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CHAPTER 26

Ariel dragged his bags through the door of his apartment, wheels rumbling on the tile, and felt his shoulders and back just relax at the thought that he was home. It actually felt a little odd to him that his little forty-square-meter apartment—which he still thought of as being about four hundred square feet—had the whole home vibe for him. Home wasn’t that house in Santa Carla anymore—not since this trip, anyway.

He dragged his bags through to the bedroom and tossed them on the bed, then immediately stripped off and took a shower. He didn’t sweat much these days, but after the workout he’d just had, he felt the need to sluice off the dirt and dust and the thought of dried sweat.

Fifteen minutes later, dressed in a black tee and a pair of faded black jeans, Ariel padded barefoot around his apartment putting things away. He and Mordechai had unloaded the bloody clothes and jackets and gloves from the California operation at Rabbi Mendel’s building to be disposed of as “contaminated” material. Ariel supposed it qualified as that. That had left his bags somewhat lighter and less full. The worn clothes had gone into a bag to be dropped off at the cleaners, his shaver and toothbrush and toiletries had gone back in the bathroom, and his laptop had just been returned to its place on his desk and plugged in to charge, with the glass knife sitting on top. He threw his empty carry-on bag inside his empty clothing bag, zipped it up and stuck it in his closet.

Ariel wandered back to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of sparkling water out of his refrigerator. It was a cheap brand. He didn’t buy the good stuff for home use. Plain carbonated water was fine. He twisted the bottle cap off and effortlessly broke the plastic strand that kept the cap linked to the ring that remained in place around the bottle’s neck, laughing a bit as he realized that that probably marked him as an unregenerate American. But he couldn’t stand having the cap scratching at the side of his face when he was drinking from the bottle.

Picking up his mobile from where he’d dumped it on the kitchen counter along with his keys when he’d come in, he thumbed through the icons until he got to his voicemail. Huh. Only six messages during the whole trip. Usually he had more than that in a day.

Three minutes later he had deleted three spam robocall messages that had made it through his filters, and listened to two short routine messages from the university about the upcoming session. The last message was for real, and it surprised him.

“Ariel, this is Yael. Listen, I know your greeting says you’re going to be out of touch for a few days. I’m leaving this kind of just because. Maybe it’s nothing, but I’m getting a weird feeling about a guy that’s been flirting with me for the last couple of nights at Shaka’s club. He’s a Russian immigrant, says his name is Gersh Davidoff. I can’t say there’s something wrong, but he doesn’t appear to like a ‘No’ answer, and he spent most of tonight staring at me from across the room after I told him to leave me alone. So since you work for somebody, I thought I’d leave this with you, just in case something happens.”

The message ended. Ariel checked the time it was left: 0045 that morning. No messages since then. His stomach tightened. He looked at his watch: 2315. He hit the return call icon and turned the speaker phone on. Three rings, four rings, five rings. “Hi, this is Yael. Can’t take your call right now. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back later.”

He thumbed the call off. His tension ratcheted up. Did Yael live with someone? Yeah, but who was it? Ab…Abigail Hershkowitz, right. Ariel called up her name in the phone’s directory, and placed the call. Three rings, four rings…

“Hallo?” Female voice. A moment of relief.

“Abigail? Hi, it’s Ariel Barak. I just got back and I’ve been trying to get in touch with Yael, but her phone keeps rolling to voicemail. Is she there?”

“No, Ariel. I haven’t seen her since yesterday evening. She went to a club last night and didn’t come home.”

Her voice sounded tense. Ariel’s own tension escalated some more.

“Has she done that before?”

“Every once in a while, but never for this long. I’m getting worried. But if I call the police she’ll yell at me when she finds out.”

“Sometimes we have to do the right thing,” Ariel said. “Your call to make. But that doesn’t sound normal to me, either. Have her call me if she comes in, please.”

