The Bar Mitzvah Murder Read online

  “I’m apolitical. I have no ax to grind. I have the right background—investigative—and I’m a lawyer. I’ve done a ton of criminal investigations and I know how to keep my mouth shut. I’m a natural for this.”

  “And you have a sparkling record that anyone on the job would envy.”

  He gave me a kiss. “Yeah, that, too.”

  “I notice you haven’t told me much about the project.”

  “When I know what I can say, I’ll tell you. For the time being, let’s just say I’ll have plenty of work to do and a couple of weekends free when we can tour the country.”

  “Oh, Jack, it sounds just wonderful.”

  “One more thing. I called Mom this afternoon and told her. You know, the folks have wanted to visit the Holy Land for as long as I can remember. They’re thinking of coming the same two weeks we’re there and Mom offered to keep Eddie in their hotel room, so you’ll be pretty free.”

  “Oh, my.” I shook my head. “It’s all too much. What are the dates?”

  “They’re not fixed yet. As soon as they know, I’ll know.”

  “And to think I woke up this morning and thought it was just another day.”

  I must have spent the next two days calling everyone I knew to tell them our good news. Mel was as ecstatic as I and said she hoped our trips would overlap, but I had no dates to give her. The second person I called was Sister Joseph, my dearest friend and the General Superior of St. Stephen’s Convent, where I spent fifteen years of my life, many of them as a nun. It turned out she had a couple of friends who were in Israel studying or working and she promised to get their addresses and phone numbers in case I had time to talk to them.

  It was a most propitious time to be traveling to Israel. Peace reigned in the region, tourists went back and forth with ease. Quite a while later, although I could not know it at the time, the intifada would start and we would not have considered such a trip. But at that moment in our lives and in the life of Israel, it was the perfect time to visit.

  I could feel the excitement build. I lay awake the first night after Jack told me, just thinking of how lucky we were. I started to check the weather in Jerusalem each morning in the New York Times, finding that it was a good deal milder than here in New York State. Mel told me the people tended toward casual dress and recommended I take sandals and sneakers for everyday and maybe one pair of low heels for going out to dinner. Her parents have visited Israel several times and I value her mother’s judgment on things like this, especially where clothes are concerned. I’m still not a fashion plate and despair of ever being one and I’m convinced I would never have bought myself a wedding gown without Mrs. Margulies’s expert assistance.

  Although it felt like weeks as the pressure built, it was only a few days till Jack came home with dates and information on where we were going to stay. He had let his parents know immediately so that they could book a flight. Ours was being handled by NYPD. We would leave on a Saturday in November, arriving on Sunday, and stay for two workweeks, with an option to spend an extra few days at the end on vacation.

  I called Mel, whose dates I couldn’t remember, and found that her cousin’s Bar Mitzvah was scheduled for the day before our arrival. We would definitely share a week or more in Jerusalem.

  The Grosses were staying in a large modern hotel in the central part of the city, while we were staying in an old hotel of some note, the American Colony Hotel. It was situated not far from the American consulate in its own little compound, Jack said, and it was a short drive from the main police station, where he would be working daily. NYPD was renting a car for us. I think my heart nearly stopped beating when I heard that. It would be ours evenings and weekends for personal use.

  Although it was still a month or more till our departure, I became very busy. We applied for passports right away, including one for Eddie, who was joyous at the prospect of flying in a plane and seeing Grandma and Grandpa. I had to arrange for a substitute to take over my classes. Happily, I teach one long morning a week and, having done it before, I had lesson plans and assignments already made. I found a remarkable teacher in the English department who said he would really enjoy doing it, and that made me feel better about leaving my students.

  Eddie’s school was unhappy that he would miss two weeks of work, but they agreed it would be a good experience for him and we left it at that. When I was sure everything was set, I went out and bought a suitcase for Eddie of his very own, so he could stay with his grandparents without difficulty. He was so pleased to own his own suitcase, I was afraid he would take it to school.

  Jack was somewhat reluctant to talk much about the project he would be involved in, but he told me a little. Apparently, there were fugitives hiding out in Israel whom we, the United States, wanted back for prosecution and whom the Israelis would be happy to get rid of. They were primarily Russian Jews who held joint nationality status, were part of the “Russian Mafia,” and had enough money to buy substantial legal representation. Jack said his experience as a detective sergeant in Brooklyn had provided graphic evidence that these people were dangerous, ruthless, and smart. The interests of both the U.S. and Israeli law enforcement agencies would be served by sharing closely held information on these fugitives’ activities. It surprised me that in such a small country this could be a problem, but apparently it was. Now, in the days before we left, Jack was researching these people in files in New York. The Israelis, he said, also had files with additional information that he would see when he got there.

  The time finally passed and our suitcases got packed. The Grosses left two days before we did on a plane with about forty other people, including the Bar Mitzvah man himself. They would arrive a couple of days before the event and have time to acclimate themselves to the difference in time, about seven hours, before the weekend of festivities.

