The Missing File Read online

  She waited at the entrance and watched him as he entered the station and closed the heavy glass door behind him.

  Along with Michal’s support, the thing that saved Ze’ev from folding under the terrible pressure brought to bear on him that day was the fact that he came prepared. Almost nothing during the course of the interrogation surprised him, aside from the end, which he couldn’t have predicted. If a police interrogation is sometimes poetically compared to a game of chess, Ze’ev constantly remained two or three moves ahead of his opponent—until the board overturned on both of them and the pieces came crashing down.

  He identified himself to the policeman behind the desk at the entrance. Avraham was waiting for him, and Ze’ev knew the way. He walked down the gray corridor and stopped outside the third door on the left. His fear left him the moment he pressed down on the door handle and the familiar room opened up before him, but seconds earlier, while waiting outside the closed door, he had felt so strange—as if he was about to meet his maker.

  But it was only Avi Avraham.

  The investigator, dressed in uniform, was squashed in between the desk and the wall. He asked Ze’ev to take a seat and watched the teacher’s movements as he placed his bag at the leg of the desk, pulled back the chair, and sat down. Looking at the inspector, Ze’ev felt both excited and relieved. Avraham asked again for his ID card and used a blue pen to jot down a few words on a blank sheet of paper.

  “How are you today?” Ze’ev asked, but got no response.

  There was a recording device, which remained switched off for now, on the side of the desk next to the wall. Ze’ev waited for Avraham to turn it on and formally begin their talk.

  Avraham took his time. He continued writing, putting down the pen only a minute or two later and lifting his gaze from the page. “I understand you’d like to speak to me about a different matter,” he then said. “But I still need to ask you a number of questions regarding the investigation into the disappearance of Ofer Sharabi.”

  “What I have to say is not an entirely different matter,” Ze’ev replied, and then went silent for a moment. “Are you turning on the recording device or have we not started yet?” he asked.

  He wouldn’t be able to repeat what he had to say.

  “Do you think I should turn it on?” Avraham asked, and Ze’ev thought he sounded sterner and less intimate than he had the last time they had met, as if he was playing some kind of childish interrogation game with him. There were no barriers or mask between them when they last spoke. For a while, at least, they had had a real conversation, not a question-and-answer session between an interrogator and a suspect, and he had hoped for the same this time too. That’s why he had chosen Avraham. He knew he needed to tell him everything right away, without hesitation, just as he had planned. He said, “I don’t know if you should turn it on or not—I mean, from a legal standpoint.”

  The device remained off.

  “I’m listening,” Avraham said.

  “Okay, so here it goes. Two weeks ago, the police received an anonymous call in which someone told them they should look for Ofer on the dunes around the H300 building project. I wanted to tell you that I made that call.”

  That was the plan—to open with the telephone call, and move on to the letters afterward, precisely in keeping with the chronological order in which things had happened, so that Avraham would understand the chain of events. It was also easier to confess to the telephone call without betraying his soul.

  Ze’ev was too tense to accurately read Avraham’s expression, but he was able to discern a look of puzzlement in his eyes. He clearly had never considered that Ze’ev might have been the caller. Avraham moved his hand toward the recording device, but then retracted it. “Go on,” he said, the blue pen in his hand once again.

  “I surprised myself, too,” Ze’ev said. “And I don’t really have much more to say about it. That was just the way it all happened. I hadn’t intended saying that the police should look for a body. I planned to say that I had seen Ofer there and that that’s where the searches should be carried out. I must have added it because I was agitated. I would like to apologize for that.”

  “When did you see him there?” Avraham asked. “What day was it?”

  Disappointed by the question, Ze’ev repeated what he thought he’d made clear in his previous statement. “I didn’t see him. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What I said on the telephone was fabricated. I made it up. That’s what I want to apologize for.”

  “Apologize. That’s the most important thing,” Michal had repeatedly said to him.

  Avraham still did not understand. “If you didn’t see him, why did you call?” he asked, and Ze’ev said, “I don’t know. I wish I had an explanation. I wanted to speak to you, to try to explain why I think I did what I did. But it’s important that you know that I didn’t see Ofer, and that the information was made up. And it was especially important for me to tell you all of this face-to-face, not just because you’re in charge of the investigation, but also because I sat and spoke with you for two hours previously and concealed it, despite the trust that developed between us and the rapport we had. I should have just told you then. It may already be too late, and if so, I apologize again. That’s why I am here. But I honestly had no intention of sabotaging the investigation. Finding Ofer is just as important to me as it is to you.”

  He was left alone in the room, and not for the last time.

  But in fact he wasn’t entirely alone, thanks to Michal. During the difficult hours that followed, too, after he lost control over the discussion and the chess pieces came crashing down, she remained by his side. She didn’t get mad about his failure to tell her about the phone call. She understood he only wanted to avoid upsetting her even more. She quietly absorbed his rage at being in that room, came up close to him, and whispered in his ear, “You’re doing it for me. For us.”

