of security cameras around, they probably knew more about our movements than if we had a stalker.
We walked back towards the Jaffa Gate.
‘What’s Simon’s phone number?’ I asked Talli.
‘He told you everything he knows. I’m sure of it,’ she said, after she gave it to me. ‘We have a good reputation for helping academics from other universities.’ She held her hand out to bid me goodbye.
‘Thanks, Talli. I appreciate all your help. It means a lot to me. Send me an email in a week or two about what
you’re working on. Maybe you can come and do a talk for us too.’
She beamed. Then she was gone, and Isabel and I were heading for a taxi that had pulled up. It was disgorging a family of American tourists.
I checked my phone again. Susan hadn’t called back. I tapped her number. I must have dialled it ten times since she’d rung me. The number still wasn’t available.
It was looking increasingly like the call had been an accident of some sort. Maybe her phone had been stolen. Maybe someone had turned it on briefly, pressed the redial button, before taking its SIM out.
‘Can you take us to Jabotinski?’ I said to the driver. He looked at me as if I was a piece of bait drifting on the top of a pool. Then he grinned. He was young, had a few days’ growth of beard and a t-shirt with swirling red and green paint stains on it.
‘You’re tourists, right? Where on Jabotinsky are you going? It’s a long stretch, my friend.’
‘Near the middle,’ I said. He moved off. Isabel traded pleasantries with him for a few minutes. I was trying to work out the significance of everything we’d heard from Simon. Was it relevant that he was involved in a red heifer project? Probably not. They were just another bunch of end-timers, weren’t they?
Still, I felt uneasy.
The taxi pulled up a few minutes later on a long street heading up a hill with three-storey white apartment buildings on either side. The buildings were set back from the road. Palm trees, carob trees, eucalyptus and other shrubs separated the buildings from the street. There was a small roundabout at the top of the hill.
‘This is the centre of Jabotinsky. You can walk either way from here, but there’s not a lot to see.’
I was deflated. This wasn’t going to be easy. I’d hoped for a busy street with shops, cafes maybe, people we could talk to, ask if they’d seen an American of Kaiser’s description. He hadn’t been a quiet guy who could escape attention. But this was a long street full of anonymous apartment buildings.
‘What’s your plan?’ said Isabel.
‘I thought we might have dinner? Look at all the restaurants,’ I gestured around us.
She put her hands on her hips, turning on her heel. ‘Yes, what a big choice.’
A pizza delivery motorbike went past. ‘There is pizza somewhere,’ I said.
‘Wonderful, are you going to run after him?’ The noise of the disappearing motorbike faded into the distance.
‘Let’s walk that way.’ I pointed back down towards the Old City. ‘He has to have stayed one side of this roundabout. That gives us a fifty percent chance of being right.’ We walked onto the pavement.
The weather was getting even more gloomy. It was 3.30 p.m. and colder than I’d expected, like London in mid-March. All we needed was for it to start raining.
Up ahead, where the road curved, a red car was parked. As we watched, it pulled away. A group of young people were coming towards us. They were moving like a rolling party, the boys swirling around the outside of the group in long t-shirts mostly with the names of obscure bands on them. The girls were laughing, linking arms.
As they came near I approached one of the boys. He was tall, had Clark Kent glasses and a puzzled expression.
‘Do you know an American archaeologist living around here?’ I said.
His accent was all New York when he answered. ‘Yeah right, half the professors in our university look like American archaeologists.’
One of the girls stopped in front of us. ‘What are you people doing in Israel?’ she said. She had a thick wave of curly brown hair and a friendly smile.
‘We’re looking for a friend of ours who got lost,’ said Isabel.
They were all in their late teens or early twenties.
‘Everybody’s looking for somebody,’ said the girl.
The guy was eyeing up Isabel; most men found her attractive I’d noticed. He was giving her a big grin. ‘You wanna come with us for a few beers,’ he said. He didn’t even look at me. Isabel’s straight black hair and dark tight jeans took at least five years off her age. She could have easily passed for someone in her late twenties.
‘You can come too,’ said the girl. She pushed her hair away from her face. ‘We’re all going to a party. Are you Jewish?’
I shook my head.
‘It don’t matter,’ she said. ‘I can hear an American accent under there.’
‘I grew up in the States,’ I said. ‘Then my dad was stationed in England.’
‘You poor thing,’ she said. ‘Having to listen to Oasis every day.’
‘I like Oasis.’
Isabel was looking at me sceptically. I motioned for us to go along with them. We might be able to ask them a few questions about what went on in this neighbourhood.
As we walked, the girl turned to her friend. She was taller than the first girl. She was grinning at me. I looked away. The next time I looked at her she had a big joint in her mouth and there was a trail of blue smoke coming from it like a steaming power plant. This was not what I needed. Getting arrested was not in the plan.
‘I think you better throw that away,’ I said, turning back to the girl. ‘There’s a police car right behind us.’ It was true. I’d just spotted it. They had to be trailing this group.
The girl turned her head fast, then looked back at me. ‘Goddamn it,’ she said.
The joint fell from her fingers.
‘We’ll catch up with you later,’ I said. I took Isabel’s arm.
‘They’re all going to get arrested any minute now.’ Isabel waved goodbye as we peeled away from them. We headed for an entranceway, as if we were going into one of the apartment buildings.
‘I don’t think spending a night in the cells is going to help us.’
‘They might have known something,’ said Isabel.
I shook my head. ‘There has to be a better way than this.’
I stopped, bent down to tie the laces on my trainers. I was facing back towards the road. The police car passed us at walking speed. The officer on our side, who had big glasses on, stared intently at us as they passed. I gave her a smile in return. What could they do to us, charge us with talking to someone?
‘I have an idea,’ I said.
‘I hope it’s better than your last one.’
‘Come on.’
We walked to the bottom of the road. Ten minutes later we were at the nearest takeaway pizza place.
‘No, I want to sit down and eat,’ said Isabel. ‘Not eat pizza at the side of the road.’
‘You don’t have to eat anything,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry.’
I pulled two red two hundred shekel notes from my wallet. Then I went to the delivery guy by the big glass window of the pizza place. He was leaning against his motorbike and had