Lineup

by Liad Shoham

  “What happened?” he asked again. “Who did this to you?”

  “Water,” Nachum muttered with a look of pleading in his eyes.

  Ziv didn’t move. He just stood there staring in amazement. He hated this man. He’d begged him to listen to him, to believe him when he said he didn’t rape the girl, but he didn’t want to hear it.

  Nachum coughed, his face registering pain. Whoever had beaten him had made a good job of it. He might be bleeding internally. If he left him here closed up in a deserted apartment, he could die.

  Nachum raised his head slightly as if he wanted to say something, but it fell back to the floor before he could get any words out. A shiver went down Ziv’s spine. Was he trying to tell him something? Was there someone else in the apartment?

  Ziv straightened up quickly and looked around. He didn’t hear anything. He went into the bedroom and turned on the light. The room was empty, and so was the small bathroom. They were alone. At least that.

  Going back into the living room, he looked down at Nachum. He was still lying in the same position he’d left him in.

  “Water,” he repeated weakly. His eyes closed.

  What was he supposed to do now?

  Shit, Ziv said to himself, pulling himself together. What’s wrong with you? What are you doing standing here like a statue? The guy might be the devil incarnate, but you don’t have to repay him in kind. You’ve been given a second chance to prove you’re a better person. You can’t leave him like this.

  He ran into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Wetting his fingers, he cleaned the blood off Nachum’s mouth and then held the glass to his lips.

  “Sip it slowly,” he said. “Not all at once.”

  Nachum opened his eyes and nodded his gratitude.

  “Who did this to you?” he asked once more when he saw Nachum looked a little stronger, but the detective remained silent. His eyes closed again. Ziv wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. It was no random chance that Nachum had been beaten to a pulp in his apartment. Did Faro’s men do this? Did they know Nachum was a cop? He suddenly realized he might never be able to untangle himself from the web he was caught in.

  Nachum coughed again. “I’m taking you to a hospital,” Ziv said firmly. With a practiced movement, he heaved Nachum over his shoulders the way he’d been trained in the army to carry the wounded.

  As he was leaving the apartment, he stopped and swung around. With Nachum on his shoulders, he went to the chest near the door and pulled out the drawer. There it was. He reached in, fished it out, and slipped it on his finger.

  NACHUM gave him an odd look as he laid him on the backseat.

  “Take . . . off . . . your . . . shirt,” he said haltingly.

  Ziv stared at him in bewilderment. Their faces were close together, nearly touching. Nachum’s breathing was labored.

  “Take . . . off . . . your . . . shirt,” the detective repeated.

  “Why?” This was no time for cryptic requests. He hadn’t said who’d attacked him, what he was doing in his apartment. Why the hell did he want him to strip?

  “I have to check something,” Nachum said. “Trust me, it’s important.”

  Ziv scanned the area. The street was empty. Without knowing why he was doing it, he pulled off his shirt, baring his chest for Nachum.

  “Turn around.”

  Exhaling impatiently, he did as he was told.

  “Happy now?” He felt stupid standing there half-naked, and even more stupid for letting himself be manipulated by Nachum again.

  “I’m sorry,” the detective said softly.

  “For what?” Ziv asked as he put his shirt back on.

  “I was wrong. You didn’t rape Adi Regev.”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “About time,” he said finally as he got behind the wheel.

  “DON’T take me inside. Leave me by the gate,” Nachum said when Ziv turned into the street that led to the Ichilov Hospital complex. He glanced at Nachum in the rearview mirror. He looked terrible. His face was as white as a sheet.

  “You sure?”

  “There was another rape. They’re looking for you.”

  “What?” Ziv couldn’t believe it. “Why me?”

  Nachum shrugged his shoulders.

  “Who’s ‘they’?” he asked angrily.

  “They are the ones who threw me off the force,” the detective answered before being consumed by a fit of coughing that shook his entire body.

