“She said her folks were educated, brilliant. More posturing.”
“She may be smart but she's not too educated, herself. Lancaster High, less than a year of junior college, then she worked at Kmart before getting the job at PlasmoDerm. And listen to this: When she was in JC, she signed up as a police scout with the Lancaster sheriffs. She wanted to join the force but was too small.”
“Anything weird on her academic record?”
“No. She spent half a year, dropped out.”
“Underachiever. It fits our profile,” I said. “So does her being a police wanna-be. I'd never have thought of a woman in those terms.”
“A woman with pals, Alex. No way would she have been physically able to pull off any of the murders by herself.”
“Maybe the pals who're staying at her house.”
“Yeah… and maybe pals who fund the store.”
“The Loomis Foundation?”
“Wouldn't that be nice.”
“What if, after the flap about Sanger's article, Meta shifted its emphasis to L.A.?” I said. “Sanger could be the group's bagman and he's flying out tomorrow to deliver cash.”
“Mr. Mossad's working on untangling their accounting, we'll see what he comes up with.”
“Heard from him on the trade school, yet?”
“Nope.” He blew smoke rings out the window. The ice-cream man drove away; lots of pint-sized satisfied customers. So cute… everybody starts off cute…
I said, “I skimmed as many books as I could but found nothing on DVLL. But some of them had no index and I couldn't cover everything in detail. If I stay friendly with Zena after the party, I'll have an excuse to get back to the store.”
He flicked ashes and rubbed his face. “You've done good work, Alex, but there's a bad smell to this. You're sure you want to stick with it?”
“If it means getting a closer look at Meta, I do. My main concern is how to avoid Zena when she decides she does want to take me into the garage and yank down my pants.”
“Tell her you've got herpes.”
“It's a little late for that and besides, this woman would check. I'll figure out something.”
“Well, don't do anything you'll regret. Even LAPD has its standards.”
I thought of Nolan Dahl's time-outs with teenage hookers. “How close were you following me?”
“I was at the store before you got there, parked two blocks up Apollo, used some Zeiss binocs Sharavi gave me and had a clear view of you going in and coming out with her. She looks a lot different than the picture Sharavi gave me- the hair- but her size was the tip-off. Her body language was affectionate, so I figured it was going well. When you left for the restaurant, I was four cars behind you. While you ate French food, I had a bad burrito in the car.”
“Such sacrifice.”
“Yeah, workmen's comp time. When you left the restaurant, I followed you but when you turned up Lyric, I held back because it's a quiet road and I didn't want to be conspicuous.”
“Daniel supply the car?”
He nodded. “One of the things that smells bad, Alex, is the layout. In terms of maintaining a close watch. Too damn isolated, too damn quiet, and her house is at the top, no way to get above it.”
“So you did drive up there.”
“I waited a few minutes, drove to where Rondo Vista splits off from Lyric and stayed on Lyric, where I parked about a hundred feet down. Then I went on foot. I had on a uniform- gas company- and a stick-on gas-company sign for the car door. I was carrying one of those little meter gizmos, no reason for anyone to give me a second look. But there's a limit to that kind of thing, Alex. Gas guys don't show up often. I ambled from house to house, managed to catch you getting back in the Karmann Ghia.”
“Never spotted you.”
“I was two houses down, peeking around some plants. Zena's body language was even better- big-time hots, so I figured you weren't in any immediate danger, but I don't like it.”
“It's just a party,” I said. “The elite and me. The biggest threat will be her hormones.”
49
Friday night; Daniel hated working on Sabbath.
Back in Israel, before joining the police force, he'd consulted his father, a learned man, about the issue. Abba Yehesqel had sought the counsel of Rav Yitzhak, a ninety-year-old Yemenite hakham, and received a quick answer.
The law was clear: Saving a life took precedence over shabbat. As with military duty, when police work involved a life-or-death situation, not only was Daniel permitted to work, he was obligated.
Over the years, he'd used the ruling sparingly, working extra hours on weekdays in order to free up Friday night and Saturday. Not hesitating, of course, to go full-force on things like the Butcher, rapists, suicide bombers. As he climbed the ranks and was given more administrative duties in lieu of streetwork, it became easier. The only advantage of becoming a pencil pusher.
Now, here he was, at the airport, sitting at the wheel of a yellow cab at the pickup-zone of the American Airlines terminal.
Back in Jerusalem, he'd be praying in the tiny, ancient Yemenite synagogue near the Old City. Even if he hadn't been on the job, he'd have avoided group worship here, needing to maintain the lowest of profiles, not wanting to have to reject some well-meaning shul-goer who, learning he was an Israeli “software technician” consulting to some anonymous company out in the Valley, just had to have him over for shabbat.
Early this morning, he'd called Laura and the kids, telling them he'd be back as soon as possible but not knowing what that really meant.
His eldest, eighteen-year-old Shoshana, was home for the weekend, furloughed from national-service assignment up in Kiryat Shemona. Assigned to a mental-health clinic where she tried to comfort small children terrorized by Hezbollah bombs from Lebanon.
“I've been thinking, Abba. Maybe I'll study psychology in university.”
“You're well-suited for it, motek.”
“The kids are so cute, Abba. I'm finding out that I like helping people.”
“You always had a talent for it.”
They talked a bit more, then she told him she loved him and missed him and went to get the boys. As he waited, he fantasized introducing her to Delaware someday, getting her some career guidance from the psychologist. Daddy arranging things for her, with his contacts. Delaware would be happy to help… The more he worked with the guy, the more he liked him, that intense drive and focus-
“Abba!” Mikey's twelve-and-a-half-year-old voice, still unchanged, burst from the receiver. Six months away from bar mitzvah, a big party to be arranged, Laura's parents wanted the Laromme Hotel. Then Benny's bar mitzvah, a year after that. A busy period coming up for the Sharavis, something to look forward to.
“Hey, Mike. How's the studying going?”
“It's okay.” Suddenly downcast. Not the student his sister was, the boy would have preferred to be playing soccer all day, and Daniel felt bad for bringing it up. But the bar mitzvah meant memorizing a Torah portion to be read in synagogue. Too bad his father wouldn't be there to see it…
“I'm sure you're doing great, Mike.”
“I don't know, Abba, just my luck to get the longest portion in the entire chumash.”
“Not the longest, he-man, but definitely long. Maybe God gave you that birthdate because he knew you could handle it.”
“I doubt it. I've got a brain made out of marble.”
“Your brain is fantastic, Mikey. So's your heart- and your muscles. How's soccer?”
“Great! We won!” The boy's tone lifted and they stayed on sports til it was Benny's turn. The little one, once wild as an Old City cat, was now studious like Shoshi. Math was his thing. A gentle voice.