The Kabbalist

by Katz, Yoram

  “I am sorry,” said the monk. “This was not a very good idea. I am not at all sure I should be talking to you. You had better talk to Father Rafael… perhaps tomorrow.” He was shutting down.

  “I understand.” Danny realized he had lost his man. “Anyway, I thank you for sharing with me your feelings about Father Fernando. I know this must have been a great loss for you. We will find who was behind this terrible crime.”

  Brother Pedro nodded silently. He kept his head down, staring at the floor. After a while, he raised his head, and his eyes met Danny’s. “What does it matter now?” He said quietly.

  25. Ze’ev Srur – Downtown Haifa, January 18th, 2006 (Wednesday)

  Luria stepped out of his car and looked around. The ‘Margalit’ restaurant was located in a three-story building in Downtown Haifa, where the Turkish Market used to be. It was an old stone building, yet thoroughly refurbished. The quality restaurant specialized in North African food and was a well-known establishment, which occupied the two lower floors. From a spacious office on the upper floor, Ze’ev Srur managed his legitimate businesses, which included beside the restaurant, import of cigarettes, wine and liquor, and also his less legitimate businesses, which included protection, gambling and other dubious enterprises.

  * * *

  Ze’ev Srur was the uncrowned king of Haifa’s underworld. This status, which he never acknowledged but was very proud of, was acquired through years of hard work. He was born to a poor family, the eldest brother of four sisters. From a young age, he worked at the small greengrocers stand his father managed in Haifa’s Turkish Market. Margalit, his sickly mother, took care of her five children and worked at cleaning offices to make ends meet. She died of cancer when he was fourteen. Young Ze’ev Srur learned very quickly that in order to survive he had only himself to rely on. When he was fifteen, he was arrested for stabbing a man who had harassed one of his younger sisters. It was the only time he had ever spent behind bars. Since that day, he learned the subtle art of keeping out of the reach of the law. It did not prevent him, however, from taking over more stands in the market, and then a few stands in Haifa’s Seamen’s Market, where one could buy all kinds of smuggled goods. In time, he accumulated more power. By the time he was twenty five, he was already up to his ears in power struggles, from which he emerged as the leading figure in Haifa’s criminal world. With the money he had accumulated, he founded his legitimate businesses. The house where his office was located, as well as the famous ‘Margalit’ restaurant, which was the apple of his eye, was the very house in front of which he used to sell vegetables in his father’s small stand. Ze’ev Srur has completed a full circle.

  Yet, he never forgot where he came from. He turned the wretched synagogue where his father used to pray, into a magnificent shrine, which he named after his father. He then put the old man in a penthouse, in a luxurious neighborhood up Mount Carmel. Srur liked to think about himself as a faithful Jew, just like his father. He donated funds to rabbis and had his special Kabbalist guru in Safed, whom he used to frequent for advice and blessings. He became a philanthropist and financed a new research lab at the Rambam Medical Center, where his mother had been treated, and had a ward at the medical center named after her. He also donated generously to many charity funds. Nevertheless, Srur was always within the sights of the law. For years he has been the number-one target on Haifa Police's list.

  He was accustomed to being visited by representatives of the law, but nobody ever succeeded in pinning anything criminal on him or on his less visible businesses. Whenever a crack in the armor surrounding him appeared, potential informants were suddenly seized with amnesia, turned deaf and dumb, left the country or simply disappeared. A few attempts at indictment promptly collapsed. These were used by Srur’s gifted attorney, Yigal Porat, in campaigns he waged through the media against the wild intimidation directed by the police against his client, a leading businessman, a solid citizen and a generous contributor to charity. The police, claimed Porat, refused to forget the single incident in his client’s past when, as a young boy, he tried to protect his sister from a violent man, and turned the struggle against him into an obsession. Hints were also made about discrimination on ethnic background, Srur being a Sephardi Jew. Repeated failed attempts at nailing Srur were invariably followed by a farce in the media orchestrated by Porat, making the Haifa Police look like fools. Consequently, all police investigators were warned against supplying fuel for the next scandal, and every contact with Srur had to be authorized by Haifa Station’s chief or his deputy.

