Day of Atonement (29 page)

“I understand—”

“No, you don’t
understand
a whit. ’Cause if you did understand, you wouldn’t be here!” He yanked the cigarette out and pointed it at her. “You want to stay married to me, you stay
out
of my business. We are
not
partners. You do
not
pick up my slack, because you don’t
help
me when you do. You are
hindering
me. I get so goddamn nervous trying to
baby-sit
you, I can’t do my friggin
job
.”

“After this, no more.”

“I’ve heard that before.”

“I promise, Peter, no more. It’s just that Noam is a special case.”

“He’s
my
special case, not
yours
. Rina, I
hate
talking to you like this, but I feel that unless I do, nothing’s going to get through.”

“It’s okay, I’m not upset. See, I’m smiling.” Rina smiled. “See, I’m happy.”

The smile looked as if it was going to crack her cheeks. Decker had to laugh. He sighed and hugged her fiercely. “You’re such a pain in the ass. But I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Rina hugged him back. “Sorry for worrying you. It was stupid, but all I could think about was Noam. And Paul looked so sick.”

“You think he’s sick now, wait until I’m done with him.”

“Don’t take it out on him,” Rina said. “I wouldn’t let him have the fliers.”

“I don’t expect him to be able to reason with you.” Decker put the cigarette back in his pocket. “Lord knows I can’t. But he should have told me what you were up to.” He grimaced, then looped his arm around her shoulder. “C’mon, let’s finish up and go home.”

Rina said, “Peter, if Hersh is a suspect in such a horrible murder, why aren’t there other people looking for him?”

“Because we really don’t know where Noam and Hersh are. This is just a guess, a precaution. In case they decide to leave the city. Marge is checking out the bus terminal and the railroads. I did find the motel where they’d been staying. They checked out in a hurry. The clerk had no idea where they were headed.”

He glanced around the gates. They were all closed, the next flight out an hour away. A male body was stretched out over a row of chairs, a newspaper over his head. From under the comics came deep grunts and snorts. A Hispanic janitor, dressed in navy-blue coveralls, was mopping the floor. Muzak was being piped through the loudspeakers.

They walked for a moment in silence. Though bone-weary, Decker found a current of energy in Rina’s touch, her arm around his waist, her fingers tucked into his seat pocket. He hugged her shoulder as he walked, almost lifting her off her feet. Then he stopped abruptly.

“What is it?” Rina said.

“No big deal. I was so nervous about you, I left my beeper in the car.”

“You want to go back for it?”

“Nah, I’ll just call in. See if Marge has come up with anything.”

He slipped his hands into his pocket, pulled out a handful of silver. The phone booths were at the back of the terminal. After getting through to Central Dispatch, he asked to be put through to Marge. A moment later, he heard her voice on the line.

“Finally,” Marge said. “Where have you been?”

Decker said, “I’m at the airport. I don’t have my beeper.”

“That’s obvious,” Marge said. “An urgent call came through for you about ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago. A Frieda Levine from New York. She was so frazzled when the operator couldn’t get hold of you, she didn’t leave her number. I’ve tried Manhattan information, she isn’t listed.”

“She lives in Brooklyn,” Decker said, “I’ll call her. Thanks.” He cut the line and called out to Rina. “You have Frieda Levine’s phone number?”

“No,” she said. “But they’re listed. Her husband’s name is Alter Levine, Brooklyn’s area code is seven-one-eight.”

Decker slammed the door shut and popped another quarter into the phone slot. After getting the number from information, he pulled out the phone card and gave the operator the Brooklyn exchange. Frieda picked it up on the first ring.

“It’s Sergeant Decker, Mrs. Levine.” He paused a second, realizing how cold that sounded, and softened his tone of voice. “What’s up?”

“I heard from him,” Frieda said. She was breathless. “Someone was with him…I could hear another voice.
Noam didn’t speak more than a minute. He was worried the line was tapped. He sounded…” She had to pause to find her voice. “He sounded hysterical, in terrible trouble. Is he, Sergeant?”

“Call me Akiva,” Decker said. “Yes, I think Noam’s in trouble. But first things first. I want to know exactly what was said during the conversation. I’m going to ask you a lot of questions, so just try and relax and we’ll take it from the beginning.”

