Now You See Me...

by Rochelle Krich

  “No.” She didn’t know whether this was one of his lies.

  “He gave her a ring, the ring I gave you. You didn’t throw it away, did you?” he demanded, pulling the curl.

  She winced at the pain. “It’s in my drawer.”

  “He said the blessing, ‘Behold you are sanctified to me according to the laws of Moses and Israel.’ It was a promise in front of witnesses, Dassie. He broke his promise. He broke my mother’s heart. Do you know what becomes of the broken-hearted? Do you think that was right, Dassie?”

  She shook her head.

  “He broke Greg’s heart, too. He could have helped him, but he didn’t. So maybe, when I first e-mailed you, I was angry at your father. I tricked you, Dassie. I read your file. I knew all about you before we met. But I fell in love with you. Do you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You understand why I did it? You’re not angry?”

  “I understand. I’m not angry.”

  “Tell me you love me, Dassie.”

  “I love you,” she said, choking on the words.

  “And we’ll be together forever?” he said. “Because I’m not like your father. I won’t break my promise. I gave you my mother’s ring.”

  She nodded.

  “Say it. Say we’ll be together forever.”

  “We’ll be together forever.”

  “You’re lying.”

  She froze.

  He traced her lips with his finger. “You know we can’t be together, Dassie. The police will find out we killed Greg. They won’t let us be together.”

  Her heart hammered in her chest. She was surprised he couldn’t hear it.

  “True love doesn’t end, Dassie. Romeo and Juliet. Othello and Desdemona. Tristan and Isolde. They die, but their love stays pure.”

  She stifled a sob.

  “I would never let you feel pain, Dassie.”

  He stood abruptly, shaking the bed, and walked to a corner of the room. His back was to her, but she could see him reaching into his pants pocket.

  “I went to the mikvah,” she said.

  He crouched, then stood and turned around. He was holding a goblet.

  “Last night, after I read the card you sent,” she said, “I knew you would come for me.”

  He returned to her side.

  “You bought a nightgown,” she said. “Don’t you want me to wear it, for you?”

  “When it’s time.”

  He raised her to a sitting position and brought the goblet to her lips.

  “Drink,” he said.

  She took a sip of the wine. It was ruby red, dry. It tasted bitter, but dry wines were bitter. Or maybe he had put something in it, something he’d taken from his pocket. She thought about the vial of pills she had found among his things.

  “More,” he said.

  She drank. Wine dribbled down her chin. He caught the drops with his finger and licked them. Then he drank from the goblet.

  “I want to be with you, one time,” she said. “Don’t you want that, too?”

  She raised her bound hands.

  Chapter 51

  We lost precious minutes while Cheryl looked for the phone number of the client who had hired Justin to paint the apartment. Another five minutes passed before she reached the client on his cell phone.

  “Everything is fine,” Cheryl said, her voice amazingly calm. “I’m sure Justin did a beautiful job. I want to take him something to eat.”

  “Ask him for directions,” I whispered to Cheryl.

  “How do I get there?” she asked. She scribbled on the margin of a newspaper that lay on the table. “Okay. Thanks.” She hung up.

  I tore off the segment of newspaper. The address was in Hollywood. Connors’s jurisdiction. “What’s the apartment number?”

  “201.” Cheryl put a hand on my arm. “Let me talk to Justin first, Molly. He’ll listen to me. I know he will.”

  I picked up my purse and ran out of the apartment, with Cheryl at my heels. I didn’t want to talk in front of her. I unlocked the car, told her to get in, and phoned Connors at home. His line was busy. I tried West L.A. and left an urgent message for Jessie.

  From Cheryl’s, it was a fifteen-minute drive without traffic to the Hollywood apartment, double that in the rush hour we were in. I drove to Melrose, turned right, and headed east.

  We didn’t talk, although every few minutes Cheryl said, “Justin will listen to me.”

  She had a right to hope, but the repetition was making me antsy. “Read me the instructions again, Cheryl.”

  “Take Highland to Sunset, Sunset past Vermont . . .”

