The Deadly Scrolls, page 10
“Dunno,” he said. He glanced back down at his screen. “She was here just a minute ago.”
Maya scanned the area, feeling the familiar prickle of anxiety in the center of her chest. Vered was nowhere in sight. Two leopards prowled restlessly on the other side of the high glass walls that separated them from visitors, many of whom were pressed up against the glass. A class from an elementary school crowded together at one corner of the giant glass window. Several children tapped repeatedly on the glass to get the big cats’ attention. The leopards quickened their nervous pacing, baring their sharp teeth, hissing at the children.
Then she saw Vered.
Her three-year-old daughter was balanced precariously near the top of a low-branching tree, not far from the upper edge of one of the glass walls. Leaning her body forward, Vered curled and uncurled a chubby index finger, beckoning to a pair of young leopard cubs, who were wrestling with each other in the dirt near the front of the enclosure.
The cubs paid no attention to her.
But the mother leopard was moving toward them. Her sleek body slouched close to the ground, her muscled shoulders rippling as she assumed an attack position. Her pointed ears slanted back. Her sharp teeth were clenched in a menacing grin.
Vered climbed up to a higher branch, inching closer to the glass wall’s top edge. With both hands she reached out and grabbed hold of the shiny aluminum molding. Then, she stretched out a stubby leg toward the silver strip, hooking one bare ankle over it.
Maya screamed: “Vered! No!”
Surprised to hear her name, the little girl twisted around. The sharp movement made her lose her balance. She wobbled for a moment, then fell backwards.
Maya ran toward her daughter, roughly pushing aside several children in her way. When she reached the base of the tree, she found Vered lying on the ground, looking up, miraculously unhurt. A dense cluster of bushes had broken her fall. On her daughter’s face was a gleeful smile. She pointed at the cubs, who were now batting at each other with their floppy paws.
Maya grabbed Vered by the arm and hugged her close. Tears instantly welled up in her eyes, then spilled over, wetting her daughter’s cheek. With the side of her hand, Maya wiped them away, then kissed Vered’s soft, damp flesh.
“Why are you crying, Ima? I not got hurted.”
Breathing raggedly, Maya glanced into the glass enclosure.
On the other side of the glass, the mother leopard’s glistening yellow eyes were fixed on Vered. All over her sinewed body, her muscles tensed. Her brindled tail whipped back and forth like an angry serpent.
“Let’s move away from here, motek. We’re making the leopards nervous.”
Holding Vered firmly by the hand, Maya walked over to Rafi. He stood watching them, his mouth pinched shut. Blue mirrored sunglasses masked his eyes. The ground in front of the bench where he’d been sitting was littered with blackened butts.
For the first time in months, Maya craved a cigarette. She’d given up smoking almost four years ago, as soon as she’d learned she was pregnant. But she desperately wanted a cigarette now.
She squatted down and stared intently into her daughter’s moss-green eyes.
“Abba didn’t do such a good job watching you, did he?”
“It wasn’t my fault what happened! I had eyes on her every minute ’til you showed up and distracted me.”
Maya’s mouth dropped open. She gasped, then clamped her jaw shut.
“You know what, Rafi? I don’t need to listen to your shit anymore!”
Rafi stamped his foot on the packed ground in front of the bench. “Don’t lecture me about being a parent, Maya! The truth is that you’d rather play spy than take care of your own kid. Selfish bitch!”
Maya bit down on her lower lip until she could taste blood. She shook her head, breathed in, then stood up. Her thighs and knees ached. Her mouth felt dry. She grabbed hold of her daughter’s wrist.
“Let’s go, Vered.”
Vered’s lower lip began to tremble. She broke free of Maya’s grasp and ran over to the far end of the bench. She grabbed the large white plastic bag lying there, reached in, and pulled out a brown plush horse.
“Look what Abba got me! And he bought me chocolate ice cream wi’f sprinkles and hot fudge sauce!”
“Your Abba can do no wrong, can he?”
Rafi threw down his cigarette and smashed it with his heel. “Drop it, Maya! No harm done. Just move on.”