The call ended. Ariel moved to the bedroom and crammed his feet into a pair of shoes, forgoing socks, then spent the next few moments putting on his holster and loading his wallet, police card, and keys into his pockets. He grabbed his leather jacket and shrugged it on as he headed for the door.

Once outside, he called for an Uber ride, thankful that Israel had finally allowed Uber to operate there. It was late, and he didn’t want to take a chance on a bus. The Uber car showed up four minutes later, and he slid into the back seat.

“Shaka’s, right?” the driver confirmed.

“Right.”

“On the way.”

The car pulled off into traffic.

Shaka’s was near the Sarona District, a trendy area of older buildings with numerous clubs and wine bars. It was popular with uni students. Even he’d been there a couple of times when Yael and their usual group convinced him to tag along.

Ariel’s mouth quirked as he recalled that “older” in Israel meant much the same as in Europe: not decades, but potentially centuries. That was something that wasn’t true in very many places in America.

He thought of something he needed to know, so he pulled his mobile out and called Abigail again.

“Hallo?”

“Abigail, it’s Ariel again. Sorry to be calling you so late, but I have two questions. Have you got a picture of Yael you can send me? And does she still wear that sandalwood perfume she likes so much?”

“Yeah, and yeah. It’s all she puts on these days, although as much as it costs I’m surprised. Why? You think you can find her?”

“Her voicemail said she was at Shaka’s last night, so I’m going to go down and see if anyone remembers her.”

“Pic’s on the way. Let me know what you find out, please.” There was a definite sound of relief in Abigail’s voice.

“I will.”

Ariel ended the call. A moment later the mobile buzzed, and he pulled up the picture Abigail had sent him. It was recognizably Yael. He nodded at it, put the mobile back in his jacket pocket, then looked out the side window at the buildings going by in the night. He wished Mordechai was driving.

The sandalwood perfume that Yael preferred was distinctive. That might be useful. He wasn’t counting on it, but if there was something going on, he’d use anything he could get.

The car pulled up before Shaka’s. Ariel added a tip to the charge, and climbed out of the car. He shoved his hands inside his jacket pockets and walked into the club. Thankfully it wasn’t a dance club. There was music, and it was loud, but he could tune it out for the most part.

The décor of the club was all surfboards and surfing paraphernalia. That took Ariel aback the first time he’d come in, until it dawned on him that with their long Mediterranean coast, Israelis certainly had to have opportunities to surf. Now it was just kind of nostalgic to him, evoking the California culture he’d grown up in. Several monitors mounted high on the walls were showing surfing scenes, although it wasn’t clear to him if they were local shots or were taken from other locations around the world.

Up over the bar was a sign that showed the back of a fist with the thumb and little finger extended out to the sides. He remembered seeing that in California, mostly from the kids who were surfers or skateboarders. He shook his head with a bit of a smile. Okay, so that made the name clear.

The club wasn’t huge, but it wasn’t tiny, either. It was larger than The Grey Havens, for example. There were enough people there, most of them in their twenties, that the place felt full without feeling crowded. There was a seating area with tables, all of which were taken, and a more open area at one end where there were groups just standing around talking loudly. He wasn’t able to get a good head count, but it looked like around eighty people were there, maybe a bit more.

Ariel started moving around the perimeter of the room, looking around. He took his time, moved slowly, running his eyes over the crowd. There were a number of women who bore passing resemblances to Yael, from physical build to shape of face to curly brunette hair, but only resemblances. None of them were Yael.

He ended up at the end of the bar, still looking out over the crowd.

“What’ll you have?”

The waitress that had come up behind Ariel almost startled him. It was unexpected because of the ambient noise level. He turned to face her and leaned forward so he didn’t have to shout.

“How about a Perrier?”

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “The distributor didn’t make his run today, and we ran out. I can give you some tonic water, club soda, or seltzer.”

“Plain seltzer with ice, no fruit,” Ariel ordered. It was his most common drink order.