“I can do better,” Frieda said. “I set up a phone machine like you told us to do after he called Miriam. I have it on tape. I’ve played it back and it recorded. I’ve just got to rewind…”

Decker told her to take her time, thinking: Hallelujah! Someone
heeded
his advice. He said, “I’m going to pull out my notebook.”

“Okay,” Frieda said. “All right. I’ll turn it on. If you can’t hear, shout ‘Louder.’”

“Gotcha,” Decker said. He stuck his finger in his free ear and listened. He heard the click of the machine, realizing it had started recording in midsentence. Frieda had probably turned it on as soon as she heard Noam’s voice. The woman was on top of it.

Frieda:
…are you, Noam?

Noam:
I can’t tell you that. I can’t see you again. I want to say good-bye.

A lot of static.

Frieda:
(desperate): Noam, don’t hang up, don’t hang up. I love you. I want you to know that I love you.

Noam:
(crying): I love you too, Bubbe.

Frieda:
Noam, no matter what you’ve done, I don’t care what you’ve done. I love you. We love you. We want you back here. We don’t care…(crying)…we’ll help you. No matter what you’ve done.

Background voice
(low, guttural): Thirty more seconds.

Noam:
(still crying): I can’t talk much longer. In case the phone is tapped.

Frieda:
It isn’t tapped, I swear, Noam. I swear on the
Chumash
.

Background voice:
Twenty.

Bad static.

Noam:
…Abba and Eema, I love them too.

Frieda:
Noam, come home to us.
Please
.

More static.

Noam
(pause): I can’t come home.

Frieda:
(more crying): Yes, you can. I love you, darling. I don’t care what…(crying)…just come
home
.

Noam:
Don’t cry, Bubbe. Please, don’t cry.

Background voice:
Ten.

A giant rumble, drowning out the voice. Then Decker heard Noam’s voice but he couldn’t make out the words.

Frieda:
…come home. We all love you so much.

Background voice:
Five.

Static.

Noam:
I gotta go now.
Slachli
—Please forgive me. Please do that. Ask everyone to forgive me. I love you all.

The line went dead. Frieda came back on the phone, her voice so soft, Decker had to ask her to speak up. She cleared her throat and said, “I…I couldn’t think of what to say other than I love you.”

There was so much pain in her voice—in her grandson’s as well. Noam might be big for his age, but his voice was still tuned to a child’s timbre. A soft, adolescent lament so full of despair. It was gut-wrenching to hear him speak.

Decker said, “You did what you could.”

“You don’t know where he is?”

“As of five hours ago, he was in Los Angeles,” Decker said. “He may still be, I don’t know.”

“He’s in bigger trouble than the last time?”

“Yes, he is.” Decker sighed. “Mrs. Levine…”

Again, he paused.
Mrs. Levine?
Well, what else should he call her? Sure as hell she wasn’t
Mom
. “Mrs. Levine, I want you to play me the tape again. I was listening to the conver
sation and there were some background noises I was tuning out. Now I’m going to tune them in.”

“Certainly,” Frieda said.

She rewound the tape and pushed the button. Again, Decker was struck by how young Noam sounded, how despondent he was. He wondered whether suicide was one of the boy’s options and listened carefully, his ears trying to hear beyond the static.

The other voice was deep and spoke with a Brooklyn accent. More was
mo-ah
. In the background were the steady whooshes of cars going past. They must be near a freeway again. There was nothing else of interest until that one big rumble.

Unmistakable.

A low-flying airplane.

They were near an airport.

Only two major airports serviced the Los Angeles area. L.A. International and the smaller domestic terminal—

Hollywood-Burbank. Decker knew from experience that Hollywood-Burbank shut down around one, two in the morning. So did most of the charter airports.

Unless Hersh and Noam hightailed it over to Orange County and took off from John Wayne International, he was probably right on top of them.

When Frieda came back on the line, Decker asked her when she received the call.

“Six-eighteen,” Frieda said. “I looked at my digital clock.”