  I reached Highland in less than ten minutes, but it was a parking lot. When I neared Santa Monica, I made a sharp right. Cars were moving well at first, but blocks later, we slowed to fifteen miles an hour.

  I made a left onto Cahuenga and took that to Sunset. More traffic. I turned right on Sunset. I tried not to think about Hadassah.

  “Justin won’t hurt Hadassah,” Cheryl said, as if she were reading my mind.

  I tried Connors again. This time he answered.

  “What?” he said when he picked up. Connors has caller ID, so he knew it was me.

  Not a warm reception. “Shankman wasn’t with the girl,” I said.

  “Come on, Molly.”

  “Just listen.” In a low voice, I told him what I’d learned.

  “Where’s the mother?” he asked. “With you?”

  “Yes. She says he’ll listen to her.”

  “Let’s hope she’s right,” Connors said. “Her son has her car, right? What’s the make and license plate number?”

  I asked Cheryl, and relayed the information to Connors.

  “Can I talk to him?” Cheryl said. “What’s his name?”

  “Detective Connors.” I passed her my phone.

  “Detective Connors? This is Cheryl Wexner, Justin’s mother. Let me talk to him. I know what to say, to calm him.” She listened. “He would never hurt anyone, but if he’s frightened . . . He’s just a little confused. What?” She furrowed her brow. “All right. Yes. Thank you.”

  Cheryl handed me the phone and leaned against the headrest. She shut her eyes. I couldn’t imagine what she was thinking.

  “You’re sure about this guy, Molly?” Connors asked.

  “Yes.” I gave him the address and apartment number. “His mother’s not sure he’s there. Can you tell Detective Drake? And give her my cell number, please?”

  Minutes later my phone rang. I flipped it open.

  “Two units are on the way,” Connors said. “Where are you?”

  “Ten blocks away.”

  “I should be there in two minutes. Detective Drake is on her way.”

  “Okay.”

  “We’re in radio contact with the units,” Connors said. “When they get there, if they think Hadassah is in immediate danger, they’re going in.”

  “Got it.”

  “Don’t tell the mother.”

  “Right.”

  “The cell phone they found at Dr. McIntyre’s isn’t Hadassah’s, by the way. It’s Justin Wexner’s.”

  “Yes.”

  “Detective Drake’s guess is that Wexner has Hadassah’s phone. You think he killed Shankman?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you think he plans to kill himself and the girl?”

  “Right.”

  “See you there.”

  Connors hung up. I shut the phone and put it on my lap.

  “What was he asking you?” Cheryl was wringing her hands.

  “He wants to make sure I have the right directions.”

  It seemed like an hour, but it was only minutes before we arrived. I parked the car down the block, near two black-and-whites.

  “Wait in the car,” I told Cheryl, but she undid her seat belt and was standing on the sidewalk before I was.

  “He’ll listen to me, Molly,” she said. “If they go in, they’ll frighten him.”

  Connors walked toward
us. I introduced him to Cheryl.

  “My son will listen to me,” she told him.

  “Someone’s in there,” Connors said. “We can hear music, but nothing else.”

  I didn’t want to think about the possibilities. “Maybe Mrs. Wexner can phone her son,” I said.

  “Justin lost his cell phone,” Cheryl said. “I told you that. I don’t know the number of the phone in the apartment, or if there is one.”

  “Detective Drake has your son’s phone,” Connors said. “We think he has Hadassah Bailor’s, but we don’t know if it’s charged.”

  “He used it Thursday night, when he phoned her parents,” I said. “Hadassah had it with her the Sunday she left home. So he must have charged it.”

  “I don’t have her number,” Cheryl said.

  “It’s programmed on his phone. I got the number from Detective Drake.” Connors handed Cheryl a slip of paper with the number.

  “I don’t want to scare him,” Cheryl said. “What should I say?”

  A minute ago she had been so confident, I thought.

  “Tell him you’re concerned about him,” Connors said. “Keep him talking.”

  Cheryl took her cell phone out of her purse and made the call.

  Chapter 52

  “Make a wish, Dassie.”

  He blew out all the candles except one and switched on the light. She blinked at the sudden brightness and forced herself not to flinch when he sat on the side of the bed.

