Faye Kellerman - Decker 13 - The Forgotten

by The Forgotten

  'I'm Lisa Halloway. You're Jacob's mother, aren't you?'

  Rina held the thin fingers and gave them a light squeeze. 'Yes, I am. Have we met before?'

  'No, but you look just like him... or I guess it's actually he looks like you.'

  'It's nice to meet you, Lisa. Where do you know Jacob from?'

  'Just from around.'

  From the drug parties.

  'How's he doing?' she asked.

  'Right now, he's very saddened and upset by what happened to Ernesto Golding. I'm sure you feel the same way.'

  Tears moistened her eyes. 'I was Ernesto's girlfriend... ex-girlfriend.' Droplets ran down her cheek. 'It's very... unreal.'

  Without thinking, Rina reached out, and the girl fell into the embrace, crying with her entire body. Rina sighed as she smoothed the teen's bouncy curls. She was so young to be in so much pain.

  'Life sucks!' Lisa choked out.

  'Sometimes.'

  'All the time.'

  'No, not all the time.'

  Lisa pulled away. 'Well, wake me up when I get to the non-sucky parts.'

  'It's won't be necessary.' Rina smiled at her. 'You'll know when you're there.'

  Lisa broke away and took a step backward. 'Say hello to Jacob for me.'

  'I will.'

  'Tell him to drop by sometime.'

  Sure, Rina thought. 'Sure,' Rina said. As she watched the girl melt in with her peers, Carter materialized by her side. They watched the kids together.

  'Poor kids,' Golding said. 'What a thing to have to go through at such a young age.'

  Rina turned to him. His face was drawn, his complexion wan. His beard seemed to have grayed overnight. He had been a short man. Now he was a small man as well. He wore a black turtleneck over black pants. His feet were covered with white crew socks, as if they'd been bandaged. She said, 'Did you get any sleep last night?'

  'No. I don't think I'll ever sleep again.'

  'I'm so sorry.'

  'So am I.' He picked at his beard. 'Brook told me you were here.'

  'Is there a place where we could talk in privacy?'

  'All the bedrooms are being utilized by family members. Except for the master, but Jill's sleeping. I don't want to disturb her.'

  'Of course not. Maybe we can talk in the kitchen or in a study?'

  'This house doesn't have many interior doors. Except for the bedrooms, there are no other enclosed spaces with locks. I wanted everything out in the open. It's the type of people my wife and I are. Open... nothing hidden. What you see is what you get. See, I wanted that... because... my family was so hidden.' He faced her. 'I take it that's why you're here.'

  'Yes.'

  'What's the verdict?'

  'Mr Golding, perhaps we could use a bathroom?'

  'It's bad, huh?'

  'No, it's complicated. How about an upstairs bathroom? I take it you have a lock on your bathrooms.'

  'Of course we have locking bathrooms, we're not perverts!'

  Rina felt heat in her face. 'Of course.'

  Carter shook his head. 'I'm sorry I snapped—'

  'It's fine, Mr Golding—'

  'No, it's not fine! And call me Carter, damn it!'

  'Of course.'

  Golding stared at her, then looked away. 'I don't know what the hell is wrong with me. I can't control my temper... I can't...'

  'Carter, I was a widow at twenty-four. It's not the same thing as your experience, but there are similarities. Don't apologize for your behavior. I never did.'

  He regarded her. 'How did your husband die?'

  'Brain tumor.'

  'I'm so sorry.' His face filled with self-loathing as he shook his head. 'God, that was rude of me.'

  'I don't feel bad about the question. You shouldn't, either. Can we go somewhere and talk?'

  'Yes.' He nodded vigorously. 'Yes, of course. Upstairs. This way.'

  She walked by his side as they climbed the stairs. Confessing her own baggage had humanized Rina in the man's eyes. She knew that. But it seemed like such a crass thing to do. Actually, it had slipped out. Yitzchak had been dead for over a decade. She had been married longer to Peter than she had to him. He crossed her mind on occasion, but rarely when she was awake. In dreams... the dreams were always so real... his asking why she hadn't waited for him. The guilt was overwhelming when she awoke. It made no sense, but there it was anyway. Maybe she felt guilty because in her dreams he never, ever scolded. A sharp tongue wasn't Yitzchak's style. In her first marriage, she had been the volatile one. Funny how things change.

  Carter led her into the upstairs powder room. It held just a toilet and a small pedestal sink topped with a round, beveled mirror. She found her reflection disconcerting because in Jewish homes, mirrors were covered during the first month of

  mourning. Carter locked the door, put down the toilet seat cover, and offered it to her.

  'I'm fine,' Rina said. 'Why don't you sit?'

  Golding didn't argue. 'I appreciate your coming here, Mrs Decker. And so early.'

  'I've actually been up since five-thirty.'

  'You should have called me. I was up.'

  Rina smiled.

