The Shadow Man (59 page)

Simon Winter put his head back, and glanced up once into

the sky, before he was smacked in the chin by a wavelet, and he coughed out briny salt water. He tried to tread water with one arm while keeping his hand pressed to the wound in his side, but this was difficult, and he felt suddenly as if there were hands beneath the surface of the ocean pulling at him gently, coaxing him to relax and slide down under the surface. He kicked his feet again, keeping his head barely above water and thought for the first time that night, through the entirety of his pursuit and fight, that he was old, and that the years had left him with little except loose muscles and quick fatigue.

He breathed out slowly, and then he heard Walter Robinson cry to him. He tried to reply, but it seemed to him that the ocean surrounding him was filled with an insurmountable noise, and he could not. Still, he managed to raise his hand once and gesture, and he saw a flurry of explosions across the top of the waves as the young detective hurtled toward him.

‘I’m here!’ Simon Winter managed to say in what he thought was a shout, but was barely a whisper.

‘Hang on!’ he heard Robinson answer, and he did. He closed his eyes for an instant, thinking he was a little like an exhausted child fighting sleep, and then he was aware of the young man in the water beside him, and he felt Walter Robinson’s furious grip on his arm. ‘I’ve got you, Simon, just hang on!’ He opened his eyes and felt Robinson’s arm encircling his chest.

‘It’s over, Walter,’ he said quietly. ‘Just take it easy, Simon. What the hell…’ ‘We fought, and I won,’ Winter said. ‘You make sure they know…’ ‘Are you hurt?’ ‘Yes. No.’ Simon Winter wanted to say: How could a

man like that hurt me? But he did not have the strength.

‘The Shadow Man?’

‘Gone. I got him.’

‘All right, Simon, you just lean back. I’ll take you in. Just breathe easily and relax. You’re gonna be okay. I promise. We’ll go fishing tomorrow after all.’

‘I’d like that,’ Winter replied softly.

‘It’s gonna be okay,’ Robinson continued. ‘I’ll save you.’

‘I am saved,’ Winter answered.

The old detective felt the young man’s strength lifting him up to the top of the waves, and he leaned his head back and felt himself being carried forward, steadily, powerfully, toward the shore. He closed his eyes and let the rhythm of the swim rock him gently. He thought: I have become a tiny child again, cradled in my mother’s arms.

Simon Winter sighed once, and opened his eyes. He looked back to the east and saw a vibrant red and gold band of light streaking urgently across the horizon.

‘It’s morning,’ he said.

Robinson did not reply, but swam on, fighting the tide and the waves that slapped and pulled and insulted his every thrust, as he had so many times before. He was not precisely sure when the old man died, but he knew this was true as he staggered through the breakers, and felt Espy Martinez’s hands reach for him, and gently lower them both to the beach, where, for an instant, the three of them all lay, side by side.

The sun rose hard, fast and insistent as if bored and impatient and eager to begin the day’s work. It filled the beach with painful glare and an uncompromising heat that danced in waves above the chalky sand. The tropical sky was an iridescent blue, a Chamber of Commerce sky, marred only by an occasional puffed-out white cloud or

two that would meander lazily across the perfect palate like an unwelcome visitor.

Walter Robinson and Espy Martinez sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the middle of the beach, their clothes drying stiffly on their skin. She had a blanket tossed over her shoulders, and she shivered once, though she wasn’t cold and the air around her was building with the day’s heat. Behind them a half-dozen police vehicles crowded the access road, and several uniformed officers were holding back a small crowd of the curious, gathering to watch the activity. A quarter mile offshore, a Coast Guard cutter and two Miami Beach police patrol boats wandered back and forth through the blue water. Martinez could see two divers readying equipment on the stern of one of the patrol boats.

‘Do you think they’ll find him?’ she wondered out loud.

‘I don’t know,’ Robinson replied. ‘The tide was running out pretty fast.’ He turned toward where a white-jacketed medical examiner was helping a pair of technicians enclose Simon Winter’s body in a black vinyl bag. He caught one last sight of the old man’s white basketball shoes as the zipper was sealed shut.

Robinson watched the medical examiner lurch across the sand. A light breeze ruffled the man’s jacket, as he approached.

‘The old guy didn’t drown,’ he said. ‘There’s a knife wound in his side. How’d he get that, detective?’

‘He had a busy night,’ Robinson replied.

The medical examiner huffed once, then moved off to supervise removing the body.

‘Who was he?’ Martinez asked quietly.

‘The Shadow Man?’ Robinson shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I doubt we’ll ever know. He was someone once, but he probably changed names and identities so many times

since the war, that whoever he truly was was lost.’

She nodded.

‘And now?’ ,

‘And now, nothing.’

She hesitated, then she placed her hand on his forearm. Walter Robinson picked her hand up and placed it to his forehead, as if it were ice that would cool his brow. Then he returned it to his own arm and smiled.

‘Well, not exactly nothing,’ he said.

In front of them, the technicians were lifting the body bag. Slowly, they started to struggle across the beach, their shoes digging down into the loose, chalky sand, as if the weight of the old man they carried had somehow grown and expanded and was almost greater than they could manage.

‘Were you friends?’ Espy Martinez asked.

‘We were beginning to be,’ Robinson replied. ‘I thought he could teach me something.’

Martinez considered this statement for a moment, then said, ‘I think he did.’

They sat quietly for another minute, until she heard her name called from the road behind them. They both turned and saw the rabbi and Frieda Kroner being restrained by a uniformed officer. The policeman turned toward the detective, and Robinson signaled him to let them pass.

‘It’s all over,’ Robinson said, as they approached. ‘You can thank Detective Winter for that. You won’t have to worry about the Shadow Man again.’

‘Poor Mr Winter,’ Frieda Kroner said. She wiped at her eye. ‘I shall thank him in a prayer and I will say one for all the others, as well.’

Rabbi Rubinstein nodded his head.

‘One can never destroy every shadow, detective,’ he said. ‘Not from such a great darkness.’ He reached over

and grasped Frieda Kroner’s arm in his and quietly added: ‘But to destroy one, is a great enough achievement.’

Then the old pair of Survivors turned and, arm in arm, started back up the beach toward the city and their homes. For a moment, Walter Robinson and Espy Martinez watched them slowly pick their way across the beach as if memory itself were as loose and crumbling as the sand beneath their feet. Then he reached out and linked her arm in much the same way, and the two of them together followed.