  Ziv froze. He’d come to Tel Aviv to set Faro straight, and suddenly he was a suspect in another rape? What the fuck was going on?

  “I’ll help you, I promise,” Nachum said, interrupting his thoughts.

  “You? How? You said you’re not a cop anymore, right?”

  “I’ll find the guy who did it. I swear.” He just managed to get the words out before his head fell back onto the seat.

  As instructed, Ziv stopped at the hospital gate, dragged Nachum out of the car, and settled him on a bench. He hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to him.

  “Somebody will come by in a minute and call for help. You’ve done enough. Go,” Nachum said when he saw that Nevo was reluctant to leave him there. “Disappear again for a few more days. The cops are looking for you.”

  “How long? How will I know when it’s safe to come back?” Ziv asked, stunned by the detective’s advice.

  Nachum managed a smile. “You’ll read about it in the papers.”

  Someone was coming.

  “Go. I’ll be all right here.”

  “Who did this to you? What were you doing in my apartment?” Ziv asked, ignoring the approaching figure.

  “I don’t know. He thought you were my son. He said to tell you not to forget what Meir said in Abu Kabir.”

  Ziv felt his heart start to race. It was one of Faro’s thugs. He was never going to forget what Meir said.

  “Who was he?” Nachum asked.

  Ziv said nothing.

  “What kind of trouble are you in? Maybe I can help.”

  Ziv stood up.

  “It has something to do with what you were doing on Louis Marshall Street that night, right?”

  Ziv continued to remain silent. How could he trust the cop who’d made his life a living hell?

  “Take care of yourself,” Ziv said as he turned to leave.

  Chapter 37

  DAVID Meshulam was ushered quickly through the border crossing at Shaar Ephraim, passing from Israel within the Green Line, where law and order reigned, to the West Bank, or what Faro liked to call the “Wild West.” He should have left the minute Faro was picked up. He was familiar with the emergency plan: if anything goes wrong, hook up immediately with George’s crew in Shufa.

  But even though he knew he should get in the car and disappear, he couldn’t leave everything behind and run like a rabbit. It was probably all his fault anyway. He wanted to get it off his chest, to admit to Faro what he’d done, but every time he tried, he couldn’t get the words out. He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the disappointment on the face of the man he owed his life to. And now even if he wanted to come clean, who would he tell? The cops had Faro, and there was no one else he could trust.

  He couldn’t get his head around the arrest. Everything pointed to Nevo. Faro was hauled in after Nevo was released, Nevo ran, and, to top it off, the car with the bomb had vanished into thin air. Nevo’s wife and kid were missing too.

  But—and it was a very big but—if Nevo had talked, what was all the bullshit about another rape? He read the stories in the paper. Every fucking cop in the country was looking for him. Maybe it was just a smoke screen so Faro wouldn’t know he ratted him out. Even the asshole cops weren’t stupid enough to pin two rapes on a nerd like Nevo.

  The whole thing was too confusing, too complicated, way abo
ve his pay grade. But what choice did he have? Faro wasn’t there, so he had to rely on himself to make sense of all this shit. He decided his best move was to hide out in Nevo’s apartment. Making his way over the rooftops, he slipped in without being seen. He figured sooner or later Nevo would have to come back for his stuff, or send someone else to get it. He’d left everything behind when he ran. The cops didn’t scare him. It didn’t seem very likely they’d put a watch on the place. Faro always told them to take advantage of the tight budget the police had to work with. Worse comes to worst, if he caught sight of a cop he’d take off.

  He’d spent two nights there, and then yesterday, Nevo’s old man showed up. At least he thought he was his old man. He couldn’t even be sure of that anymore. He’d shown the old geezer no mercy, but he hadn’t given up easy, and Meshulam had a bloody jaw and a broken nose to prove it. And despite the hammering he’d taken, he hadn’t volunteered any information about Nevo.

  He’d keep looking, but for now his busted face would attract too much attention. He had to get out of there for a couple of days until things quieted down. Then he’d go after him again. In the meantime, he’d be safe with George. The cops couldn’t touch him there.

