The drive home from Butch’s apartment was more of an adventure than Jakob had anticipated. Twice, his vision became blurry, and when the sun shone in his eyes, it gave him an instant headache. Inside his apartment, he changed into clean clothes and lay down on the couch for a rare afternoon nap. One sign of a concussion was increased drowsiness. When he woke up, it took him a second to realize he wasn’t in the hospital. He went to the kitchen and drank a glass of water.
Sitting on his couch, he signed into his office computer and began answering emails. Thankfully, it had been a slow couple of days, and an hour later he’d reached the end of new communications. Then he listened to his voice-mail messages. That was a longer process. A third of the way down the list was a call from Ben Neumann, who said he hoped Jakob was recovering quickly. He didn’t request a return phone call, but Jakob hit the redial button.
“Thanks for checking up on me,” Jakob said after Ben answered. “I’m home now. I was surprised when Hana Abboud stopped by the hospital to visit me. She told me that you let her know what happened.”
“How are you feeling?”
Jakob gave an overly optimistic diagnosis and prognosis.
“That’s good,” Ben replied. “Any word from the police?”
“Nothing. There wasn’t a surveillance camera in the stairwell of the apartment, and it was pitch-dark.”
Ben started talking, but Jakob felt like he was slightly detached from the conversation and had trouble following him.
“I’m going to be fine,” Jakob said, hoping the words made sense.
“Hana is pressing on with the case and has called me several times,” Ben said. “Her firm is really taking it seriously. She’s going to book a flight to Israel within the next few days.”
“What?” Jakob managed.
“She wants to personally interview potential investigators and do some initial work on her own.”
Jakob sat up straighter. “She didn’t mention any of that when she came by the hospital.”
“Probably because you’re in no shape to go anywhere right now. You need to focus on getting better.”
“Oh, I’ll be on that plane,” Jakob said, summoning a strong tone of voice. “It’s not an option.”
“Please, be careful,” Ben replied. “You just got out of the hospital. Talk to your doctor.”
“I will. But first I’m going to call Hana.”
“Don’t get upset with her. She’s come along at the perfect time.”
“Yeah,” Jakob muttered.
The call ended. Jakob decided to rest for a few minutes before calling Hana. He lay down on his left side and stared at the combination of light and shadow on the carpeted floor. And soon drifted off to sleep.
Janet buzzed Hana’s phone.
“There’s a Mr. Mebali or Denali or something like that on the phone,” the assistant said. “I try to get these names right, but when they start talking so fast, I’m left in the dust like a camel racing a sports car.”
Hana chuckled at the comparison. “It’s Benali. He’s a private investigator I contacted in the Neumann case. I’ll take it.”
Hana glanced at the clock. It was 7:30 p.m. in Jerusalem. She answered the call in Arabic.
“Good evening,” she said. “I haven’t had a chance to submit my request for assistance in writing, but I intend to do so within the next day or so.”
“Forget about formalities,” the investigator replied. “I checked you out on the law firm website, and there’s no need to send a written request. What sort of help are you looking for? Whatever it is, I’m the man for the job.”
Listening to Benali reminded Hana of a merchant in a local market, or souk, inviting a customer into his shop. It was easy to imagine the former police officer communicating with ordinary people on the street.
“Based on what your assistant told me, our case is different from what you usually handle.”
“Maybe not. She’s only been working for me a couple of months. It’s hard to find a young person willing to put in the hours needed to succeed. I may be out of the office two or three days straight when I’m on a big case. I bet you have to put in a lot of hours working for an American law firm. You look about the same age as my daughters, and they don’t seem to want to—”
“It can be busy,” Hana broke in. “I need help with a lawsuit based on the death of an American tourist in Jerusalem four years ago. We represent the husband and daughter of a woman who was killed.”
“Car wreck?” Benali asked. “American drivers don’t realize what they’re getting into when they rent a car in Israel.”
“No, it was a terrorist attack in Hurva Square. The woman was an American Jew stabbed to death by a twenty-year-old named Abdul Zadan. Abdul was shot and killed by border patrol officers, and his younger brother, Tawfik, was taken into custody as an accomplice. The brothers came from a village near Ramallah.”
Hana’s summary of the case put the brakes on Benali’s loquaciousness.