  He planned on telling Avraham about the letters when he returned to the room, but when the police inspector entered once again, without explaining his reason for leaving, he immediately turned on the recording device and said, in an official tone, “Interview with Ze’ev Avni. May twenty-second. Eight twenty-two a.m. Please repeat what you said to me just now.”

  Ze’ev wasn’t sure if he should direct his voice at the silver-colored metal box or the investigator who sat there in front of him. “I said I want to apologize for the anonymous phone call to the police,” he said.

  “The phone call regarding what matter?” Avraham asked.

  “The matter of Ofer Sharabi.”

  “In which you said what?”

  “In which I said the police should look for Ofer on the dunes by the H300 building project.”

  “That’s not what was said in the call to the police.”

  “In which I said the police should look for Ofer’s body.”

  “How did you come by this information about the location of Ofer’s body?”

  Despite being prepared for questions of the kind designed to trip him up, Ze’ev was both startled and disappointed to hear them from Avraham. For him, this wasn’t the purpose of their conversation. “I didn’t have any information,” he said. “I made it up. I meant to say something else.”

  “What did you mean to say?” Avraham asked.

  “That I saw Ofer. But that wouldn’t have been true either. It was a mistake for which I take full responsibility and apologize.”

  “When did you make the call?”

  “On Friday, two and a half weeks ago.”

  “Do you recall the date?”

  “No.”

  “Friday, May sixth?”

  “Probably.”

  “At what time?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. In the evening, somewhere between nine and ten.”

  “And where did you make the call from?”

  “Fro
m a public telephone near the beach. I don’t recall the name of the street.”

  “And according to you, at the time you made the call, you knew you were providing the police with false information, right? So please explain to me why you called.”

  Now, these were the important questions, as far as he was concerned, the kind of questions that could spark a real conversation. He hadn’t only wanted to meet with Avi Avraham because Michal thought it was the right thing to do; he had tried to find his own justification for going to the police. And that’s what he came up with: the justification for it all lay in the chance that, together with Avraham, with his help, he could truly work out what had happened to him. He wanted to go back with Avraham to the moment he saw the police cars parked outside the building and realized they were there for him. When he had spoken to Michal about that tremendous moment, it was as if the words were unfaithful to what he felt and what he truly wanted to say. He had hoped that with Avraham things would be different.

  “As I told you, I really don’t know what drove me to do it,” Ze’ev said. “There were a few reasons, I think. I know that from the moment I learned that Ofer had disappeared, I felt a compelling need to be involved in the search and to help his family and the police—and Ofer, most of all. I also realized that I wanted to write about the subject. If you are looking for simple explanations, perhaps I was afraid that the police wouldn’t take the matter seriously enough, and I wanted to make sure they carried out comprehensive searches. And maybe—and I know that what I’m about to say may sound terrible—maybe I wanted to see what searches look like and how they are carried out, so I’d be able to write about them. But all this explains nothing, and I’m sure there are other subconscious reasons that I’m not even aware of. Perhaps you’ll understand better if you hear it all. I have more to tell you.”

  “Just a moment,” Avraham said. “Before you do, I’d like to understand what you mean by ‘other subconscious reasons.’ ”

  “The last time we spoke, I told you that Ofer and I had developed a very close relationship when I was tutoring him, and that I identified strongly with him and what he had been through. You and I met during the search on the dunes on Saturday, remember? And also before then, on Thursday evening, when you came to our apartment to take statements from me and my wife. I already felt then I wanted to be actively involved in the search. I had hoped to tell you about Ofer’s personality and what I had recognized in him, but I wasn’t able to then. You were also in a rush that day. Perhaps I also feared that if I didn’t initiate the search, I wouldn’t get the opportunity to speak with you again and tell you about Ofer.”

  “You have a wife and child, don’t you?” Avraham suddenly asked, breaking his train of thought.

  “You met them. Why do you ask?”

  “How old is the boy?”

  “He’ll be a year old soon. But why do you ask?”

  Avraham ignored his question. The abrupt questions about Michal and Elie caused Ze’ev more discomfort than any others might have aroused.

  “How long have you been living in Ofer’s building?” Avraham continued, and Ze’ev replied, “You know that, too. Just over a year now.”

  “And do you have a private office at the school where you teach?”

  “A private office? No, there’s a staff room.”

  “When you saw Ofer on the dunes, was he carrying his bag, the black bag?”

  “I told you, I didn’t see him there. Please, believe me.”

  Avraham was silent for a moment, tapping his pen on the piece of paper in front of him and searching Ze’ev’s eyes with his own. “I think there’s another reason for your calling the police and coming in here to speak to me,” he then said quietly.

  Ze’ev looked directly at Avraham, with no fear, only curiosity. “What reason?”

  “In fact you’ve been pursuing me since the investigation began. The day it started, you invited me to your apartment, didn’t you? The next day you called the police to say you had found Ofer’s body, and then you joined the search and chased after me all day. That same week, you invited yourself for another interview with me, and here you are again, for the fourth time.”

  The description of the police inspector being hounded by him was thought provoking. Ze’ev hadn’t seen it like that. He said, “I’m sure you don’t recall, but we ran into each other on the stairs of my building that same Friday on which I called the police. It was purely by chance; I wasn’t following you, and you didn’t even notice me. In any event, I wouldn’t say I’ve been pursuing you. What are you implying, anyway?”