  Golding said, 'Is that your normal time to get up?'

  'It's early for me. But I had things to do. First, I went to the police station to badger my husband into releasing to me some more photographs from the evidence room—'

  'What photographs?'

  'Evidence left behind after the synagogue was vandalized -and those from your son's room.'

  'The pictures of the dead bodies?' Golding dropped his head between his knees. 'My father! What did he do?'

  'Carter, I would never come here at a time like this and deliver bad news. Let me get this out, and then you can ask all the questions you want.'

  Slowly, he straightened up. 'It's not bad?'

  'No, it's not bad—'

  'Just complicated.' Golding looked up. 'I'm sorry. Go on.'

  There was a twist of the outside doorknob.

  'I'm in here,' Golding shouted. 'Go away.' The sound of retreating footsteps. Carter let out a bitter chuckle. 'I'm too distraught to be polite. Go on.'

  Rina cleared her throat. 'A lot of this is conjecture, but I think this may have happened. While looking through papers and old documents for research to write his family history assignment, Ernesto found these horrible snapshots—'

  'Do you think I should see them?'

  'They're graphic, but yes, after I finish my story, you might want to see them. May I finish first?'

  'Of course.'

  'Ernesto found these pictures among your father's effects.

  Then, he began to delve deeper, finding inconsistencies about his grandfather's emigration to America. He thought the worst... which is a terrible shame because I spoke to someone who might have had contact with your dad when your father was a boy - when they both were boys actually. I showed him the most recent picture you gave me - the one of you, your father, and your two sons. He didn't recognize your father. Instead, he thought that your son, Karl, resembled a man he had met in his youth.'

  'Karl looked like my dad.' Carter was excited. 'It's true. Everyone thought they looked alike. Who is the man?'

  'He's one of the handfuls of men who survived Treblinka.'

  'So my father was in the camp?'

  'I don't think so. I am telling you about a young boy of around sixteen - a Pole, not a Jew. This was around 1943, right before Treblinka was burned down by the Nazis. This young boy, the son of a Polish policeman, used to sneak up to the outside perimeter of the camp and go right up to the electrified gates. He used to take pictures of the inmates: some were living, some were dead. I don't know why he took the pictures. But I do know that by taking the pictures, the boy risked his own life. He was not a member of the SS, and if he had been caught, he would have been shot. Plus, the boy gave the inmates food -ersatz bread, bits of carrots and turnips... once even strawberries. All food was a luxury. At that time, food was very scarce, not
only for the inmates but for all of Poland. So what he did was very, very generous. It's possible that this boy was your father.'

  Carter's breathing was audible and shallow. He whispered, 'What was this boy's name?'

  'I don't know. Neither did the man I spoke to.'

  'So who is Isaac Golding?'

  'I have no idea. Ernesto had information stating that Yitzchak Golding had died in Treblinka. But I don't know where that information came from.'

  'If my father didn't do anything, why take on that name?'

  'Maybe he didn't, but maybe his parents did because they needed the name of dead people to escape the tribunals and get false passports. I'm not saying that happened, but who knows? Or maybe your father took on the name because it was the name of a concentration camp inmate who made an impression on him. Maybe he did it to honor him. Perhaps you can find out. There are many records and lists. You know Yitzchak Golding was sent to Treblinka. If you search hard enough, maybe you'll find the history of Yitzchak Golding somewhere. It depends how far you want to take this.'

  No one spoke for a moment. From the outside, someone was twisting the doorknob.

  'It's occupied—'

  'Sorry,' answered a muffled voice from behind the door.

  Finally, Golding talked. 'This man that you spoke with. He's reliable?'

  'As reliable as they come, considering that he's in the tenth decade of his life. He doesn't know the boy's name, and he doesn't know who Yitzchak Golding was. But he said the photographs were pictures of Treblinka. He could make out the wire fence.' Rina looked away, and wiped her wet eyes. 'It was excruciatingly hard for him to look at these pictures. But he did it to give you resolution, because he didn't want anyone to suffer. He called the boy photographer a minor hero. If that was your father, you should feel good about it.'

  'And if it isn't?'

  'As I said, it depends how far you want to take it.'

  'He called my father a minor hero?'

  'Yes. And my husband said that your son also might have died a minor hero... trying to do the right thing.'

  Golding was silent.

  Rina said, 'You know, most people never even get close to being any kind of a hero - major or minor. You have two of them.'

  'You mean, I had two of them.' Carter's cheeks were

  tear-slicked. He stood up. 'Thank you for everything you've done, Airs Decker. And so quickly.'

  'It wasn't anything, Carter. And please, call me Rina. We've both bared enough pain to be on a first-name basis.'

  38

  There were cops outside Ruby's hospital room, their guns catching Jacob's eyes. Decker told him to hold on for a moment, leaving him about three doors away from hers. Jacob watched his stepfather talk to the uniforms and plainclothes-men assigned to the watch. It took about five minutes, then Decker stepped away and came to him, a concerned look on his face.