“And what would you hire me to do?” the investigator asked in a subdued tone of voice.
Hana explained the basis for a damage claim under the US Anti-Terrorism Act. “Before filing a lawsuit in the United States, we need to locate a defendant or defendants who could pay the money awarded by a jury. My guess is the Zadan brothers don’t have significant assets, but that would have to be checked out to be sure. Are you familiar with the Arab Bank litigation filed in the US?”
“Yes, my ex-brother-in-law used to work for a branch of the bank in Amman. Did any group with links to a bank claim responsibility for the attack?”
“No. It appears to have been an attack by two brothers unaffiliated with a known terrorist network.”
Benali was silent for a moment. “This isn’t a matter of a few phone calls,” he said. “It’s more like a formal police investigation. It would take a lot of time, and I would have to be extra cautious.”
“I understand. How much experience do you have in obtaining financial records?”
“That part would be easy. I have contacts who can unlock doors that don’t have keys.”
Hana knew low-level bribery would likely be part of any investigation. Locals treated it like an unwritten fee for services.
“We can’t be directly involved in—”
“No problem,” Benali said before Hana could finish. “I know how Americans operate. They care about appearances even though they do the same thing on a larger scale on Wall Street. But the answer to your question is yes. I uncover financial assets and information in divorce cases. This would be similar. Finding out where to look would be the challenge.”
“Exactly. And we can’t jeopardize the admissibility in court of the information obtained.”
“No problem. I deal with that issue all the time. What’s the rate of pay? This will have to be hourly, not a flat fee.”
Hana had considered asking Mr. Lowenstein for guidance on this point but knew the senior partner would defer to her. She’d prepared a rough budget for the investigation. Knowing she would have to negotiate, Hana tossed out an hourly figure below the amount she’d allocated.
“I’d need at least twice that much,” Benali answered immediately. “I don’t have to tell you this will have to be handled delicately.”
“There’s room for negotiation,” Hana replied. “This is just a preliminary call. I’m planning on coming to Israel to talk more before making a final decision.”
“Perfect. I’ll look forward to meeting with you. But you can save yourself a trip if that’s the only reason you’re coming. I’m your man.”
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
The phone call ended. Hana stared at Sahir Benali’s website. The fact that Anat Naphtali vouched for Benali was important, but it wasn’t enough to sway her. She needed more input and remembered Jakob’s request that she keep him in the loop of information. Even though Mr. Lowenstein had told her to marginalize the young lawyer, Hana couldn’t justify not letting Jakob know about such an important decision. She placed the call. Jakob didn’t answer, and Hana didn’t leave a message. She then unsuccessfully tried to reach the other investigator, Daud Hasan.
Jakob awoke with a start. The sunbeams on the floor were gone, and the room was dark. He grappled for his phone, which had fallen behind one of the seat cushions on the couch. It was after nine. He sat up and rubbed his eyes. His head was throbbing. He went into the kitchen and took one of the pain pills. Checking his phone again, he saw that he’d missed four calls and multiple texts. One of the phone calls was from Collins, Lowenstein, and Capella. Within a few minutes, the strong pain pills made him drowsy, and he went to bed.
In the morning, Jakob gingerly moved his head. The hospital staff had sent him home with dressing material, and it took several minutes to fashion a bandage that didn’t make him look like a mummy who’d escaped from a tomb. During the drive to Dr. Bedford’s office, he noticed the brown necklace in the tray behind the shifter and slipped it into his pocket. He tried to call Hana Abboud but had to leave a message.
At 9:10 a.m. Jakob was sitting in a treatment room at Dr. Bedford’s office.
“Tell me how you’ve been feeling,” the doctor said after he’d entered and shaken Jakob’s hand. “Any headaches?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Why is that good?” Jakob asked in surprise.
“Every human being with a functioning brain would experience headaches after undergoing the trauma you’ve suffered. It was a credibility question. How bad are the headaches?”
“Rough enough that I’ve taken the prescription pain meds.”
“Any other symptoms?”
“Yes,” he admitted. “I’ve had several spells when I zoned out for a few seconds, perhaps longer.”
“Nothing while driving?”
“No, but are you going to recommend that I stop driving?”
“It depends on the seriousness of what you’ve experienced. Tell me more.”
