Selected Detective
FUTILE INTERROGATION

As the two walk the grounds of Kfar Shaul Mental Rehabilitation Centre, past its beautiful flower-filled terraces and a neatly arranged arrangement of rocky buildings, Layla is tempted to make reference to the history of the place. He is tempted to ask Ben-Roi if he knows that the older building once formed part of the Palestinian village of Dar Yassin, which in 1948 bore witness to the heinous murder of Jewish Militarists: the: two dozen men, women and children were viciously shot. Just one glance at this colleague with whom his eyes were red from lack of sleep, his mouth looked dry due to stress and unhappiness was enough to state that his information would not be appreciated, he said, and so Layla said nothing, keeping her whole story in silence.

It was the joint Israeli-Palestinian investigation that Ben-Roi filed when he visited Layla's cell abruptly three days ago. The two work together as a team to try to trace the whereabouts of Menorah, plus another man named Khalifa who leads a search in Egypt, all officially approved, very secret, all important. Is it time for him? will he help? Of course, Layla was surprised, and suspicious even though she was the first to come up with the idea of a joint investigation (not a minute to believe that Ben-Roi brought her to the realization of the idea). A glint of vigor in the eyes of the man, an unsuccessful attempt to keep it looking calm and proper; all about him has been chanting that there is more behind his proposal than he has put forward, a kind of hidden agenda. It was too much of a risk for Layla to refuse to cooperate, so she immediately agreed and without much question did whatever was asked.

So does Ben-Roi's equally unexpected coercion that during the search, Layla must move into Ben-Roi's apartment in West Jerusalem. Again, every warning system in Layla's body rang, warning that their plan had little to do with having to be where they could work together without arousing suspicion, as Ben-Roi said, compared to his desire to keep an eye on Layla, following her every move. Again, Layla kept the unrest to herself. He suggested that yes, it was a good idea for the time, accepting that if he wanted to keep up with the Menorah hunt then he would have to follow the rules of the game set by the man. And anyway, with this high risk Layla was so anxious that she also had to keep an eye on the man.

So Ben-Roi has signed a number of Layla's release forms, escorting her to her apartment to pick up her laptop and clothes Layla instantly finds out that the place has been completely inspected as long as she is not around and then returns to Ben-Roi's flat in Romema, the middle room has been turned into an office. And there they worked three full days, tense, uncomfortable, and causing Claustrophobia. Every morning they start by doing things like calling, sending e-mails, searching the internet for information, chasing every thoughtful clue, continuing to finish it all through the day and night, accompanied by coffee, sandwiches, and for Ben-Roi, bottles of vodka.

Early in the morning, Layla will fall on the sofa to sleep for only a few hours and Ben-Roi will disappear into his own bedroom, although he actually did not sleep because on several occasions Layla suddenly woke up in the middle of the night blind because she heard him walking around, whispering through his mobile phone. Layla once also found herself standing in the corridor watching Layla, with a deathly pale face and trembling lips. Several times, early in the day, Layla had tried to break the ice and start a conversation, asking her background, about a photo of a woman on her bookshelf, about anything. But Ben-Roi dodges and says that Layla was there just to help him get Menorah, not writing a biography of him. So, Layla does her regular job, calls, writes e-mails, searches for information, and stays focused.

The situation also urged an atmosphere of mutual antipathy and suspicion. Hoth's visit to Dachau since its inception has formed a major impetus on their investigation. There is little doubt that the crate he carried contained Menorah. But where did he take that thing after? why did he order six prisoners? Here are some questions that need to be answered. This is a question that they usually fail to answer.

The Dachau experts, the Third Regime experts, the Ahnenerbe experts, the experts in tracing the treasures of Nazi plunder, even the German transport infrastructure experts in World War II have all been contacted, questioned and investigated, but to nothing. Most of them had never heard of Hoth; some of those who heard of Hoth could not offer any sign of why he visited the camp or where he was after it.

Layla contacted Magnus Toping again yes, she was happy with dinner with him when he visited England again, having intercourse to eliminate the fatigue and suspicion that was going on with the Israeli Detective. Also contact Jean-Michel Dupont, half a dozen of Dupont's friends and relatives. All nil. Nobody knows, nobody can help them.

In a grueling three-day search, there were only two new pieces of information that gave the new light: the type of truck used by the three-ton Hoth Opel Blitzes, the standard German transport. In addition, from the archives in Yad Vashem obtained the names of the six prisoners ruled by Hoth.They are Janek Liebermann, Avram Brichter, Yitzhak edelstein, Yitzhak Weiss, Eric Blum, and Marc Wesser. The first four were Jewish, the last two were a communist and a homosexual. None of them returned to the camp. Any attempt to trace their tracks, to find whether any of them had survived the war, failed.

