Hana relaxed on the bed and thought about the previous day in Reineh. Her phone vibrated, and an unfamiliar number in the States appeared. She hesitated before accepting the call.
“Hana Abboud?” a female voice asked.
“Speaking,” she said.
“This is Sylvia Armstrong with the US Attorney’s Office for the Eastern District of New York. Leon Lowenstein gave me your cell phone number.”
Hana sat up on the bed and grabbed a notepad and pen from the nightstand. “Yes,” she said. “He told me you called about the Gloria Neumann murder.”
“Right, and he says you’re in Israel conducting an investigation.”
“For a few days. It’s a preliminary trip. Our goal is to find out as much as we can about the man who attacked and killed Mrs. Neumann and anyone who helped or supported him. The first step is to hire a private investigator.”
As she talked, Hana racked her brain for the best way to answer any questions the US attorney asked and to counter with her own.
“US law enforcement personnel oversee the investigative phase under our supervision and then we prosecute. I might go to Israel if the Israeli authorities make an arrest, and I would negotiate extradition of a defendant to the US for prosecution. Have you located a private detective?”
“How much can you tell me about your investigation?” Hana asked, ignoring Armstrong’s question.
“Not much because I can’t jeopardize our ability to obtain an indictment and prosecute a defendant.”
“Is there information you can reveal that won’t jeopardize your case?”
“Maybe, but that discussion would need to be on a quid pro quo basis. Right now, it doesn’t sound like you have anything to contribute.”
“There may be a link between Gloria Neumann’s murder and threats against the lawyer who brought the case to our firm.”
“Jakob Brodsky?”
“Yes.”
“I tried to call him a few minutes ago. What kind of threats, and why do you believe they’re connected?”
“Nothing is confirmed,” Hana replied. “But there’s circumstantial evidence.”
She summarized the assault that left Jakob with a concussion and the destruction of his car by an explosive device. Armstrong listened without interruption.
“The Atlanta Police Department contacted Homeland Security, and one of the men who may have attacked Mr. Brodsky recently fled the country,” Hana concluded.
“There could be a connection, but it doesn’t sound solid yet. What’s the status of your search for an Israeli investigator? We found out about your law firm’s interest in the Neumann murder from a man I interviewed to possibly help us.”
“Daud Hasan?” Hana asked, her heart sinking at the thought he’d deceived her.
“No, an Arab Israeli named Sahir Benali.”
“Right,” Hana said with relief.
“I’m not going to contact Hasan independently, but I need to make sure you’ve not hired a mole who’s working for the bad guys before we exchange any intel.”
“A friend and colleague who worked with me in security at Ben Gurion Airport recommended Daud Hasan. He’s also an Arab Israeli and served in the IDF. His qualifications are on his website.”
“Got it. I assume he has the basic report of the attack prepared by the Israeli border patrol and the local police. It’s twelve pages in Hebrew and dated forty-one days after the murder. It gives the chronology of events.”
Hana quickly checked what Daud had given her. Sure enough, it was twelve pages but without the date.
“I have twelve pages but no date,” she said.
Armstrong read the introductory paragraph in English. Hana followed along and did her own internal translation.
“Does that sound right?” Armstrong asked.
“Yes, but my copy has certain names redacted.”
“I have a clean one, which I’ll send you. What’s your secure email address?”
Hana assumed her work email met the definition of secure. The law firm had a sophisticated firewall. She gave the information to Armstrong, who reciprocated. The call ended without Hana’s having taken a single note. But from the initial call, Armstrong seemed like a hardworking ally, not a hindrance.
Hana spent the day working on her investigative to-do list. She visited the Jerusalem police station closest to Hurva Square to see if she could figure out the origin of the report she’d received from Daud. When Hana explained what she was doing, a helpful female clerk located several photographs of the crime scene. All of them were stored digitally, but several had been printed onto photo paper.
“You can review them here,” the woman said in Hebrew. “But I can’t release them without a court order or authorization from one of my superiors.”
“I understand.”
Hana stepped away from the counter and sat down in a plastic chair in the corner of the room. She didn’t want to open the folder, but she knew she had to. The color pictures of Gloria taken as she was being prepared to leave in an ambulance were worse than she’d imagined. In some ways, the similarity in appearance between Gloria and Sadie made the photos of the mother more heartrending to see. Also included were graphic photos of Abdul’s body. In death, the young man looked harmless, yet minutes before he’d been viciously stabbing a mother and child with a large knife. Hana held it together emotionally until she reached the last three photographs and saw Sadie.
Tears streamed down Hana’s cheeks at the sight of the jagged cut on the little girl’s face. Unlike her mother, whose eyes were closed, Sadie’s eyes were open and filled with uncontrolled terror. Hana wiped away the tears with the back of her hand and tried to stop crying. More tears overwhelmed the flimsy dam and flowed down her face. Closing the folder, she knew the images would never leave her. Through blurred vision she saw the female clerk watching her. Hana placed the folder on the counter. The woman held out a handful of tissues.
“I’ve seen these,” the clerk said. “I have a daughter about the same age as the little girl. I hope you find the people behind this and make them pay.”
“We will.”
Thankfully, the other items Hana checked off her list were less emotional. She obtained contact information for the border patrol unit that responded to the attack, as well as the identification and current address for the company that had placed the surveillance camera in Hurva Square.
She had time to return to the hotel and rest for a few minutes before getting ready for an early dinner with Daud. Putting on a simple skirt, blouse, and sandals, Hana was sitting in a chair in the lobby when Daud entered and greeted her in Arabic.
“You look nice,” he said with a smile. “Let’s go. I’m parked in a spot out front where I’ll be towed if I don’t move my vehicle.”