Maya sucked in a deep breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them and glared at Rafi until he looked away. She inhaled deeply, slowing her breathing until she felt calmer.
Rafi shook another cigarette out of the cellophane-wrapped pack, pinched it between his lips, then crumpled the empty pack and threw it to the sidewalk. He lit up and swallowed a mouthful of smoke. Then, he turned his face away, addressing his next remarks to the leopards pacing behind the glass walls.
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you, Maya.” He paused, then blew out the smoke in a long, black thread. “I’m suing for sole custody. I think it’s best that I assume primary responsibility for raising Vered. You’re away from home too much. And your job puts you in constant danger.”
Maya’s heart dropped into the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t breathe. Blood drained from her hands and feet, leaving them numb and cold.
What lousy timing! She didn’t need this extra pressure. Now, she’d have to hire a lawyer. Come up with a clever strategy to fight Rafi. Where the hell would she find the time? And the money.
Maya reached out and grabbed her daughter by the hand, pulling her down the zigzag path toward the exit. Vered clutched her new plush horse close to her small body and stumbled along after her mother. She didn’t even ask for another chocolate ice cream as they passed the snack bar on their way out.
29
DRIVING BACK TO THE CENTER of Jerusalem, Maya had second thoughts about her plan to spend a few more hours with Vered before going into work. She just wasn’t in the mood to deal with her daughter’s incessant demands for attention. She’d ask her father to pick her up as usual at gan and bring her home with him to Rivkah.
And she decided not to tell Vered’s teacher about what had happened at the zoo. No matter how she spun it, Maya would come off looking as neglectful as Rafi. It was crucial that Rivkah keep trusting Maya as a mother. She was hoping to call her as a character witness at the custody hearing.
When she reached the community center that housed Vered’s pre-school, Maya double-parked and dropped her daughter off in the classroom on the first floor. Vered quickly pulled free of her mother’s embrace and ran off to join her friends, chattering happily about the leopard cubs and showing off her new stuffed horse. She didn’t look back when Maya left the room.
A few blocks from the day care center, Maya turned onto a quiet residential street and parked her silver Corolla at the curb. She dug her cell phone out of her shoulder bag and called Sarit Levine. The police detective picked up after the third ring.
“What now, Maya? I’ve got nothing new for you. I told you I’d let you know.”
“You promised to send over the hotel security tapes.”
A long pause at the other end.
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Never mind. They probably weren’t useful anyway.”
Maya didn’t want Sarit to know that she’d already viewed the tapes, thanks to Ziggy. That she already knew about the murderer’s unusual height, his silver rings, the oversized waiter’s uniform and shoes left behind. If Sarit believed she still held the upper hand, maybe she’d stay out of Maya’s way.
“What about your interviews with possible suspects?” asked Maya.
“We questioned a few professors. Goldmayer’s rivals. Most of their alibis checked out.”
“Whose didn’t?”
“Father Antoine De Plessy and Stanley Lowenthal. De Plessy claims he was at the Biblical Academy all night. In his room, reading.”
Maya had already crossed De Plessy off her suspect list. Whatever Goldmayer was selling, the Dominican monk wasn’t buying. She couldn’t understand how any of the other Qumran scholars could possibly take De Plessy’s outrageous theories seriously. Medieval knights carting off the Temple treasures to Scotland?
Sarit broke into her thoughts.
“My money’s on one of the Lowenthals. Old Stanley didn’t show up at the opening banquet. Neither did his son. He claims that he was in his hotel room with Adam when Goldmayer was killed. Hotel confirms he ordered room service for two that night. But that doesn’t let them off the hook. One of them could have slipped out, murdered Goldmayer, and slipped back into their room during our time frame. I’ve asked around about Stanley. It seems like he’s had a run-in with just about everyone at the conference.”
“So what’s the motive?”
“It appears that Goldmayer might have discovered something that these scholars have been after for decades. A lost Dead Sea Scroll. Just the kind of thing that could turn an obscure professor into an international celebrity overnight. And turn all his rivals green with envy. Fits Stanley Lowenthal’s profile perfectly.”