Jakob felt like a witness trapped in his testimony. He described what had happened in the hospital room with Hana Abboud and the incident on the phone with Ben Neumann when he had trouble staying focused during the conversation.
“I tried to chalk up what happened at the hospital to low blood sugar because I’d lost my appetite and hadn’t eaten. Now I’m not so sure.”
“If you don’t try to self-diagnose your medical condition, I won’t try to practice law,” the doctor replied.
The physician scrolled through the tablet in his right hand. “Your EEG and MRI studies were normal, and your heart is healthy,” he said. “You may have experienced a syncopal episode at the hospital. Are you sure it hasn’t happened again?”
“Positive.”
Dr. Bedford looked into Jakob’s eyes. “Since I’m not a lawyer, may I ask you a legal question?”
“Sure.”
“Assume you have a blackout spell that causes a car wreck in which another person is seriously injured or killed. Would a good lawyer investigate your medical history and sue the neurologist who failed to recommend that you stop driving for three to six months?”
Jakob’s hands felt sweaty. “That’s possible. And I wouldn’t want to hurt or kill someone anyway.”
“Then we’re in agreement. Don’t drive for ninety days. I think that’s a reasonable time period since you didn’t have a seizure and your other tests are normal. I’ll repeat the brain studies in three months. If they’re clear and you don’t have another serious episode, you should be okay. Schedule your next appointment in four weeks, but call sooner if you need to.”
“Ninety days? That’s a long time.”
“It’s less than six months, which would be the case if you’d suffered a full-blown seizure.”
“Okay. What about flying overseas?”
Dr. Bedford paused. “If you’re talking about a vacation where you relax on a beach, I’d write a prescription if we thought your insurance company would pay the bill. But no sports or recreational activity that would pose the risk of a blow to your head.”
“This would be a business trip without much chance of beach time, but I don’t foresee any physical activity, either.”
“Just be smart and treat your skull like you would an egg that’s in danger of cracking open.”
Jakob frowned. “That’s disturbing.”
“It’s meant to be.”
Jakob left the office. On the way home he debated whether to follow the physician’s advice. Georgia wasn’t a state where a doctor had the duty of notifying the department of transportation to recommend suspension of a patient’s driver’s license. That responsibility rested on Jakob. He sat in the car for a few moments, took out everything he might need in the near future, and trudged up the steps to his apartment. He tossed his car keys in the top drawer of the dresser of his bedroom and closed it. For the next three months, he’d be spending money on taxis and Uber.
Hana arrived a few minutes early at the ice cream parlor and parked her car in the shade of a large oak tree. Per Mr. Lowenstein’s instructions, an entry would appear on her work activity sheet for “Client Meeting/Ice Cream.” Sadie arrived wearing her school uniform. She waved excitedly when she saw Hana. In the little girl’s other hand was a doll.
“Thanks for coming,” Ben said, “even though eating ice cream isn’t the best way to prepare a child for a good supper.”
“Ice cream is made from milk that comes from cows,” Sadie replied. “And milk is good for making strong bones.”
“Then my bones are going to grow stronger from something with chocolate in it,” Hana answered. “Tell me about your doll.”
Sadie held up the lifelike doll. It had an olive complexion, dark eyes, and straight black hair and was wearing a long blue gown that fell from her neck to her feet.
“She’s an Arab doll,” Sadie replied.
Hana nodded. “I can see. My cousin Fabia wore a dress like that when she graduated from high school.”
“Fabia?” Sadie repeated. “That’s going to be my doll’s name.”
Hana took out her phone. “May I take a picture of Sadie with the doll and send it to my cousin?” she asked Ben. “I wouldn’t mention Sadie’s name or anything other than that she’s a new friend.”
Ben glanced down at Sadie for a moment before responding. “So long as she doesn’t post it on any form of social media.”
“What do you mean, Daddy?” Sadie asked.
“He’s right,” Hana responded before Ben spoke. “Hold Fabia so I can take a good picture.”
Hana knelt, took five photos, and then let Sadie pick her favorite.
“That’s the one I like, too,” Hana said.
The shop featured ice cream blended together on a thick marble slab. Sadie asked for strawberry mixed with peach in a cake cone. Ben and Hana both ordered a vanilla sundae with hot fudge. Hana added toasted almonds to hers.
