“What do you mean?” asked Morgan, the apprehension rising in his voice.
“It was you who betrayed us! You warned them what we were planning!”
“Planning? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“Klein’s niece! You knew we were planning to kidnap her!”
“What!”
“You warned them.”
“Warned who?”
“The police! Or some one!”
“I didn’t! I swear!”
The fear in his voice was palpable. But that meant nothing to HaTzadik.
“You were the only one who knew! The only one who could have told them.”
“I didn’t know. And I can’t believe you would do such a thing. But I… I…”
“Ata medaber Ivrit? Yiddish?”
“I… I don’t understand”
Shalom Tikva was testing him to see if he understood either Hebrew or Yiddish. Because they hadn’t actually told him the plan. So the only way that Morgan could have told anyone was if he had overheard them talking and understood.
But then something else occurred to HaTzadik. Who would Morgan have warned? If he had told Daniel Klein or his family, they would have avoided the area altogether and not let it come to the brink. And if he had told the police they would have relocated them and put them under police protection. They would not have used the little girl as bait. And if they had then the place would have been swarming with police and Baruch would not have been able to get away as he did.
No, this plot was foiled by just one man, on a motorbike. And the last one had been stopped in exactly the same way. And this man on the motorbike had been highly proficient with a gun.
Could it be some one from Israel perhaps? A former soldier or some one from Israeli intelligence? If so they were doing pretty well, considering that they were operating in foreign territory. But then again that’s what intelligence people were trained to do. But therein lie the problem for Shomrei Ha’ir. For neither Baruch, nor any other member of their sect, was trained to operate in England.
Now they did have members in London, in the Stamford Hill area to which Baruch had quickly moved, in order to avoid Golders Green where his cover might have been blown. But they were as unworldly and closeted as Baruch. They would hardly be in a position to do anything remotely resembling a covert operation — especially when their beards and black frock coats made them stand out like a sore thumb. No what they needed was some one who could blend in — some one who had already shown himself to be a man of cunning and duplicity.
Shalom Tikva looked at Sam Morgan.
“I want you to go back to England and join Baruch.”
“Why?”
The fear on Morgan’s face was obvious. He and Baruch Tikva had never really liked each other.
“I want you to work together.”
Chapter 38
Before Sarit had rushed off after the phone call, she had told Daniel how to log on to her eMail. After she left, he had downloaded the witness statements and pathologist’s report on Costa that Dovi had retrieved and forwarded. Daniel had printed them out and was now reading the post-mortem report, very carefully. As he had expected, and as the police had told him, the cause of death was a series of violent blows to the head, not the fire or even smoke inhalation.
But the state of the body — the burns, etc — might give some indications about the fire and possibly about how long he had been dead. Unfortunately, the report made it clear that the fire actually made it very hard to establish the time of death. The report concluded that Costa could have been killed just before the fire, but could just as easily have been killed hours, days or even weeks before.
Daniel’s mind was working along the lines of a theory that Costa may have been killed immediately after sending the picture — hence Daniel’s call going straight to voicemail. As he read on he came across a short paragraph that said that one of Costa’s hands was curled up and traces of fibres were found underneath his fingernails. That could indicate a struggle. But were the fibres from clothes (which might indicate what the killer was wearing) or flesh, which could give the police an exact DNA profile of the killer?
Daniel flipped on ahead, seeking out the page with the lab analysis of the fibres. And it was at that point that he got quite a shock. Because what it said was that the fibres were cowskin. But before he could process the information, his attention was caught by something else.
The plasma TV was on in the background and something on the wide screen caught his attention. He looked up to see the face of his sister, Julia. And she seemed to be agitated. He grabbed the remote and turned up the sound. But what he heard was not her voice but a TV reporter’s voiceover.
“It is not clear if this was a crude murder attempt or an equally inept abduction. What is clear is that but for the prompt thinking of a good Samaritan on a motorbike, something very unpleasant could have happened to a young mother and her children.”
Daniel was unable to contain himself. He wasn’t prepared to risk using the house phone, but he grabbed the mobile that Sarit had left for him to be used “in emergencies only,” keyed in 141 to withhold the called ID and then called his sister.
“Hallo?”
It was a nervous voice, but it was Julia.
“Julie, it’s Daniel.”
“Daniel!”
“Are you able to talk?”
“Yes. But quickly. They’re in the other room. Checking out the security.”
“Who?”
“The police.”
“I just wanted to know if you’re all right.”
“I’m fine… just about. Who was that man?”
“Who?”
“The man who tried to kill us… and grab Romy.”
“I don’t know. But I think he’s the same man who killed Martin Costa.”
“If it hadn’t been for that guy on the motorbike — ”
“It wasn’t a guy.”
“What?”
It was a blushing moment. Daniel remembered that well-worn phrase of Hagrid from the Harry Potter books: I should not ‘ave said that!
Except that he had. And it was too late to take it back.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing.”
“Daniel, do you know something about it?”
He had to think quickly
“I don’t know exactly what’s going on, but I’m getting help from… the Israelis.”
He decided not to use the word Mossad.
“As long as you’re — sorry, gotta go.”
She ended the call. Daniel realized what had happened. She had spoken too loud when he had let the cat out of the bag about the “guy” on the motorbike and caught the attention of the cops in the other room.
The question was, would they treat her with kid gloves or take the phone off her and pressure her for answers?
Chapter 39
They pitied him, but they didn’t try to comfort him. Instead they merely ignored him, or at least pretended to.
Baruch Tikva was standing in the front row of the small shul — synagogue — in Stamford Hill. The synagogue was little more than a large room and it belonged to Shomrei Ha’ir. But the locals did not know this man. All that they knew of him was what they could see and hear. That he was a member of their sect — they could tell that from his attire — and that he was tormented by sadness and feelings of guilt.
This was not a formal prayer time, and there were only three others in the synagogue, the shamas — an official who assisted in the day-to-day matters of the synagogue — and two others who were there to make arrangements for other members their families.
He stood before the Ark of the Covenant — Aron Hakodesh (literally the “Holy Cupboard”) with tears in his eyes, his voice choking on his words, as he addressed Hashem in Yiddish, confessing to his failure to do the word of the Holy One Blessed Be He. As the words flowed through his constricted throat and stumbled out of his mouth in a tangle of guttural Germanic sounds, he expressed his guilt at letting down not only his father but Shamayim — Heaven — itself.