  “You won’t try to run away?” he said.

  “I would have gone with you, Justin, if you’d asked. I was shocked to see you.”

  “I IM’ed you, Dassie. Over and over. I told you we had to talk. I tried you a hundred times, I saw you were online. But you didn’t answer.”

  “I was afraid my parents would see.” She held her bound wrists toward him. “I understand why you did what you did, Justin. It was my fault, all my fault. I want to make it right.”

  She didn’t know where the words came from. They weren’t her words, or Dinah’s. Dinah’s brothers had come to save her, but no one was coming to save Hadassah.

  He stared at her. An eternity passed before he leaned closer and fingered the rope, another as he undid the knots.

  She massaged her wrists.

  Her head pulsed when she sat up. She was dizzy. Maybe it was the wine, or what he’d put in it. Or the reaction to whatever had been on the cloth he’d held over her nose and mouth. She inched to the edge of the bed and slowly pushed herself to a standing position. She didn’t know where he had put her shoes. Her legs were wobbly.

  I am Yael, she told herself.

  She picked up the nightgown, which he had laid on the end of the bed. She ran her hand across the silky fabric. “It’s beautiful, Justin. I’ll change in the bathroom. I won’t be long.”

  “I broke the lock. I didn’t know if I could trust you, Dassie . . .”

  “I don’t blame you,” she said, hiding her dismay. “Where’s my sweater, Justin? It’s warm in here, from all the candles. It’s probably chilly in the bathroom.” She saw his frown. He didn’t believe her. “This is my first time, Justin,” she said shyly.

  She cast her eyes downward. She wondered how Yael had convinced Sisera that it was safe to enter her tent.

  “I’ll wait outside the door,” he said after what seemed like an eternity. “You can change in here.”

  Her heart sank. He picked up the goblet and blew out the last candle on his way out of the room.

  He shut the door. She tiptoed across the carpeted floor to the window and looked out at security bars. Straight ahead, only a few feet away, was the neighboring building. The blinds on all the windows were shut.

  She felt a wave of tiredness as she moved to the closet. Maybe she would find a hanger, a belt, something she could use. She heard the creak as she opened the closet door.

  She knew he had heard it, too.

  “What are you doing, Dassie?” He sounded playful.

  “Looking for something to hang up my clothes.”

  “Just leave them on the side of the bed.”

  The closet was empty.

  “Are you ready?” he called.

  “Almost.”

  Her hands shook as she unbuttoned her blouse. She undressed quickly, leaving her clothes at the end of the bed, and slipped the nightgown over her head. The room was warm, but she shivered. A blanket of goose bumps covered her arms.

  She lay down on the bed. Her eyelids were starting to feel heavy, and she fought the urge to shut her eyes.

  “Dassie?”

  He opened the door and approached the bed. He sat on the edge and stroked her face.

  “You’re so tense,” he said.

  “I’m a little nervous.”

  “Don’t be.”

  He brought his face to her lips and kissed her softly. She tasted the wine.

  “I’ve waited so long for someone like you, Dassie. Do you really love me?”

  “With all my heart.”

  “Forever?”

  “Forever.”

  He moved away. “Is this why you wanted your sweater, Dassie?”

  In his right hand was the shard. The glass gleamed in the light.

  She stared at it.

  He grabbed her hands and pinned her arms above her head. “You lied, Dassie. You broke your promise.”

  Her heart lurched wildly in her chest.

  With his free hand he placed the tip of the shard in the hollow of her throat. “This is what Greg felt, Dassie. You were going to kill me with it, too, weren’t you?” He sounded sad.

  His breath was warm on her face.

  “It was for me, not for you,” she said. “I didn’t know you were coming for me, did I?” She saw indecision in his eyes. “I cut myself with it this morning. I can show you.”

  He hesitated.

  “I was ashamed to tell you,” she said. “It’s so ugly. I promised myself I wouldn’t do it again, but I couldn’t stop. Help me stop, Justin.”

  He lowered her hands and released them. She turned her right palm up to show him the angry, bright red line.