Ben took his wallet from his pocket.
“No,” Hana said, placing her purse on the counter. “Mr. Lowenstein specifically instructed me to pay for Sadie’s ice cream.”
“Why?” Ben asked with a puzzled look on his face.
“He wants Sadie to grow up liking lawyers.”
They sat at a small round table toward the rear of the shop. They were the only customers.
Sadie handed the doll to Hana. “Fabia likes what you ordered.”
Hana placed the doll in her lap and pretended to give her a bite before placing it in her own mouth.
“The last thing I did with my mommy was eat ice cream,” Sadie said.
Hana, who was raising her spoon to her mouth, quickly lowered it. Sadie looked forlornly at her father.
“Here, Daddy,” she said, handing him her cone. “I’m not hungry.”
“I thought you were in the mood for ice cream,” he said gently.
“Not anymore,” Sadie replied, looking down into her lap. “You can throw it away.”
Ben gave Hana a look that communicated a silent plea for help. Hana didn’t have anything to offer.
“I’ll see if Fabia likes it,” she said, taking the cone from Ben and placing it in front of the doll’s lips. “I think she does.”
Sadie watched through the tops of her eyelashes. She held out her hand, and Hana returned the ice cream cone to her. Sadie took one more lick, stood up, and dropped the rest of it in a trash bin.
“I licked it one more time to show that I could,” she announced when she returned to her chair.
“What do you mean, sweetie?” Ben asked.
“Poppy says that when he gets sad about Mommy being gone, he does something like put a dirty plate in the dishwasher before letting himself be sad.”
Hana wasn’t exactly sure what Sadie meant or the lesson intended by her grandfather but left it alone. She held the doll out to Sadie.
“Fabia wants a hug,” she said.
Sadie took the doll and wrapped her in a tight embrace. “That works, too,” she said. “Daddy hugs me when I’m sad.”
Hana’s appetite was gone, but she made herself eat a few more bites, too. Ben’s ice cream had remained untouched since Sadie’s announcement.
“I guess we’d better go,” he said after a few moments passed.
They walked outside. There were clouds in the sky and a cool breeze that hinted of a thunderstorm.
“Thanks so much for inviting me,” Hana said to Sadie.
Ben opened the rear door of the car. Before Sadie hopped in, she came over to Hana. “Would you hug me?”
“Of course.” Hana knelt and wrapped her arms around the little girl, who nestled in as close as possible.
“You smell nice,” Sadie said when she finally stepped away. “Do you wear perfume?”
“A little bit.”
Sadie turned to her father. “I want to smell like Hana.”
“We’ll talk about that later,” Ben answered, managing a slight smile.
“That means ‘no,’” Sadie said to Hana. “But I’ll change his mind.”
“Not every time,” Ben replied.
Sadie slipped into her car booster seat, and Ben closed the door. He turned to Hana. “Maybe she was talking today about Hurva Square with her counselor,” he said. “It comes up quick sometimes.”
“I’m glad she asked me to hug her. It made me feel better.”
“There will be more hugs at home.”
Back at the office Hana had a note from Jakob requesting a meeting with her and Ben at his office the following day at noon about the status of the case. Hana checked her calendar and accepted. As she scrolled down, she saw an email from an unfamiliar address. Because it had made it past the law firm firewall, she opened it. It was from Bart Kendall.
Hana,
Thanks again for meeting and talking with me. I considered what you said and decided to proceed with the BDS project. My church is going to be one of the sponsors. I recently met with a young Arab man who grew up in Bethlehem. He has a compelling story of suffering under Israeli occupation and will be the spokesperson in the video. Because of my conversation with you, I’d like to include a brief statement that not all Arabs share his perspective. Would you be willing to do that part of the video?
Bart Kendall
Hana read the email several times as she processed it at different levels. The first was the personal hurt she felt from Bart rejecting what she’d said. Second, she dealt with anger that the producer was going to place another pebble on the mountain of offense that existed between Arabs and Jews. Third, she grieved that Bart’s church was going to perpetuate the problem, not be part of a solution that could occur only through the power of the gospel.
She started to type a quick response turning him down but decided she needed to ask God what to do first.