“I’ll have to charge you for a drink.”

“Fine.” A few seconds later, there was a tall drink glass with bubbling water and a few ice cubes at his elbow.

“Fifteen shekels,” the waitress said.

Ariel pulled his money clip out of his front pocket, peeled off a twenty-shekel note, and dropped it on the counter. He took a sip of the drink, but put his fingertip on the bill when the waitress reached for it. She looked at him with a frown.

“Who’s managing tonight?” he asked.

“Nick’s got the duty tonight.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder at a large blond man at the other end of the bar.

“I’d like to have a word with him, please.” Ariel lifted his finger from the bill, which disappeared into her apron pocket as she moved toward the other end of the long bar. He turned and looked back out at the crowd. They were getting a bit louder.

“Whatta ya need, mate?”

The voice that came from behind him this time spoke in English, and was also heavily accented—which took him by surprise, because it wasn’t the usual British accent or

Israeli/Hebrew-inflected tone.

“Australia?” He faced around to look up at the manager.

The manager sighed. “Yeah, mate. I’m an Aussie.”

“So how does an Aussie end up in Israel?”

“Came twenty years ago to try the surfing.” The bartender grinned. “Liked the scene so much I stayed.”

Ariel took a good look at him. He was heavily tanned, had lines around his eyes, and his full head of short hair was so pale it was almost white. He was wearing shorts and a loud floral pattern shirt that reminded Ariel of the Hawaiian shirts his parents’ next-door neighbor used to wear. He remembered seeing the man the last time he was in the club.

“You the manager?”

“Manager, part owner and partner, and general dogsbody, that’s me, Nick Lewis. You need anything, ask for me.” He stuck his hand out. Ariel shook it. “Now, you told Georgia you needed to talk to me. Either get on with it, or get on, because I’ve got work to do.”

“Nice to meet you, Nick. My name’s Ariel Barak. And actually, I do have a question for you. Were you working last night?”

“Yeah.” Nick’s expression sobered. “Why?”

Ariel pulled out his mobile and called up the photo Abigail had sent him. “Do you remember seeing her?”

“Mate, do you know how many people come in here every night?” He looked at the picture briefly. “She looks like half the girls that come in here. Why? You a cop or a private investigator?” That last was delivered with narrowed eyes.

Ariel held up both hands in a placating gesture. “Yes, I am a cop of sorts, but this isn’t official. Her name’s Yael Malka, and she’s a classmate of mine. I got a text from her early this morning saying she was here and having problems with a guy who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Her roommate says she hasn’t been home all day, so I told her I would come check here to see if anyone remembered anything.”

Nick took a closer look at the picture as Ariel dropped his hands. “Yeah, I might have seen her sitting at a table by herself. I don’t remember any disruptions, though.” He turned toward the other bartenders. “Hey, Adam, Georgia, c’mere. You remember seeing this girl last night?” They came over and peered at the mobile.

Adam shook his head and went back to serving drinks. Georgia, however, looked at the picture for a long moment, then nodded. “She was at a table in the back corner,” she said, waving a hand toward one corner of the seating area. “Sat by herself most of the night, although there was at least one guy trying to hit on her.” She looked around. “Haven’t seen her tonight.”

“Did you know him?” Ariel asked, leaning forward a little.

“Not by name. He’s been in a few times. Russian guy, I think.”

“Gersh Davidoff, maybe?” Ariel’s voice got a bit more intense.

“Sorry, I never knew his name. But whatever he’s called, he hasn’t been in tonight.” She spread her hands. “Sorry.” She looked at Nick, who nodded, which sent her back to her work.

Nick passed the mobile back to Ariel. “Sorry,” he repeated.

Ariel tucked the mobile back into his jacket pocket. “Mind if I look around?”

Nick shrugged. “As long as you don’t bother the customers, feel free. Stay out of the kitchen, though. And if you need anything, come ask me.”

