I nodded.
"So Miryam and I, we have a sort of deaclass="underline" I keep my eye on her; she keeps her eye on me. Just to be extra safe. But we aren't friends. Come to think of it, I hardly know anything about her."
She picked up her empty glass, set it down, and looked for Akiva, who was still pouring drinks for other people who wanted to blur their minds.
"And you haven't seen her for a month," I said, drawing her back to the conversation.
"Just about. But she started coming much less frequently than she used to even sooner. Three weeks or so before I last saw her."
"Right after her arrest," I ventured a guess.
Lydia eyed me. "You know about that?"
"Yes."
"You're right, you know. I haven't thought about it till now, but it was about that time."
"About what time?" Akiva said, returning from taking care of his other patron.
"Good that you're back, Akiva," Lydia said, handing him her shot glass. "Pour me another."
He got the bottle and repeated his question. "About what time?"
"The time that Miryam was arrested," Lydia said. She poured the liquid down her throat and pointed at her glass. Akiva frowned at her, but filled it.
"I remember that night," Akiva said. "It shouldn't have happened. I have good relations with the police." He looked sheepish for an instant, and I realized that what he meant was he paid someone at the police not to bother any of the girls. "It made me very angry to see one of them just grab poor Miryam and drag her out with him," he continued, "Very humiliating. And in handcuffs, too."
"He handcuffed her?" I said, frowning. "Was she resisting arrest?"
"Of course not." Lydia snorted. "She knew very well how to handle a grabby policeman. They want one of two things: cash or…" She made a graphic motion in the air with her hand. "You give it to them and they go away."
"Then why the handcuffs?"
She shrugged, and Akiva said, "I remember asking the policeman about it, and he told me to shut up, that he was just doing his job. I got the sense that he wasn't getting much pleasure out of the whole thing either."
Lydia said, "He probably did get some pleasure out of it soon after, the pig. That's what they are, the lot of them. Filthy pigs." She emptied her glass and slid it to Akiva.
He didn't pick it up, giving her a worried look. "Perhaps you've had enough to drink, Lydia."
"Not even close. I'm Russian, remember. I can drink the entire bottle without showing it."
She was showing it already. Her pronunciation had turned slurry, and her cheeks were ruddy under the makeup. With obvious reluctance, Akiva refilled Lydia's glass. She drained it in one swallow.
"Was there anything else that was strange about the night Miryam was arrested?" I asked.
Akiva thought it over. "No. Nothing much. He just led her out, and she went quietly with him."
"But she didn't come back the next day," Lydia muttered. "That was strange. Usually, you slip the policeman a little something or have him slip you a little something, and you're back here in an hour or the next night at the latest. Miryam didn't come back for more than a week."
"A week, you sure about that?" I asked, remembering from the police report that Maryam had been locked up for three days after that arrest.
"A week, or maybe even ten days," she said. "I remember thinking about it, wondering."
Akiva nodded. "She's right. I remember thinking the same thing."
"Did you try to find her?"
"Didn't know where to look. Like I said, we aren't friends. I don't know where she lives, and she doesn't know where I live, either. Miryam is private, doesn't talk much. I can't even tell you where she grew up."
That was because she didn't want you to know she was an Arab, I thought. That might have been problematic for a number of reasons. One, some of her potential clients might not have wanted to buy her services. Two, her family might have been searching for her, and being found might have cost her her life, which, if Talmon was right and Ahmed Jamalka was wrong, was precisely what had happened.
For a second the thought of telling Lydia and Akiva that Maryam was dead flashed across my mind. I wouldn't have minded admitting to the lie of not telling them straight away. But if I told, the news would spread fast. The police would know I was looking for her, and so might the killer.
"But she did come back after a week to ten days?" I asked.
"Yes," Lydia said. She paused and her eyebrows knitted together. "But she wasn't the same. I couldn't tell you how or why, but she seemed…distant, somehow. Less lively. And she didn't take any more clients."
"No one?"
She shook her head. "No one at all."
"She didn't say anything about her mood? About the time she was away?"
Lydia frowned. "I'm sure I asked her about it, where she was and all, but she shrugged off the question. It wasn't the first time she did that. As I said, she didn't talk a lot about herself."
"Any regular clients?"
"We all have repeats."
"No one strange? Aggressive?"
"No. No one like that," Lydia said. "We all get the shy ones, the lonely ones, those that can't find a woman for themselves. And sometimes we get those with special tastes. But I don't remember anyone aggressive or frightening who was interested specifically in Miryam."
"No one who seemed upset if she wasn't available?"
They both shook their heads. Lydia said, "If there was anyone who was bothering her, she didn't say anything."
I nodded, more to myself than to them. I was getting that dead-end feeling you got when the questions ran out and you looked around for some way to proceed and found yourself surrounded by walls.
Then Akiva said to Lydia, "You know who might know something…"
"Who?"
"Sima."
"Oh, her." Lydia rolled her eyes.
Akiva gave a half smile. "Jealousy doesn't become you, my dear."
"I am not jealous of Sima," Lydia said. But I could tell she was lying by the sharpness of her tone and the way she averted her eyes from Akiva's. She rose abruptly, saying that she needed to get back to her work, and flounced to the table where the man she'd been dancing with was waiting.
"Sima?" I asked.
"Sima Vaaknin."
"Lydia doesn't like her very much," I said.
"Sima is not usual."
"Another working girl?"
"Yes," Akiva said, and after a beat added, "But not the usual sort."
I looked toward the dance floor. There were only half a dozen couples still at it. The rest had gone back to their tables or left in search of some illicit privacy.
"Is she here?"
"Oh, no. Sima doesn't operate from here," Akiva said. "I haven't seen her in months."
"And what's her connection with Miryam?"
"She was the one who brought her here for the first time. Who introduced me to her."
A madam of sorts, I figured, but didn't say it out loud. There was something in Akiva's tone that made me think he would not appreciate a bad word or insinuation regarding Sima Vaaknin.
"How can I reach her?"
"I can give her a call on your behalf, but I can't guarantee she'll agree to speak with you. Sima is unpredictable."
He brought a phone with a long cord from underneath the bar and lifted the headset.
"You're calling her now?" I said, surprised. It was after ten o'clock.
"She won't be asleep," Akiva said.
He dialed the number but hung up after a moment. "No answer. I'll try again in fifteen minutes."
I asked, "How is it that Sima Vaaknin has a telephone at home?"
Akiva smiled. "Sima knows people."
I ordered another beer, and he went to hand out bills to some of the patrons who were calling it a night. I sipped my beer slowly, letting what I had learned from Lydia and Akiva settle in my mind. I hadn't learned much, but often information needed to sit for a while in my mind until it ripened into a clue I could use, a thread I could pull to unravel a mystery.