Shades of Light and Darkness

By Julia Rohatyn

A vacation in Israel was supposed to be fun, not deadly.

 

But Betsy, a neophyte private investigator, and her husband Pete, a Boston Police Department detective, agreed to carry out a small mission. They would search for Lis, a runaway teenager, while they toured the Galilee with a new friend, a foreign diplomat.

They find Lis and she is mixed up in a brew of murder, drugs, prostitution, and terrorism. Their efforts will land them all on a killer's hit list.

Margot, the diplomat, has a perilous mission. Identify a terrorist and stay out of his way. A mixture of panic and courage guides her way to do her job and help Betsy and Pete.

The luminous churches of Bethlehem, the echoing halls of the crusaders in Acre, the eerie remains of the Jesus Boat, the warm blue water of the Sea of Galilee, and the green forests and hills of the North will be spiced with a premonition of peril and will make this book a delightful read.

 

This is a 55,000-word mystery novel, the second in the Betsy Connolly series and a continuation of the Rebecca Bauer Mysteries. A plot where tension builds, interesting characters meet, and we can visit fascinating tourist sites in Israel. The story is partially based on the true thrilling adventures of a European diplomat who is a friend of the author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Julia Rohatyn
• Release date: May 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393486688

Julia Rohatyn

I grew up in a home full of books and I began to read them at an early age. My parents’ encouragement brought me to where I am today and I selected my pen name to honor their memory. Julia, for my mother’s nickname and Rohatyn where my father lived until he fled Europe. After years as a child psychologist in Boson and Washington DC, my life turned 180 degrees. We moved to Israel and I began a new profession managing major hotels. Finally, my sister asked me a fateful question. “If you love reading mysteries so much, why don’t you write one?” So, I did. I didn’t publish the first, or the second, or the third. They were a valuable learning experience. You may get to read them after I do a serious edit. My early books were about the world I knew best, hotel mysteries. From there...anywhere. I am fortunate to live in a small pastoral community between Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Several of my neighbors have written and published. Some of us have banded together to form Neve Ilan Books which include mysteries, children’s stories, and musicology.

Book preview

1

Archeology

Iwas tired and the day had not even begun. My belief in an easy recovery from a long hospital stay was foolish. No human body bounces well after a murderer does his best to turn it into a pincushion.

I planned to relax the hell out of the remaining days that we had left in Jerusalem. I needed the downtime but, as an old friend says, 'Man plans and God laughs'.

I never told Pete about my dream. It didn't happen every night anymore. I would hope that it had gone, but every few nights, the nightmare would return. Afterward, I would find it impossible to return to sleep. That was an additional cause of exhaustion.

I had kept too many secrets for too long. I longed for an end to the cloak-and-dagger, but I hadn't wanted to worry him. I was afraid to fall asleep, knowing that I would tumble down an unending stairway, suffering stabs of pain everywhere on my body. Falling and falling and hurting until I would awake, panting and sweating. I relived over and over the horror that had almost ended my life and that had resulted in catching a serial killer.

When Margot invited us to join her on the dig, Pete's face lit up like a kid seeing a new bike. I couldn't refuse. He had been so kind to me, so caring, so concerned, while I lay like a lump in the hospital bed. A multitude of reasons for him to be mad at me gnawed at my conscience. Knowing of my weakened state, he didn't talk about them.

We had been sitting in the hotel lobby drinking coffee, enthralled by the view. The huge picture window faced the ochre walls of the Old City that glowed in the fading sunlight and turned the dusk into magic. Soft, unobtrusive light music played in the background.

We sat side by side on wide armchairs and felt like oriental rulers. Dark wine upholstery with Bedouin embroidery on broad, black, wrought iron bases, each rod ending in a knob. The seats were set in groups of four standing around low-set tables on a cream-colored marble floor.

The building was at least a hundred years old. Jessica had shown me a collection of documents and architectural plans from its beginning. It was a hospital at the end of the nineteenth century and that explained the low ceiling. Most hotels have soaring lobbies to create the sense of grandeur. The history of the construction also hinted at the source of the flooring. I gazed down at the way it fit. It was put together like a puzzle. Odd shapes fitted neatly one into the other. The seams were visible only when light hit them. Each segment was a remnant from the original floor. The smooth ivory-painted walls and the pale floor were bland colors that provided a background to the bright furniture and the woven burgundy and orange macramé hangings dotting the sides of the foyer.

Jessica, the manager, involved in the campaign to change a ruin into a luxury boutique lodging, had marshaled all available forces. I had heard the stories back in Boston from Rebecca, my best friend, erstwhile boss, and Jessica's cousin.

When we had first arrived at the hotel, the resemblance between the two women had amazed me. Both sported a tangle of untamed short russet curls. Both had flashing green eyes. Both weighed a few pounds more than they would have wanted. They had an identical laugh. Jessica spoke English with a throaty accent while Rebecca's was pure Harvard Yard Boston.

Mesmerized by what lay before me, I didn't notice our hostess as she approached, I was startled when she sat on the seat that was kitty-corner to us.

She laughed.