  We ordered a limo to take us to JFK, and Eddie’s eyes opened wide when it came. We drive fairly modest cars and this was bigger than anything he’d ever been in. At the airport, we checked our luggage, showed our passports, and passed easily through the security checkpoint after Jack had a ten-minute conversation with a short dark-haired man who seemed to be waiting for us. We met up with my in-laws and eventually boarded the plane. My heart was pounding. This was really happening; we were on our way to the Holy Land.

  2

  The plane came in over the Mediterranean Sea. At one moment, the blue water ended and land began. We were fairly low and could see tall buildings and small houses. In a few minutes, we had landed.

  To say we were exhausted would not describe how we felt. It had been a long trip and I think all of us ached from sitting so long. We went to our respective hotels in separate taxis. Although it was daytime, Eddie was half-asleep and hardly knew with whom he was riding. We kissed one another good-bye and took off from the little airport.

  My impression of the drive is hazy. I remember that at some point I became aware that we were ascending a hill and I remembered from my readings that Jerusalem is built on hills. Along the way there were war vehicles that our driver said were left over from a long-ago war. The signs were in English, Hebrew, and Arabic, so I could tell when we were passing Arab villages.

  Toward the end of the drive, which lasted less than an hour, we climbed more steeply, then got on a very wide street with several lanes in each direction. We were in Jerusalem and I began to wake up. As I watched, the driver turned, then turned again into the grounds of the hotel and stopped.

  “It’s beautiful, Jack,” I said, looking at the greenery and appreciating the privacy of the location. He reached over and squeezed my hand. Then we got out.

  Our first real look at Jerusalem was that night after we had slept several hours and awakened hungry. My in-laws called and said how excited they were to be there, in a fine hotel with every modern convenience and a roll-away bed for Eddie that he thought was the best bed he’d ever slept in. They decided to have a bite in the hotel and sleep for the rest of the night, or at least unt
il their grandson awakened them.

  We had found a message from a Jerusalem policeman when we arrived and Jack had called him and promised to call back when he was awake and more clearheaded. He did that as soon as we finished our family call. I showered while they had their conversation, and when I came out of the bathroom Jack was looking at a map of the city I had brought along.

  “OK. The guy’s name is Joshua Davidson and he’ll be here in half an hour to give us a nighttime tour of the city.”

  “How wonderful. I hope we can get a bite at some point.”

  “I told him we were starving and he promised to join us for something to eat before our tour.”

  “I’ll be dressed in a flash.”

  Officer Davidson, a rather handsome dark-haired young man who arrived in casual clothes, was driving a small car whose license plate had white numbers on red, identifying it as a police vehicle. Happily, it had four doors. Jack and I were waiting in the lobby of our beautiful hotel, having taken a quick look around. The hotel was built around a central open area that was a restaurant, and although I hadn’t had my dinner yet, I was already looking forward to having breakfast there tomorrow.

  “Good evening,” the officer said in a deep voice as we met him at the door. “Mrs. Brooks, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Lieutenant Brooks, a pleasure.”

  “Please call me Chris,” I said.

  He smiled but said nothing, and it struck me he might not feel comfortable calling me by my first name, as there was a difference in rank between him and Jack.

  “Let me take you to dinner and then I’ll show you the city.” He opened the doors on the passenger side and Jack gave me the option of sitting in the front.

  In a minute, we were on the road. Our guide and driver kept up a steady stream of narrative, which meant little to me as I had no idea where we were or how it related to our hotel or the rest of the city, but I listened attentively.

  “Would you like a light meal or are you very hungry?” he asked.

  “I’m hungry,” Jack said from behind me.

  “Good; so am I. Now, if you look over to the left”—and he was off again.

  “Looks to me like you have no skyscrapers here,” Jack said at a pause, “no steel-and-glass buildings.”

  “You’re very observant, Lieutenant. All the buildings in this city are made of Jerusalem stone.”

  “That’s amazing,” I said. “All the same stone?”

  “And all of it from the Jerusalem area. Of course the height and style of the buildings can vary, so they don’t all look the same. Tomorrow you’ll be able to see the color. Here’s our restaurant.” He made a sudden U-turn and parked his car.

  We got out and went inside. Officer Davidson exchanged a few words in Hebrew with an older man whom I took to be the owner, and we were taken to a table at the far wall. The restaurant was half empty and it had the look of a family place, making me feel quite comfortable. Menus were in Hebrew on the right side and English on the left. While I looked at my menu, I listened for the sound of English from people at other tables but heard none. Joshua made some suggestions and I gave them some thought.

  “Chris isn’t a very adventurous eater,” Jack said. “I’ll try anything, but Chris takes things kind of slow.”

  I ordered fish, but Jack asked Joshua what he would recommend and then ordered a lamb dish. But first a group of small dishes, each with a different food on it, came to the table.

  “I thought you might like an assortment of Middle Eastern foods,” Joshua said. “Here is some couscous; this is hummus,” and he went on through the dishes, losing me pretty quickly.

  Jack was delighted. He took a piece of pita and began sampling everything. I waited, then decided to plunge in myself.

  “You gotta try this,” Jack said.

  It was what Joshua had called hummus with an unpronounceable first sound. Gingerly I put some on a corner of the thin bread and tasted it. In a moment, I found myself smiling. “It’s delicious,” I said. “What is it?”