  * * *

  That morning, Luria tried to get Arnon’s approval for meeting Srur, but both Arnon and Commander Levran, the station chief, were summoned to meetings at the Police Headquarters in Jerusalem. Luria decided to pursue his investigation. He would get Arnon’s authorization after the fact. This was not the first time he had done that. The two had each other’s full trust.

  The day did not start off very well. The forensic results from the Ben Shemen woods, sent by Chief Inspector Maimon, arrived and established Illuz’s gun as a likely murder weapon in the Stella Maris case. However, they did not present any findings regarding the man who had supposedly met Illuz on that stormy night. Just as Luria had estimated, no clear traces could be identified, since the muddy ground was totally blurred by the rain and by the group which had found Illuz’s body.

  However, there was one thread of evidence he was now hanging on to. The record of Shlomo Illuz’s mobile phone calls arrived at Luria’s desk that morning. Illuz made and received a few calls on his last day, but after midnight, there was only one outgoing call. It was very short, lasting about thirty seconds. It was made at 02:20 to the mobile phone of one, Ze’ev Srur.

  * * *

  Luria crossed the street, climbed the stairs and stood before an impressive glass door. The styled inscription on the door read ‘Margalit – Import and Export’ and was decorated with a logo design of a blue sapphire. On the other side of the door, he could see the reception desk with the elegant secretary seated behind it.

  Luria rang the bell.

  “Yes, please,” the voice coming from the intercom was pleasant yet assertive. He saw the secretary looking at him through the door.

  “Superintendent Luria, Haifa Police,” he said into the microphone. “I would like to speak to Mr. Srur.”

  After a moment of hesitation, Luria heard a buzzing sound. He pushed the door open and stepped in.

  “Superintendent Luria.” the secretary was a groomed woman in her late thirties. “It has been a long time since we had a visit from you or your friends. To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?” The chilly tone in her voice could not be mistaken. Ronit was Srur’s devoted secretary, and rumor had it that she was also his mistress.

  “It is always a pleasure to see you, Ronit. You are getting more beautiful by the year.” She did not smile and he added, “I wanted to have a few words with Ze’ev.”

  “Mr. Srur is a very busy man, Superintendent, and you have not made an appointment. How do you even know he is here?”

  “I am sorry. Something urgent came up. Isn’t he here?”

  “He is, but he is very busy this afternoon. Let me check with him. Please sit down.”

  She knocked gently on the door and stepped in. A few minutes later she was back. “Mr. Srur will be available for you in fifteen minutes. Is this OK?”

  “This is perfect.”

  “Will you have something to drink?”

  “Not at the moment. Thank you.”

  After about twenty minutes, the phone on Ronit’s desk buzzed. She picked up the receiver, listened for a while and put it back. “You can go in now.”

  Luria rose from his seat, walked to the door, opened it and stepped in.

  Ze’ev Srur’s room was huge, elegantly furnished and with the small mandatory bar in one corner of the room. Srur was seated behind an enormous desk in a spacious leather executive chair. “What can I do for you, Superintendent?” he asked
in a quiet and authoritative voice, a voice used to being obeyed.

  Luria noted to himself that the man did not bother to stand up and offer his hand. Srur just sat in his chair, pointing to the chair on the opposite side of the desk. Luria sat down.

  “Before you begin,” said Srur, “I would like you to understand something. I have no warm spot in my heart for the police. You have been harassing me ever since I was a boy. You have never proven a thing against me, yet you keep persecuting me, always trying to hurt me or my business. I have become a respected citizen and a benefactor of the community, but you still keep on with your games. You will receive from me all the respect you deserve, Superintendent, but if you try to bully me, like you guys tend to, you will have to deal with my lawyer.”

