Then suddenly he was smiling-a cold, collaborative smirk.
'Aha. Now I understand. This, beating Rashmawi, it's all something psychiatric, eh, Sharavi? You're trying for a stress pension.'
'I'm fine,' said Daniel. 'I want to work on my case. To catch criminals rather than protect them.'
'You have no case. You're on suspension as of this moment.' Laufer held out a fleshy palm. 'Hand over your badge.'
'You don't really want it.'
'What!'
'If I walk out of here under suspension, the first place I'm going is the press.'
'All contact between you and the press is forbidden. Violate that order and you're finished for good.'
'That's okay,' said Daniel. 'I'm allergic to traffic.'
Laufer leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling for several moments, then lowered his gaze and directed it back at Daniel.
'Sharavi, Sharavi, do you actually think you're intimidating me with your threats? What if you do talk? What will it amount to? A nosy little detective, unable to solve the case he's charged with, tries to distract attention away from his incompetence by whining about administrative manners. Small stuff, even by local standards.'
The deputy commander folded his hands over his paunch. His face was calm, almost beatific, but the fingers kept drumming.
A poor bluffer, thought Daniel. Shoshi would wipe him out in poker.
'I'm not talking local,' said Daniel. 'I'm talking international. The foreign press is sure to love this one-child rapist shielded by the police as he stalks the streets of Jerusalem, secret deals cut with Hassidic rebbe. 'The suspect was apprehended assaulting his own daughter while under privileged protection of Deputy Commander Avigdor Laufer. The officer who apprehended him has been disciplined-''
'It goes higher than Avigdor Laufer, you fool! You don't know what you're dealing with!'
'The higher the better. They'll eat IT with a spoon.'
Laufer was on his feet again. Glowering, pointing. 'Do it and you'll be finished, permanently-a blighted record, loss of security rating, no pension, no future. Any decent job will be closed to you. You'll be lucky to find work shoveling shit with the Arabs.'
'Tat Nitzav,' said Daniel, 'we don't know each other well. Let me acquaint you with my situation. Since the first day of my marriage, my in-laws have been trying to get me to move to America. They're Jews, believe deeply in the state of Israel, but they want their only daughter near them. I've a standing offer of a new house, new car, tuition for my kids, and a job with my father-in-law's corporation. A very decent job-executive responsibility, regular hours, and more money than I'll ever earn here, more than you ever will. The only hold the job has over me is the job itself-doing it properly.'
The deputy commander was silent. Daniel took his badge out of his wallet.
'Still want it?'
'Damn you,' said Laufer. 'Damn you to hell.'
Lucky, thought Daniel, that he was a pencil-pusher, no detective. Al Birnbaum had never owned a corporation, had spent his working years selling paper goods to printing companies. And even that was old news- he'd been retired for a decade.
He left Laufer's office and went to his own, having gotten what he'd wanted but feeling no flush of victory.
He'd missed the chance to interview Malkovsky because Cohen had run the whole arrest as a one-man show, booking the suspect without calling in. And if the child raper was a killer they'd never know-another unsolved, like Gray Man.
He thought of calling Cohen in, dressing him down, and kicking him off the team. But the kid had saved Malkovsky's daughter, his performance on the stakeout had been impeccable, and his intentions on the bust had been good. There'd been no way for him to suspect what was going on while he sweated over the paperwork.
Some paperwork too. All the details of the arrest precisely documented on the correct forms, perfect penmanship, not a single spelling error. It must have taken him most of the night. In the meantime, bye-bye, Malkovsky, trundled out the back door under police escort, handcuffed to a Shin Bet operative dressed as a Hassid. A quick ride to Ben Gurion, bypass of Passport Control and Security, and first-class seating for both of them on the next El Al jet to Kennedy.
Good scandal potential, but short-lived-people forgot quickly; bigger and better things were sure to come along-so he'd decided to use it while it was still worth something. To keep Cohen-and himself-safe, keep Anwar Rashmawi's lawyer at bay, put an end to any nonsense about disciplinary hearings. And to get Laufer to describe his interrogation of Malkovsky, if you could call it that-three or four hasty questions in a baclc room at the airport, then good-bye, good riddance. Under duress, the deputy commander also agreed to have Mossad make contact with the New York investigators and attempt to question Malkovsky about the murders of Fatma and Juliet.
A symbolic triumph, really, because Daniel no longer considered Malkovsky a serious suspect-not in light of the bloody rock discovery. The man was grossly overweight and out of shape; at the jail he'd complained of shortness of breath. An examining doctor had said his blood pressure was dangerously high. It was unlikely he'd have hiked through the desert carrying a body, though Daniel supposed he could have been part of one of Shmeltzer's murder cults.
Killer Hassidim-too crazy to consider.
But that wasn't the point. The brass hadn't known about the rock when they'd shipped him back to New York. They'd intruded on his case, sullied it with politics.
He'd lived through that before, refused to endure it again.