  “I think you’re trying to imply something,” Avraham said. “You would like to tell me something about your relationship with Ofer, but it’s difficult for you to do it. You want to and don’t want to at the same time. Would you like me to help you?”

  Even in retrospect Ze’ev was unable to assess how much time had passed from the start of their conversation until the moment the chessboard came crashing down to the floor without either of them overturning it.

  He looked around. Before the crash, Avraham was taking the conversation in a direction that disgusted Ze’ev though probably was inevitable. Ze’ev answered all his questions while escaping them inwardly with the help of his writing. He wanted the crummy room at the police station to be etched in his memory, every tiny detail, so that he’d be able to describe it in a book one day, perhaps in a novel centered around a police detective—if he ever dared to write one. He tried to memorize the appearance of the walls of the room: close to one another, white and bare, but dark somehow, maybe because the paint was old. It was more a cell than a room. Fixed to the wall above the desk were three shelves, made from a yellowish wood, on which cardboard files and three books, the names of which he couldn’t remember, were haphazardly piled. A gold-plated commendation plaque was also on display. There was no window. On one of the occasions on which Avraham left the room and Ze’ev was left alone for a while, he stood up to stretch his legs, leaned forward, and saw on the inspector’s computer screen a photograph, in shades of blue, of a European city that he wasn’t able to identify, either at dawn or sunset. At the bottom of the picture an orange-colored light shone from behind a bedroom curtain.

  The letters had not been mentioned yet, and he wasn’t solely to blame for that. He had told Avraham that he had more to say, but the inspector insisted on asking him dark question after dark question about his “relationship with Ofer”—though maybe he cooperated with that. He found it easier to respond to insinuations that were swallowed up by the questions he was being asked than to confess about the letters. “If you like, I’ll turn off the tape and you can just talk to me about what went on between you two,” Avraham said. “If it has nothing to do with the disappearance, I promise it won’t leave this room.”

  It was almost humiliating.

  “You don’t have to turn it off. I came here to talk. And I already told you about our relationship. I was Ofer’s private tutor for four months, and aside from teaching him English, I think we were close, that I was some kind of a mentor to him. I saw sides of him that no one else did, and I listened to him the way no one else could or wanted to.”

  Avraham did surprise him with the next question, “Do you think Ofer loved you?” and Ze’ev said, “Loved me? What a strange question. Ofer felt that I was willing to give him something that others didn’t. I don’t know if he loved me.”

  “And did you love him?”

  “You’re using that word again; I don’t think it’s the right word. I love my son; it’s not the same thing. I think I identified with Ofer, that I saw parts of myself in him and that I had a lot of empathy for him. I wanted to help him.”

  “And did you feel he wanted more, that he was asking you for more?”

  “Not at all. But maybe I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “That he wanted you as a close friend, or to be
his father—I have no idea. We understand from statements collected during the course of the investigation that Ofer was very attached to you. Loved you perhaps. Forgive me for using that word again, I know you don’t like it.”

  Ze’ev looked at him. For the first time he felt unsure of his ability to read Avraham’s intentions. He didn’t know if Avraham was telling the truth, if that’s what the police had been told during their inquiries. It certainly could have been the truth. He wondered who the police had spoken to—Ofer’s parents, without doubt—but would Ofer have told his friends about their relationship?

  “No, I like the word,” Ze’ev said. “I simply think you are not using it correctly.”

  “And what do you have to say about what I have just told you?”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m sure Ofer appreciated the way I listened to him and perceived him. I don’t think that means he loved me.”

  “Mr. Avni, tell me, why in fact did Ofer stop coming to the lessons?”

  He could have called him Ze’ev.

  “He didn’t stop. I told you the last time; his parents informed me that he no longer needed private English lessons, and I don’t think it was only due to financial reasons, because I was willing to continue for free. Perhaps they weren’t pleased with the relationship that developed between us.”

  “Yes, that’s what you said last time. I remember. But it’s not entirely true, you know. I spoke to his parents and they told me explicitly that the lessons were stopped at Ofer’s request. He didn’t want you to come to their home any longer.”

  Ze’ev recalled their last lesson: nothing out of the ordinary, in Ofer’s room, preparation for a grammar test on the use of the present perfect tense. Ofer didn’t say it would be their last one. At the start of the lesson, Ofer gave him back the Hitchcock box set, and Ze’ev tried to find out if he had watched any of the movies and what he had thought of them, but couldn’t get Ofer to respond. Hannah Sharabi served him a cup of tea and date biscuits. It was raining by the time the lesson ended, and long drops of water were trickling down the windowpane. Hannah Sharabi offered him a jelly doughnut on the way out—it was the third or fourth night of Hanukkah. He remembered thinking that evening how wonderful it was to discover the rain from angles one wasn’t accustomed to, through the windows of others. Two days later, Hannah knocked on their door and informed him, apologetically, that Ofer would be taking extra lessons in math, rather than English, from then on.