Haunted Blood

by Elik Katzav

  I open another search, focusing on ALS and Eldad. This time, a direct link to Eldad and the law firm that manages the house where Lynn and her father used to live. However oblique this association might be, it nevertheless ties them together. It took me a while though.

  The phone rings as I begin to gather my stuff together.

  - Good evening, Aharon. How are you?

  “As you might expect, up to my ears with those hotshots from homicide. I hear you are keeping busy, which is also pretty good.”

  - Yes, well, I’m trying to get back to some form of structure, order. I am working a case now-

  “Yes, Na’ama told me. When I got your message, for a moment there I thought you finally took my advice and had yourself committed.”

  Not funny. Not funny one bit. Especially since Aharon was among those who pressured the police discharge board to send me to therapy, claiming it was only for my own good. I didn’t quite see eye-to-eye with him back then, but then again, maybe I should have at least heard him out. Nevertheless, I won’t have myself committed just because he happened to dislike the truth.

  - My answer remains unchained. I don’t think me telling the truth means I’m nuts.

  “Hold on, relax. I am not calling to argue with you. You asked me to assist you, so here I am, ready to offer my help.”

  - Only in order to have me enter that asylum so you can shut the door on me? I’m not sure I want your help at the moment.

  “You might not wish me to help, but sometimes we need to eat some crow in order to proceed.”

  - So you do not want to have me committed?

  “I didn’t say that. I did say I shall help you with the case you are working, and in return, I need your assistance.”

  - What could you possibly need from me? What do I have to ‘sell’ you in order to gain your assistance?

  “Information. Na’ama told me there are parallel lines between your case and our investigation.”

  - I don’t know about ‘parallel.’ Some people appear in both, like Noga, the journalist. I don’t know about the rest.

  “Let’s put it this way: you gave us a hot tip on Adam Hacohen, a person of interest for over a decade now. The house where you spent this morning has indeed been confirmed to be his residence. So in exchange for your tip, I am going to get you that interview you requested, for all the good it will do.”

  - And what am I supposed to do in exchange?

  “Just keep us in the loop. If Na’ama or I happen to be asking, quid pro quo, for info you might be in possession of, you share it with us, no arguments. And no more breaking the law, either. Yes, I am referring to your breaking and entering to the house in Omer. I am familiar with your methods, David. If you break the law, you will get arrested. I will not be there for you. If there are any problems, you call and ask for help.”

  - In short, be your informant? Sell everything I’ve got for nothing at all?

  “Well, informant is too big a word to describe you. You’re an assistant in the investigation.”

  If I wish to get to Liat, there’s no use, I’ve got to pay the piper. Any other solution involves breaking the law, and I sure know what lays waiting for me behind that door. I sigh reluctantly.

  - Do what you have to. I’ll help with whatever you’ll need.

  Chapter 15

  I’m standing at the hospital’s gate. Everything is painted white. It’s all so clean, sterile. They take what you feel and think and drain you of anything that might be considered out of the norm.

  I take a deep breath. I am here on duty. No way this is Aharon’s scheme to have me committed. I am only here for a chat, and out I go. I come with my own demons, and I leave with them too, through the front gate.

  As if someone timed it, a bell goes off and a small door for persons entering on foot opens up within the larger gate. I walk up to it and go through.

  It’s the middle of August in Israel, so the heat is intense. Nevertheless, I’ve got the chills as I pass through the courtyard that leads into the building. A patch of green between the whitewashed concrete building and the gated fence. This white alone could drive me insane. The people working in one of the small gardens raise their heads to look at me.

  You walked in by choice, just remember that, their gaze seems to tell me. I proceed into the asylum, trying to avoid eye contact. Just get in—and then out you go.

  “Good morning,” a nurse in white greets me from her green reception desk.

  So this is how they break the consistency of the white.

  - Yes, hello. I am here for a meeting. My name is David Maharani.

  “Certainly. Please come with me. Your room is ready. Here you go. Please fill in your details. Liat will be concluding her therapy session within fifteen minutes and you can see her then.”

  I take the forms and begin filling in the sheets to the sound of my writing on the pad. I just hope none of this will be used against me.

  The nurse collects the forms and nods. “We make sure our patients have the utmost privacy. You may see her in our break room, a calm environment for the both of you.”

  Sure, and from there on, to a morning’s course of electric shock, accompanied by awareness-obscuring drugs. How pleasant and orderly, I think to myself and nod as the nurse motions me to follow her.

  We pass along white corridors where people are leaving and entering rooms, never by themselves, always chaperoned.

  A few moments later, we arrive at a large room that resembles a dining room with sitting corners, where all sorts of people are engaged in conversation around tables. Under other circumstances, they would have resembled any other group of people chatting peacefully at a coffee shop in the center of Tel Aviv—had they not been wearing white coats, that is.

