The Complete Matt Jacob Series

by Klein, Zachary;

  He nodded his head vigorously. “More than a few. Frankly, I harbored little hope of that boy accomplishing anything.” Collins waved a long tapered finger. “Don’t get me wrong, it would have been wonderful but…” He let his words drift away.

  “Brady,” Deidre filled in the space. “You weren’t as pessimistic as you’re making yourself out to be.” She faced me. “He encouraged me to tutor Sean, if you want to know the truth.”

  “I’m always interested in the truth,” I said, meeting her eyes.

  “You seem a little hostile, Matt. Or are you naturally abrasive?” Brady observed with a sharp look.

  I retreated a half-tone. “What you’re hearing is frustration. I’m having an impossible time getting anyone around here to talk with me.”

  Father Collins shook his head. “That I understand. It took me a while to make friends, even though a certain amount of trust comes with the job—if you know what I mean.”

  “Well, maybe I could borrow your collar or give you a list of questions.”

  He flashed another automatic smile. “I’m afraid we wear different sizes and, unfortunately, my time is spoken for.” He glanced at my face. “You were poking fun, weren’t you?” Father Collins turned toward Deirdre. “Deirdre constantly accuses me of being too serious. She admonishes me to lighten up.” He said the words “lighten up” as if they were foreign. Maybe for a priest they were.

  “I don’t admonish you about anything, Brady.”

  “I chose the wrong word,” he assured her with gusto. “Deirdre is heaven’s gift to our church. She really makes things happen around here. An incredible volunteer. I pray the archdiocese assigns us an intern before she finds a permanent teaching job.” Brady shook his head gloomily. “I don’t want to think what will happen if no one takes her place. There is little enough time as it is.”

  The mention of time dragged his arm out from beneath his flowing black robe. He read the Timex and jerked his head back up. “I apologize for looking at my watch but I just remembered an appointment. Do you see what I mean about time?”

  I nodded understandingly. “I have a couple of days a year like that.”

  “But none of this really helps you, does it?” He turned toward Deirdre. “What can we do to make Matt’s job a little easier?”

  Deirdre shrugged. I didn’t get the feeling she wanted to make my job easier.

  Father Collins suddenly clapped his hands. “What about the lecture?” He pivoted away from Deirdre and back to me. “We get terrific speakers at our Thursday night forum. This week we have someone who spent his summer touring Ireland. It should really be fascinating and any time someone brings back firsthand news of the Island, we pull a crowd. I can’t promise you how much time I’ll have, but I’m sure between the two of us we can get you started.”

  Deirdre wasn’t jumping for joy. “I’ve already started,” I said blandly. Couldn’t help myself; Deirdre hadn’t jumped for joy.

  “Well, whatever you decide,” Father Collins said. “I think you’ll find some people a little more gregarious if they meet you through the church.”

  “I’m sure you’re right, Father. I’d love to come.”

  Brady smiled, nodded, and shook my hand. “Good. You might even find the program interesting. We begin at seven-thirty and serve light refreshments after the Q&A.” He dropped my hand and turned to Deirdre, “I have to run.”

  “I know,” Deirdre said. “Mr. Jacob will walk me home.”

  It wasn’t a question. “I’m going the same way,” I acknowledged.

  The priest, apparently satisfied with this little corner of the world, bowed toward the two of us, twirled, and strode vigorously back into the hulking church.

  I broke the awkward silence. “Is he always so aggressive, intense?”

  Deirdre looked startled. “Father Collins isn’t usually described as aggressive.”

  “How would you describe him?” I asked.

  She started toward home. “Enthusiastic. Committed and enthusiastic.”

  I fell in step. “Committed? To what?”

  “To his parish. To the well-being of the people in the community.” Deirdre glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “And you? What is it that you are committed to?”

  “I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  “When you first arrived at my apartment you made your case sound cut-and-dry. So where does your persistence come from?”

  I shrugged. “It’s not very complicated. My boss wants as much information as possible about Sean Kelly and the rest of the Avengers. It’s my job to get it.”

  Deirdre stopped walking and smiled. “Are you always so determined?”

  I met her eyes. “When a case gets under my skin.”

  “And this case is?”

  “It’s starting to.”

  We continued our walk back to her apartment in silence, until Deirdre said, “Brady’s comment that Sean was a reclamation project was true.”

  I nodded. She clasped my arm in her strong hand. “I knew about Sean’s anti-Semitism and gang activities. But there were other things about him, as well. He grew up without any guidance, without anyone caring. Had there been alternatives to the street, Sean might have made a success of himself. I saw that potential and wanted to give it an opportunity to flourish.”

  “The padre didn’t think much of your chances.”

  Deirdre ran her free hand through her short hair. “I believe Brady had more faith than I did. But he was afraid I would become hopelessly disappointed if it didn’t work out. He was protecting me.”

  “From disappointment?”

  “Mr. Jacob…”

  “Matt.”

  “Matt. When I met Father Collins I was quite different than I am today. I was totally depressed about my inability to find a job. About my life in general. When Brady realized what I was going through, he urged me to recruit private students. He was proud that I was able to involve someone like Sean. Someone everyone else had given up on.”