  He sped down the winding road. He wasn’t ready to give up yet. It was just a minor delay. It’d work out in the end. He’d find Nevo and get him to spill his guts. After that, who knows what might happen.

  Chapter 38

  ZIV was terrified. All of a sudden he was the target of a double manhunt. Both the cops and the mob were looking for him.

  Despair almost got the better of him. He didn’t have the street smarts to deal with this shit. He ran through possible scenarios in his mind but was paralyzed to make a decision. Every scheme led to a dead end. How was he supposed to decide between different shades of disaster?

  His first thought was to take Nachum’s advice and disappear for a few more days. He’d go back to Gili and Merav and go on pretending nothing was wrong, just ignore the world and everything that was happening around them. But as soon as he got on the road heading south, doubt began gnawing at him. He filled the tank and then parked at the edge of the gas station. Was he making a mistake? Running away again would make the bad guys more convinced than ever that he’d informed on them. And eventually he’d have to come back and face reality.

  He felt unbearably lonely and powerless, like a tiny pawn in a game between two titans. Why the hell were Faro’s guys still after him? He’d been out long enough for them to see he hadn’t betrayed them. If he’d told the cops what he was doing that night, they would have picked up Faro and Meshulam by now, and they certainly wouldn’t be accusing him of another rape. Why was the mob still looking for him when he was wanted in connection with the second rape?

  Given the circumstances, he was less anxious about the cops. He was shocked to hear they suspected him of another rape, but he could deal with that. Merav would testify that he was hundreds of miles from Tel Aviv when it happened. Even if they didn’t believe her—and there were no other corroborating witnesses—the worst they could do was throw him in jail. At this point, that seemed the safest option.

  Faro’s organization was still his biggest problem. There were no lines they wouldn’t cross. They wouldn’t hesitate to hurt him or Gili. Nachum’s attacker said to tell him not to forget what Meir said in Abu Kabir. The words sent a shiver down his spine.

  Feeling stifled, he cracked the window to let in the cold air. He debated going to the police and telling them what he knew about Faro in return for protection for his family and him. But how could they protect them? He’d have to keep looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. Faro wouldn’t give up. You never got free of guys like him. What kind of life would they have? He’d be condemning Gili and Merav to living on the run.

  A huge semi behind him honked, startling him. He turned the key in the ignition and got back on the road.

  He had to talk to Faro. If he sat down with him face-to-face and told him he hadn’t given him up, he’d see in his eyes that he was telling the truth. He had to. Meshulam was no more than a thug, but not Faro. He was a clever guy. Ziv was sure he could convince him. That’s why he’d gone back to the city in the first place.

  But what if it didn’t go the way he hoped? The image of Nachum’s bloody face and battered body floated up before his eyes. That’s what he’d look like, assuming Faro decided to let him live. If he hadn’t shown up in time, Nachum would be dead. Who would save him if his plan didn’t work?

  Before leaving for Tel Aviv, Ziv had written a letter detailing everything, had put it in a sealed envelope, and had given it to Merav for safekeeping. He wasn’t sure he was doing the right thing. After all, the less she knew, the better. The letter could put her at risk, make her a target too. But it was also his insurance policy if his plan didn’t work. “Don’t open it unless I don’t come back and you and Gili are in danger. Only if you have no other choice,” he said as he handed it to her. She’d promised. If he told Faro about the letter, it might give him some leverage. Of course he’d never tell him where it was, just that it existed and that the cops would get it if anything happened to him.

  For the second time that day, he saw the skyline of Tel Aviv in the distance.

  Once, at one of their fancy picnics at Orit’s house before his world collapsed, he’d said he’d give his life for Gili. They weren’t just words. He really meant it. But still, it was the sort of thing parents say. It’s easy to mean it when there’s no danger in sight, when you can’t imagine you’ll ever actually have to do it.

  “ZIV?” Noam sounded very surprised to hear his voice.

