The Missing File by D. A. Mishani

investigation—even if it wasn’t the most comprehensive investigation in the world,” Shrapstein continued. “He must leave some trace. He has to draw out money before or after he disappears, doesn’t he? And even if he did get caught up in something unexpected, what are the chances that we don’t learn of it? And even if he wants to commit suicide without anyone’s knowledge, he has to do it somehow, right? He has to steal a gun from someone, or pills from his parents’ medicine cabinet, a knife from the kitchen, something or other. In general, people who kill themselves actually want to be found; that’s what I’ve been taught.”
    Ilana turned to look at Avraham, seemingly inviting him to respond to the challenge laid down by the young and “brilliant” inspector she had brought onto his team. “You can buy pills at a drugstore,” Avraham said.
    â€œSo what are you actually telling us—that he bought two boxes of headache tablets at a pharmacy without telling anyone, and then went and swallowed them on the dunes?” Shrapstein continued. “That doesn’t make sense.”
    The young officer looked over at Ilana and she nodded her head. “So you believe we are dealing with a crime?” she asked. “What kind of crime?”
    â€œAs far as I’m concerned, the investigation hasn’t started yet and all options are open,” Shrapstein went on. “Clearly, we haven’t acted fast enough thus far. Even if he did run away from home—and I don’t believe that is the case—he got farther away from us with each passing night. And I still don’t know anything about the missing boy—that’s what troubles me. Anything is possible—a kidnapping, involvement in a crime and an escape, anything. Even murder. It doesn’t make sense for a sixteen-and-a-half-year-old to run away from home for five days and not be in touch with anyone at all.”
    Avraham was momentarily befuddled by a burning sense of anger and defiance that Shrapstein’s words were evoking in him. After all, there had been moments when he had thought the same. How many times in the past few days had he asked himself that same question: How can a sixteen-year-old boy disappear from home without anyone knowing a thing about it? Perhaps the defiance was sparked by Shrapstein’s adamant tone, his attempt to convey the sense that everything he said had to be right. “Perhaps he has made contact with someone we have yet to get to,” Avraham said, as if to himself, not directing his comment at anyone in particular, to which Shrapstein responded quietly, “Well, that’s a different matter.”
    Ma’alul remained on the sidelines of the conversation until Ilana addressed him, asking him if, based on his experience, he thought they were dealing with a runaway. As always, he took his time before responding. His brown eyes closed for an instant, and then opened again, while his stubby fingers ran lightly over his bald head. “Based on what we have heard so far—no,” Ma’alul said, looking over at Avraham slightly apologetically. “I’d like to be cautious here,” he continued, “but when it comes to planned disappearances at this age, there are usually warning signs. Truancy or dropping out of school, mixing with street gangs, criminal records related to alcohol or drug use. The fact that he has no history of any of these, if I am to understand correctly, adds to my concerns that something has happened to him—and not the contrary, as Avi has presented things. And, again, I’m saying this with caution. I also agree with Eyal that we need to act quickly, to put as much effort as possible into the investigation over the coming days. Five days without a sign of life is much too long.”
    Ilana took off her glasses. Over the past weeks, Avraham had come to believe that she would wear