“I never talked to any reporter.”

“Then someone talked for you. They didn’t quote you. So maybe they got the story from Moti Bernstein.”

“We’re here on vacation, huh?”

“Must be true,” Rina said. “I read it in the papers.”

Decker frowned. “Maybe the Yaloms consider me a hero. Or maybe they’ll blame me for the bomb in the yeshiva, that my investigation put their grandson at risk. If I were you, I’d call them up acting as a concerned citizen. They like you. You speak their language. You’re not an outsider like I am.”

“And if they don’t tell me anything?”

“Then do legwork. Check out the hospitals in Jerusalem.”

“Just go in real casual and ask patient information for Gil Yalom?”

“That sounds simple, but sometimes simple works.”

After an hour’s worth of searching, Rina was certain that Gil wasn’t at Bikur Cholim, Hadassah, or Shaarey Zedek. Which meant he was at one of the smaller Jerusalem hospitals if he hadn’t been transferred out of the city. She checked her map against her list, and started with the closest address-in Emeq Refa’im just off the railroad tracks. Rina remembered the area as residential. Any hospital there was probably small, just a step up from a neighborhood clinic.

She started the Subaru’s engine and took off, wearing the car’s shot-out window like a battle scar. She followed the road through a short business district. At a major intersection filled with stoplights, she turned left and continued, riding on a half-paved, two-lane road lined with apartment houses. When she got to the railroad tracks, the road ended. On her right stood a multistoried stone and glass building completely at odds with its surroundings. She parked the car, got out, and went inside.

The lobby was spacious and flooded with light, the white marble floors gleaming in the sun’s rays. At the door, a guard checked Rina’s purse. She stepped inside, spotted an information booth, then hesitated. Behind the desk was a guard as well as a young woman in a white uniform. She had a pixie face surrounded by short black hair. Two sets of eyes looked at Rina, then peered with suspicion.

Hospital personnel weren’t usually leery. The bombing had scared everyone to heightened awareness.

The best approach?

Rina lowered her eyes and put a slump in her walk. She approached the pixie woman whose name tag said Orly. Rina spoke in Hebrew. “My friend had a terrible miscarriage. I’m here to visit her.”

Orly spoke with efficiency. “The name?”

“Sarah Yardin,” Rina said. “Yardin spelled like the winery.”

Orly consulted her computer. “There is no Yardin here.”

Rina scratched the scarf covering her hair. “Are you sure-”

“Of course I’m sure.”

“Can you check again?”

Orly said, “G’veret, I don’t need to check again. There is no Yardin in the hospital.”

“Maybe they accidentally listed her under Sarah.”

Orly sighed. “There is no one here listed under Sarah.”

“Can you just check one more-”

“G’veret-”

“She is my good friend. She was so excited about the baby. The miscarriage was just terrible. I need to see her.”

The guard rolled his eyes.

Rina pressed on. “Once more? Please?”

Orly punched the name back into the computer. “There is no Yardin here.” She turned the terminal around-a list of names beginning with the Hebrew letter yod. “You can see for yourself.”

No Yardin, but a Yalom…room 346. Rina looked upset. “How can that be?”

“I don’t know, g’veret.”

“Thank you,” Rina said, meekly.

“What’s to thank me? I didn’t do anything.”

Rina went back to the car, took off her scarf, and unpinned her hair. Layers of black satin fell down her back. To change her look even further, she untucked her blouse and hiked up her skirt. The final touch was the shades-Peter’s aviator glasses. They were too big for her face, but it gave her the look she wanted.

She studied her reflection in the window of her car-a righteous woman posing as a floozy. She wondered if Tamar felt that way when she was picked up by her father-in-law, Judah.

Coming back into the hospital lobby, she presented her purse for a second time to the same guard. First time out, he didn’t notice her. This time, he did. As he rifled through her purse, his eyes were on her legs.

No wonder terrorists used women.

She went inside the hospital and studied Orly and her henchman from a distance. The woman was good, doing paperwork but constantly scanning the lobby. Rina waited. A young man with flowers came up to Orly’s desk. At the same time, the guard had strolled over to the bathroom.

An opportunity not to be lost! Rina took a deep breath and walked briskly over to the elevators. She was fast, but not fast enough.

Orly shouted at her to come over.

Rina turned around and lowered her shades slightly. She spoke in rapid English. “Areyoutalkin’tome?”

Orly seemed perplexed. She attempted to speak English. “You get badge first.”

“I’ve already got my badge,” Rina fired out in a high voice. “I was here yesterday and I still have it in my purse.” She pulled out a piece of paper, held it up for a split second, and pushed the elevator button. “I didn’t want to wear it ’cause it punches holes in the clothes, you know. I hate that. But if you really want me to wear it, I can do it. Like if it’s really important to you.”

The young man tapped his foot impatiently. Orly asked him if he understood her. The young man shook his head. The elevator dinged. Rina held the door and stepped in. “See ya.”

The doors closed and that was that. Once inside, Rina lowered her skirt, folded her hair into a bun. She tucked in her blouse and got out on the third floor. Immediately, she saw the guard down the hallway, posted in front of a room.

With feigned confidence, she went up to him, opting to keep the shades because it made her look official.

“Police,” Rina said, in Hebrew. “I need to speak to the boy-Gil Yalom.”

“ID.”

Now what? Rina fished through her purse. Hoping the guard couldn’t read English, she brought out her rental-car contract. “My official papers to interview him.”

The guard said, “This is in English.”

Rina appeared exasperated. “Of course they’re in English. I’m the liaison between the American and Israeli police departments. Bomb division. Northwest-Tel Aviv. Sgan Nitzav Kreisman’s office. You heard what happened this morning at the Bursa, didn’t you?”

The guard’s cheeks took a blush.

“Ach!” Rina said. “You haven’t heard. No wonder you don’t know what’s going on.” She snatched the rental-car contract out of his hands. “These papers allow me to interview Gil Yalom and search his car. He has a Subaru. See here?” Rina showed him the contract. “Subaru. This is the model number and the license plates. Can’t go around searching cars without knowing which cars to search.”

She shoved the contract back in her purse and snapped it shut. “I’m pressed for time. Shalom.”

The guard let her pass.

She stepped inside the room. Her heart sank. Another guard posted on the inside. He sat up when he saw Rina, started coming toward her, blocking her view of Gil Yalom as well as Moshe and Tziril Yalom, who were keeping vigil by their grandson’s bedside.

“I have papers.” Once again, Rina took out the contract. The guard grabbed them and read.

“Nice,” the guard said in accented English. “You rent a Subaru.” He grabbed her arm. “You’re under arrest.”

Tziril Yalom stood and came to her defense. “Are you crazy? Let her go. I know her. She is a very nice young lady.”

The guard continued to hold Rina. “My strict orders were not to let anyone in here other than relatives. Orders are orders-”

“Orders are orders? So this is the Third Reich?” Tziril came up to him and whacked him on the shoulder. “I tell you I know this young woman. She came here to help. Let her go!”