Читать книгу Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 22

“The murdered girl?” the Rabbi asked. “Have you found the culprit?”

Decker took another drag on his cigarette and shook his head. Schulman looked upset.

“Have you talked to the parents at all?”

“Not since the initial interviews,” Decker answered. “I figured I’d call them when I had something worthwhile to tell them.”

The Rabbi crushed out the butt of his handrolled cigarette.

“I’m sure something will break open soon for you, Peter.”

“I appreciate the optimism, Rabbi. This is one of those cases that’s wrapped in layers. And as I peel them off, I know I’m going to find a rotten core. It stinks.”

“Are there ever good cases?” Schulman asked. “That was not meant rhetorically. I’m wondering if there are any cases from which you walk away feeling good?”

“Not really,” Decker said. “But most are very straightforward. A wife shoots her husband because he had a lover. A husband shoots his wife because she nagged him. Mama picked on the son-in-law at the wrong time. This one is not like that, though.”

The Rosh Yeshiva was clearly troubled.

Decker cursed his stupidity. He shouldn’t have told Schulman about his work. The old man had been insulated from the depravity of the outside world and was not equipped to deal with it.

“Don’t worry, Rabbi,” Decker said. “We’ll solve the case.”

He had told Rina that he’d stop by after his session with Schulman. As he approached her door, he could hear voices inside her house—a foreign tongue—Hungarian.

Her parents! Shit!

Reluctantly, he knocked. Rina swung open the door and stared at him, looking haggard. She was holding Jacob and was struggling under his weight, the boy’s feet dangling down to her shins. He was dressed in pajama bottoms but was bare chested, his swollen eyes evidence that he’d been crying.

Her parents were standing around the doorway, looking their usual stiff selves. Her mother, Mrs. Elias, though wrinkled around the eyes and lips, was still a very pretty woman. Rina resembled her except that she’d inherited her father’s baby-smooth complexion, ending up with the best of both worlds. Mr. Elias was shorter than his wife, with a solid frame packed with muscle. He appeared agitated, his round face flushed and wet with perspiration.

“What’s wrong?” Decker asked.

“Come in,” Rina said, wearily.

“You didn’t ask who it was?” her mother scolded her in a heavy accent. “It could have been anyone.”

“I saw him through the peephole,” Rina said tensely.

“C’mere, Jake,” Decker said, forcing himself to breathe regularly. “Give your mama’s arms a rest.”

As Decker reached out to take Jacob, the boy screamed, kicked, and buried his face in his mother’s neck.

“He’s had another nightmare,” Rina explained. “I don’t think he’s fully awake. He woke up soaked with sweat, and everytime I try to put a shirt on him he screams. If I try putting him back to sleep, he screams. If someone tries to take him, he screams. I just don’t know what to do.”

“Sit down with him, Ginny,” suggested her father. “You’ll sprain your back.”

“I’ve tried that already, Papa,” Rina answered.

“Remember what happened when you carried Sammy too much as a baby,” her mother warned.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Give him to me,” her father said. As soon as he touched Jacob’s shoulders, the boy emitted a high-pitched wail.

“Forget it, Papa,” Rina said. “He just won’t go to anyone else.”

“Let him sleep with you, Ginny,” the mother suggested. “Just for the night.”

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” Rina said, sarcastically.

“For one night it won’t kill you. I did it with you,” her mother said. “You sleep on your own now, don’t you?”

“Mother, I am not going to let him sleep with me. You know all the trouble I had with the boys doing that after Yitzchak, alav hashalom, died.”

“He’s falling asleep,” her father announced. “Try putting him down.”

“Everytime I try putting him to bed he screams,” Rina said, exasperatedly.

“Try again,” her mother insisted.

“At least let me wait until he’s deep asleep.”

“And until your back breaks,” her mother muttered. “Just let him sleep with you.”

“Rina, maybe I should come back at another time,” Decker said.

“Well, that’s to be expected,” Mrs. Elias said acidly.

“What was that supposed to mean?” Rina said, forcing control into her voice.