  Having spoken his piece, he leaned back in his chair and stared menacingly at the detective. “I hope I have made myself clear,” he added. “Now you can speak. Please remember that talking to you is a gesture on my part. I don’t have to do it.”

  Luria was irritated but knew he had to play the game. “Well, Mr. Srur, what does the name Shlomo Illuz mean to you?”

  Not a muscle moved in Srur’s face, but Luria thought he saw something in his eyes. “Shlomo Illuz…” Srur was searching for the right words. “I know him from the days we both used to help our fathers in the market. Life has never been easy for the poor guy.”

  “Shlomo Illuz is a thief and a burglar with a history of at least ten convictions.”

  Srur sighed. “Yes. I know he has messed up his life. He made many wrong decisions. It is hard to blame the wretched fellow. His father died... the business went bankrupt… he had to support a big family at a young age… it was not easy for the poor bastard.”

  “How is he connected to you?”

  “I help him every now and then. I give him work so he can support himself.”

  “What kind of work?”

  “Odd jobs, a security guard in the restaurant, running errands… simple stuff, but this guy… he always ends up in trouble. What is it this time?”

  “Just a minute,” Luria struggled with Srur’s tendency to dominate the conversation. “First, I would like to know when you last had any contact with him.”

  The two were now staring at each other, each trying to estimate the hand the other was holding. “I last saw him more than a week ago,” said Srur. “He was here. I paid him for some errands he had run for me. I have not seen him since. What has he done?”

  “Did you hear about the murder in Stella Maris?”

  “I sure did. It was on TV and in all the papers. Beats me why anyone would want to kill a monk.”

  “We have a good reason to believe that the murderer was Shlomo Illuz.”

  “No way.” Srur responded immediately. “Not in your life. Illuz is not exactly a boy scout, but a murderer? You make me laugh. He does not have the balls for this kind of stuff. He just isn’t the type. Go find someone else.”

  “I don’t think he planned it,” said Luria. “It was probably a burglary that got out of control. However, this is not the point.”

  “What is the point, then?”

  “The burglary and murder took place during the night between Sunday and Monday, somewhere between 1 and 2 AM.”

  “So?”

  “At 02:20 Shlomo Illuz made a phone call.” Srur moved uneasily in his chair. “The call was to your mobile phone, Mr. Srur.”

  “I see.” Luria heard anger in Srur’s voice. “I knew that fool would eventually get me messed up in his crap. I told him a thousand times never to bother me outside working hours and certainly not on my mobile.”

  “Can you tell me what it was all about? What was so urgent that he had to call you at such an hour?”

  “Well, the man calls me in the middle of the night, telling me he is in big trouble and saying I must help him.”

  “What trouble?”

  “You really think I bothered to find out? I was fuming.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “This nobody rings me up in the middle of the night. I am with... a woman, and this dog whines that I must help him. What do you think I said? I told him to piss off. I told him never to bother me again at such an hour and to call me back in the morning if this was really urgent. That’s all. After that I disconnected.”

  “A minute ago you told me you had not heard from him for over a week.”

  “Are you playing with me?” Srur became irritated. “I told you I had not seen him for over a week, and had you not reminded me, I would not even have remembered this ten second call. So I take it that this imbecile is really up to his neck in some kind of trouble.”

  “More than you can imagine.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Luria said it slowly while observing Srur’s face to see his reaction. “Illuz is dead.”

  “Did you say dead?”

  Luria scanned Srur’s face carefully and could not decide whether the man was genuinely surprised or just pretending to be. “Totally dead,” he replied. “’Murdered’ would be a better definition. I saw the body myself.”

  “How did it happen?”

  “I hoped you would be able to help me figure this out.”

  Srur’s face turned red. “Are you implying something, Superintendent?”

  “No. I am just trying to understand what happened. You knew Illuz personally, and you are the last to have spoken to him that night… well… I thought you might help.”

