Pressure Chamber, page 11
“…and does the exact same thing four times. At each of the hospitals, he locks the bathroom stall for the disabled and hangs an out-of-order sign on the door. An empty crib was found in all four of the stalls…”
Nathan stares daggers at her and she shrugs her shoulders apologetically and settles into the chair he’d saved for her next to him, feeling bad she kept him waiting.
“…In all likelihood, we aren’t dealing with a group but the work of just one individual. The same figure appears in the footage from all the security cameras. He was wearing a knit cap and avoided looking directly at the security cameras, so we don’t have a definite profile for him. He may have an accomplice or accomplices who handled the logistics while he…”
“Sorry,” she whispers to Nathan. “I was stuck in traffic for an hour.”
“…we’re working on the assumption that he used the same vehicle for all four of the abductions but with different plates each time. We’ve located the owners of the vehicles from which the plates were stolen the night before the abductions but didn’t get anything from the scenes themselves. We’re assuming he parked far away enough from all of them and walked to the vehicles wearing overshoes because we didn’t…”
“That’s no excuse,” Nathan whispers harshly. “There’s always traffic. Get out of bed earlier. I shouldn’t have to be your alarm clock.”
“…with the baby under his coat each time. We believe he changed vehicles or parked in the garage of a private home where the vehicle is out of sight. Following inquiries conducted by the teams at all four of the maternity wards, and together with the footage we have from the security cameras, we’ve put together a detailed facial composite of the suspect, but he may have since shaved off his beard and no longer…”
“Do we have anything left to do at the scenes?” she inquires in a whisper.
“No. The departments have been assigned to regular duties again.”
“…we’ll maintain a presence at the maternity wards until they implement new procedures to safeguard the identity of the mothers and fathers, since the existing system has proved ineffective. We’re also concerned about copycats, criminal elements or terror groups, who may try to do the exact same thing…”
“So we’re off to Jerusalem to go through all the findings once more?”
“Yes. We’ll try to get some more insights from them.”
“Perhaps we should—”
A policewoman sitting behind them places her hand on Daphne’s shoulder, to the accompaniment of a “Shhhh!” and Daphne falls silent, turning her attention to the briefing. No one has a clue about the man’s whereabouts. And they’re not going to find him until he makes a mistake or chooses to surface again.
When the briefing ends, Nathan joins her and Anna and they get a quick lunch together at Dr. Shakshuka next to the Tel Aviv District Headquarters. The Babysitter dominates their conversation. Daphne spots Nathan stealing looks at Anna when he thinks she doesn’t notice and she can’t decide what she thinks about it.
After saying their goodbyes to Anna, who returns to the police station on Salameh Street, they head for Jerusalem to continue digging through the evidence they’d gathered under their microscopes. They have his fingerprints, there’s DNA, there’s a modus operandi; but they simply don’t have a clue who he is.
At the end of the day, Nathan returns to his home in Jerusalem’s French Hill neighborhood, a ten-minute drive from National Headquarters, and she begins her battle through the congestion on the way out of the city, then on the road down to Tel Aviv. She doesn’t mind making the trip on a daily basis, so long as she doesn’t have to live in or around Jerusalem. The city weighs heavy on her. Too much oppressiveness, too much obscurity, too many stones, too much religion, and too many people.
She walks into her rented apartment an hour and a half later. Coming from Anna’s room are the sounds of rhythmic music and the faint smell of marijuana. Daphne changes out of her uniform and into her exercise wear and drives to the beachfront, leaving her car at the Gordon Street parking lot and crossing over to the promenade, before walking down to the beach. She takes off her shoes and socks, places them in a carrier bag, which then goes into her backpack, and begins running across the sand.
It’s cold, and it starts to drizzle. The bathing season is still far off, and the waterline is littered with jellyfish that have washed ashore. Milky white, translucent bowls, upside down on the sand, glowing in the moonlight. She skips over the ones on her path. It’s not supposed to be like this. One – two – three – four – five fingers. A glance in the direction of the Renaissance Hotel sign, a glance aside, a glance back at the sign. The text hasn’t changed. She’s awake. A few minutes into her run, she notices someone running behind her. When she slows down to let him pass, he slows down too; and when she picks up her pace to put some distance between them, he accelerates too.
She stops and turns towards him, standing firm, her toes kneading the sand. The man stops in front of her. He’s wearing a T-shirt and workout shorts, and his panting face displays a distinct look of surprise. Perhaps he isn’t used to meeting a woman who doesn’t flee from him.
“Keep running,” Daphne says.
He smiles, before dropping his shorts and moving towards her. Fucking pervert.
“I’m police.”
His smile widens. “And I’m a firefighter,” he says, reaching for her.
He’s her height. And close enough to lay his hand on her, to touch her.