  'She's still a mess. Not more than five minutes, all right?'

  'You're bending a few rules?' Jacob asked.

  'It's not a problem as long as you're quick.'

  'I'll make you look good.' Jacob tossed him a smile. But he was nervous. The first step was the hardest. After that it was just a matter of placing one foot in front of the other. He stopped at the threshold. The bed nearest the door was empty: hers was on the right side, closest to the window. She was surrounded by medical apparatus - monitors, IV lines, and machines that bleeped.

  He tiptoed over until he was in talking distance. She didn't notice him. How could she notice him? She seemed incapable of moving her head. The smell was strong and unpleasant. Jacob wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring as the seconds ticked on.

  Her eyes were closed, her head a turban of bandages. What showed through was red and raw and swollen. A swath of gauze cut through the center of her face, hiding her nose and cheeks. He could see chipped teeth through her mangled lips.

  She had been in the hospital for three days. Yesterday, she had asked for him. It had taken him a full twenty-four hours to shore up his courage.

  The eyelids lifted, her brown orbs swimming in a sea of jaundice yellow and blood red. They glommed on to Jacob and looked him up and down. She muttered. He couldn't understand, so he stepped closer.

  She whispered, 'You've grown.'

  Jacob licked his lips. 'Couple of inches.'

  'What are you?' she slurred out. 'Six, six-one?'

  'A little under six, actually. The shortest male in my family.'

  'Yeah...' Breathy voice. 'Your old man is real tall.'

  'He doesn't count.' Jacob winced. 'I mean he doesn't count genetically. He's my stepfather.'

  'That's right.' As Ruby moved her head, her eyes registered pain. 'So what'd you tell him?'

  'Everything.'

  The purple lids raised a fraction of an inch.

  'I had to tell him about the place, so I had to tell him everything.' Jacob forced himself to look at her. 'He felt your life was in danger.'

  She closed her eyelids. 'Pretty good for a kike... never thought a prick like you... would do it.'

  Jacob didn't respond, staring at her bandaged face. 'I guess the fantasy of rape is better than the reality.'

  The lids snapped up, her expression ugly and angry. 'You shit!'

  His voice rose. 'I became dirt in my father's eyes to save your life, and you have the gall to call me a kike and a prick?'

  'Shut the fuck up, okay?' She was breathing heavily. She spoke softly and slowly. 'Worse things in life than being a kike and a prick.' She closed her eyes again. 'I'm going to jail. Not for the murders - I didn't know - but for computer stuff. I've got half of Quantico outside.' An attempt at a smile. 'Like I could go somewhere.'

  Jacob didn't answer.

  'I'm first... time felon with an... abusive father. I should

  get probation. No chance. Too many people dropped. I gotta do time.'

  'I'm sorry,' Jacob lied.

  'No you're not.'

  'Yeah, you're right.'

  The shredded lips formed something that approximated a smile. 'Whatever! I'll sell the movie rights for millions. Besides... dykes are okay. I like boys better, but... I can suck pussy better than any guy.'

  'You rock, Ruby.'

  'Fuck you, Lazarus!' She sneered. 'Self-righteous asshole. Your God may have prevented you from putting on the uniform... but He couldn't stop you from rutting like a pig. You loved it, man.'

  Jacob felt the stab down to the core. He tried to slough it off like dead skin. 'I'm sure I would have had I been conscious.'

  'Yeah? Rationalize it, baby! First, you were zonked, later... it wore off. You woulda nastied all night, Yonkie, if / hadn't stopped you!'

  Slam dunk on that one! Jacob wilted. He couldn't look at her. 'So I liked it. So what?'

  'So what? You hated me... but you still fucked me. What does that say about you?'

  'It says I'm an idiot. Congratulations, Ruby. You humbled me.'

  She managed to crank up a smug smile. But it didn't last long. Moments later, tears formed in her eyes. 'Write to me in prison?'

  Such longing in her voice. It shocked him. But his hatred outweighed his compassion. 'No, I'm not going to write to you.'

  'How about a birthday card? For your first girl?'

  He turned to her and saw red, wet eyeballs... tears falling down the bandages. She was crying blood. Her voice had come out small and shaking... pleading with him just like she had done that night. Then the naked truth dawned on him. Through all the bravado, all the venomous words she had slung at him, she had actually liked him. He looked at her heart monitor,

  watching it record the s and p cardiac waves that he had learned about in biology. Yep, even Ruby had a heart. 'When's your birthday?'

  'August twenty-fifth.'

  'Okay. I'll send you a birthday card.'

  No one spoke.

  Ruby closed her eyes. 'You were the number one hottie, Lazarus... the wet dream of every bitch at the raves. Which is why / got you. Once you fig
ure out... what to do... I'm sure you'll make some nice Jewish girl very happy.'