  The nurse gestures for me to sit at a small table with a view to the inner garden, where I see two people working. I sit and follow their movements as they weed and collect leaves off the path. Then, one of them raises his head and seems to be sniffing the air, as if to search for something, then shakes his head and looks directly at me.

  He’s flashing two yellow eyes at me, and I freeze all over. Am I breathing? Gotta breathe. My body inhales and exhales automatically. I’m on auto-pilot. I am awash with cold sweat. I feel the hairs standing on my entire body.

  This guy approaches the window slowly. Here he comes. That’s it, they’ve tracked me down. This is the place I needed to arrive at, and now that I’m here, they will see I cannot function, they’ll figure it out. They know what a dysfunctional person looks like. I won’t be leaving this place today. They will not let me go. They will say that I am “too broken to deal with the real world,” ruling that this is where I belong.

  The man comes up to the window, raises his head, sniffs the air again and bends over. Then, he rises and turns back to the garden path, holding a broken branch. Is that all it took to break me? Perhaps Aharon was right, maybe I shouldn’t be interviewing people here. I have to be a resident. For good. Who am I kidding? I belong here, not out there.

  I close my eyes and practice the breathing Rose had taught me. This attack will pass. I’ve got a mission to get through, must find Idan. It’s bigger than me, I cannot just give up. I promised to find him.

  I wait a while longer, eyes closed, until I can feel I am able to move my hands without them trembling. I open my eyes, only to see a slim girl in a white robe sitting across from me. Her hair is cut short and her eyes are sunken. She’s looking at the table. Liat.

  “As I’ve told your commander,” the nurse beside Liat says, “Liat is usually uncooperative. She’s silent. I hope you are able to glean what you need from her.” She turns around and goes over to the corner of the hall, where she joins two other nurses who are watching over us.

  - How are you, Liat? I’m David. I would like to ask you a few questions.

  She is still tr
ansfixed to the table. She doesn’t engage.

  - I am looking for a missing boy and would appreciate any help you might be able to give me, any information.

  I produce my folder, pull a photo of Idan out and place it in front of her.

  - This is the boy. I know you do not know him, but I thought you might like to see who it is I am looking for.

  Let’s try a different approach.

  - It was a long time ago, I hope you remember. Is it possible you were still in touch with your friend, Itzik? Do you recall who the leader of the group was?

  The mention of Itzik’s name cause her to move. She raises her eyes from the table and looks at me for a moment, as though just realizing I was there.

  - So, about this group. Did it include a man called Adam, Adam Hacohen?

  Adam’s name produces an actual response. She raises her head and examines me, as if to ascertain whether I am worthy of reply. Liat is moving her lips like she’s about to say something.

  I point to the photo on the table.

  - This boy, I think he is with Adam. I think something bad is about to happen to him unless I track him down. Do you know anything that might help me with that?

  She lowers her gaze, looks at the photo, and returns to staring at the table. I’ve lost her in the process.

  - Look at this.

  I produce one of Adam’s pages.

  - Can you tell what these signs mean? I can see you have one on your arm.

  Liat examines the page and turns her hands over, as though seeing them for the first time. Her wrists are scarred where she had slashed them. She points to a small yet visible tattoo right between the cuts, which indeed matches the text, and says “Goddess” in a quiet voice. “I am a goddess now.”

  - Yes, you’re a goddess. Do you know what the other signs mean?

  “The other signs? They beckon him to us, to come and receive his offering of blood, for blood is the force of life. He receives this power and then something remains in exchange. He has given life.”

  I hold on, but she doesn’t continue.

  - Who did you give the blood to? Who was it who came for the blood?

  “Goddess,” she points at the symbol once again. “He came from the God. Now I am a goddess and Itzik will come for me soon. He will free me.”

  - Itzik will come here? Does he know you’re here?

  She’s nodding slowly. “He will come and take me back. He is sorry for letting me go. I will be back with the family. I am part of the gods now. He needs me.”

  - Is Itzik with Adam? Will Adam come as well?

  Her face stiffens. “Itzik will not be needing Adam. Itzik can come all by himself. He will come to get me. Adam will not be able to tell him what to do. Then, he will come and we will be together again.”

  - Itzik doesn’t need Adam? Is Itzik with Adam?

  “Itzik doesn’t need Adam. Itzik needs me.” She abruptly gets to her feet and slams the table. “Itzik told me today he is coming for me soon and that I will be with him!”

  The nurse approaches us very quickly.

  -Did you speak with Itzik today? When is he coming?

  “He will come get me when they are done. They already have the three. All that’s left now is to wait.”

  The nurse places her hand over Liat shoulder, who is shivering and watching me. “I think this conversation is over. Liat is in no shape to proceed.” She motions another nurse, who comes over and stands next to me as she accompanies the now-sobbing Liat away from the room.

  I gather my stuff from the desk and accompany the other nurse outside.

  I stop at the front desk.

  - Miss, please tell me, do you keep a record of any calls the patients receive or make?

