Selected Detective
DETECTIVE ARLEH BEN - ROI
It was late in the afternoon when Arleh Ben-Roi was driving his White BMW across Jaffa Gate street, the Old City, stopping at an electrified iron border in front of the David Police Station, a two-story building built with yellow-and-white Jerusalem stones, with Israeli flags and Israeli police flags fluttering outside and radio antennas high on the roof, like a tree shaving all its leaves. The guard recognized him and, activating the border, he steered him towards the arched passageway that cut through the center of the building and into the walled area behind, where he parked his car next to a Kawasaki mule police truck. Behind him, a pair of bomb-making men were struggling with one of their robots, adjusting his arm that could be pulled in. On his right side, a horse is being trained in a fenced area surrounded by flowering oleander bushes.
He felt himself as worthless as trash, as in other days, and thought that he should have reduced his drinking habits. Just like he did on other days. But he knew he couldn't. That's the only thing that can ease the pain, that helps him forget everything. Without drinking, all things will not be handled.
Ben-Roi sits in his place for a while, hoping he's back in his flat, hiding from the world, alone with his own thoughts. Then he got out of the car and walked slowly back into the hallway, turned to the low door inside and climbed the stone stairs towards the first floor.
His office was not far from the white-walled corridor, a small room filled with various plywood furniture, a computer on a trolley in the corner of the room, and on top of his desk, a fresher and younger framed photo of Ben-Roi is receiving the Valiant Conduct order award. He accepted it three years ago for saving a young Palestinian girl from a house fire near Mauristan, risking her life by kicking the front door, struggling to find a way to the top floor by breaking through the fire and taking the girl to safety on the roof across the house. At that time he was so proud of himself; now he thought how foolish it was to let the girl burn. Honey, not many of them are there.
The office was empty when he arrived. Closing the door behind him, he sat in his chair, pulled the bottle from his waist and gulped it down slowly and long. The liquid flowed soaking through his esophagus, providing warmth that spread outward through his chest and stomach.
He sipped it again until his mind started to light up and his mood improved.
The third hiccup, and he felt ready to face the day before him.
Door opens.
“Can't you knock on the door first, Feldman?”
He hid the bottle under the table and tried to close it.
Feldman observed what he was doing and shook his head.
“Yeah, now it's not even time for lunch.”
Ben-Roi ignores him, slipping the bottle into the pocket of his jeans.
“What do you want?”
“We've started a preliminary interview with the man we brought in last night. Although, you might want to do it with the person you caught.”Feldman teases a bit when he says 'the man you caught’, reminding Ben-Roi of his failure to chase in Kidron Valley, Wanker.
“Where is he?”
“Interview Three. You think you can handle it alone?”
Ben-Roi ignored the roughness. He straightened his body, grabbed the map containing documents lying on the table and then exited the room. As he passed by Feldman, he felt Feldman's hand clutching his arm.
“Please yourself, Man. You can't go like this.”
A moment of silence, then Feldman withdrew his hand.
“Begini, Arieh. I know what you have ..”
“You know, fuck it all, Feldman. Do you understand what I mean? Fuck everything.”
Ben-Roi stares at his colleague, then scatters out of the office, down the corridor, against the urge to gulp down his Vodkan again. Compassion and scolding, that was just like what he got these days. Compassion for what has happened, and scolding for how he handles various problems.
The latter he could overcome, But no mercy, No that, It broke his spirit.
God, he wished he was with his girlfriend in the square that night.
Ben-Roi went down the stairs back to the hallway. Actually the interview room could be reached through the opposite wall, but instead of going straight to the room, he turned instead to the left, back to the complex, and then again, and then to the right to a modern auxiliary room with glass on its front attached to the back of the station, the, passing through the cold foyer with a soft beam then into a large control room and a color TV screen on the wall. Each screen displayed a different image of the Old City of the Western Wall, the Damascus Gate, and the, haram Al-Sharif, and Cardo— are launched by one in three hundred security cameras installed on each street corner. Images change frequently as the system organizes them from camera to camera, while at times one of the screens will turn orange and the legend of the Camera Down will appear.
Two semicircular control tables, one inside the other like a pair of quotes, laid out in front of a screen, were monitored by uniformed officials. Ben-Roi approaches the first one and pokes the shoulder of a big blonde woman.
“I need a picture recording last night,” he said.
“Interior Lion Gate. Since about eleven four five.”
The woman nods and, after calling one of her co-workers to tell him she was leaving her post for a few minutes, takes Ben Roi to the next room and lets Ben-Roi sit in front of the computer.
Ben-Roi sits down and watches as soon as the operation goes on its own. Sometimes he asks the woman to repeat, zoom into something or click into a different camera, tracing the young Palestinian man he has been chasing since he got to the gate with his three friends, through the appearance of the mercedes car, to the point where the police arrested and, unnoticed due to confusion, he said, the man fled through the gates to the haram al-Sharif and into the walls of the Old City to enter the Muslim cemetery below, hiding from one stone tomb to another and continuing towards the Path of Ophe.
“Good, enough,” he said finally. “Can I get a copy?”
The blonde-haired woman disappeared and returned a few minutes later carrying a solid disc.
Ben-Roi put it in the document folder he brought and left the control center, returning to the main building.
Interview Room 3 is on the lower floor. A simple white-walled room with a stone floor and a single lamp on the ceiling. The Palestinian man was sitting behind a plywood table. His wrist was handcuffed, his left eye swollen and swollen. Ben-Roi pulled up the chair and sat down in front of him.
“I want a lawyer,”
The man muttered while staring at the table.
“You'll need it,”
Said the detective as he opened his archive, put a solid disc to the side and moved the type sheet of the arrest report he filled the night before.
“Hani Al-Hajjar Hani-Jamal,” said, reading the details of personal data at the top of the report. “Stupid name.”He put the sheet down.
“See me!”
The young man looked up, biting his lips.His eyes looked full of fear. He looks small next to Ben-Roi, like a schoolboy in front of his teacher.
“You will tell me the truth. Isn't that right, hani? For every question I ask. Truth.”
The young man nodded imperceptibly. Both of his thighs tightened as if he was waiting for an attack from under the table. Ben-Roi looks at him, enjoying his growing fear.
Then, without letting go of his eye gaze, he grabbed the CD with his left hand and put it into the desktop.
“This is for you.”
The man then watched it, confused and scared.
“All is there,” Ben-Roi said. “All that happened last night. All recorded, all acceptable to the court of law. So, don't lie, you understand? There's no nonsense about how you're suddenly walking past, how you've never had anything to do with drugs in your life. Because if you bullshit me, I'll destroy you. I'm really gonna destroy you.”
He got up and held the man's wrist, grabbed and shook it. His fingers unlocked the handcuffs then removed the handle and sat back down.
“Now start talking, you useless trash!”
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