The Shadow Man (55 page)

It has always worked.

He remembered a time, many years earlier. It came back to him slowly, a memory that seemed like a dream that faded in the first moments of awakening. He could picture a family, and he could picture the upstairs, attic flat that he knew they hid in. Two small children, who cried when the bombers came over; a mother and father, grandparents, a cousin; all jammed into two little rooms. He tried to remember their names, but was unable. He remembered they had pleaded hard for their lives, and paid handsomely. And then they had died, like all the others. They were like rats, he thought, holed up in some deep crevasse. But he knew how to bring them out into the open.

He looked up at the apartment building.

I have done this many times before.

He reached down and picked up a small bag at his feet

that held several important items. Hefting this, he once again stared up at the building.

Judenfrei, he thought to himself. That was what the Reichsfiihrer once had promised to the entire world. And that is the same promise I made to myself. Perhaps tonight I will finally be Judenfrei.

He visualized the old woman and the old rabbi.

His face seemed to slide then into a cold, frozen visage, one of determination and duty. He stepped slightly forward. From the edge of the alley, he carefully searched the empty street. There was some traffic a few blocks away, but nothing that overly concerned him. And so, moving from darkness to darkness, he eagerly crossed toward his targets.

They do not know it, he reminded himself. None of them ever knew it. But they have already been dead for days.

Simon Winter watched wordlessly as Walter Robinson tried to sort through the confusion caused by the arrest of David Isaacson. The elderly man and his wife sat on a bench in the corner of the homicide offices, alternately scowling, threatening to call their attorney - though clearly they had none, especially one who would arise in the middle of the night to help them - and grudgingly offering up the occasional morsel of information. These came more readily after Walter Robinson assured them that the city would pay for the repair of their front door and any items broken in the mistaken arrest. This back and forth between the angry couple and the detective went on for some time, moments that drove Simon Winter toward frustration.

It was deep into the night and heading toward morning when Robinson finally slipped away from the couple and

approached Simon Winter. Behind the detective an overly solicitous, cloyingly polite, uniformed officer was helping the Isaacsons to their feet, ushering them out of the offices and to a squad car and a chauffeured ride home.

‘Well?’ Winter asked.

‘Well, shit,’ Robinson replied, sitting down heavily in a seat next to the old man. ‘Aren’t you tired, Simon? Don’t you want to go home and go to bed and wish maybe this mess would just get up and disappear while you slept?’

‘That sounds unlikely,’ Winter replied, though he smiled through the lateness of the hour.

‘No shit,’ Robinson said. He laughed, self-mocking. ‘Man, have I made a pile of crap here that’s gonna take me a month to straighten out–-‘

‘A month in triplicate,’ Winter said. The young detective snorted another laugh.

‘You’re right about that. Man, Simon, you don’t have any idea the forms I’m gonna be filling out. And then I’m gonna get my butt hauled in front of every brass-assed superior officer in need of chewing somebody out. And that’s a big number. And then there’s the department lawyers. Gotta give them their shot…’

‘He planned it, you know,’ Winter said softly. ‘He knew somebody might make the connection, and so instead of making up a phony name and address, he used a real person. He had a choice between creating a fiction that maybe we could backtrack from or that might have drawn someone’s attention, and a confusion that would create a mess, and he selected wisely, I think. And he picked out someone that resembled him, if only slightly. What do you think? Think he saw Isaacson at some meeting? On a videotape? Strolling on the beach? In a synagogue? Grocery store? Restaurant? Picked him out of some crowd

without the guy even having the slightest idea what he was contributing to?’

‘Somewhere, you’re right about that. Maybe Isaacson will be able to figure it out for us after he’s calmed down. But I doubt it. Anyway, it ain’t gonna happen tonight.’

Walter Robinson let slide a long, deep breath. ‘The Shadow Man seems to have a good idea how bureaucracies like the police department work. Think he was a cop once?’

‘Remember who trained him. Where could you find a more devoted bureaucracy than Nazi Germany?’

‘Maybe right here on Miami Beach,’ Robinson said bitterly, pushing haphazardly at some forms on his desk. ‘Ah, hell, that’s not true. But I see what you’re driving at. The fucker’s smart, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. And you know, all that preparation tells me something else.’