“Thanks.” Ariel picked up his glass, and wandered off.

He made another circuit of the entire floor, taking another slow look at all the people there. Still no sign of Yael. He paused by the table that Georgia had said Yael had used last night. It was occupied tonight by three girls who were chattering away in Hebrew and laughing, none of whom looked up as he paused nearby.

His last pass was through the crowd, moving slowly between the tables in the seating area and through the standing groups. Nothing caught his attention: no sight, no sound, no words, no smells. Nothing present, nothing missing. Once through the crowd, he took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

Ariel moved toward the back wall of the room and leaned against it. He sipped his water, playing with the carbonation of it in his mouth while his eyes continued to scan the room almost on autopilot, while his mind considered what to do next. That was decided when he saw several of the crowd walk toward an opening in the wall by the bar, obviously headed for the restrooms. He slid along the back wall, waited for them to pass, then followed them into the hallway.

Pausing just past the restrooms, Ariel stood listening for a while, absorbing what the normal sounds in that area ought to be. He felt the airflow. He took several deep breaths through his nose, smelling nothing pungent or remarkable.

After a couple of minutes, he moved farther down the hallway toward an exit door with a security camera mounted above it. There was a green light on the camera housing.

Several doors were on the right side. He tried the handles as he passed. All were locked.

An open doorway appeared on the left, leading to the small kitchen. He could see and hear a couple of people working in it. Abiding by Nick’s instruction, Ariel didn’t enter.

The next door on the right, when he tried the handle, it turned in his hand. Drawing the door open, he saw another hallway, short this time, with two doors to the left and a door at the end. There was a security camera above the end door, also showing a green light.

He closed the door and stood there, listening, breathing, smelling. At his third inhalation, he got a tiny whiff of something…it was so light, he could barely smell it, but it smelled very much like Yael’s sandalwood perfume. He wasn’t absolutely sure…but it could be.

Ariel stepped to the first door. He tried the door handle. Locked. He placed his nose against the crack between the door and its frame, and inhaled deeply. He held his breath, letting his brain process what he had drawn in.

A faint disinfectant smell.

He moved to the second door. That handle was also locked. He repeated the attempt to smell what was behind the door.

A faint hint of mildew.

Now the end door. That it was also locked came as no surprise. Ariel stood next to the frame, bent forward, and inhaled.

Not disinfectant or mildew. That faint, faint hint of sandalwood, and a slightly stronger hint of…blood.

Ariel didn’t run, but it didn’t take long before he was standing at the end of the bar again.

“Nick!”

Nick responded to his almost shout and forceful beckon. “What?” He didn’t look happy.

“I need you in the back hallway, now!” Ariel didn’t shout, but his voice was very intense.

“What is this about?”

“Now! Or I’m calling my boss and you can explain yourself to him.”

“All right, all right, I’m coming. I’ll meet you by the kitchen.”

Ariel was standing there, arms folded, when Nick came through the doorway. He yanked open the other hallway door and said, “What’s in these rooms?”

“Storage. This one”—he pointed to the first door—“is cleaning supplies. This—” he pointed to the second door—“is a small closet for brooms, mops, and such.”

“What about that one?” Ariel pointed to the end door.

“Seasonal holiday decorations, and old business records.”

“When’s the last time you were in it?”

Nick thought for a moment. “At least two weeks ago.”

“Open it.”

“Why?”

“Something doesn’t smell right with it.”

“Are you serious?” Nick was frowning.

“Open it, or I’ll pull that door off its hinges.” Ariel made his voice as cold as possible.

“All right, all right. Keep your knickers on.” Nick was looking very put out, but he pulled a small ring of keys from his pocket and flipped through them until he found one that he inserted in the lock. He turned the key, then turned the handle and pulled the door open.

Ariel’s heart fell when the lights in the room came on and revealed Yael lying on the floor, limp, contorted, disheveled.


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