Free Murder in Jerusalem by Batya Gur Page A

awkwardly, narrowed his eyes, and in lieu of an answer, shrugged his shoulders and nodded toward Zadik.
    â€œWhat? Our big boss called you?” David Shalit asked doubtfully. “And why would that be? What have the police got to do here? And if we’re talking police, where’s your boss, Ohayon? I’ve heard he’s on vacation. So does that mean you’re his replacement?”
    â€œMaybe they’re here to look for the person who’s been leaking information to us about the police,” Aviva teased. She had come up behind Rubin and looked as if she were waiting in line to talk to Zadik. “You know how it is with the police, they only show up when you don’t need them anymore.”
    â€œIf I were you,” Eli Bachar told her, “I wouldn’t be quite so jovial the morning after a colleague of mine was killed. I wouldn’t be up to such joking.”
    Hefetz turned to Zadik. “Did you invite him here?” he asked accusingly. “What are the police doing here now?”
    â€œLadies and gentlemen, your attention please,” Zadik called out from the doorway of the newsroom, and—miraculously—the room fell silent. “This gentleman standing next to me is Inspector Eli Bachar of the Jerusalem District Police, who is here regarding Tirzah. The police are investigating possible negligence, and…to make a long story short, he’ll be talking with people here—he’ll decide who—and I would ask each and every one of you to cooperate with Inspector Bachar and any other representative of the police, because we would like this investigation to end quickly.”
    Natasha stood behind Rubin, pulling his sleeve; Rubin touched her arm with a calming hand. “Zadik…,” he said.
    â€œJust a minute, Rubin, just wait a minute. Can’t you see that I’m…” Natasha took a step backward.
    â€œI don’t understand this,” Hefetz said irritably. “What exactly have they got to investigate here? Have they got something to investigate here? Did someone do something wrong here? She was crushed under the scenery flats and a marble pillar, wasn’t she?”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with you, Hefetz?” Niva whispered. “Suddenly you’ve forgotten the rules about death under unnatural circumstances?”
    â€œHey, what’s going on?” said the maintenance man, walking out of the foreign correspondents’ room with a large plastic bucket and a putty knife splattered with white stains. He ran straight into Elmaliah the cameraman, who had entered the newsroom carrying an oversized sandwich.
    â€œWatch where you’re going!” Elmaliah scolded the maintenance man. “You almost knocked the sandwich right out of my hand.” To Hefetz he said, “Don’t you know that when someone dies like that, not in his bed, not from some disease, not in the hospital with a doctor’s certificate, the police have to investigate if it was an accident, and if so, to determine who was responsible?”
    â€œSometimes the engineer has to be charged with criminal negligence—if it’s a case of faulty construction,” David Shalit added, placing his empty Styrofoam cup on the edge of the table.
    Eli Bachar whispered something to Zadik, and Zadik raised his head and asked, “Has anyone seen Max?”
    â€œMax Levin?” Aviva asked, surprised. “What’s he got to do with…ah…” Realization dawned on her. “Because he was the one who found her…but he must be in the String Building, in his office.”
    â€œThat’s just it,” Zadik explained, “he’s not there. Find him for me, Aviva, we need him urgently. Avi Lachman, too, the lighting technician who was with Max when…” To the inspector he added, “Go with Aviva, she’ll get you anyone you need, and you’ll have more peace and quiet in my office,