28

An hour later, back in Tel Aviv, I found a deserted café with a stooped, hatchet-faced barwoman and a telephone in the rear. It took a while, and a good number of calls, but eventually I managed to find the former manager of Moshe Klinger, back when he'd worked for Tnuva in Haifa.

He had a gruff, well-fed voice, and I could picture him in my mind: tanned skin lined by sun exposure; thick mustache; heavy frame with a bit of a gut, but not soft; thick arms dotted with sunspots; Shorts and sandals and strong legs sporting brown or black curls; and a face that was showing its forty-something years, but might stay that way for the next twenty. His name was Menashe Harel.

"I understand Moshe Klinger worked for you," I said into the mouthpiece.

"Who wants to know?" he demanded. A busy man in the middle of a busy day.

"Sergeant Dov Remez," I said, taking the first name of one government minister and stitching it to the last name of another. "Tel Aviv police."

A long pause. Breathing on the other end. In the background were sounds of men shouting instructions to each other and truck or tractor engines growling. The sounds were muffled, like Harel was in an office in a loading area with the door closed.

"Police? What's this about? Has Moshe done anything?"

"No, Mr. Harel, he's done nothing wrong," I said, aiming for a tone that signaled both assurance and weary impatience. I was committing a crime by impersonating a police officer, but I doubted I would ever be punished for it. Besides, I wanted to get answers quickly, without begging or wheedling, and couldn't think of a better way of getting them. People like Harel have respect for authority. "But his name has come up in connection with an investigation we're running, so I'm doing a little background check on him. Your full cooperation would be appreciated. Now, did Moshe Klinger work for you?"

"Yes, he did," Harel said, eager to help. "But not for, oh, ten years now."

"Yes. That fits in with what we already know," I said. As an interrogator you learn that it's always good to look like you already know a great deal. It makes people less likely to lie or hide things from you. "What exactly were his duties?"

"Driving. He also did some work on vehicles; he was pretty handy with a wrench. But his job was to drive a truck, delivering produce."

"What was his route?"

"He didn't have just one. He'd drive wherever I'd tell him."

"Including Tel Aviv?"

"Sure." A pause. "Listen, Sergeant, Moshe still works for Tnuva. If he's suspected of something, we should—"

"We're interested in Klinger as a potential witness, not a suspect. Tnuva has nothing to worry about. Now tell me, did Klinger's work ever require him to stay the night away from home?"

"On long trips, yes."

"Where would he sleep? Hotels?"