If it bothered Daoud's Christian conscience to be tailing a man of the cloth, his face didn't show it.
Malkovsky, the other paragon of religious virtue, was under the surveillance of Avi Cohen. Cohen was perfect for the assignment: His BMW, fancy clothes, and North Tel
Aviv face blended in well at the Wolfson complex; he could wear tennis clothes, carry a racquet, and no one would give it a second thought.
He was turning out to be an okay kid, had done a good job on Yalom and on Brickner and Gribetz-avoiding discovery by the slimy pair, making detailed tapes and doing the same for Malkovsky.
But despite the details, the tapes made for boring lis-tening The day after Daniel confronted him, the child raper spent hours traipsing around the neighborhood with four of his kids, tearing handbills off walls, throwing the scraps in paper bags, careful not even to litter.
According to Cohen, he was rough on the kids, yelling at them. ordering them around like a slavemaster, but not mistreating them sexually.
Once the handbills were taken care of, his days became predictable: Early each morning he went to shaharit minyan at the Prosnitzer rebbe's yeshiva just outside Mea She'arim, driving a little Subaru that he could barely fit into, staying within the walls of the yeshiva building until lunchtime. A couple of times Avi had seen him walking with the rebbe, looking ill at ease as the old man wagged his finger at him and berated him for some lapse of attention or observance. At noon he came home for lunch, emerged with food stains on his shirt, pacing the halls and wringing his hands.
'Nervous, antsy,' Avi said into the recorder. 'Like he's fighting with his impulses.'
A couple more minutes of pacing, then back into the Subaru; the rest of the day spent hunched over a lectern. Returning home after dark, right after the ma'ariv minyan, no stop-offs for mischief.
Burying himself in study, or faking it, thought Daniel.
He'd asked the juvenile officers to look into possible child abuse at home. Tried to find out who was protecting Malkovsky and had met with official silence.
Time to call Laufer for the tenth time.
Men of God.
He arrived home at six-thirty, ready for a family dinner, but found that they'd all eater*-felafel and American- style hamburgers picked up at a food stand on King George.
Dayan barked a greeting and the boys jumped on him. He kissed their soft cheeks, promised to be with them in a minute. Instead of persisting, they ran off cuffing each other. Shoshi was doing her homework at the dining room table. She smiled at him, hugged and kissed him, then returned to her assignment, a page of algebra equations-she'd completed half.
'How's it going?' Daniel asked. Math was her worst subject. Usually he had to help her.
'Fine, Abba.' She bit her pencil and screwed up her face. Thought a while and put down an answer. The correct one.
'Excellent, Shosh. Where's Eema?'
'Painting.' Absently.
'Have fun.'
'Uh huh.'
The door to the studio was closed. From under it seeped the smell of turpentine. He knocked, entered, saw Laura in a blue smock, working on a new canvas under a bright artist's lamp. A cityscape of Bethlehem in umbers, ochers, and beige, softly lit by a low winter sun, a lavender wash of hillside in the background.
'Beautiful.'
'Oh, hi, Daniel.' She remained on her stool, leaned over for a kiss. Half a dozen snapshots of Bethlehem were tacked to the easel. Pictures he'd taken during last year's Nature Conservancy hayride.
'You ate already,' he said.
'Yes.' She picked up the brush, laid in a line of shadow long the steeple of the Antonio Belloni church. 'I didn't now if you were coming home.'
He looked at his watch. 'Six thirty-six. I thought it would be early enough.'
She put the brush down, wiped her hands on a rag, and turned to him. 'I had no way of knowing, Daniel.'
she said in a level tone of voice. 'I'm sorry. There's an extra hamburger in the fridge. Do you want me to heat it up for you?'
'It's all right. I'll heat it up myself.'
'Thanks. I'm right in the middle of this-want to finish a fer more buildings before quitting.'
'Beautiful,' he repeated.
'It's for Gene and Luanne. A going-away present.'
'How are they doing?'
'Fine.' Dab, blend, wipe. 'They're up in Haifa, touring the northern coast. Nahariya, Acre, Rosh Hanikra.'
'When are they coming back down?'
'Few days-I'm really not sure.' 'Are: they having a good time?'
