The Missing File by D. A. Mishani Page B

full of adrenaline when he arrived early that morning at the station, feeling sure that the meeting in Ilana’s office would breathe some life into the investigation, which had come unstuck in the dunes. He had even momentarily toyed with the idea that it would all be over that same day. But something had gone wrong since.
    â€œWe’ll wait awhile with the media,” Ilana said. “I want us to be careful about releasing information we don’t know the significance of. Ah yes, and one more thing—the father; he returns to Israel today if I’m not mistaken. He’s a member of the local Labor Party branch and the Workers Council Union of Zim Shipping Lines. I’ve already received calls from ‘people’ inquiring about our progress in the case and what we are doing to bring his son home. I’m sure I don’t need to explain things to you . . .”
    The three investigators stood up. “To work, then,” Eliyahu Ma’alul said.
    Avraham asked him why he was wearing a Windbreaker. “What do you mean, Avi?” Ma’alul responded. “Against the wind.”
    I lana opened the large window facing the street and placed a small glass ashtray on the desk. The sudden rush of air into the room restored his spirits somewhat, and the noise of the bus traffic along Salame Street lightened his mood as well.
    â€œYou look shattered,” she said to him.
    â€œI’m tired,” he replied, lighting a cigarette.
    â€œBecause of Wednesday night?” she asked, her voice sounding closer with just the two of them in the room now.
    â€œI don’t know,” Avraham replied.
    â€œDon’t be too hard on yourself about Wednesday evening,” Ilana continued. “You made a decision that may or may not have been the right one but can certainly be understood and justified in the broad context of police work. In any event, there’s no point in wallowing in it. You have a complex investigation on your hands and now need to manage things quickly but also in a focused and clear-thinking fashion. Would you like a coffee? We have ten minutes.”
    He looked at her, bemused. “A clear-thinking fashion?” he said, repeating her words.
    â€œYes, a clear-thinking fashion. What’s wrong with that? You can’t conduct an investigation out of a sense of guilt, particularly without knowing if you have any reason to feel guilty. We’ve been working together long enough for me to know you can do it.”
    â€œOf course there’s a reason. Even if it turns out to be insignificant, I shouldn’t have sent her home from the station without doing anything. And on top of that, I gave her a lecture about being worried for no reason and how Ofer would come back that same night.”
    â€œAbout mysteries and why there are no detective novels in Hebrew?” Ilana questioned. “I thought you had vowed to stop with that.”
    She tried to placate him with her smile and a further softening of her voice. They had known each other for almost nine years. Before her promotion to chief of the Investigations and Intelligence Division, she was Superintendent Ilana Lis, one of the most highly regarded investigators in the Tel Aviv Police District. A few months after Avraham completed his officers’ course and joined the division, he was assigned to a team she was leading in an investigation of a lawyer who had stolen millions of shekels from his elderly clients. The frankness with which she had spoken to him about the investigation had stunned him; she hadn’t made any effort to conceal her feelings or concerns, and she had listened to his thoughts. Together, they had come up with the strategy that finally broke the lawyer down after many exhausting hours of questioning. He had been thrilled by her ability to create trust among her colleagues. He had never before met anyone like her, in the police or elsewhere. She had invited him into