  “Chickpeas and garlic and some olive oil. I promise it can’t hurt you. And your husband seems to like it.”

  “Jack,” I said, putting another small bit on the bread, “don’t leave this country without getting the recipe.”

  The meal was wonderful and the tour afterward even better. We were driven by the Knesset, the Israeli Parliament, and up to the Israel Museum and the university, a high point where we got out of the car and looked out over the desert and the Dead Sea, although we couldn’t see much of it in the dark. We were constantly driving up and down hills and Joshua reminded us that Jerusalem was built on hills. We drove by Yad Vashem, the memorial to the many people murdered during the Second World War, past the King David Hotel to the gates of the Old City, which I hoped to visit, and to the Mount of Olives, where Jesus looked down on the city. We got out and stood near a little church above the Garden of Gethsemane to do our viewing.

  After much sightseeing, Joshua drove us to yet another building and stopped. “This is the national police headquarters, Lieutenant,” he said, “where you will begin work at eight tomorrow morning. I will now show you how to drive from here to your hotel.” With that, he turned around and started down the wide road nearby, pointing out landmarks in the dark. “And here,” he said finally, “you turn left and”—the car moved across several lanes of thin traffic into what I recognized as the compound of the American Colony Hotel—“here you are where we started from. It’s a very easy drive.”

  “Looks good,” Jack said from the backseat. “I think I can do that.”

  “Your car will be delivered to the hotel at seven-thirty. I hope that will be all right. As you can see, it’s a short drive and fairly straightforward.”

  “Absolutely. Chris, we can drive there together and you can have the car for yourself.”

  I felt my hands trembling. This city was not the grid that New York is. Without a compass, I would have no idea whether I was going north or south. “We’ll talk about it upstairs,” I said.

  Joshua had driven into the unloading area in front of the hotel. “There’s a very nice shop just across the way, Mrs. Brooks. You will have no difficulty spending money there, but don’t accept the first price you’re given. Bargain a little.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “It’s accepted practice. Think nothing of it. And a word of caution: if you take a taxi, make sure the driver puts the meter on.”

  I swallowed and smiled. “Thank you for a wonderful evening.”

  We stopped at the front desk and Jack asked for a wake-up call at six-thirty the next morning. I was happy we would be getting up early. I’ve always been an early riser and I wanted to pack as much as possible into the two weeks we were to be here.

  “Mr. Brooks,” the young man behind the counter said, “you had a caller a little while ago, not long after you went out.”

  “A phone call?”

  “No, sir. A woman came and left you a message. One moment.” He went into a file and pulled out an envelope. On the front was written: “John Brooks.”

  “Thanks,” Jack said. He came over to me and tore the envelope open. “Let’s see. Looks like it’s for you.”

  “For me?” I took it and looked at the sheet of paper inside. “It’s from Mel. Why would she come over instead of calling?” I began to read what looked like a hurriedly written message. “There’s a problem. Let’s go up and I’ll call her. I’ve got her number and her room number.”

  Upstairs, I called her hotel, looking at my watch uncertainly. She had dropped this off a couple of hours ago and it was getting late. They put me through and I heard her phone ring once.

  “Hello?” It was Mel’s voice, but she sounded breathless.

  “Mel, it’s Chris. I’m sorry we missed you. We went out for dinner and a—”

  “Chris, listen to me. Something’s happened.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. We’re all fine. It’s Gabe, Hal’s cousin.”
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  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. No one will tell us anything. I don’t know if he’s dead or alive. The only thing I’m sure of is that he’s missing.”

  3

  “Calm down; calm down. Give me the phone.” Jack had been pulling off his shoes as I repeated what I had just heard. He took the phone from me and started asking Mel questions, most of them starting with “wh.” “Look,” he said finally. “I know one cop in this city—he just took us out to dinner. I’ll call him and see what he can find out. . . . Yeah. . . . Yeah. . . . OK. You bet.” He hung up. “Shit,” he said. “I don’t have Joshua’s phone number. Where’s the phone book?”

  I found it in the usual place, a drawer in the dresser, and handed it to him. He opened it and looked at me. “This is the phone book?”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s in Hebrew. How am I supposed to find this guy’s listing?”

  I looked over his shoulder. It was like a bad dream. There was no English anywhere in the book. It was useless. “Let’s go downstairs and ask them to help us.”

  “There have to be ten Joshua Davidsons in this town.”

  “Come on, Jack. Don’t be defeatist. Let’s go down. I’ll do it. I’ve still got my shoes on.” Without waiting for assent, I went down to the desk in the lobby and asked them to look up the number.

  There were only two Joshua Davidsons listed in the book, and the young man agreed to call both. As usually happens, the first one didn’t pan out, but the second one did. Joshua was just walking in the door when his wife answered the phone.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked when I told him who I was.

  “Someone we know has disappeared or been kidnapped in Jerusalem,” I said, stretching the facts in the interest of brevity. “The family has been told nothing and they’re very worried.”

  “If you give me the particulars, I can look into it for you.”

  “Hold on. I’ll have them transfer the call to my husband. I’m down in the lobby.”