You’ll see
You’ll be happy here with us
You’ll get everything you need right here
But if you don’t do what you’re told, we’re dumping you
You’re going back to your father
And he’ll know how to deal with you just fine
After what you did to him
He remembers you every day when he looks in the mirror
Thinks about you all the time
Hasn’t stopped searching
Just one phone call and he’ll know where you are
So you’re just going to do as you’re told
Everything you’re told
And then we’ll keep you here with us
You’ll be happy here
If you make us happy too
Come here
Come closer
Her hand reaches for his head and her fingers slide over his scalp, then twist into a fist that locks onto his hair. She tugs down on his head as hard as she can, bringing her knee up to his face at the same time.
“What’s with you all? Why is every asshole in the world after me? Leave me the fuck alone already!”
He falls to the sand. His hand goes to his face and blood trickles between his fingers.
She stands over him, her eyes on fire but her voice steady and menacing: “Come near me again, and that will be the last thing you ever do.”
She breaks into a run and heads away from him. As she runs she does another reality check. Awake.
Voices from the pubs along the beach carry all the way down to her on the shoreline. Tel Avivians without a care in the world raising toasts, the sound of clinking glasses mixing with music and laughter, the waves washing dead jellyfish ashore. The adrenalin coursing through her turns into speed that turns into sweat, which is soaked up by her tank top.
27.
“Police hotline. What’s your emergency?”
“Hello. I’d like to report a car with its engine running but no one inside.”
“Who is this?”
“Raviv. I’m a delivery driver for Zer4u, the flower and gifts shop.”
“Raviv who?”
“Raviv Shavit. A delivery driver for Zer4u. I’m in Rishpon with a delivery for the Dotan family and they aren’t home, but their car is parked here outside and the engine’s running.”
“Can you see anyone in the car? A child? A baby?”
“No. It’s smoky or steamy inside, but I looked and I think it’s empty.”
“Did you check to see if anyone’s home?”
“Yes. I rang the bell and I also tried calling the number I have, and I can hear the phone ringing inside, but no one answers, and I don’t have a mobile number for them, just their landline.”
“Have you seen anything that appears criminal in nature?”
“What?”
“Does something look wrong? Is the car damaged in any way? Is the alarm ringing in the house? Any signs of forced entry on the door?”
“No. Only the car with its engine running and the windows steamed up. And the fact that getting called out for a seven-in-the-morning delivery to a family who aren’t home is pretty strange. Not our usual working hours.”
“They may have left the car running by mistake and gone out in a different vehicle. Thanks for calling it in. I’ll make a note of it and we’ll contact them tomorrow to make sure they made it home. The Dotan family in Rishpon, right?”
“Yes. It’s just that it looks strange to me. Sorry for troubling you; you must be up to your necks with the whole baby abduction thing that’s all over the news.”
“No problem.”
“Thanks. Too bad about the Tucson though. I hope the engine doesn’t burn out or something.”
There’s silence on the line for a brief moment, before the previously calm tone of the operator turns urgent and assertive.
“A Hyundai Tucson, you said?”
“Yes.”
“What color?”
“White.”
“Give me the exact address.”
“It’s 8 HaAlon Street. Rishpon.”
“Stay where you are and wait for the patrol car to get there.”
“Do you want me to open the envelope and read out what it says on the card attached to the box of chocolates?”
“No. Place everything on the floor and don’t touch anything again.”
28.
A feeble whimper transforms into a loud wail, then a second one begins, then another and another, the babies waking each other in turn to join the howling chorus.
Lee opens her eyes and gazes at the TV, which is tuned in to Channel 11, with the volume on mute. A clock appears in the bottom left-hand corner of the screen. Four-twenty in the morning.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
It’s her second night with the four newborns, who she thinks must be two days old, three at most, based on the state of their umbilical cord stumps. Food. Diaper change. Food. Diaper change. Food. Diaper change. And no sleep. Each has its own internal clock, out of sync with one another, and certainly out of sync with hers, meaning she’s gotten maybe a little more than thirty minutes of sleep in total throughout the night. Or that’s how it feels at least. It’s worse than a nightshift at the hospital. More exhausting than a night of guard duty during basic training. She completes a round of diapers and food, successfully soothes the babies and places them back in their cribs, then crashes into bed again. Her eyes have almost closed when a caption appears across the bottom of the television screen:
Up next: An exclusive interview with the interior minister, Gideon
Hertzman, whose grandson is among the kidnapped babies
Lee reaches for the remote and turns up the volume.
“…exclusively here on the seven o’clock news. We can tell you now, following the lifting of a gag order, that one of the newborn babies abducted yesterday morning from the maternity wards at Ichilov, Beilinson, Mayanei Hayeshua and Tel HaShomer hospitals is the grandson of the interior minister, Gideon Hertzman. A spokesperson for the Israel Police has informed our crime correspondent, Adi Lifshitz, that the police and security forces are making every effort to locate the perpetrators, and that they’ve yet to find any evidence to indicate that the incident is terror-related. The Israel Police and its commissioner are coming under intense fire and have been strongly urged to declare—”
She mutes the TV again. That’s all they’ve been talking about since yesterday, the kidnapping of the babies, and she’s tired of listening to analyses and conjecture regarding their predicament, when in fact she’s the only one who truly knows what’s going on with them. She and the man who snatched her, and who hasn’t returned since bringing them here.