“After all, we know the reason behind Yonkel’s nightmares—”

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Rina defended.

“Nothing like this ever happened when we had the children,” her mother insisted.

“It was one of those unfortunate things, Mrs. Elias,” Decker answered, suppressing his anger. “He’ll survive.”

“There is a big difference between survival and happiness, Detective,” Mrs. Elias shot back. “I survived the camps.”

“Mother, that’s not fair!” Rina exclaimed.

“I think I’d better leave, Rina,” Decker said.

“As I was saying, that is to be expected,” her mother said.

“Don’t pay any attention to her—”

“That is what you call me, Ginny?” said her mother, with her eyes watering. “Her?”

Decker balled his fingers into a fist and headed for the door. Jacob shouted out his name.

Decker turned. “C’mere, fellah,” he said, holding out his arms.

This time, Jacob leaped.

“Let’s talk in bed, okay?”

Jacob nodded. Decker carried him into the bedroom, relieved. As he cooed the youngster back into sleep, he heard hostile mutterings outside. Gently, he brushed black locks off Jacob’s forehead and tucked him into bed, the boy’s bony shoulders peeking out from the edge of the comforter. As soon as Jacob drifted off, Decker rose from the bed, acid pouring into his gut, his head throbbing in anticipation of the showdown.

Rina and her mother were deep in battle. Her father tried unsuccessfully to arbitrate, attempting to comfort both women and managing to comfort neither. Mrs. Elias cried something to her daughter in Hungarian. Rina came back with a reply. Decker sighed inwardly. It wasn’t enough that he had to struggle with Hebrew, Yiddish, and Aramaic. Now he had to cope with Hungarian. He’d fallen in love with a walking UN.

The discussion increased in volume, and the women began gesticulating wildly with their hands. Then Mrs. Elias spotted Decker, pointed to him, and shouted something to her daughter. Her tone was virulent. Turning crimson, Rina shot back at her and pointed to the door, sobbing. Her mother stalked away. Confused, Mr. Elias alternated between calling out to his wife and consoling his daughter. Spousal obligation won out over filial love. Mr. Elias kissed Rina a hurried goodbye and ran after his wife. Decker waited for Rina to calm down, then asked, “What’d she say to you?”

“Nothing.”

“C’mon. I’m a big boy. What’d she say?”

Rina wiped her face with a Kleenex and looked up at him with puffy eyes.

“She said—and I quote—‘I lived through the camps only to see the day that my daughter would marry a shaigetz and a Cossack as well!’”

He broke into laughter.

“Well, I’m glad you find her amusing because I don’t.”

But the corners of her mouth had turned upward.

“Here I am, Chmelnicki on a pogrom, killing the men, raping the women, and plundering the spoils.” His laughter turned bitter. “I’ve been called a lot of things, Rina, but Cossack is a first.”

“It’s not funny.”

“Let’s be charitable and assume your mother had an off night.”

“She said some horrible things to you.”

Decker shrugged. “I’m the big, bad goy who’s kidnapping her daughter. We’ll work it out in time.”

“You’re not a goy, you’re a ger—a convert. Or at least you will be soon.”

“But she sees me as a goy.”

“I am not going to marry a goy!”

“No,” Decker said. “You’re not. You’re going to marry a Jew. You’re going to sleep with a Jew. You’re going to have children with a Jew. But let’s face facts, honey. You fell in love with a Gentile.”

She said nothing and stared vacantly out the living-room window. Shaking his head disgustedly, he swore to himself, knowing he’d just added a tributary to her already overflowing river of guilt.

“Rina, I’m running off at the mouth. I’m very tired. Forget I said that.”

Remaining motionless, she spoke without looking at him.

“Every morning after I wake up, I take out my siddur and daven she moneh esreih. And afterwards, every single morning, I pray to Hashem for understanding and forgiveness of my transgressions … transgressions, I pray for the strength to do what I should have done a long time ago—send you away until you’ve become a Jew.”

She turned to him.

