The Devil in Jerusalem by Naomi Ragen Page B

is disgusting. And you pretend to be religious, God-fearing—”
    â€œI’m not pretending!” Daniella shouted, standing up.
    â€œSit down! You know, a highly respected rabbi who saw you in your white clothes with the psalmbook in your hand said it was sickening,” Bina told her, something she’d read in the newspaper.
    â€œWhich rabbi?”
    â€œNever mind. A well-respected Hassidic rabbi from Meah Shearim.”
    Daniella sat down, her strength draining.
    â€œShe’s not religious. No religious, God-fearing person hurts an innocent child or let’s someone else do it while she watches. I feel like we’re talking to a brick wall,” Bina said, thinking of the little boy with the horrible burns. She felt the bile rising in her throat. “Where are the handcuffs? Come, let’s go back to your cell, Your Holiness. You’re not going to see us for another eight days. Such a hypocrite!”
    â€œWe rolled out the red carpet for you to tell the truth. We couldn’t have been kinder or more understanding. We don’t want to see your act anymore,” Morris added.
    â€œYour poor kids! You should burn in hell—you have it coming! I’m going to make sure you get yours: that you don’t live to see the light of day again, let alone your children!” Bina suddenly shouted, standing up and leaning across the desk.
    â€œWhoa!” Morris glanced at the other detective, who put a restraining arm around Bina’s shoulder, steering her out the door.
    Outside, she leaned against the wall, shaking. She felt defeated.
    â€œDon’t take it personally, Bina,” Morris comforted her. “Sometimes, it’s like this. But usually, they are hard-boiled criminals, Mafia types, murderers. But a young mother? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
    â€œSo now what?” she asked him.
    â€œNow we offer her a carrot. We let her meet her children. She’s been demanding it all week.”
    â€œYou can’t be serious. She could influence them, threaten them to keep quiet.”
    â€œIf she does, we’ll know about it. We’ll be watching and recording the whole thing. If she tries to shut them up, the judge will know about it.”
    â€œGo back in and tell her,” Morris said to Bina.
    â€œNo, I’ve burnt my bridges.”
    â€œDon’t be naïve. She respects you now. She realizes she can’t fool you. Go back in and offer her time with her children if she talks.”
    Bina took a deep breath, opening the door.
    Daniella looked up fearfully.
    â€œI’m sorry I got carried away. It’s just … the idea of anyone hurting children the way yours have been hurt. It makes me crazy.”
    â€œWhen can I see them?”
    â€œWe’ll arrange something. They are missing you terribly.”
    Daniella’s shoulders slumped, her back losing its defiance.
    â€œMy poor children…,” she said softly.
    The sudden contradiction of this statement compared to this woman’s heartless behavior was absolutely dumbfounding. Bina tried to decipher this creature in front of her. It was like working on a jigsaw puzzle with tiny pieces when you had no picture to compare them to, no way of knowing how many pieces were missing or how the ones you had fit together. What she had so far showed her nothing comprehensible.
    *   *   *
    Two days later they brought Daniella back. Her children were waiting for her: fourteen-year-old Amalya, thirteen-year-old Duvie, twelve-year-old Yossi, eleven-year-old Gabriel, and seven-year-old Shoshana. They were in a bad way, divided up among several foster families, missing their parents and each other. But with both their parents under investigation, social services didn’t have a better solution at the moment.
    On the other side of a two-way mirror, Bina watched the drama unfold. An interrogation room’s gray walls, and five children who