“We don’t have time for your pearls of wisdom right now,”
Emmanuel Shorer said bluntly. “He went to get dressed in the living room? He left the house without stopping to talk to her, without a word? What do you people make of that?”
“That he was in a big hurry,” Balilty summed up flatly. “That he didn’t want the little actress to see who’d shown up at the door.”
“Let’s get back to the murder itself for a minute,” Michael said, reminding them it had been determined that it was during the half hour Zadik was alone in his office that someone had entered through the side door. He suggested they name the prime suspects and check their alibis.
“All the longtime employees of Israel Television are suspects,”
Balilty said, “all the people with keys to the back entrance of the String Building, the old-timers.”
“Okay,” said Eli Bachar. “What about the head seamstress?”
“Who?” Balilty asked.
“The head seamstress, Shoshana Shem-Tov. She’s got a key, and she’s been there since Israel Television was founded. She’s due to retire in another two years,” Eli Bachar said as he glanced at his lists.
“What kind of motive does she have?” Balilty asked. “Why bother with her? Did she have issues with Zadik? Did he mistreat her?”
“Not Zadik, but Tirzah Rubin,” Eli Bachar said calmly.
“What kind of problems did she have with Tirzah Rubin?”
“Benny Meyuhas, too. Don’t you get it? The head seamstress, the head of the Scenery Department, the director—she was always—”
“Okay already,” Balilty said, “what kind of clashes did they have?”
“None, in fact,” Eli Bachar said. “Truth is, I just wanted to show you that just because someone’s been there a while doesn’t mean they’re a suspect.”
“Gentlemen!” Shorer cried out. “Is this the way things work around here? As if this were a kindergarten?”
Silence fell on the room until Eli Bachar cleared his throat and began speaking again. “Let’s say we want to start with people with keys. So we take Max Levin, for example, a guy who’s responsible for having planned and built most of the String Building. He’s got a key to the back entrance, and there’s reason to believe he knew about the door in the hallway.”
“So?” Michael said. “Let’s say we start with him. What have we got on him?”
“He was in the String Building at the time Zadik was murdered, never left his office from eight in the morning until they called to tell him about Zadik. He’d been sitting for at least three hours with the security officer, whose name was”—Eli Bachar flipped through his notepad—“Ziko. Yeah, I remember it was a weird name.”
“It’s not weird, it’s probably Bulgarian,” Shorer muttered. “Ziko is a common name among Bulgarians, a nickname for Yitzhak. But that’s not important. Go on, go on.”
“They were working on the problem of theft. Seems there’s a huge problem, equipment gets stolen all the time over there. Here, I’ve got a complete list; a television camera was stolen, and now it turns out it was passed over to the Palestinian Authority. They suspect a building contractor who was doing some renovations there, and maybe a cleaning contractor, too. The investigation into the stolen camera took on pretty big proportions, nobody suspected the damage to be so great—
it led to the discovery of a whole series of thefts, all kinds of things: spotlights and video cameras and lighting equipment, lots of stuff.”
“I noticed they’re pretty sensitive about all that right now,” Rafi said.
“I talked to the guy in charge of maintenance, and he says that for the past couple of days, ever since the business with Tirzah Rubin, people have been bringing stuff in like crazy. Turns out they were hanging on to cameras and all kinds of things at home. So now they’re bringing it all in before somebody starts hunting them down.”
“In any event, Max Levin seems clean, along with a list of other people who weren’t alone at the time,” Eli Bachar concluded. “Hefetz says he was wandering around the building, everybody saw him. He was in the canteen and the archives. Everywhere.”
“We’re talking about half an hour,” Michael reminded them.
“Okay. He says he wasn’t looking at his watch all the time, but he was in Aviva’s office twice trying to get in to see Zadik. I don’t know if—”
“What about Rubin?” Shorer asked. “What about him?”
“Rubin was in his office, working on his report for Friday’s show. He was writing text—that’s what he told us—and never left his office.”
“Any witnesses?” Shorer asked.
“No,” Eli Bachar answered. “Nothing specific. He interviewed some doctor in his office, a guy who’s working with him on a report about doctors who cooperate with the Israeli secret services.”
“Oooooh,” crooned Balilty, “how I love those bleeding-heart liberals who— What? Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked Michael.
“I can’t stand those self-righteous leftists, they’re out of touch, living in a dream world, they think—”
“Not now, Danny,” Shorer said quietly. “We’ve got a lot of work to do.”
“Well,” said Lillian, “I’d like to tell you about my talk with Natasha concerning Rubin.”
“Really?” Tzilla said, resting her chin in her palm and staring at Lillian in an aggressively expectant manner.
“I had a chat with her in Rubin’s office while he was in the editing room,” Lillian explained.
“And who asked you to converse with her?” Tzilla asked, raising her voice in anger. “Did someone ask you to? Do you think there’s some connection between the sheep’s head she found at her apartment and these murders? Do you think that—”
“Tzilla,” Michael implored her, “enough of that. I’ve already spoken to you about it.”
Tzilla regarded him with mistrust but said only, “All right. So what’s the deal with Natasha?”
“I recorded it,” Lillian said, clearly pleased with herself. “Here’s the cassette. Do you want to watch it?”
“Before we get to that—” Balilty said as Tzilla inserted the tape into the machine and removed a remote control from the right-hand drawer of Michael’s desk. “Wait a minute, don’t start it yet,” he instructed her. “I just want to say about that sheep’s head, you should know that it doesn’t appear to be connected to the case.”
“Which means?” Shorer asked.
“Which means,” answered Balilty, “that I have my sources, especially among the ultra-Orthodox, and I spoke with Schreiber the cameraman, and I have a pretty good idea—never mind, what’s important is that she’s onto something pretty serious. I have a few plants, a mole, okay? They tell me the sheep was meant solely to convince Natasha not to continue investigating the matter. All right?”
“What’s the matter in question that she has information about?”
Lillian asked.
“Listen, honey,” Balilty said with a cool look. “When the time comes to know, you’ll be told.”
“That means,” said Eli Bachar by way of explanation, “that Balilty simply doesn’t know. Have you people noticed that he doesn’t know everything?”
Tzilla cast a protective look at her husband, nodded her head, and turned the volume on the monitor up before Balilty had a chance to respond.
“This is in Rubin’s office, okay?” Lillian said. “It was Yigael who set up the camera for me.” They watched Natasha remove her red scarf and look around. She took stock of the walls and the papers scattered across the desk, then turned over one upside-down photograph, looked at it, and frowned at the portrait of a man in a doctor’s white coat with a stethoscope dangling from his pocket. She tossed the photo into a corner. Lillian’s voice could be heard on the tape. “Please sit down,” she said. “It’s not exactly the first time you’ve ever been in this room, is it?” A hand removed the stack of cardboard files sitting on a chair and patted the chair, signaling to Natasha to take a seat.
“I don’t come here all that often,” Natasha said, her gaze straight and steady at the camera. “Usually I sit with him in the editing room or the canteen.”