But one of them is the interior minister’s grandson. She gets up and looks at the sleeping babies, as if she’d be able to tell which one resembles the minister. It’s good news at least. The police are going to come under enormous pressure; they have to find them. Meanwhile, she’ll take care of them and make sure that the psychopath who abducted them, and her, doesn’t try to harm them. Even though they aren’t letting her sleep, they’re tiny and fragile and haven’t done a thing wrong.
She opens the cupboard and fills a bowl with Nestlé Crunch. It would be great to have milk to add to the cereal, but there isn’t any. Yesterday, in a moment of curiosity, she tasted the baby formula. Disgusting.
And coffee. If only she had an electric kettle. She could have a cup of hot coffee in the morning. And wait for him behind the door with a kettle full of boiling water, aimed at his head.
29.
Tonight, I’ll remember my dream
Tonight, I’ll be in control of my dream
I’m strong and can face up to any character who seeks to harm me in my dream
Tonight, I’ll remember my dream
Tonight, I’ll be in control of my dream
I’m strong and can face up to any character who seeks to harm me in my dream
Tonight, I’ll remember my dream
Tonight, I’ll be in control of my dream
I’m strong and can face up to any character who seeks to harm me in my dream
07:20
I’m sitting on the edge of a pool and dangling my feet in the water. I look at my swimsuit and realize that I’m a child. A girl with almond eyes who I do not recognize is sitting next to me. I know she is my friend.
“Want to go on a journey?” she asks.
I look at her. Her black hair is wet and drops of water are falling onto her back and shoulders. My hair is wet too. We must have just gotten out of the water, but I can’t remember anything that has happened until now. We’re the only ones here. There aren’t any people in the pool, and the surrounding green lawns and chairs under the red-and-white sunshades are empty. There’s no one here but us. A gray bird lands next to us and taps lightly on the ground with its feather tail.
“Yes, I do,” I say.
“It’s a wagtail,” she says. “Coming?”
“Yes, I’m coming.”
We stand up and begin walking.
An orange desert. Sun. Lifeless heat everywhere. Oppressive. Heavy. Dust. A whisper. Silence.
The girl is gone.
Next I find myself with Rotem as a child and we are engrossed in a game of mud-ball, our feet kicking up clouds of orange dust as we run barefoot back and forth in the arid backyard. Rotem stops for a moment under the kitchen window and puts her finger to her lips. Mom is calling the rainmaker.
We crouch under the window, hiding in the vegetable patch. It hasn’t rained in ages, and the bell peppers and tomatoes have started to shrivel on their stems and branches of plants are drying under the hot sun. The last time it was this hot, Mia was still with us. It was before the accident.
“So you’ll be here at five-forty?” Mom schedules a visit from the rainmaker, and she closes the window above our heads. Before she closes it, I hear her mutter something about this insufferable dust and all the produce that’ll end up in the trash if the rainmaker doesn’t get here on time. Rotem says that Mom’s upset because the orange dust reminds her of Mia and the accident and everything that happened, and that’s why she’s called for the rainmaker – because the peppers can easily survive a few more days without water. It’s Mom who can’t.
“How did she die?” I ask Rotem, and she gives me a look reserved for no one but an older sister.
“We don’t talk about it,” she says. “Let’s go open the gate for the rainmaker.”
“Is it true that the ship she was on disappeared?”
“We don’t talk about it.” Rotem kicks a large mound of earth, sending another orange dust cloud in the direction of the peppers on the vines. Her voice is strange, like she’s choking. I think it’s because of all the dust.
We open the gate, sit on the wooden fence and eat small red tomatoes and little heart-shaped pieces of dark chocolate that Rotem produces from a small box, without saying a word. The wind, hot and dry, blows my hair out of place. The world around us is both familiar and foreign. The sky boasts two suns. One big and orange, and one small and white. We each cast two shadows. One shadow for each sun.
The rainmaker arrives at precisely five-forty. “Hi, girls,” he says, and we wave to him as he heads inside to talk to Mom. He then comes out to the yard and arranges his jars on the ground to form a hexagon. Around them, he scatters seashells and small white bones, and bundles of black feathers tied together with red thread, and tiny piles of white sand that you can hardly see from the fence we’re sitting on. He spreads his arms to the side and calls for the rain to come.
I want to say to Rotem perhaps we can ask the rainmaker to bring Mia back to us instead of the rain, and that it would be so wonderful if that were to happen because we’d be able to see Mom smile again, and maybe even laugh. But Rotem seems to read my mind and gives me the sternest big-sister look she can muster, and I remain silent.
Rain starts to fall.
“Let’s go inside.” I offer my hand to my sister and notice that one of my fingers is oddly slanted to the left. One, two, three, odd finger, five. What’s happening here? I’m dreaming. I’m in a dream. That’s impossible. It was reality just a second ago. Incredible. Wait, don’t wake up. Don’t…
Daphne wakes up. The dream was so beautiful and sad, and so vivid, and she remembers every detail.