You'd appreciate that everybody on the staff sports black and blue marks on their legs at the height of those knobs. They look dramatic, but they're lethal.

I tore myself away from the enchanting panorama of the length of the Old City wall.

I want to introduce you to an old friend, the hotel manager said. Please meet Margot Lens. Margot, my friends, Betsy and Peter Blick.

Jessica turned to face us.

Margot usually comes to Israel on her vacation and stays with colleagues or pals. This time, she's working. She has a budget for a change, so she can afford our five-star prices and she's staying here.

I looked at the diminutive figure that joined us, sitting down next to Jessica. She folded one leg under her with athletic grace. Her nose was small and pointed. Shiny wheat-colored hair formed a gleaming cap. Her dark blue eyes were framed by delicate arched brows that created a perennial curve of surprise.

I have some time off and Jess tells me that you're honeymoon vacationing. I have a proposal for you.

Her soft voice had a slight accent that I could not identify.

I often accompany a group of amateur archeologists on their digs. They're going to one nearby tomorrow. Would you like to join us?

I glanced at Pete. His sea-blue eyes shone. I reached up and ruffled his blond hair. He had been far away from his barber in Boston while he waited for me to recover. His usually shorn head was a helmet of long curls.

What is it that you do? When you're working, that is, not digging.

I'm a diplomat. I know Jess from the years that I was stationed here as vice-consul.

She named one of those middle European countries that did not even exist when I was born, which was not all that long ago.

Jess told me you were still recuperating from an operation. Don't worry about the dig. The hill is an easy climb and you'll have shade while you work.

Work?

I gritted my teeth. I didn't need a job. I needed to sleep. When I'm stressed, I have a habit of twisting my long dark braid. I reached for it and was reminded that since so much had been shaved in the hospital, it no longer existed. Perhaps, I should leave the pixie cut. When the braid made me look younger than a hotel security officer might be, it was an advantage. A troublemaker would think that I was a young guest, and no threat to him. He would soon find out that he was wrong. Now that I would have to impress potential clients, my short Black-Irish hair and blue eyes could be a better choice for eliciting confidence in my professional skills.

There's not much effort. You'll use a soft bristle brush to get dust away from an ancient pot. That's the extent of it. It's enjoyable. You might find something that will end up in a museum.

That sounds like fun.

I tried to infuse some sincerity into my voice.

I owed Pete, so I said yes. My ex-boss's cousin had shared information about my medical condition, but Jessica had invited us to stay in her hotel as her guests, so I owed her, too.

I hope it doesn't bother you that Jess talked about you. When I was posted here at the consulate, I discovered that the Israelis are like that. No secrets. Something gets in their mind and it flies out of their mouth.

She wrinkled her nose and added, Except for the ones who don't.

A grim frown flitted over her face and disappeared. It was replaced by a smile that lit her face and, in automatic response, I smiled back.

When we both stood, I saw that she was even shorter than I was. That is small and Pete towered over us.

The deal was sealed. We would have to get going much too early in the morning. No matter what the hour, Pete always bounds out of bed. At home, even when he has a morning shift he goes running along the Fenway before he starts the day. I drag myself out from under the covers and sit up with great reluctance, wishing I could stay in bed a few hours longer.

In the middle of the night, I swam up out of dreamless sleep, I groaned and turned over. Then, I sat up with a jerk. Still not awake, I had almost forgotten that we had to start our day early enough to avoid the worst heat.

There are some advantages to friendship with a hotel manager. Jessica had arranged for the dining room to be open for us and to Pete's delight, we were served an almost full breakfast while the staff ate. The waiters ate without wasting any time and got busy preparing the dining room for the guests. We had our breakfast to the accompaniment of dishes and cutlery clattering and tablecloths whipping out into place.

Minutes before we were to start, Margot rushed in, gulped a cup of coffee, and shouldered a backpack.

Here I am. Let's get going.

Light filtered into the tail end of the darkness. Outside, we could already see ahead of us even though the streetlights had winked off. At home, it would have been gray dawn. Here, the planet earth takes the idea of the longest day in the year seriously. That date had been just a few weeks ago. I would go to bed in full daylight and the darkness would creep in while I slept. That was me. Young children, reveling in more hours to play, were going to bed later than I was.

Pete, Margot, and I did not dally. We were off to a newly discovered ancient fortress in the nearby hills.

Pete followed Margot's precise directions and drove in our rental car out of Jerusalem and into the low mountains that surround the city. We passed only a few cars on the road. I wondered what errands took those drivers away from home and a warm bed so early in the morning.

We weren't the first. The other vehicles in the rudimentary parking lot, a taxi, an SUV, and two sedans, were parked in the far corner. In the distance, a group of men and women were beginning the hike. Wisps of fog swirled around them. I sniffed the freshness. The day's heat was hours away. Above us, a hawk glided, searching for early prey. It floated over rows of rock terraces that stitched the hill before us into patchwork. The foliage was brown-green, low, and dusty. Bushes dotted the slopes and clumps of weeds and thorns surrounded them. A few tangled, grubby, contorted olive trees with silver leaves stood as fatigued sentinels. The air was almost motionless, with barely a zephyr.

