by Joan Hess
“What answers did your investigation raise?” Theo asked. “Have you come to Kibbutz Mishkan to make an arrest?”
“Since you might profit from my experience and acumen, I shall tell you how I have solved this case.” Gili swelled for a moment. “The girl Ester Kelman should not have been allowed to wander into the desert by herself—that was a crime. However, on my orders the medical examiner has reexamined the bruise and announced that it might have resulted from the fall. His previous examination was in arrears. I have therefore concluded that her death was an accident.”
“Very astute, Lieutenant Gili,” Theo said with all the admiration he could muster. “But Gideon Adler’s death was not an accident, surely. What did you conclude about that?”
“Initially, I thought the murderer must have been within the confounds of the kibbutz, since the gate was guarded by those with army experience. I took many statements and poured over them for hours, seeking to find a motive for this tragedy. But many of those who were close to the young man had alibis, and the others lacked motives. It became clear to me that I should analyze the reports more carefully.”
“Which you did,” Theo said. He nodded encouragingly.
“I determined that the Adler youth was killed by a PLO agent, who swam across the Dead Sea from Jordan. By coincidence, my men found such a personage in Jericho, and after a few sessions of interrogation, the scum admitted everything. Even you must see, Bloomer, that the case is closed. I shall write a report about the negligence of the kibbutz in both permitting the girl to go in the desert and in not maintaining security on the beach. I myself shall dismiss the case from my mind and continue with my work at the office.”
“But how could such a person find a knife, or escape from the kibbutz after commiting the crime? He couldn’t have gone through the gate, and the fence is surrounded by the security road. Surely he would have left footprints in the dirt?”
“Terrorists are very crafty, Mr. Bloomer, very crafty. Maybe Allah sprouted wings on the scum’s backside. But I have solved the murder; you should be congratulating me rather than tying me up with these silly loose ends.”
Theo promptly offered his warmest congratulations for the amazingly efficient and successful investigation. “Then you no longer are concerned about the argument my niece had with the victim?”
Gili closed his eyes. In a pained voice he said, “I know nothing of that. I suggest that you also forget about it, Mr. Bloomer—unless you wish to find the girl in serious turmoil. Take her away.”
Theo left the interview with a frown. Something strange had happened to Gili’s investigation, and he wondered if he could see signs of Sitermann’s finger having dabbled in the pie. The CIA might have passed the report on to its Israeli counterpart, which might have then issued a tactful command to the police chief in Jericho. Someone had stopped Gili in midpuff.
Pursing his lips, Theo went to Dorrie’s room. She opened the door, a drowsy expression on her face. “Hi, Uncle Theo. What’s the matter?” she said in a graveled monotone.
“Nothing, dear. I have good news. Lieutenant Gili has concluded the investigation and has encouraged us to leave for Connecticut as soon as we’re able. I thought I’d call for reservations at once.”
“What about Judith?” she said through a yawn. She gave him a mulish, if slightly unfocused, look.
“I spoke to her last night, and she seemed resolute about remaining at the kibbutz with Hershel. I doubt anyone can persuade her to leave. I will speak to her one final time, but she most likely will refuse to leave.” As her jaw began to inch forward, he added, “Your mother called me several hours ago. Biff’s mother is hoping to have an afternoon tea for the Wellesley girls.” Devious, but potentially effective.
Dorrie’s eyelashes shot up. “When?”
“Your mother did not mention the date, but she implied that you could attend if we came home in the immediate future. And,” he said, lying through his teeth for a good cause, “she said there was a fantastic sale at Sak’s. Forty percent off all the latest designer fashions. Racks and racks and racks of them, as yet untouched by human hands. She thought you’d be interested.”
“Forty percent?” Interested, but not yet convinced.
Theo played his final, mendacious card with what he felt to be the epitome of sincerity. “I fear we won’t be able to find seats in the tourist section on short notice, but I’m sure your father won’t mind if we’re forced to fly first-class. I understand they simply shove champagne and canapes at you the entire fight.”