  She nods and pushes a few keys on the keyboard in front of her. “I suppose you’d like to know about Liat? Well, she did receive a call this morning. According to the entry, it was from her brother. A six-minute conversation.”

  - That’s impossible. Liat is an only child.

  Chapter 16

  So I got into the mental hospital and made it out in one piece, without Aharon having me committed. A good day, all in all, even though I am not too happy about having to provide the police with all the info about my investigation. That’s a rotten deal. I do not work for them anymore. True, I do owe them for the clearance to the hospital and all, but I did give them important leads and a hot tip on a triple murder they couldn’t solve for over a decade, which I believe constitutes more than enough help on my part.

  This company, “Lgt. Immobilier,” I think as I search for parking in Florentin, they covered all the expenses on the house, and ultimately, having all the bills registered under the company actually protected Adam Hacohen. It kept his anonymity while everyone was looking for him.

  I stop half-way through parking and pull out the details of the company’s division here in Tel Aviv. Ahad Ha’am Street. Not far. Let’s pay them a visit. What a great idea for this fine day.

  Well into my twenty minute walk in Tel Aviv in August, I am already regretting the decision to get over there on foot. The building where the offices of Porat, Avital, and Weiss: Attorneys at Law Ltd. are is remarkably different from the other ones on their block. Their building is well preserved and renovated, whereas the rest of the street is still crumbling. There are protruding terraces all the way up the orange building, complete with brown shades along the windows that do not have balconies. The glass entrance hall makes me think of an aquarium with men in suits running around on each floor. The building features central AC, paintings, and heavy carpets.

  As I walk in, I place my card on the counter and face the only secretary who isn’t on the phone.

  - Hello, I am David and I am a private investigator. Who can I see about a property you are managing at Omer?

  She raises her head to look at me and smiles, but her smile soon fades as she notices the still ‘graceful’ features of my face before she assumes a slightly more artificial expression.

  “Certainly. Please wait here,” she gestures towards a line of armchairs, collects my card, scans it, and hands it back to me.

  I take a seat. Even back at our upholstery shop, they don’t make such soft couches, I muse as she picks up the phone and talks with someone on the other side of the line. I look over and realize she’s eyeing me during her conversation. She seems to be trying to find someone who might speak with me. A few moments later, she calls me to her.

  “The attorney who handles that property is in meetings all day. Let me take your number and he will get back to you this evening, or tomorrow.”

  Agreeing to these terms would cause them to drag their feet and take their sweet time about it. Lawyers are notorious for postponing things they do not wish to deal with.

  - So he’s at the office? Great. I only need him for five minutes, I’ll wait for him to come out. I ‘m sure he’s got five minutes between meetings. Is there any place I can make myself some coffee while I wait?

  “Ah, over there,” she points towards a small corridor. “But hang on, I don’t think there is any point for you to be waiting. It might take all day. He is a busy attorney. You will just be waiting for nothing. Leave me a number so that we may get back to you.”

  - No need. I have cleared the rest of my day just to get this done.

  I turn my back on her and walk over to the corridor where their kitchenette is, knowing she’s got no comeback for what I just said.

  This law firm has an espresso machine many cafés in Tel Aviv would be proud to have. Two very young attorneys in suits are talking quietly by the fridge. They stop for a moment to look at me when I walk in.

  I head to the machine to make myself a cappuccino when I spot a tray of leftover sandwiches. I haven’t eaten since yesterday. Looking over my shoulder, I notice the two counselors resumed their chat. I snatch a sandw
ich and chew on it while frothing the milk.

  “These are from yesterday,” one of the two lawyers tells me, in a somewhat tense voice.

  I turn to face him.

  - So no one is having any?

  “No, why would you have a leftover sandwich from yesterday?”

  I’ve been hungry since yesterday, that’s why. That’s good enough of a reason.

  - You can hardly tell. They aren’t stale at all. Good stuff.

  I polish another one off right then and there and treat myself to a sip of their quality coffee.

  “They were here in the kitchen all night long; the cleaning staff didn’t throw them out, that’s why no one will have them,” he makes another attempt.

  - So these canapé sandwiches are about to be thrown out? Sure you wouldn’t like some?

  They shake their heads decisively, their faces conveying their shock.

  - Great, more for me, then.

  I pack a few in a paper towel and shove them in my shoulder bag.

  “Pardon me, are you sure you are supposed to be here?” The other attorney turns to me as he comes to his senses. “This is the guest kitchen. The staff isn’t supposed to come in here.”

  - So what are the two of you doing here, then?

  “You know what I mean,” he laughs, embarrassed, “We are attorneys, whereas you look like staff.”

  - Well, I just might be staff, but right now, I am a guest. So here I am.

  I pick up the last of the sandwiches and chew on it as they watch me back, frozen in their position, when the secretary walks in, looks at them and then watches me as I finish the snack.

  “Mr. Maharani,” she says, “Mr. Pinchasi will now answer your questions. Please wait by the entrance and he’ll be coming along shortly to walk you to the conference room.”