The Theatre - Kellerman, Jonathan

Cohen needs a police wagon dispatched to this address." Malkovsky started praying again. A symphony of window-squeaks and whispers played in counterpoint to his entreaties. "This is a nice place, very tidy," said Greenberg, still trying to absorb the reality of the moment.

"Then let's keep it that way. Make that call before everyone finds out you rent to dangerous criminals."

"Criminals? Never-"

"Call 100," said Avi. "Run. Or I'll shoot him right here, leave the mess for you to clean up."

Malkovsky moaned.

Greenberg ran.

Laufer's secretary liked Pakad Sharavi, had always thought of him as kind of cute, one of the nicer ones. So when he entered the waiting room she smiled at him, ready for small talk. But the smile he offered in return was brittle, a poor excuse for cordiality, and when he brushed past her instead of sitting down, she was caught off guard.

"Pakad-you can't do that! He's in a conference!"

He ignored her, opened the door.

The deputy commander was conferring with his soda water bottle, polishing the metal, peering up the spout. When he saw Daniel he put it down quickly and said, "What is this, Sharavi!"

"I need to know where he is."

"I have no time for your nonsense, Sharavi. Leave at once."

"Not until you tell me where he is, Tat Nitzav."

The deputy commander bounded out of his chair, came speeding around the desk, and marched up to Daniel, stopping just short of collision.

"Get the hell out."

"I want to know where Malkovsky is."

"He's not your concern."

"He's my suspect. I want to question him."

"Out."

Daniel ignored the digression. "Malkovsky's a suspect in my murder case. I needed to talk to him."

"That'scrap," said Laufer. "He's not the Butcher-I ascer-tained that myself."

"'What evidence did he present to convince you of his innocence?"

"Don't try to interrogate me, Sharavi. Suffice it to say he's out of your bailiwick."

Daniel struggled with his anger. "The man's dangerous. If Cohen hadn't caught him, he'd still be raping children under official protection."

Ah, Cohen," said the deputy commander. "Another bit of insubordination that you-and he-will be answering to. |Of course, the charges against him will be mitigated by inex-perience. Improper influence by a commanding officer."

"Cohen was-"

"Yes. I know, Sharavi. The girlfriend at Wolfson, one of |life's little coincidences." Laufer extended a finger, poked at the air. "Don't insult me with your little games, you bastard. You want to play games? Fine. Here's a new one called suspension: You're off the Butcher case-off any case, without pay. pending a disciplinary hearing. When I'm finished with you, you'll be directing traffic in Katamon Tet and feeling grateful about it."

"No." said Daniel. "The case is mine. I'm staying with it." Laufer stared at him. "Have you lost your mind?" When Daniel didn't answer, the deputy commander went behind his desk, sat, took out a leather-bound calendar, and began making notes.

"Traffic detail, Sharavi. Try calling the pretty boy in Australia if you think it'll hefp you. Your protekzia's long gone-dead and buried." The deputy commander laughed out loud. "Funny thing is, it's your own doing-you fucked yourself, just like now. Nosing into things that don't concern you." Laufer lifted a pack of English Ovals off the desk, found it empty and tossed it aside. "Like a little brown rat, rooting in garbage."

"If I hadn't rooted," said Daniel, "you'd still be pushing paper in Beersheva."

Laufer made a strangling noise and slammed his hand on the desk. His eyes bulged and his complexion turned the color of ripe plums. Daniel watched him inhale deeply, then expel breath through stiffened lips, saw the rise and fall of his barrel chest, the stubby fingers splayed on the desk top, twitching and drumming as if yearning to do violence.

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.