“Call the airlines; I’ll pack.” The door closed in his face.
He mentally ticked that off the list and went to find Judith. It wasn’t going to be easy; however, he felt obliged to offer her a final opportunity to return to her studies. She was not at the children’s house, he was told, but at her room in the apartment house where single adults were stored until they married and began to beget.
After several taps, Judith appeared and motioned him inside. She then closed the door and leaned against it. “Did Hershel come by to talk to you?”
“No, but I spoke to Lieutenant Gili, and he has closed the investigation. He made no mention of the incident in Hebron, so you need not worry about it. He did suggest several times that you and Dorrie leave Israel, though.” Theo studied her gravely. “You must decide what you intend to do. I shall make reservations within the hour.”
“Then he knows who murdered Essie and Gideon?”
Theo repeated the essence of the conversation. After a moment of silence, Judith said, “Then Dorrie has agreed to return to her tidy life in Connecticut? She’s not going to continue with her demands that I abandon everything in order to occupy half of her dorm room—or even a quarter?” She did not sound as delighted as he had presumed she would, and her face was the color of antique venetian blinds. She swallowed several times, as if holding back a flow of words that threatened to errupt.
“With a bit of gentle persuasion, yes. I thought you would be relieved by her departure, Judith.”
“I am, I am,” she mumbled, plucking at the hem of her shirt. She looked up, blinking in great earnestness. “I really am, Mr. Bloomer. Kibbutz Mishkan is right for me; I can feel it more and more every day. The camaraderie, the sense of family, the commitment to a Jewish state. It’s where I belong.”
“With Hershel,” he reminded her. Twelve hours ago she had proclaimed undying love. Now she had forgotten to include him in her vision of life on the kibbutz. Interesting.
“Yes, of course,” she said. “I finally admitted everything about myself. When I was with Dorrie, it was fun to pretend I had old money and a twelve-room cottage on the Cape, but it was time to be honest with Hershel. He didn’t care that Dorrie is the one with money and I’m dirt poor, Mr. Bloomer. He said not to think about it ever again.”
“It is a more sensible beginning for a marriage,” Theo murmured.
“I’ll go by Dorrie’s room later to say good-bye. We can still write, and it’s not like I won’t come to the States to visit her every few years. Uh, would you do a small favor for me, Mr. Bloomer?”
He nodded. She went into another room and returned with a well-used manila envelope. “This is a … present for Dorrie, but she mustn’t open it until she’s on the airplane. Could you keep it until then?”
“I shall be delighted,” Theo said. He took the envelope and tucked it under his arm. “I wish you every happiness with your new life, Judith.”
“Thanks. Hershel and I may decide together to move to Tel Aviv, or it may turn out that the kibbutz rejects me after I’ve lived here for a year. If that should happen, I’d have to return to school, wouldn’t I?”
On that peculiar note, Theo left her and went to the lobby to call the airlines. Charles owed him the price of two first-class seats, if only because of the threat of red spider mites on the night-blooming cereus. And Dorrie would cause a scene worthy of her mother if he produced the more plebeian seat assignments once they were on the a
irplane. Having bolstered himself, he made the call. The voice at the other end of the line promised first-class seats on a flight the following day.
He then ticked Judith and reservations off the list. He knew that he needed to talk to Miriam before he left Kibbutz Mishkan. But before he did, he decided to see if he could learn anything more about Yussef’s thievery and Sarah’s knowledge of it. He owed that much to the kibbutz in exchange for its tolerance of Dorrie’s presence, not always a pleasure for those within earshot of her.
Yussef was in his office, slumped behind the desk, a pencil clenched in his teeth. He removed it and began to roll it between his fingers as if making a cigarette. “So you’re leaving, I hear on the kibbutz grapevine.”
“Lieutenant Gili has closed the investigation, so there is no reason for me to stay any longer,” Theo said agreeably. “He told me that Essie’s death was an accident and that Gideon was killed by a PLO agent who swam across the Dead Sea. The man has confessed, according to Gili.”