In the daylight, Hana could see that Daud’s Land Rover had a few dents and dings, but it was clean on the inside.
“Chinese or Ethiopian food?” he asked once they had snapped their seat belts.
Following the immigration to Israel of thousands of Ethiopian Jews in the 1980s and 1990s, restaurants featuring their cuisine had sprung up all over Israel. However, Hana loved Chinese food, and Israel had a lot of great Chinese restaurants. It was easy to keep a kosher Chinese kitchen because virtually no dairy products were used in South Asian cooking.
“Chinese,” she said.
“Good choice.”
Daud left the predominantly Jewish neighborhoods of West Jerusalem and made his way into Arab East Jerusalem. He turned down several residential streets and stopped in front of a two-story building with a simple neon sign featuring two Chinese pictographs.
“What does it say?” Hana asked, pointing at the sign.
“My best guess is ‘Chinese Food Here,’” Daud answered.
Hana laughed. They left the bright sunlight and entered a tiny dark room with only five or six tables, all empty. An older Chinese woman greeted them in Arabic.
“Marhaban, Daud!”
“Ahlan wa sahlan, Mrs. Wong,” Daud replied.
“Who is your honored guest?” the Chinese woman asked.
“Hana Abboud, from Reineh but currently living in the United States.”
The woman eyed Hana closely and then nodded. “Sit wherever you like,” she said with a broad gesture.
“Where are the other customers?” Hana asked Daud in a soft voice.
“They’ll arrive after we leave. I reserved the whole restaurant for our meal.”
“What?” Hana asked in surprise.
“So we can talk. It didn’t cost much. The dinner crowd won’t start trickling in for over an hour. But it’s a good thing you chose Chinese.”
The menu was in Arabic and featured multiple noodle-based dishes. A young Chinese waiter brought tea, and Hana started with a cold noodle salad.
“If you like spicy food, I recommend the zhajiangmian,” Daud said.
Hana was familiar with the dish containing thick wheat noodles, chili bean sauce, French beans, and sweet soybean sauce. This version featured tofu instead of meat.
“May we talk business first?” Hana asked after they ordered.
“Yes.”
“I found out why a prosecutor with the US Attorney’s Office in New York called my boss.” She told Daud about the link between Sahir Benali and Sylvia Armstrong.
“Would that explain why he didn’t want to meet with me because new circumstances came up?” she asked when she finished.
“Maybe.”
Hana paused as another thought crossed her mind. “Did you scare him away?” she asked, leaning forward.
“Not exactly.” Daud smiled. “But I encouraged him to move aside so I could help you. I’ll make it up to him. Sahir is a good guy and has plenty of business.”
“There’s more background you need to know,” Hana said. She then told him about the attack on Jakob, the phosphorous device that destroyed his car, and the misbaha beads he found in the bushes. Their food arrived. Hana devoured the cold salad. Daud was ambidextrous with the chopsticks.
“It looks like he’s being targeted,” Hana said as she pushed her salad bowl to the side and turned toward the zhajiangmian.
Daud ate a bite of his zhajiangmian before he spoke. “A terrorist group might have the capability to do that if they wanted to devote resources to the effort, but it seems unlikely unless they believed Brodsky was close to uncovering something they very much wanted to keep hidden.”
“I doubt it,” Hana replied. “I know everything Jakob does about the case.”
“How can you be sure about that?”
“We’re cocounsel,” Hana said, realizing that wasn’t very persuasive.
“If he’s already a target of a terrorist cell, it would be best if it appears that he’s acting alone until you’re ready to go public with the case,” Daud said. “I wouldn’t want him to let anyone know that I’ve been hired or the names of any of the people we eventually interview here in Israel or the West Bank. They talk to me because they know they can do so safely.”
“I’ll mention that to him.”
“With emphasis.”
“Okay.”
“I found out more about Tawfik Zadan,” Daud continued. “He’s not been in jail since serving time for the Neumann murder, and he lives in a family house in Deir Dibwan. Finding someone in the Deir Dibwan area who doesn’t like Tawfik, due to either jealousy or an unrelated feud, would be a possibility. They might pass along a rumor that turns out to be more real than the typical conspiracy theory swirling around on the street.”
“How would you find such a person?” Hana asked.
“I may have to spend a little money to make that happen.”
“Okay, but we don’t want any bribes to governmental officials that—”
“Please,” Daud cut her off. “Trust me to do the right thing.”
Hana nodded. She then told him about her contacting Yamout News and the trip to the police station. When she mentioned the photos, her tears returned.
“I’m sorry,” Daud said gently. “I was planning on doing that after you returned to America.”
“I would have seen them eventually,” Hana said and sighed. “The pictures will speak louder than words if the case ends up in a courtroom.”
They ate in silence for a few moments.
“I’m ready to talk about something besides business,” Daud suggested.
“Yes!” Hana said.
Daud asked Hana more questions about her life. He told her about a group of men he regularly met with to pray and read the Scriptures.
“They’re guys I can be completely honest with,” he said.
“Do they know about me?”
“Sure, and they’re praying for both of us.”
They finished the meal with lotus seed paste for dessert.
“I’d like to come back here,” Hana said. “There are several other dishes on the menu that look delicious and sound interesting.”
“I’m glad you liked it. What is your time line for a return trip?”
“I haven’t confirmed anything with Mr. Lowenstein, but I’m thinking a month. Would that give you enough time to set things up? I know it’s impossible to predict.”
“That’s reasonable,” Daud said. “I don’t have any major assignments on my agenda.”
“Assignments?”
“Cases. Which means I can devote a lot of time to the Neumann matter.”
“You’re only charging half your usual rate!” Hana protested. “I don’t feel right about that.”
Daud smiled. “But it’s worth it to me.”