In short, they are deadlocked. That is why, after three days, they finally leave Ben-Roi's apartment and head towards Kfar Shaul. Due to the only other possibility that throughout her quest to find Hoth, Hannah Schlegel may also have known of Menorah's whereabouts. And that in turn he had communicated it to his brother Isaac.

“Just a waste of time,” Ben-Roi said during the trip.

“The man hasn't spoken for fifteen years. He's like a wreck.” But that's the only possibility. After everything was arranged in a phone conversation, they headed to the North Wing Psychogeriatric Center and were greeted by Dr. Gilda Nissim, the woman who had received Ben-Roi on a previous visit. The woman greeted the two with a perfunctory nod, and cast a somewhat suspicious look at Layla. He then led them through a glass door and a dimly lit corridor, their shoes galloping on the shiny marble floor, a cooling machine filling the building with a ghostly whispering voice.

Once they reached Schlegel's room, the doctor gave a brief description that his patient had been so disturbed by Ben-Roi's previous visit that he would not tolerate him being treated in such a manner again, and that the time available for the interview is no more than fifteen minutes. He opened the door and pulled over to give them a way. Ben-Roi enters; Layla hesitates a little, but then follows. The doctor opened half of his mouth as if he was going to give instructions before Ben-Roi turned around but, by saying “Thank you” which was a bit stiff, he closed the door.

“Sok interfered,” grumbled Ben-Roi. The room had not changed since his first visit: the bed, the table, the crayon painting on the entire wall and in the armchair by the window, in pajama clothes and skinny like a scarecrow, sat Isaac Schlegel with a glare fixed on the same book in his lap. A book whose corner of the page is folded. Ben-Roi grabbed the wooden chair and sat down in front of him. Layla remained standing in place, eyes looking around the walls, watching various paintings of Menorah branching seven.

“I'm sorry I've bothered you again, Mr. Schlegel,” The detective immediately started, “But I want to ask you a few more questions. About your sister, Hannah.”

He tried to keep his voice calm and reassuring, so as not to frighten this old man. Unsuccessful, as upon hearing the detective's voice the old man's eyes widened agitatedly and began to swing his body forward and backward, his palms closed and opened around the back of the book, and the, a soft whimper came out of his mouth. Ben-Roi bit his lip, clearly not in a good mood to ask a question.

“Not to be afraid,” he said, imposing an unsympathetic smile at all on his face.

“We won't hurt you. We just want to talk to you. It won't be long, I promise.” Again his attempt to calm down even gives an unwanted effect. The whining sound grew louder, the swaying of his body on the chair also grew louder.

“I know this is difficult, Mr. Schlegel, and I'm sorry I've troubled you before this, but this is really...” Schlegel's hands clenched tightly and were directed to either side of his head, like a boxer trying to fend off a blow. His whimper is getting worse and turns into a high-pitched howl, blaring in the room.Ben-Roi's mouth grinned, his fists tightened in disappointment.

“Listen, Schlegel, I know you...”.

“For God!” Layla stepped forward, throwing a glance at the detective as if to say “What's wrong with you?” before he crouched down next to the old man and clasped one of his clenched hands into the arms of his two hands.

“Ssshh,” Layla said gently, while rubbing the pale and glazed skin. “What's wrong, it's okay. Calm down.” Almost immediately after the turmoil subsided, the old man's wobble gradually slowed, his screams low, like the humming sound of a refrigerator or computer.

“Well, I see,” said Layla gently, as she continued to wipe the old man's hand. “T needn't be afraid. Everything's gonna be fine. There is nothing to be afraid of.” Ben-Roi watches Layla, a glare of uncertainty flashed in his eyes, as if he was uncomfortable with this expression of tenderness, and felt muddled. Then, while picking up the bottle of drink at his waist, he retreated and gulped a few times. Layla continued talking to the old man, persuading him, calming him, relaxing him, singing the ninabobo that her father used to sing when he was a child, until he finally calmed down, his gray eyes looked at his lap, his hands clutching Layla's hands. He let it go in half a minute, then after feeling certain that he had gained the trust of the man, Layla shifted her position so that she knelt right in front of him, turning her back to Ben-Roi.

“Isaac,” he said softly, his voice a little louder than a whisper, “we need your help.would you help us?” Behind him, Ben-Roi snorted unconcernedly. Layla ignored him, and focused on the figure like a scarecrow in front of her.

“Come, Isaac.” Layla shook her hand, slowly persuading him to speak. “We're trying to get the Menorah. To protect. Do you know where it is? You know what happened to that thing?” There was no reaction.

Layla continued and continued to ask while trying to control her frustration, and still keeping her voice. Then, when there was still no answer, not even a sign that he understood or had a communication connection, Layla sighed, releasing her grip from the old man's hand and dropping her head, admitting that Ben-Roi is right, is a waste of time.