Three-eighteen our time, Decker thought. What was landing or taking off at three-eighteen? He asked her to hold on and checked the television monitors inside the TWA terminal. No activity here at 3:18. He checked his watch—3:47. “Mrs. Levine, I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ll call you back in an hour.”

“Please keep me informed, Akiva,” Frieda said. “It’s not knowing that’s so hard.”

“I understand. In the meantime, if you haven’t already
done it, you must call up Ezra and Breina. Let them know you’ve heard from Noam…that he’s alive.”

“Baruch Hashem,”
Frieda whispered. “I haven’t called yet because I wanted to keep the line open for you. I’ll phone them right now.”

“Good. I’ll keep in touch.” Decker hung up and came out of the booth. He gave Rina a rundown as they hurried down the escalator, jogged down the long corridor toward the baggage exit. “I’m going back to my car and contact all the remaining LAX terminals. I can do it faster with my radio than I can by phone.”

Rina was running to keep up with him. “They’re somewhere at the airport?”

Decker couldn’t tell if Rina’s breathlessness was excitement or overexertion. He slowed his pace. “I don’t know if they’re
in
the airport. I’m pretty sure Noam didn’t make the call from inside a terminal. You can’t hear freeway noises when you’re inside those booths.”

They walked outside the building. The night was cold and misty, the air around them humming with generator sounds. They stopped at the curbside. Decker listened a moment, then said, “Can you hear the freeway?”

“A little bit.”

“Well, I heard it clearly,” Decker said. “Heard it over the static of a long-distance call and a cheap phone system. And I didn’t hear that drone in the background either. They didn’t make the call from inside the airport. I’m positive about that.”

“So they’re not here,” Rina said.

Decker said, “They weren’t here as of a half hour ago. But they may have slipped in. Or they may be planning to come here later.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I’m going to call Marge, have her cover the airport while I go hunting around the area.”

“Want me to stay with Marge?” Rina asked. “I’d recognize Noam better than she would.”

Decker stared at her. “You don’t get involved. Remember?”

“I just thought—”

“No.”

“Okay.”
She tucked in loose strands of hair under her kerchief. “What are you going to do?”

“Check out the local sleep-joints. They had to have gone somewhere.”

They resumed walking.

The huge expanse of blacktop parking was by no means empty. He wondered what all the cars were doing in the lots if the terminals were nearly deserted. Then he thought of all the businessmen on overnights. They parked their cars in the lots and picked them up the next morning.

Not knowing exactly where Rina was, he had parked the car a quarter-mile away from TWA. As they walked, he thought:
If
Hersh and Noam were planning to leave the city, a case could be made for trying to nab them as they boarded the flight. It seemed insane for him to go running around the city, looking for two people who might show up soon anyway. Inglewood was spread out. They could be anywhere within a ten-mile radius.

But what if they
changed
their minds and decided not to leave the city? Then Decker would have missed a golden opportunity. Worse, what if
Hersh
changed his mind at the last minute and decided to do away with Noam—who was, thank God, alive as of a half hour ago. No, he couldn’t wait, he couldn’t take that chance.

Maybe they went back to Clint Willy’s dive. Pigeons returning to roost. He’d check that one out first. Luckily, all the dumps were near each other—

He interrupted his train of thought.

Why was he assuming they were holed up in
any
motel? Having committed a horrible,
bloody
crime, clothes soaked with blood, faces possibly scratched up, maybe they thought it was wise to avoid any motels—just like they did after assault number one. If they didn’t want to be noticed first time
around—and that victim lived—they’d really want to lie low after what they had done.

He stopped walking. Rina asked what was wrong.

“You know, after they attacked their first victim, they didn’t register at a motel. They camped out under an overpass.” He paused. “I’m wondering if history might be repeating itself.”

“Does Inglewood have hideout spots under its freeways?”

“Not around Century or La Tijera.” Decker thought out loud. “And on Imperial Highway, there’s nothing to speak of except aviation freight companies and Hughes Aircraft.” He paused. “You know what’s out there? The unfinished Century Freeway. It’s next to LAX
and
to Four-oh-five freeway. That could account for the noises I heard. That stretch of land’s deserted this time of night. Don’t know if there are any phone booths around there, but I’m going to have me a look.”