“But I must not have the proper kavanah—intent—when I pray, because I never have the fortitude to say goodbye.” She brushed a tear off her cheek. “Do you hate me for feeling that way?”

“No.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “We both have misgivings.”

“Do you not want to convert?” she asked.

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. But it isn’t easy to throw away nearly forty years of conditioning, especially when your own parents are very vocal about their disapproval.” He smiled sadly. “We’re getting it from both ends.”

“You told your parents you’re converting?”

“Sure. It’s no secret. I wrote them a letter.” He grimaced. “I wrote to my mother and told her I fell in love with an Orthodox Jew and I was converting to her faith. You know what she wrote back?”

“What?”

“She wrote, ‘You got singed in the fire the first time around, Peter. This time you’ll burn.’ She wasn’t nuts about Jan being Jewish, and Jan wasn’t all that Jewish. But at least I didn’t convert. This was too much for her.”

He shrugged and Rina took his hand.

“That was an awful thing to say,” she said indignantly.

“Aah, I couldn’t even blame her. How do you tell your parents that you reject their values but you don’t reject them? I hurt them, Rina. I spat in their faces.”

“No, you didn’t.”

Decker said nothing. She threw her arms around his waist, leaned her head on his chest, and gave him a bear hug.

“I love you, Kiddo,” he said softly.

“I love you, too,” she answered. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own guilt, I’ve never considered the other side.”

He smiled and kissed her forehead.

“Have you spoken to your parents since the letter?” she asked.

“Yeah. I called them about a week ago. They were civil. Said if we were ever down their way to stop by—as if they were talking to a casual acquaintance.”

He tightened his embrace.

“Rina, we have a lot going against us: meeting under such lousy circumstances, the difference in our ages and backgrounds. We can try and say screw it all—we’re our own people and love is all that matters—but you know as well as I that the baggage our parents loaded on our backs is with us forever. Let’s both try to be tolerant of them—and tolerant with each other.”

She nodded.

“I love you,” he said. “Kiss me.”

She gave him a peck on the cheek.

“No.” He cupped her chin in his hands. “I mean really kiss me.”

He lowered his mouth onto hers, and at once he felt the passion she’d been holding back, her lips parting and her breath warm and sweet. She threw her arms around his neck, almost a chokehold, and latched onto his mouth like a suckling baby to a breast. Not wanting to get excited, he tried to break away, but she brought his mouth back to hers, greedily taking what had been denied her for so long.

She pulled him down to the floor and fell on top of him, smothering his face with kisses. Her hands tugged at his shirt, jerking the tail out of his pants, fumbling with the buttons. Decker was caught between his own fever and the guilt he knew she’d feel if they continued. The fire won out. He tore at his shirt, popping a button as it opened, then yanked at the zipper of her dress. He’d opened it half-way when Jacob cried out—a piercing screech like the whistle of a tea kettle.

“Oh God!” Rina wept, covering her face in her hands. “Life is so damn frustrating!”

“Tell me about it,” Decker groaned.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she said, panting. “I’m going nuts. I need to escape to a desert island.”

“Just take me with you.”

Jacob began to howl.

She chomped on her thumbnail, trying to steady her shaking hands. “I can’t deal with this, Peter.”

Decker stood up, buttoned his shirt, and tucked it into his pants. “You sit and dream of rum and coconuts. I’ll see what’s wrong with Jake.”

When he came out, she had regained her composure.

“Is he okay?” Rina asked.

“Yes,” said Decker. “For the time being.”

“It’s going to be a long night.”

“Would you like me to stay—”

“No,” Rina answered quickly. “No, that won’t do at all.” She took Decker’s hands, squeezed them, then let them go.

“Now I know why there are such strict separation laws in Judaism,” she said.

“I hate every one of them,” Decker answered. “I don’t suppose you’d want to continue where we’d left off.”

She shook her head. “If it’s any consolation, I’ve become very tired, Peter. I’d probably be terrible.”

He could deal with that, but didn’t push it. The moment had been lost.