Yussef snorted. “I’m sure he did. He probably would have confessed to being the Messiah, had Gili suggested it after a few hours in the basement. Ah, well, I’m glad that the ordeal is over. You must be heartened at the thought of leaving this hot, scrubby place for a more civilized climate. God, I hate the heat more than I do my lovely wife.”
“I understand Switzerland has a lovely coolness this time of year, not to mention the delightful wines from neighboring countries. It may be eccentric of me, but I’ve always thought I’d like to live in a mountain chalet.” Once one perfected the rhythm of lying, it was amazingly easy. With a bright smile, Theo sat back to study Yussef’s reaction.
Yussef’s tongue brushed over his lower lip. “Why not? Of course all that yodeling might get on your nerves.”
“I think I could find a certain charm in it,” Theo persisted. “Wouldn’t you like to live in a country like Switzerland, Yussef? You and Sarah could enjoy the scenery as you grew old together.”
“What makes you think I’d enjoy looking at anything with her? As long as we’re indulging our fantasies, I can think of other women with a lot more, shall we say, promiscuous promise.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I bet you could, too.”
Theo did not allow himself to respond to the insinuation. “Have you ever visited Switzerland?”
The pencil snapped in two. Yussef threw the pieces into a metal trash can and stood up. “What are you getting at, Theo? I don’t think you came by my office to discuss the glory of the Alpine climate. What do you want?”
“Do you happen to know a gentleman named Popadoupolis? He has a charming shop in Athens that carries a wide range of interesting antiquities … and other more volatile items.”
“I’ve never been to Athens.”
“But Mr. Popadoupolis conducts some of his business through couriers disguised as backpackers on budget tours. Perhaps you’ve dealt with him in that manner?”
Yussef moved around the desk, looking rather menacing despite the corn-cockle-pink shirt. “Does this have something to do with Gideon Adler’s death, or has your mind already found a chalet in the Alps?”
“I believe it does,” Theo said under his breath. He raised his voice to say, “You’re absolutely right, Yussef. Gideon was murdered because, as you already knew, he was the guiding force of the Sons of Light. Someone had to stop him before he said too much.”
“You’re senile, old man, and if I weren’t so amiable I’d knock your dentures across the room—and they’d still be in your mouth!”
“Let’s not sink to verbal abuse,” Theo said stiffly. “I could, if I wished, make several tacky remarks about the number of your Swiss bank account. Page three in the notebook, I believe.”
“You’ve lost your wits,” Yussef snarled. “That’s not an account number; it’s a—a telephone number for a cooperative wench in—in Tel Aviv. It’s in my personal code, since a man’s entitled to keep those sorts of secrets from his wife.” Muttering to himself, he took the notebook out of his desk drawer and flipped it open. The page in question had been ripped out. The jagged margin was blank.
Yussef’s face and neck turned gentian violet as he gripped a corner of the desk for support. His eyeballs seemed to bulge outward, until Theo felt they might pop with ghastly results. His lips opened and closed wordlessly, bubbles of saliva appearing at the corners then dribbling down to his chin. He clutched his chest, gurgled once, and toppled across the carpet.
“Oh, dear,” Theo said. He stepped over the twitching body, took the notebook from the desktop, and tucked it in his pocket. He then hurried downstairs to find help for poor Yussef.
The spider mites, truly a florist’s nightmare, were gone. The petals of the night-blooming cereus were no longer threatened by tiny teeth. They began to force a wider opening in the leaves of the bud. The performance could not be delayed much longer.
21
“Oh, Theo,” Miriam moaned across Yussef’s hospital bed, “I don’t know how much more I can take of this. There aren’t so many Jews in Israel that Kibbutz Mishkan can afford to lose three in less than a week.” She stared intently at the grayish figure attached to numerous tubes, as if she were worried he might find a way to lose himself should her vigilance slip.
