One of Moshe Kagan's minions answered, announcing 'Gvura. Weakness is death' in American-accented Hebrew.
Daniel introduced himself and the man said, 'What do you want?'
'I need to talk with Rabbi Kagan.'
'He's not here.'
'Where is he?'
'Out. I'm Bob Arnon-I'm his deputy. What do you; want?'
'To talk with Rabbi Kagan. Where is he, Adon Arnon?'
'In Hadera. Visiting the Mendelsohns-maybe you heard of them.'
The sarcasm was heavy. Shlomo Mendelsohn, cut down at nineteen. By all accounts a kind, sensitive boy who'd combined army service with three years of study at the Hebron yeshiva. One afternoon-a Friday, Daniel remembered; ye-shiva boys got off early on Erev Shabbat-he'd been selecting tomatoes from an outdoor stall at the Hebron souq when an Arab emerged from the throng of shoppers, shouted a slogan, and stabbed him three times in the back. The boy had fallen into the bin of vegetables, washing them crimson as he bled to death, unaided by scores of Arab onlookers.
The army and the police had moved in quickly, dozens of suspects rounded up for questioning and released, the murderer still at large. A splinter group in Beirut claimed credit for the kill, but Headquarters suspected a gang of punks operating out of the Surif area. The best information was that they'd escaped across the border to Jordan.
Moshe Kagan had been campaigning for Knesset at the time; the case was custom-made for him. He jumped in, comforted the family and got close to them. Shlomo's father made public statements calling Kagan Israel's true redeemer. After the thirty days of mourning were up, Kagan led a parade of enraged supporters through the Arab section of Hebron, arm in arm with Mr. Mendelsohn. Displaying the dead boy's angelic face on slogan-laden placards, trumpeting the need for an iron-fist policy when it came to 'mad dogs and Arabs.' Windows were broken, knuckles bloodied; the army was called in to keep the peace. The papers ran pictures of Jewish soldiers busting Jewish protesters and when the election was over, Kagan had garnered enough votes to earn a single Knesset seat. His detractors said Shlomo had been his meal ticket.
'When do you expect him back?' asked Daniel.
'Don't know.'
'Before Shabbat?'
'What do you think? He's shomer shabbat,' said Arnon with contempt.
'Connect me to his house. I'll talk to his wife.'
'Don't know.'
'Don't know what?'
'If I should let you bother her. She's cooking, preparing.'
'Mr. Arnon, I'm going to speak with her one way or another, even if it means coming out there in person. And I'm shomer shabbat myself-the trip will disrupt my Shabbat preparation.'
Silence on the line. Arnon snorted, then said, 'Hold on. I'll connect you. If your government hasn't screwed up the lines completely.'
Daniel waited several minutes, began to wonder if he'd been cut off, before Kagan's wife came on. He'd seen her at rallies-a tall, handsome woman, taller than her husband, with wide black eyes and pale skin free of makeup- but had never spoken to her and was surprised at the quality of her voice, which was soft and girlish, untainted by hostility.
'I'm sorry, Inspector,' she told him, 'my husband's out of town and I don't expect him back until shortly before
Shabbat.'
'I'd like to speak with him as soon after Shabbat as possible.'
'We're having a melaveh malkah Saturday night, honoring a new bride and groom. Would Sunday morning be all right?'
'Sunday would be fine. Let's say nine o'clock. I.n your home.'
'Thank you, Inspector. I'll write it down.'
'Thank you, Rebbetzin Kagan. Shabbat shalom.'
'Shabbat shalom.'
He hung up thinking What a gracious woman, filed his papers, and looked at his watch. Ten-thirty a.m. He'd been at the office since five forty-five, reading and reviewing, recycling useless data-succumbing to Laufer's suggestion that he'd missed something. Waiting for the discovery ofj another body.
But there had been no call, just a troubling inertia.
Two full weeks-two Friday mornings-since Juliet, and I nothing. No rhythm, not even the certainty of bloodshed.
He was disappointed, he realized. Another murder might I have yielded clues, some bit of carelessness that would finally establish a firm lead to the killer.
Praying for murder, Sharavi?
Disgusted with himself, he checked out and left for the day, determined to forget the job until the end of