Maya wasn’t so sure. A narcissist like Lowenthal wouldn’t be satisfied bringing down a rival by stealth. He would want to humiliate him publicly.
“Did you also interview Lowenthal’s son, Adam?”
“What an odd duck! Never looks you in the eye.” She snorted. “He confirms that he was with his father all night. Claims they ate together, then rented a movie. The hotel confirms that the movie ended close to midnight. Still gives them plenty of time to commit the murder. So the two of them are staying on my short list.”
“What about Habib Salameh?”
“The Lebanese antiquities dealer?” Sarit’s gruff laugh was predictably mean-spirited. “Claims he was at a party Sunday night. At the home of that pretentious Arab socialite, Lena al-Sayegh.”
“Does his alibi check out?”
“I didn’t even bother to follow up. That man always has an iron-clad alibi. Paid for in cash. Everyone at that party will swear they saw him there. If he is the killer, we’ll need hard evidence.”
“Keep me posted.”
Maya hung up. Then, she speed-dialed Ziggy Dweck.
“Check out the hotel’s phone logs for Sunday night. Calls made from the Lowenthals’ room between eight and midnight. Cross-check the numbers against Bezeq’s records. And do a cell tower dump on Habib Salameh’s mobile. Call me as soon as you have that information.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going to Sheikh Jarrah to check out Salameh’s alibi. I’m betting it’s bogus.”
“Let me come with. It’s not such a good idea for you to go to Sheikh Jarrah by yourself. That neighborhood’s always dicey.”
“You’re such a Jewish mother, Ziggy!” Maya chuckled. “I’ll be fine. Save your escort services for when I’m in real danger.”
As soon as she hung up, Maya felt a sharp stab of hunger. She’d stop and grab a falafel and lemonade right after her conversation with Madame al-Sayegh.
30
AS SHE MADE HER WAY into the mixed Arab-Jewish neighborhood of Sheikh Jarrah, Maya’s mobile jangled in her shoulder bag. It was Ziggy.
“Nu?”
“You were right. Habib Salameh made a number of calls Sunday night. All calls made before ten-thirty came from a cell tower near the Zion Gate Hotel.”
“Thanks, Zig. I owe you.”
Maya turned the corner. At the end of the block, set well back from the street, stood a three-story villa constructed of glittering pink Jerusalem stone. It was the home of Madame Lena al-Sayegh, the most celebrated hostess in Arab Jerusalem.
As Maya had anticipated, Lena was hospitable and charming. And completely evasive. She warmly welcomed Maya into her elegant home, furnished with broad Turkish carpets, low-slung earth-toned leather couches, and hand-embroidered pillows.
Lena was a stunning woman of an undefined age. Her clothes were stylish yet modest. She wore her shining brown hair upswept in a chignon, accented with ivory combs. On her feet were gold lamé sandals. One ankle was circled with a thin gold chain. She wore too much makeup, especially around her eyes, which were heavily lined with kohl.
“How can I help you, Agent Rimon?”
The two women sat across from each other in gray loveseats. The midday sun flooded the room with golden light. A maid entered and set down a silver tray on the glass coffee table between them. Maya savored the sweet mint tea, served in delicate bone china cups. She helped herself to a pistachio pastry. Her host sipped her tea but took nothing from the tray.
“I’m investigating the murder of an American professor. Boaz Goldmayer. He was killed Sunday night at a West Jerusalem hotel. We’re investigating everyone who registered to attend the scholarly conference being hosted there this week.”
Lena al-Sayegh listened attentively, her attractive face a mask of aloof gentility. She took a sip of her tea, then patted her lips with a small white cloth napkin.
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
“One of the conference attendees is Habib Salameh. I’m sure you know him.”
“Of course.”
She pointed to a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass shelves, softly illuminated by recessed lights. Displayed on the shelves were glazed bowls and vases of various colors as well as a number of small clay figurines of ancient vintage.
“I’ve bought many beautiful things from Habib over the years. He has exquisite taste and a sharp eye for value.”
Her English was impeccable. Maya detected traces of a French accent. Perhaps she and Salameh knew each other from his Paris days. Israeli Intelligence knew very little about Madame Lena al-Sayegh. Only that she was a social climber, who bred and raced champion Arabians in the Emirates. She had never been in trouble with the Jerusalem authorities.