“The doctor seemed to think Yussef will recover,” Theo said with an encouraging smile. “Has anyone informed Sarah about her husband’s heart attack?”
“No one can find her. Ilana thought that Sarah mentioned a trip to Tel Aviv, and one of the cars is missing. She’ll appear sometime, and then I’ll tell her about it. At least none of us will be suspected of murdering Yussef,” she added. A shaky attempt at a laugh followed, but her lips were white and too stiff to cooperate.
Theo saw no reason to expound on the scene that preceded Yussef’s heart attack. “The investigation is over,” he said gently. “Kibbutz Mishkan must forget it and think of the future. You’ll have one new member—Judith Feldheim has decided to stay.”
“With Hershel? He may not be here with her. Lately he’s been saying things about returning to the university, for postgraduate work, I suppose. Does Judith know?”
A nurse shooed them out before he could answer. In the waiting room he briefly touched her shoulder and said, “Dorrie and I are leaving tomorrow for home. An evening flight.”
“I already knew, Theo. I saw the calls to the airlines logged in the book at the desk. Someone will add them to your room bill when you check out.”
Theo thought of several things to say, but none of them were adequate. He finally settled for a timid, “May I write you a note when I arrive home?”
“Please do, and let me know if your night-blooming cereus had the courtesy to wait for you. I’d better go back to Yussef now; someone must sit with him until Sarah returns. Perhaps we can have a farewell glass of brandy tonight.”
As he left the infirmary, Theo brought out the notebook and examined the page under the one that had been so rudely removed. A faint indentation was visible; it matched the number he had carefully copied the night before. He wrote the number on a second piece of paper and went toward his room. Spies had their uses; Sitermann could justify the expense of an international call, in that the money in the account seemed linked to the terrorism. Anyone who dreamt that a Swiss bank would keep secrets from the CIA also believed he could buy a dozen long-stemmed roses for as many dollars. On the afternoon of Saint Valentine’s Day.
Sitermann took the number and promised to inquire about the account and its recent activity. “I hear you’re leaving, Bloom,” he added in a genial drawl. “Why don’t you give me a call some time and we’ll get together with a six-pack to hash over old times.”
Theo nodded a vague agreement to the unsavory scenario and went down the balcony to his room to pack. It had been less than a week since Nadine had called with her demand that he rescue Dorrie from the kibbutz (or vice versa). Since his arrival, two people had died and one had suffered a heart attack. He had had the dubious honor of deali
ng with one spy, two Wellesley coeds, and three Jewish terrorists. He found himself humming about partridges and pear trees as he took clothing from the closet and placed it in his suitcase.
The orderliness of his room reminded him of the chaos of Dorrie’s room, which led his thoughts, with a few diversions of no significance, to the locket. Gili had simply dismissed it, but he hadn’t known that Essie could not have taken it while cleaning rooms. She would have been attracted to it, and might have pocketed it—had it been there. But how had she ended up with it?
As he pondered what he felt was a minor puzzlement, there was a knock on the door. It was too reasonable a time for a call from Nadine; it had to be the spy.
“Fast work,” he said as he opened the door for Sitermann. “I must admit I’m impressed.”
“About goddamn time.” Sitermann came in and sat down on a corner of the bed. “I ran a check on the account, and guess what?”
“The account was closed a few hours ago,” Theo guessed obligingly. He needed tissue paper to properly pack, if the trousers were to keep their creases. And he did not want to put unwrapped shoes—
“How the hell did you know? You asked me to check less than twenty minutes ago. If you already knew, you might have saved the taxpayers a few bucks on the telephone bill. Besides, getting information from those Swiss guys is harder than getting a vow of celibacy from a jackrabbit.”
“I didn’t know; I merely suspected as much. Sarah Nava learned about the existence of the account only yesterday, but that was time enough to make reservations and hop the first plane for Switzerland. I made only one telephone call to the airline, but there was at least one more logged at the desk. The question is: Had there been a previous withdrawal that coincided with the time the explosives were purchased?”