  “It looks like everyone else was right.”

  Deirdre, eyes down, nodded. “I really can’t explain it. I was certain Sean was separating himself from that gang. I guess they had a stronger hold on him than I realized.”

  “Why the lies?” I asked quietly.

  “What I told you in my apartment was true. I didn’t, I don’t want to be dragged into this mess. I’m embarrassed about my failure. I actually believed that once Sean had a different focus, he’d give up all those ugly ideas.”

  Deirdre glanced at me with a small smile. “I haven’t been withholding as much as you think. Sean had me promise never to tell anyone but Brady about our work. He was afraid to be humiliated by the rest of those awful Avengers. I wanted him to be proud of what he was doing, but no amount of talk or reason would change his mind. It was a condition he set. I’ve really told you more than I should.”

  “Deirdre, Sean is dead.”

  We were at her house. The temperature had dropped, and when she let go of my arm she tugged her coat tightly around her body. She looked up at me. “Have you ever made a promise to someone who died? It’s harder to break, not easier.”

  I nodded sympathetically, but flattened my tone. “Deirdre, you didn’t run to the church after we talked because you broke a promise to a dead man.”

  She sat down on the steps to the porch and closed her fist. “Mr. Jacob, have you ever done things you knew were wrong but were helpless to stop?” She didn’t meet my eyes.

  Given enough time, most of my life might have flashed by. “I’ve had the experience.”

  The redhead took a deep breath. “You asked if Father Collins was always this intense. Well, the truth is, he was very upset when we left the church just now.”

  I stood still, waiting for her to continue.

  “This makes me very uncomfortable,” she said.

  “If it’s any solace, I’m pretty good at keeping quiet.”

  “The reason I went to the church had to do
with your potential to discover the reality about Sean and myself. Once I realized that you knew something about us, I was frightened you would discover the rest.” Deirdre took a deep breath. “You see, Mr. Jacob, Sean and I were having an affair.” She rushed on, “I was alone and lonely and thought there was something special about his desire to better himself.

  “I couldn’t take the chance that Brady would learn about it from someone else. He has incredible trust in me, and I let him down. It was important to tell him myself. When you met him, he was still quite upset.”

  I sifted through her admission. “Well, now that that’s out of the way, perhaps you could answer a couple of questions? I’m not interested in your sexual relationship with Kelly. Only his connection to the Avengers and the armored car burglaries.”

  She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “Unfortunately, it’s not out of the way for me. I’m still asking myself about what happened.” She dropped her hands and twisted her face into a sour grimace. “You aren’t a therapist as well as a detective, are you, Mr. Jacob?”

  “Matt. No, but I can refer you to a good one. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Deirdre. Needs play out in different ways.”

  “Thanks for the reassurance.” Her face lost a little of the lemon. “Now, I really do have to work out. I guess I’ll see you Thursday night?”

  “What about my questions?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. What I told you earlier was the truth. Sean and I never discussed the Avengers. I tried to talk with him about it many times but he refused to say anything about them. Ever. As far as armored car robberies, well, this is the first I’ve heard about that.” She started up the stairs. “I really have to run, Mr., uh, Matt. I’m due back at the church in a couple of hours.”

  “One last thing.”

  She already had the front door open but turned back toward me. “What is it?”

  “Didn’t you ever wonder where he got the money to pay you for his school lessons?”

  She stared past me. “I wouldn’t touch a dime. I felt enough like a slut without taking money.”

  I drove home on auto. Deirdre’s story explained her actions and might also explain why Washington Clifford wouldn’t much care about her. Still, my discomfort remained. Perhaps it was due to an inability to picture Deirdre and Kelly in any relationship, much less a sexual one. Or maybe it was the circuitous walk to the church the first time I saw her.

  I told myself to be patient. Told myself I’d learn more on Thursday night. Nevertheless, it wasn’t until I drove past the front of my building that Deirdre really left my mind.

  Yakov was sitting on the front steps, his face buried in a thick book.

  I pulled into the nearest parking space and walked over. “Easy reading?” The book’s cover was dotted with Hebrew lettering.

  Yakov looked up, startled by my voice. I didn’t hear you,” he said nervously. Then, as if he had just registered my question said, “This is the Talmud. It’s not easy reading.”

  I smiled. “I take it you aren’t lost?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Have you been here long? Someone should have let you into my apartment.”

  “Someone offered but I didn’t want to go inside with him.”

  “Why not?”

  Yakov looked at me suspiciously. “I think he was a faigeleh. A homo.”

  The Yeshiva needed a new-age rabbi. “I know what a faigeleh is. Do you know it’s an insulting term?”

  “I know that a man with makeup wearing a woman’s babushka asked me inside. That’s what I know.”

  Understandable but amusing coming from a kid with earlocks and fringes. “That’s Charles. He’s the superintendent of the buildings.”

  “Who would hire him?” Yakov asked incredulously.

  “Me,” I smiled. “Charles is a terrific person. Sometimes it helps to look past the first page.”

  Yakov shrugged dubiously and stood up. “Perhaps it was a mistake to come here?” he said.