  He’d thought long and hard about the best way to make contact with Faro. He considered calling him directly, but he’d never called him before for any reason whatsoever. He was afraid it would be regarded as presumptuous, as if he weren’t showing Faro the proper respect, and he certainly didn’t want to piss him off any more than he already was. He was scared to call Meshulam. In the end, he decided to go through Noam. Despite everything that had happened, he might still have some credit with Noam in view of their history. He’d been his commander way back when, and Noam had gotten him the job with Faro. And he wasn’t actually part of the organization, just Faro’s nephew. He’d dialed the number a dozen times that day, but Noam’s phone was switched off. It was eleven at night by the time he reached him.

  “Where are you?” Noam asked.

  “Listen, I need a favor,” Ziv said, getting the words out quickly before he changed his mind. “I have to talk to your uncle . . . as soon as possible.”

  “You kidding, Nevo, or what? Are you nuts?” There was an unfamiliar harshness in Noam’s voice.

  “I swear by everything I hold dear, I didn’t do anything, Noam. They’ve got no reason to come after me. I didn’t do anything. I’ve got to talk to your uncle.”

  No response.

  “Five minutes, that’s all I need. Just to explain. I don’t know what to do. I need your help.”

  “Where are you?” Noam asked again.

  “Here, in Tel Aviv. Tell me where to go and I’ll be there. Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking for.”

  “Let me check with a few people and I’ll get back to you,” Noam said, hanging up.

  Ziv got out of the car and paced back and forth, his cell phone in his hand. Had he made the right decision? Maybe Faro wouldn’t want to hear what he had to say. Maybe he’d just give the order to kill him.

  His phone rang.

  “I talked to them,” Noam said. “Wait at the top of the Ayalon North ramp at the Halacha exit. Someone will be by shortly to pick you up.”

  Chapter 39

  NACHUM moved slowly, flinching with pain at every step. The doctor had told him to stay in bed and not put any weight on the leg. He’d nodded and promised Leah to do as he was told. But the second she left the room he was out of bed, leani
ng on crutches and keeping out of sight of the ward nurses. The thought that she was lying in a bed only two floors above him gave him no peace.

  He couldn’t remember how many times they’d told him how lucky he was, that, considering the beating he’d taken, his injuries weren’t too severe. Still, his whole body hurt, especially the left knee and the ribs. At the slightest incautious movement, he could almost feel his broken bones rubbing up against each other.

  As he tottered, panting, along the empty corridors, stopping from time to time to rest, he kept hoping they’d be there, that this trek, which would take a healthy person five minutes and was taking him half an hour, was not in vain. He breathed a sigh of relief, insofar as his broken ribs allowed, when he saw him sitting in the waiting room, staring sightlessly at the TV screen on the wall. He was afraid he might not recognize him, but he identified Michael Aronov immediately. The resemblance between Dana and her father was striking.

  NACHUM had had a flood of visitors all day. Everybody wanted to know what happened to him, but he told no one. Even when he was alone with his wife, he refused to answer her endless questions. He’d decided to keep it to himself for the time being. He even declined to cooperate with the local cops who came to question him after they were notified by the hospital of a possible crime.

  Had he made the right choice? If he shared the information he’d gotten from Sarah Glazer about the tattoo on the man’s arm, and the fact that Nevo didn’t have one, Nevo wouldn’t be their prime suspect anymore. They could stop concentrating all their efforts on looking for the wrong man and start focusing on finding the true rapist.

  There’d been a few times during the day when he’d almost dialed Ohad’s number, but he’d never made the call. He’d been part of the system long enough to know it wouldn’t make any difference. They’d convinced themselves that Nevo was the perp, and they were trapped in that mind-set. It all fit: the similarity between the two attacks, the fact that Nevo had already been convicted and had only gotten off because of a technicality. At this point, admitting that he didn’t do the crimes meant admitting they’d been wrong from the outset, that they’d helped convict an innocent man.