A Possibility of Violence Read Free Page A

that had been awarded to the precinct. Avraham asked, “Can I help?” and Saban laughed. “Can you fill five positions for me by this evening?” The secretary entered the room without knocking and set a glass plate in front of him upon which was a large mug of hot water and two pretzels, and he sat down and asked Avraham if he wanted coffee again. “Maybe she will interrogate them,” he said after she left.
    Avraham had heard about Saban’s appointment to district commander while he was in Brussels, in a phone conversation with Eliyahu Ma’alul. He hadn’t met him before this and didn’t know a thing about him, only that over the last three years he was a district commander up north, and before that deputy chief of the Planning Division. He wasn’t an investigator or a field agent, and had made his way up the organization mainly through a series of administrative positions. The palms of his hands were small and smooth, and the sleeves of his shirt were neatly ironed. From time to time he leaned back in his chair, bent forward again with a sudden movement, and placed his hands on the desk. Picked up a pen and drew sharp lines on the pages in front of him. There was an involuntary twitch in his eyes. For a moment he fixed them on Avraham, and then he began blinking as if something was blinding him, lowered his gaze to the desk, and covered his eyes with an incidental movement of his small palm. He said, “In any case, to the matter at hand. I know that your vacation isn’t over, but it was important to me to invite you to an early introductory meeting and to hear that you’re coming back and that everything’s okay. There were rumors you might not be returning.”
    Avraham responded that he had no plan not to return, and Saban said, “Good, good to hear. That makes me happy. I heard positive things about you and we need quality manpower. I read about your previous case, and the report that Ilana Lis wrote as well, and I don’t think there was any problem with the way in which the investigation was conducted. You have full support from me. The guilty parties were caught and we’re moving on. Clean slate.”
    Saban blinked again. And tried to smile.
    Avraham didn’t know a thing about the report that Ilana Lis wrote about his last investigation. At whose request did she write it? And who saw it? And why didn’t she tell him?
    They spoke a few times over the phone while he was on vacation and Ilana didn’t mention the report. He said to Saban, “Thank you. I don’t know what you read, or where, but the investigation you’re talking about is behind me.”
    â€œExcellent, excellent. Good to hear. And, by the way, since you’re already here, I would be happy if you stayed for the welcoming toast in my honor this afternoon. Can you? I’m going to talk about what I see as the objectives of the district’s policework.”
    Avraham promised that he would try his best to stay, and Saban said to him, “You know what? Take the pages with you—worst comes to worst you’ll read them at home. I’ll print another copy. This is my vision for our shared work in the coming years.” From Saban’s damp, combed hair it looked to Avraham as if he had gotten his hair cut that morning, before coming to the station. Were these signs of nervousness also caused by the speech he was going to give this afternoon? He thanked him, folded up the pages of the speech, and stuck them in his shirt pocket.
    Saban asked, “So when are we meeting officially? When are you actually returning?” And Avraham said, “After Rosh Hashanah. But I could interrogate one of the prisoners today if you don’t have anyone else. I don’t have a problem staying here a few more hours.”
    Saban hesitated, and this hurt him. He said, “But . . . you’re still on vacation. And I thought it would be good if