  “Poor Dassie.” He stared at her arm. “I told you I would kiss your hurts away.” He bent his head.

  Her scream startled him. It was her scream and Dinah’s. It was the howl of the man she had stabbed and left for dead, an eldritch screech filled with terror and fury. Using both hands, she shoved his shoulders, hard.

  The shard flew out of his hand as he toppled backward to the floor and hit his head against the chair.

  She jumped from the bed and lunged for the sliver of glass. It was invisible against the beige carpet. She pawed the carpet, swept her hand across it in wide arcs.

  And then she saw the sliver of glass. She grabbed the shard, wincing as the sharp edge opened her wounds.

  She scrambled to her feet while he braced himself on the chair and stood.

  He took a step toward her.

  “Dassie, I would never—”

  She raised her hand and pointed the shard at him. “Don’t.”

  Chapter 53

  Wednesday, December 8, 9:30 p.m. Along the 900 block of Northwestern Avenue. A suspect took out a screwdriver from his waistband and pointed it at the victim, saying, “I’m going to kill you.”

  We heard the scream when we were steps away from the apartment door. Cheryl had called Hadassah’s cell phone several times. Justin never answered. By then Jessie had arrived, and Cheryl’s conviction had returned.

  “Let me tell him I’m here,” she’d begged. “Justin will talk to me. I know he will.”

  Connors and Jessie drew their weapons. He broke down the door. I grabbed Cheryl’s arm to stop her from following Connors and Jessie into the apartment, but she wrenched her arm free and ran inside. I went in after her.

  They were in the bedroom. Justin was all in black. Hadassah was wearing an ivory nightgown, edged in lace and streaked with blood. My nightmare come true, and hers. Her right arm was raised in a fis
t. At first I didn’t see the long sliver of glass she was aiming at Justin. He was standing a few feet away.

  He looked dazed when Connors told him to put his hands on his head. Cheryl, her face a sickly gray, said, “Please, honey, do what they say.”

  So Justin put his arms on his head, but he didn’t take his eyes off Dassie.

  “Dassie, tell them I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said as Connors pulled his arms behind him and cuffed his wrists. “Tell them it’s what you wanted, too.”

  Hadassah was shaking. Jessie put an arm around her shoulders, gently unbent her fingers, like the petals of a rose, and removed the shard. Even from where I was standing, I could see that Hadassah’s palm was bleeding.

  “Tell them, Dassie.” Justin turned to his mother. “Mom?”

  The “Mom?” has stayed with me, and Hadassah’s scream.

  I phoned the Bailors. I didn’t name Justin. I told them Hadassah was safe and put her on so they could hear for themselves.

  Connors found an empty vial of sleeping pills in Justin’s pocket, and Hadassah thought Justin had put something in the wine he’d made her drink. Jessie drove her to the Cedars-Sinai emergency room, where doctors treated her lacerated palm and pumped her stomach while other doctors tended to Justin.

  Zack met me at Cedars. We sat with Cheryl for hours, in the same waiting room where Nechama Bailor was reading psalms and Chaim Bailor was pacing in long, anxious strides.

  It was a strange non-reunion, surreal in its irony. Rabbi Bailor looked with mild curiosity at the woman whose arm I was holding when I arrived. A second later I could see that he’d realized she must be the mother of the man who had brought all of us here. He told me later he hadn’t recognized Cheryl, hadn’t seen in her the young girl he had married one May evening under a canopy of stars. He had wondered who she was, but had kept his distance. What do you say to someone whose son intended to kill your child?

  I had worried how Cheryl would react when she saw Rabbi Bailor, but she avoided looking at him. She picked at the skin around her thumb and talked to Zack and me about Justin, her hopes for him, her fears. Every few minutes she got up and walked to the desk to ask an emergency room volunteer when she could see him. She must have been overwhelmed with anguish over what her son had planned to do, profoundly relieved that he hadn’t been successful. She was probably troubled by the thought that sharing with a sensitive son decades of resentment toward the man who had broken her heart had contributed to the avalanche of events that had brought two families to this sad, sad crossroads.