Are we late? Pete asked.

They're slow. We'll catch up to them in a minute or so. I'll walk behind you guys. Just groan if you need help.

She giggled and I grimaced.

As we walked, I looked back, just to make sure that she was there.

I found it hard to visualize her stamping passports. She was as thin as my index finger with a mop of shiny golden hair, flashing lapis eyes, and sharp cheekbones. Her bare arms were tight and muscled. She moved with a bouncing athletic stride that appeared on the verge of a leap upward.

As for me, I counted paces and rasping breaths as I trudged the unending incline. I kept my eyes on the cramped stony path and ignored the knife-edge rim to my left. Below was nothingness.

With every tortuous step, I cared less and less about seeing the fortress.

I had hidden my new profession from Pete for too long and the clandestine efforts had almost ruined our marriage. I had wanted to get my license as a private investigator. When the great day arrived and I showed him the official certificate, he had hinted that he disapproved. It had been foolish not to tell. Stupid not to enlist him from the beginning. Running from a confrontation with him to a foreign country for my first case had been a monumental mistake. Only love and luck had brought him to my side when I was injured.

We both knew that cracks and splinters threatened our shiny brand-new marriage. Pete and I had to fix them. We could tour and sightsee, but we should leave relaxed talking time, too.

This was not what I had in mind when we decided to take our much delayed and much-needed honeymoon. I had pictured romantic togetherness.

I needed intimacy with Pete, not with a diverse collection of amateur archeologists. Our group, as described by Margot, included a high school teacher, an architect, a lawyer, and a banker. I followed them. Me, the so-called neophyte detective. Behind me paced my husband, a Boston Police officer, and Margot who was apparently a foreign consul.

Was this climb never going to end? I paused to catch my breath. I was doing a lot of that and we trailed farther and farther from the others.

As we reached a sharp turn, Margot cried out in pleasure. I turned around and saw her bend down to pick up a substantial piece of rose-colored baked clay attached to a curved handle and disguised by uneven clumps of solidified mud.

In the same sliver of a second, Pete yelled and pitched forward. To avoid the brink, he twisted sideways to the right and crashed into the jagged embankment. He collapsed on the ground and lay motionless. A small carmine pool began to spread out around his head.

2

Rugatka

Ishouted out a call for help. The teacher, who was the last in the line, turned back and motioned with his arms. I heard his faint shout.

Did he trip? Is he all right?

I screamed, No. We need you. Please come.

He tapped the woman banker on her shoulder, pointed at us, and began to walk back to where Margot and I stood over Pete's body.

It seemed to take ages before he came close enough to see Pete.

He bent down and placed a finger on Pete's neck.

He's alive. What happened?

Margot and I both shook our heads. We didn't know.

We have to get help, probably a helicopter. I don't think they could manage with a stretcher on this path.

"I want to turn him over to see his face. Can you give me an assist?

No. Don't do that. We don't know if there's any damage to his neck or spine.

I shivered. Spinal injury? Would Pete be paralyzed?

Pete groaned.

I stared at him with my hand clamped over my mouth to prevent the oncoming wail.

He moaned, lifted his head, and rolled over. I had seen blood before, a lot of it, and mostly mine, but his face was chopped meat. I gagged, took a deep slow breath, and swallowed my tears.

We have to get you to a hospital.

The teacher's voice was calming. I guess he was used to crowd-control with a class of rowdy teenagers. With deliberate movements, the hirsute, bulky, short man removed his light jacket and rolled it up to place under Pete's head.

He swung a light backpack away from him and unzipped a side pocket. In his hand was a thick bandage that he removed from a brown wrapper.

Since my days in the army, I never go hiking without a field dressing.

Pete mumbled a thank you as the teacher fastened the heavy white cotton over the spot where most of the blood oozed.

I don't need a hospital.

I strangled a giggle born of hysteria.

You can't see your face. I'm afraid your wife won't find you so handsome if you don't have a plastic surgeon to fix you up. Do you know what happened?

No. We were walking up a slight incline and suddenly I was on the ground. I heard you say something about helicopters. We don't need them. I can walk. Just help me up.

Improbably, the warm breeze turned chilly and I shivered.

Pete began to squirm into a better position and gasped in pain. I gave him my hand. As he rose awkwardly, the teacher reached out to brace his shoulder until he was upright.

We'll walk back and drive to the hospital. I'll be all right. You shouldn't have to give up your morning.

You need someone to help you. You shouldn't be alone.

I'll stay with them, Margot said.

Thank you, but we'll manage. Really, we will.

The man was not happy, but he turned around to leave us. He joined the others who were standing in a cluster, watching us from a distance. This high school teacher's dispassionate gentle voice had helped me replace the panic of possible tragedy. I never knew his name.

Margot still insisted on staying with us. I was relieved. Pete was not as steady as he thought. I was not a tower of strength and I should take help wherever offered. The walk downhill was easier, but when I put my arm around Pete’s shoulder, he twisted away and moaned. I stopped and looked at his face. He was biting his upper lip to keep from more sounds