Robinson nodded, not listening for an answer, but providing one himself: ‘That the Shadow Man has an exit door all ready and open, and once he walks through it…’

‘He’s gone.’

‘That occurred to me as well.’ Robinson leaned back. ‘I made a call,’ he said slowly, ‘just wanted to check something out. While the Isaacsons were stewing over there. I called out to Los Angeles and got the director of the Holocaust Center out there on the phone. You know the letter that Esther Weiss had? Signed by an associate director?’

‘No such person, right?’

‘Right. Letterhead was proper, though.’

‘That’s easy enough. Just write them a letter, requesting any old thing, get something back on their nice official stationery, head to a copy machine and bingo, there you have it. Hell, you could take it off a fund-raising letter.’

‘That’s what I thought too.’

‘So,’ Simon Winter said slowly, ‘where does all this leave us?’

Robinson paused. ‘Maybe the old folks will turn up something. Or maybe he’ll make a move for them. Or something. The phone was ringing off the hook at the rabbi’s earlier. Maybe the announcement will do some good, other than scaring the hell out of everybody. Otherwise, well, we’re not exactly at square one, but what the hell square we’re on, I don’t know.’

Winter nodded. He held his hand out and grasped a piece of the air between them. ‘He seems close, and then, nothing,’ he said. ‘We just have to grab faster.’

‘We have to find someone to grab at,’ Robinson said.

He leaned back, rocking in the swivel chair at his desk.

‘All right, Simon. Tomorrow, you and I, we start in again with the composite.’ He smiled. ‘Instead of going fishing. That still seems our best chance. What do you think?’

‘Legwork never hurts a case,’ the old detective replied, though he doubted he had the time and energy for it.

‘We should head home now,’ Robinson said. ‘I’ll drop you off. And tomorrow, don’t wear that gun, okay? I’m trusting you that you’ve got a proper license somewhere. But I sure as hell know you haven’t got a permit to carry a concealed weapon.’

Simon Winter managed a small grin. He rose. The thought of sleep wasn’t unattractive, and there, within the brightness of the police headquarters, any sense of urgency dissipated slightly as fatigue nibbled at his imagination.

With an effort not unlike a diver launching himself from a high board, Robinson kicked himself up and out of his seat. ‘Let’s go before the sun comes up,’ he said.

The two men rode the elevator down to the ground floor

in late night silence, each filled with their own thoughts. When they stepped outside the cocoon of the police building, a wet warmth seemed to drape over them, as if there had been a storm nearby that had deluged some close area but just missed them. They walked through the lights to the detective’s unmarked car and slid into their seats, staying just the smallest step ahead of exhaustion. Robinson slowly ground the starter on the car and gunned the engine twice, as if that could invigorate him as well. The police dispatcher’s voice scratched through the radio speaker, and Robinson leaned forward, reaching for the knob to shut off the irritating, tinny sound, only to have his forearm seized by Winter.

He looked up at the old man, whose eyes had abruptly widened, and in the same moment, Robinson felt a surge of electric energy race through his own body, past all the frustrations and weariness, rendering him abruptly and completely alert.

Winter’s voice was hard-edged, but almost breathless. ‘That was the rabbi’s place, goddamn it! That was the rabbi’s address she just gave. I heard it! She just moved a goddamn hook and ladder company to the rabbi’s apartment building!’

Robinson thrust the car in gear and smashed down on the gas pedal.

‘Who’s there? Goddamn it! Who’s there?’ Winter shouted, as if he couldn’t remember. ‘

Walter Robinson didn’t reply. He knew. Two old people, one young and probably inexperienced police officer, and Espy Martinez.

And one other.

Espy Martinez had fallen asleep on the living room couch shortly after the two survivors had departed for their

respective bedrooms. The police officer detailed to watching over them had repaired to the kitchen area, where he sipped coffee, tried to read a novel that the rabbi had recommended, and half dozed while counting the minutes before his shift changed and someone else would get assigned to a task he considered slightly glorified babysitting, and which had bored the interest out of him within five minutes of his arrival.

When the ringing of the condominium’s fire alarm system had suddenly creased the air, he’d been on the verge of sleep, and he shot to his feet unsteadily, cursing in surprise.

