Free Hill of Secrets: An Israeli Jewish mystery novel by Michal Hartstein

childhood friends. The main difference is that Yinon's friends are secular like him. Between my childhood and flaws within myself, friends are a deep chasm that’s very difficult to bridge.
    "Listen, I have to run to the office, but we've got to meet up sometime, the whole Convent."
    "Dganit is out of the country now…"
    "So, when she gets back." I knew this wouldn't happen. It never does.
    "Excellent, we'll be in touch."
    "Sure." I checked to see I had her current number and rushed to my car.
    Half an hour later, I was already sitting at my desk, sifting through all of the pieces of paper to find Aviva and Shimon Levin's phone number. Aviva's sister answered my call. I heard commotion on her end; it was eight o’ clock in the evening and I assumed the house was packed with people who had come to console the family in the Shiva .
    Aviva couldn't come to the phone and Shimon took the call.
    "Mr. Levin?" I asked hesitantly.
    "Speaking."
    "Hello, sir, this is Hadas Levinger from Israeli Police."
    "Hello, Hadas."
    "First of all, allow me to express my condolences for the horrible tragedy that has befallen you."
    "Thank you," he said in a whisper and I could hear the tears choke up his throat.
    "I'm responsible for the investigation of the murder of your daughter and grandchildren."
    "I know."
    "I understand you were expecting me to come see you?"
    "That's right."
    "I'd like to apologize for that. Since the leads in the case are pretty clear, I didn't see the need to bother you during the Shiva . I thought it would be rude of me."
    "It's okay," he said calmly.
    "If it's still possible, I can come over tomorrow."
    "Morning would be the most convenient time," he said. "Most people come from afternoon on."
    "I'll be there at nine."
    "That’s fine."
    I had a hard time understanding why Alon was so stressed in the message he left me.
     
     
     
    Thursday, 5.21.2009
     
    The following day, everything became clear. Hanni Levin apparently inherited her temper from her mother. I arrived at the grieving home at nine-thirty in the morning, hoping there would be no visitors there.
    Despite the early hour, the house was packed and the door was open; I entered the living room. About a year earlier, my grandfather had passed away at the age of ninety-two. He was already very ill and didn't recognize anyone, so his Shiva was some kind of a pleasant social gathering. A lot of memories came up and there was quite a bit of laughter. There is a very fundamental difference between the Shiva of a ninety-year-old elderly man--who passes away at a ripe old age, when all of his descendants are ready to part from him—and the Shiva of a young girl like Hanni and her three little children. In fact, no one sat Shiva for Ariel, Galit and little Noa because all of the people who could sit Shiva for them were no longer alive.
    Although we were in high school together, I never got to visit Hanni's parents' home. As far as I recalled, it was the same apartment they had lived in when we were in high school—a spacious, well-kept apartment in the heart of Ramat Gan. Hanni's father, Shimon Levin, sat in the center of the living room. He was a tall, handsome man who had worked for years as an engineer in the Israeli Aerospace Industry and had retired with a comfortable pension plan three years earlier. Since then he had worked as an engineering consultant for a number of companies. Next to him sat, with red eyes, his wife, Aviva Levin. Despite the heavy grief that was evident in her face, her hair and clothes were immaculate. Beneath the carefully-styled hair and designer clothes, she was a heavy set, not overly attractive woman. Hanni got her beauty from her father.
    I went straight to Aviva, who glared at me angrily.
    "Aviva, Shimon, allow me to express my condolences."
    "Thank you very much." Shimon said, almost in a whisper.
    "I'm Hadas Levinger from the central unit. I'm in charge of the investigation…"
    "We know who you are." Aviva cut me off with an