The cop stared at Decker open-mouthed, his dangling cigarette falling from his lips and onto the ground. In a soft but firm voice, he said, “Who are you?”

Decker’s eyes were on Gil Yalom. “See that boy over there sitting under the olive tree?”

The cop nodded.

“I came here to look for him. His name is Gil Yalom.” Decker pointed to the scorched building. “I’m looking for his brother, Dov, as well. Rina, can you give this guy a quick rundown for me.”

Rina spoke rapidly. The cop answered her back in equally rapid Hebrew. They spoke for a few minutes. Then the cop crooked a finger in Gil’s direction. Slowly, the boy got up, his face a mask of terror.

The cop said, “We need to talk-all of us.”

Decker said, “I’m ready.”

33

In the brief car ride over to the police station at French Hill, Rina, placed in the front seat, had learned that the cop was a mefakeah-an inspector. His name was Ezra Elhiani; he was thirty-four and a former colonel in the Israeli army. His division had been tanks. Elhiani wore dark slacks and an open-necked white shirt. He smoked like a chimney, sucking his cigarettes down to the butt. The smell was so thick, it was nauseating. Unfortunately for Decker, it was also inviting.

Four years and, like a zombie, the cursed craving refused to die.

Knees to his chest, Decker was pressed into the backseat, next to Gil Yalom. He tried to make some headway, the first question being, where was his brother, Dov? But no matter how much he stressed urgency, Gil sat motionless and mute. Decker knew Gil’s behavior was a product of shock so he eased up. But his mind kept going, bursting with images.

A director couldn’t have staged the scene with more drama. The screaming fire trucks, the wailing ambulances, the racing squads of police cars, frightened boys hugging themselves, hysterical neighbors hugging each other, rabbis praying in the street, and lots of standers-by offering opinions without foundation. Then the newspeople came. Lucky for Decker he didn’t speak Hebrew. He was relieved when Elhiani motioned Rina, Gil Yalom, and him over to the police car.

It was a tiny thing-a white compact with a blue flashing light-an igloo on wheels. He could barely squeeze inside. He opted for the backseat to get to Gil. But it was Rina who got information, such as it was.

At police headquarters, Gil was taken away immediately. Decker and Rina were seated in a tiny windowless cell barely big enough to accommodate the few folding chairs it had. There was a one-way mirror on the wall.

Elhiani came in, lit up, and blew out a plume of smoke that hung in the static air.

Decker said, “We’ve got to get Gil Yalom to open up. Find out where his brother is staying. If someone tried to blow him up, someone’s going to do the same for Dov.”

Elhiani puffed his cigarette and licked his lips. “The boy is not talking to anyone right now.”

Decker reminded himself to speak slowly. “People are going to die unless we find out where his brother is hiding.”

“Your anger will not serve anything, adoni.”

Decker took a deep breath. “I’m not angry, I’m anxious. We evacuated just minutes before the building blew up.”

“Nothing blew up,” Elhiani answered evenly. “Yes, windows popped, and some sepharim burned. A pity, but the fire people put the flames out like that.” He snapped his fingers. “The building still stands and hardly a stone is cracked. Good construction.”

Decker glared at Elhiani.

“Not that you didn’t do a tovah and a mitzvah,” Elhiani said. “Maybe we give you key to the city and take your picture for newspaper.”

Decker forced himself to unclench his jaw. “I’m not interested in accolades, but I do want to find Dov Yalom. I need to talk to Gil.”

“The boy is with doctors. He is in shock and is given sleepy medicines. Your talk with him will have to wait.”

Decker was about to explode, then held back, remembering the ride over. The boy had been stunned with fright. What was the use of pounding him with questions he couldn’t process?

“I go through all your official papers,” Elhiani said. “Everything is in order. Why don’t you contact police when you first got here?”

Decker said, “I just arrived here yesterday.”

Elhiani raised his brow. “Do you always make such excitement in twenty-four hours?”

“It’s a long story.”

Elhiani sucked in smoky poison and took out a pad and a pen. “Tell me your long story, Sar-kee-ant.”

Decker did just that. Every so often Elhiani would interrupt and ask Rina to translate. After Decker had finished, the room was silent, bathed in suds of nicotine.

Elhiani leaned back in the folding chair. “Why do you think this bomb is for Yalom and not terrorist act?”

Decker ran his hand over his face. “That’s just it. It was supposed to look like a terrorist act. The only reason we know it wasn’t random is because we know the history.”

“I’m still not so sure,” Elhiani said. “Describe to me this mad bomber.”

Rina broke in. “He came into the yeshiva wearing a long beard and an overcoat. He acted like a meshulach. He even gave me a card with the name of the yeshiva he was collecting for.”

“You have the card?”

“In my purse.”

“And where is your purse?”

“You took it,” Rina said.

“Ah,” Elhiani said. “Please. Continue.”

Rina said, “I had no reason to suspect he was anything else but a shnorrer.”

“But you changed your mind?”

Rina squirmed in her seat as she thought about a soldier’s words.

They may know the motions, they don’t have the emotions.

“It was the way he kissed the mezuzah.”

Decker looked at her. “What?”

“When he walked out of the bais midrash, he didn’t kiss the mezuzah right.”

“You told me to tackle a complete and utter stranger based on the way he kissed the mezuzah?”

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Please, please.” Elhiani waved his hand. “Go on, g’veret.”

“Peter, rabbis usually touch the mezuzah with the fringes of their tzitzit, then kiss the fringes. Even if they use their fingers, they touch the mezuzah with their fingertips only. This guy covered the mezuzah with his entire hand and kissed his palm. Someone had schooled him, but not quite correctly. And even though he was wearing tzitzit, he didn’t use them. Because he didn’t know what they were for.”

She threw up her hands.

“What can I say? It’s an intangible thing. And I was right.”

Decker thankfully admitted she was.

Elhiani spoke to her in Hebrew. Rina laughed.

Decker asked, “What’d he say?”

Rina said, “The moral of the story is listen to your wife.”

“I have a problem,” Elhiani announced.

They waited.

Elhiani said, “If this is not act of terrorism, if the bombing is to kill Gil Yalom, it is a stupid way to do that. What if Gil was not in bais midrash? Then the explosion does nothing to him. And as fact, he wasn’t in the bais midrash.”

Decker said, “At any given time during the day, the bais midrash holds the majority of the boys. The man was playing the odds.”

“I don’t understand playing odds?”

Rita translated.

“Ah,” Elhiani said. “They want him dead but only ninety percent.”

Decker smiled. “Mefakeah, someone brutally murdered this boy’s parents. The boys fled in fear. I think someone was out to murder Gil. But he didn’t want to draw attention to the fact that he was out to get Gil. So he made it look like a random terrorist act. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, your English is okay.” Elhiani puffed away. “And you think your mad bomber will be out to get the other brother?”

“Him or someone else. But yes, I think Dov Yalom, wherever he is, is in danger.”

“It still doesn’t make me sense,” Elhiani said. “To use a bomb. Bomb isn’t missile. Bomb doesn’t aim and hit target. Bomb just explodes. If you are there, you die. If not, you don’t die. Why use something so unperfect? Why not choose to stab him on the street like terrorist usually do?”