A short walk later, I arrived at the coffee shop where I had witnessed the murders the day before. Or rather, I arrived at the location where the coffee shop had been, as the building was razed overnight. Razing a building where a triple murder took place wasn't the normal police procedure, so clearly something was amiss.
I knocked on the neighbour's door, and she reluctantly came out to answer the knock. "What happened here?" I asked the neighbour.
"Why should you know?" she snarled at me.
"I am not from here, but I can make it worth your while," I replied as I pulled out a bunch of 100-Shekel-bills.
I could sense the internal dilemma the woman was facing, on the one hand, she was a poor Palestinian, who really needed the money, on the other hand, helping a foreigner the day after the neighbouring property was destroyed was risky. I reached out, grabbed her hand, and looked into her eyes. "Please help me, it's important." I said.
The woman's face changed, and she became friendlier. "Come in," she said, and I entered the small house.
I handed her the pile of notes, and she invited me to sit down by a small table. "So, what happened next door?" I asked.
"There was gunfire, and a while later, six men left the building. Shortly afterwards a missile hit the building, and it collapsed." The woman revealed
"What about the other customers in the cafeteria?" I asked.
"Cafeteria? It was just a home, not a place of business," the woman replied, with a puzzled look on her face.
I tried to recall what had occurred on the day before. Had I really walked into someone's home, believing that it was a coffee shop, and ordered tea? It wasn't impossible, I had been quite riled up the previous day.
"The men that left, can you describe them?" I asked the woman.
"Yes, there were six of them. Two police officers in combat gear, one man in a brown trench coat, and three tall hooded men in white robes," the woman replied. This confirmed my suspicion, that the murders that I thought I witnessed yesterday was fake and staged by a group of high-level conspirators. But why would they do such a thing? What should I do?
"Is there anything else you can tell me?" I asked the woman.
"These are dangerous questions. A poor woman like me, should never reveal too much, or else the authorities will shoot me," the woman replied nervously. I reached in my pocket for another pile of bank notes, but before I had reached them, the woman spoke again. "I found this outside the house, one of the men must have dropped it." The woman handed me a police ID. I took the ID, and I gave her another 100 Shekel bill as gratitude.
I put the ID in my pocket and spoke again. "Is there anything else that you can tell me?"
"Please don't ask any more questions. I have children to look after." The woman stammered, and she was close to tears.
"I understand. Thank you for your assistance. I will pray for you." I said reassuringly.
Knowing that I couldn't get any more information from this terrified Palestinian woman, I made my way back to the safehouse. I knew exactly who I would ask for help in this tricky situation.