a red pool still forming around his head and a bloodstained bottle at his feet. For a second he thought he must be imagining it, that he was delusional from exhaustion and all the anxiety and pressure he’d been under. But it wasn’t a mirage. The man lying on the floor of his apartment was Eli Nachum.

  NACHUM opened his eyes and gazed at him in silence. Ziv remembered those eyes all too well. He remembered how they’d stared at him piercingly in the interrogation room, filling him with fear. Now he saw fear in the detective’s eyes.

  Wary, Ziv moved closer, unable to comprehend the sight before him.

  “What happened? What are you doing here?” he fired at Nachum.

  The detective didn’t answer, merely emitted a gurgling sound. Ziv noticed his unofficial attire. What was going on? Was it some kind of trap? But why? And who had done this to the formidable cop?

  He bent over him to be certain it was Nachum. His face was bruised and swollen, blood was trickling from his mouth, and his hands were wrapped around his knee. He lay curled up on the cold floor like a frightened child.