  “I told you everything I knew."

  “Are you sure?”

  Srur rose from his seat in anger. “Superintendent Luria, I am a busy man. You came here without setting up an appointment, and I received you with all due respect, but you do not respect me. You are making insinuations and trying to intimidate me. I have no interest in this conversation anymore. This meeting is over. Next time you want to talk to me, if I agree to receive you, you will behave like a civilized person.”

  “Just a moment,” Luria felt angry with himself for his clumsiness. “I did not mean to offend you…”

  Srur raised his voice. “Who are you to accuse me? I am a respected businessman and a benefactor of the community. I told you all I knew. That’s it, I am done. I have nothing more to tell you. You can come with a warrant for my arrest if you wish, but you had better have some substance behind it. I warn you that if you continue harassing me with no justification, my lawyer will make you and your superiors look bad, really bad.”

  “Who said anything about a warrant…?” Luria felt himself pushed back into a defensive position, and this frustrated him even further.

  “Good bye, Superintendent. This conversation is over.”

  * * *

  It took Srur a few minutes to calm down. He sat at his desk, pondering over the situation. Business was as good as ever. He was top man now with all the other small sharks eating from his hand. The police seemed to have despaired of nailing anything on him, and he had cops on his payroll. All was working for him, and now this…

  He stupidly got himself into a mess. This idiot, Illuz fucked up again and was stupid enough to leave a trace pointing at him… He was incensed. ‘Illuz was lucky,’ he thought. ‘I would have taught him a lesson he’d never forget.’ But the moron was now dead. How could this have happened? He did not know what to think. He regretted getting into this business to start with. He would not have done it under normal circumstances.

  Srur was not really an observant Jew, but his upbringing left in him a soft spot for religion, and he regularly visited an old Kabbalist rabbi in Safed. He admired and respected the elderly man and was accustomed to getting his advice and blessing whenever he had a major business decision to make. In return, Srur contributed handsomely to whatever the rabbi told him. In their previous meeting, the rabbi asked him for his help. How could he have refused the holy man?

  And now this… and that nagging cop… Srur was sure he would be coming back any time soon. He hated nosy cops, especially those who could not be boug
ht. Srur now deeply regretted having stumbled into this sorry business. It was a huge mistake. Clearly, he had to distance himself from it and hope nobody else knew.

  The phone on his desk rang.

  “Yes, Ronit?”

  “The Italian is here to see you.”

  “Italian? What Italian?”

  “It is a Mr. Fabio Visconti. I told you about him this morning. He called early today to ask for an appointment. He is an Italian wine exporter who happens to be in Haifa. He claimed he had heard a lot about our firm and wanted to check whether we could do some business together.”

  “OK, send him in.” Srur was happy to get back to business as usual.

  The man who stepped into Srur’s office was in his late thirties. He was lean, fit and tall, with closely cropped black hair and blue eyes, and looked very elegant in his sports jacket.

  Srur rose up to greet him. “I am pleased to meet you Mr. Visconti,” he said in English with a strong Israeli accent. Srur was proud of his English which, never having really attended regular school lessons, he had acquired with the help of a private tutor.

  The man smiled. It was a strange smile, as his eyes did not seem to take part in it. “I am pleased to meet you too, Mr. Srur.” He had a detectable Italian accent.

  Srur ushered his guest into his cozy sitting corner, which comprised a few luxurious couches around an elegant glass table and a small bar. “Can I offer you a drink, Mr. Visconti?” he inquired generously.

  The visitor moved gracefully to his couch and smiled his strange smile again. “No. Thank you, Mr. Srur. In fact, I do not touch alcohol.”

  Srur was caught off-guard. “You don’t drink? But… but I thought…”

  “You thought I was a wine and liquor dealer, I know.” The blue eyes were fixed on him. “I am sorry. I had to meet you urgently about a delicate matter, and I preferred not to mention it to your charming secretary. Please forgive me.”