Espy Martinez also rose up, a fear falling through her stomach, thrashing about in the semidarkness and disorientation of awakening in an unfamiliar room.

In the guest bedroom, Frieda Kroner had been having an unsettling dream, one that touched the shores of nightmare, where she had seen herself in a space she couldn’t recognize and that seemed to grow increasingly smaller around her. Every time she tried to find the exit door, it seemed to move, just as she reached for the doorknob. The alarm bell sliced across this sweat-soaked sleep, and she awakened, shouting in German, ‘Air raid! Air raid! Get to the shelters!’ until a few seconds passed and she remembered where and what year it was.

The rabbi, as well, awakened abruptly, shivering as if cold, the ringing bell beating on him like a fighter’s flurry of punches. He reached for his dressing gown and hurried from his bedroom.

The four people came together in near-panic and surprise in the living room.

The young officer spoke first. His voice was slightly on the high edge and rapid, as if the words were trying to keep up with his heartbeat. ‘Look, everyone stay calm, just stay

calm.’ He said this, but of course his tone implied the opposite. ‘Okay, stay together, and we’ll head out, right now….’

Espy Martinez took a step toward the door, only to be stopped by Frieda Kroner grabbing her arm.

‘No!’ the old woman shouted. ‘No! It is him! He is here!’

The others turned to face her.

‘It’s the goddamn fire alarm,’ the young policeman said. ‘Let’s stick together and get the hell outside.’

Frieda Kroner stamped her foot. ‘It is him! We are being attacked!’

The policeman looked at her like she was crazy. ‘It’s a fire, damn it! We may not have much time!’

The rabbi spoke then, his voice quavering, but filled with calm. ‘Frieda is correct. It is him. He is here.’ He turned toward Espy Martinez. ‘Do not move, Miss Martinez.’

The young policeman stared at the old people. He tried to force reason and calm into his voice, but these emotions were frayed. ‘Look, Rabbi, goddamn it, these old buildings are fire traps! They can go up in a second! I’ve seen it! I’ve seen people get trapped! We’ve got to get out, and get out now! What floor are we on?’

The rabbi looked oddly at him. ‘The sixth.’

‘Goddamn it, don’t you know that there’s not a piece of fire-fighting equipment on the Beach that can reach this high? We’ve got to get downstairs, and do it now!’

The ringing continued, filling the air around them with insistence. They could hear voices penetrating through the apartment walls and door, and muffled sounds of feet in the hallway outside. They all stopped and listened, all hearing several panicked screams as well.

‘See! Damn it!’ the young policeman shouted. ‘Everyone else is getting the hell out! Come on, once a fire gets

going in these old buildings, boom! They just go! There’s just not that much time! We’ve got to get to the stairway now!’

Frieda Kroner sat down abruptly on a sofa. ‘It is a trap, yes. But it is him that has set it.’ She folded her arms. Her voice rattled, but she managed to force the words out: ‘He is coming for us now.’

The rabbi sat next to her. ‘Frieda is correct,’ he said. ‘We open that door and we will die.’

‘We stay here, we’re gonna get cooked!’ the young policeman insisted. He stared at the old couple as if they were completely out of their minds.

‘No,’ Frieda Kroner said. ‘I will not leave.’

‘Nor I,’ said the rabbi. ‘It is how he caught so many of us once. Not this time.’

‘You’re out of your minds,’ the policeman said. ‘Look,’ he pleaded. ‘I’m right with you. Even if this crazy old fucker is out there, he’s not going to try anything with me by your side. Come on, let’s go!’

‘No,’ Frieda Kroner repeated.

The young policeman raised his eyes, imploring the heavens to force reason on the obstinate old people.

‘We’re gonna die!’ he shouted. ‘Miss Martinez, help me.’

But Espy Martinez just stared at the old couple.

‘All right,’ the policeman said unsteadily, after letting a short silence speak for them. ‘Look, let’s do this: I will go out and check it out. I’ll see what’s happening, and I’ll come back for you as soon as I know the coast is clear. If I can, I’ll bring a fireman. Got that? Okay? You sit tight, and I’ll be back with help. Miss Martinez, you come with me, at least then you’ll be safe and out, okay? Now, let’s

go!

He hurried to the door, and Espy Martinez took a single

step behind him, then stopped.