“Yellow.” This is not even like a whisper; it is more like a thin disturbance of the air around Schlegel's lips that may or may not form a word. Layla flinched, thinking that she must have imagined. The old man continued to look at the book on his lap.

“Yellow.” Sounds louder this time, although still too low are almost inaudible. Behind her, Layla can feel the tension of Ben-Roi, who is leaning forward. Layla grabs Schlegel's hand again.

“What yellow, Isaac? What do you mean?” Very slowly, the man raised his head. He stared into Layla's eyes for a moment, and his eyes now looked a little bright, like the bright light seen from a dewy glass. Then, pulling his hand from Layla's grasp, he lifted it and showed his trembling finger to the right side, to the four pictures that tell of the arches in Castelombres, in the middle of it is a fifth painting of the seven-branched Menorah.

“Yellow,” he whispered for the third time, his entire body trembling as if trying hard to get those words out of him.

“What do you mean by yellow?” Ben-Roi pushes his body again, his knees touching and pushing Layla's back. “That's yellow?” The man kept pointing at that point for a while, then lowered his hand again, holding the book tightly.

“See the yellow one.” Layla half turned around, threw a confused look at Ben-Roi, then lowered her head, looked at the man's face and held his hand again.

“Is that what Hannah told you, Isaac? Did Hannah say that?” Schlegel shook his book, bending the back of the book.

“See the yellow color,” it repeats.

“But what does that mean?” Ben-Roi's voice sounded harsh and loud. “What yellow?” Schlegel didn't say anything, just kept twirling the book.

“Painting in yellow?” urged detectives. “Is that what Hannah meant? See that yellow painting? Menorah Painting?” Then silent, then a creaking sound as Ben-Roi pushes his wooden chair and begins to stand up, approaching Menorah's painting and looking at it, while searching for the hidden meaning within the simple yellow crayon image. There's nothing. He removed the drawing sheet from the wall and looked at the back of it. Blank. He throws a glance at Layla, then goes around the room, looking for another Menorah painting, takes it off the wall, the movement gets more agitated. Schlegel only looked down at his lap.

“Come on, Isaac, please.” Layla whispered, clasping her hand. “What does Hannah mean? What does he want to tell us? please help us, Isaac. Please.” He loosened, Layla could feel it, leaning back. Layla continued to press her, shaking her hand, gently squeezing her palm as if she could push out other information from inside the man. Time passed, then with a huff of fury he leaned his back and looked at the ceiling, shaking his head. Ben-Roi slammed his hand against the wall.

“Damn,” he grumbled. Afterwards as the two trudged home in silence in the hospital grounds, the only sounds heard were the great-grandson of the pitched birds in the pine and fir trees as well, and, from a distance on the right side, the sound of a ping-pong ball being knocked over and over, Ben-Roi struggled to concentrate his mind, trying to figure out what step he should take next, how can all that is worked for will succeed.

Besides just a few minutes here and there, Ben-Roi had not slept for seventy-two hours. He collapsed, worse than he expected. Everything inside his head was covered in mist and chaos. He was no longer entirely sure what exactly he was doing, or why he was doing it. Three days ago everything seemed so clear: articles, interviews, oil for shaving were all fitting, all tied together. Keep an eye on Layla, keep an eye on her, wait for the right moment to appear. But the trigger does not present Layla too intelligent, too controlled so that without her desire Ben-Roi begins to hesitate, but, starting to wonder if it was possible that everything he did was wrong (how did Layla treat Schlegel earlier could someone like that ..?). Of course he still had that premonition God, did he have that premonition! can he trust her? Can he trust himself? he doesn't know, he doesn't know anymore. And he'll never know unless they can find the Menorah. That's when Layla ...

“What do we do now?”

“Hmm?” He was still half-drowning in his own thoughts.

“What will we do now?” Layla.

Ben-Roi shakes his head, while trying to pull himself back into the present. “Pray that stupid Khalifa found something.”

“And if he finds nothing?”

“Then we communicate by phone again. And it stays so until we find what we're looking for.” He slowed down and looked at Layla. His eyeballs grew with rays of suspicion and antipathy, before turning his gaze again and descending the hill. Layla followed in her footsteps. Down there they re-entered his BMW and drove to the hospital's metal gate, veering down the main thoroughfare, back towards Central Jerusalem. While they were on their way, just for a moment, Layla caught a blue Saab parked in the front yard of an abandoned garage, on a street corner across from the hospital door, with the driver pushing forward near the steering wheel while looking directly at the two, it lasted only half a second and then they drove quickly towards the city.

Behind them, Avi Steiner started powering the Saab engine. “Ok, they move back,” he said through walkie-talkie. He then starts the engine and sneaks into road traffic, driving between other cars until he is right behind Ben-Roi's car.