“Mister Salameh was at your party Sunday night.”
“Of course, he was. All evening. Habib is a popular guest at my parties. All the ladies vie for his attention.”
Should she ask about security cameras? Photos taken by any of the guests?
She knew such questions would offend Lena. Levantine etiquette demanded that a guest take the host at her word. Maya would get nothing more from her.
They chatted pleasantly for a few more minutes. When Maya rose to leave, Lena insisted that she take a few pastries home with her. Had her hunger been that obvious?
She returned to her car and sat there quietly for a few minutes. The visit hadn’t been a complete waste of time. She’d confirmed her suspicion that Salameh had lied about his whereabouts on Sunday night.
31
IN THE SIMMERING HEAT of early afternoon, Maya turned her silver Corolla on to Betsalel Bazak Street, then drove on to the ramp leading to Begin North. The road soon merged into Route 50, then veered right onto Route 1, heading east from Jerusalem.
She flipped her visor forward to shield her eyes from the glaring sun. After several kilometers, she passed the sprawling West Bank community of Ma’ale Adumim. Its sparkling white houses and modern shopping malls stood in sharp contrast to the humble Arab villages surrounding it.
Once past Ma’ale Adumim, Maya shifted into fourth gear and settled back against the seat. She unwrapped the pistachio pastries she’d accepted from Lena al-Sayegh and popped them in her mouth, one after the other, washing down the sticky sweetness with lukewarm water. Then, she turned on the radio and spun the dial until she found a classical station. Mahler wasn’t one of her favorites, but it beat the alternatives. Relaxing into the andante tempo, she stared at the road ahead. There wouldn’t be much to see until she reached Qumran National Park.
The heat mounted steadily as she drove further into the desert. The air conditioning was too feeble to combat it. Floating above the macadam surface, molten air rippled in the bright sun. The low scrub vegetation bordering both sides of the road was brown and desiccated. Nothing moved over the bleak landscape.
Her thoughts drifted, then zeroed in on the investigation.
Stanley Lowenthal remained the only credible suspect among the scholars. By all accounts, he was a vindictive man, merciless in his public take-downs of rivals. And his son was fiercely protective of his father’s scholarly reputation. Both men were tall, Adam especially. Stanley wore silver rings on his right hand.
But was either capable of murder?
And then there was Habib Salameh. Ever since interviewing him at the LTM Center months ago, Maya had suspected him of having ties to fanatic religious groups, perhaps laundering illicit cash through his antiquities business. Salameh lived high on the food chain, collecting vintage cars, French mistresses, and pricey wines. Would he risk murder to satisfy his prodigal appetite?
Suddenly, she saw rising ahead of her the limestone cliffs and stone ruins of Qumran National Park. The birthplace of the Dead Sea Scrolls.
She pulled the silver Corolla into the half-filled parking lot and turned off the engine. The cooled air inside the car evaporated rapidly, effervescing into hot steam. She would have preferred to interview the Lowenthals back at the air-conditioned hotel, but the professor had insisted that this was his only available time this week. He and Adam were doing a photo shoot this afternoon in Cave 3 for Stanley’s forthcoming book on the Copper Scroll.
As soon as Maya opened the car door, she felt like she’d stepped into a white-hot kiln. The air was aboil, shivering like ruffled silk. She glanced toward the main grounds of the park, impressed as always by the stark setting of this ancient desert enclave. She noted that the red metal arch spanning the park entrance had recently been repainted. Through the arch, she could see the jigsaw of uneven, low stone walls arranged in various rectangular configurations. Among them were the remains of an ancient guard tower, several one- and two-story buildings, storehouses, ritual baths, and cisterns.
Seated in the ticket booth near the entrance was a large, bearded man, wearing a Bukharan kippah. Maya flashed her Service credentials at him. He smiled and waved her in. She smiled back at him, then shook her head. Today, she was not here as a tourist. Her meeting with the Lowenthals would be taking place outside the park, in an off-site cave within walking distance.