  “I don’t know. Let’s go inside and find out.” I started up the outside steps and added, “You don’t have to be afraid, I’m not wearing any makeup.”

  “I didn’t say I was afraid,” he retorted, following me into the building and downstairs to the basement. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.

  “To my apartment.”

  “You live in the cellar?”

  I unlocked my door, opened it, and waved him in. He walked inside, albeit tentatively. I pointed toward the chair. “Make yourself comfortable.”

  Instead of sitting down Yakov walked around the room looking at the art deco radios.

  “There are radios like this in my grandmother’s house,” he said.

  “Are they for sale?” I asked half-seriously.

  “I don’t think so,” Yakov replied. “Why do you want to know?”

  “I collect stuff like this.”

  “Why?”

  “I like the way they look.”

  “Don’t you listen to them?”

  “No. Some of them don’t even work.”

  He stared at me as if he didn’t understand. “Then what good are they?” He didn’t understand.

  “Doesn’t anybody you know at the Yeshiva collect things? Baseball cards, maybe?”

  “Of course not. We have a huge collection of books but they are there for a purpose, for learning.”

  I nodded and asked, “Are you hungry? Can I get you anything to eat?”

  “No,” he said sharply.

  I snapped my fingers. “I get it; I’m not kosher.”

  He nodded, relieved I think, for not being forced to criticize.

  “How ‘bout a glass of water?”

  “I can’t use your glass.”

  I started to protest but realized he wasn’t talking about sloppy housekeeping. “How did you get my address?” I asked.

  “I called the lawyer Roth’s office and explained who I was.”

  “That would do it.”

  Yakov nodded and finally sat down staring uncomfortably at his oversize hands and big feet. I lit a cigarette and gave him a little time before I asked gently, “So why are you here?”

  “My father told me about his conversation with you. I wanted to explain.”

  “You don’t have to explain, Yakov. I wasn’t insulted or anything.”

  “My father has not been himself.”

  “I can understand that.”

  “No, I don’t mean the shootings.” He faltered and stopped.

  I finished my smoke and waited patiently.

  “Since my mother died my father has thrown himself into the Yeshiva. He spends all his time making it a better place to learn. When the schkutzim—you know? Lowlife goyim—started with their Nazi hate, my father redoubled his efforts to ensure our safety.”

  Something piqued my interest but I didn’t want to break his chain of thought. It was difficult enough for him as it was.

  “It sounds like your dad used his grief in productive ways,” I nudged.

  Yakov bobbed his head. “Yes, that’s it exactly.” His voice dropped an octave, “But it leaves little time for anything else.”

  “Like you,” I said softly.

  “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Sorry, I misunderstood.”

  “It’s just, well, the Yeshiva doesn’t leave much time for anything else.” Yakov rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s not as if I’ve been uncared for. What I’m trying to say is that Rebbe’s murder makes him wonder whether he has done enough for the Yeshiva.”

  “It seems he did all he could.”

  Tears filled Yakov’s eyes, desperation flooded his face. Something was trying to fight its way to light, but he pressed his lips together. I knew better than to push. We both sat quietly while he regained his composure.

  “You own a basketball,” he finally said, pointing toward the corner.

  “Yeah. When we renovated the buildings we built a small court.”

 
; The kid’s face lit up. “You have a court right here?”

  “Between the buildings.”

  He didn’t ask so I did. “Would you like to shoot around?”

  “It’s getting dark.”

  “We’ll put on the lights.”

  “You can play at night?” He was excited about the court…relieved to stop talking about his father. The combination made for a happy boy.

  “Not great, but do-able.”

  “Could we? Just for a little while?”

  “As long as you’d like.” He had more to say and I had more to ask, but both of us could wait.

  “Come on.”

  He jumped to his feet, walked directly to the basketball, tapped the top with a practiced touch, and caught it on the way up. I grinned and led us out to the alley through the office door.

  “You have a nice apartment,” he said once we were outside.

  “You didn’t expect it?”

  “I didn’t know what to expect,” he said honestly. “You always wear jeans and when you went to the basement…”

  We got to the end of my building and I watched as he placed the ball at his feet and took off his suit jacket.

  “Aren’t you going to be cold?”

  “Can’t play ball in a coat,” he scoffed.

  I didn’t want to expose my gun so I left my jacket alone. “Well, it’s too cold for me,” I said flicking the switch for the floodlight. The kid ran onto the court with a springing little jump. Almost magically his awkwardness disappeared. He dribbled toward the basket, his lanky body curved forward, looking a little like a young Hasidic Pistol Pete. Suddenly he stopped and popped.

  “Yes!” he yelled in a perfect imitation of Marv Alpert as the ball whistled through the net. Apparently all that learning still left time to sneak a little N.B.A.

  While he ran after the ball, I ambled onto the court.

  “Here,” he called, then hit my palm with a perfect one-handed bounce pass. The kid could play.

  I fed him underneath the hoop where he upfaked, swiveled, and laid it in. I moved toward the loose ball, grabbed it, and passed it behind my back to Yakov who had faded to the foul line. “Shoot,” I said, then watched the ball arch with perfect spin toward the net. “Two,” I called as the twine rippled.