Set the Night on Fire

by Libby Fischer Hellmann

  Lila tried to reassure him. “You didn’t know it was there.”

  “I shudda.” He rubbed his knuckle below his nose.

  “So they’ve known where we’ve been all this time?” Reba asked.

  “Looks that way,” Benny said. He turned to Cece. “You have any idea when or where they planted it?”

  “It had to be when they were staking out the house,” she answered. “A week or so ago.”

  Dar nodded.

  “So now what?” Lila asked.

  Benny’s nostrils flared. “Well, first, I take out the batteries … ” He turned over the tracker and started to open the back. “No.” He went to a shelf in the garage, took out a hammer and pounded the tracker. Seconds later, it was in pieces. “That’s better.”

  They watched Benny drop the shattered pieces in the garbage.

  “Obviously, we have to leave,” Dar said. “They’re probably on their way. You need to protect yourselves.”

  “Don’t worry about us,” Reba turned to Lila. “But a HideAway knife ain’t gonna be much help to you going forward. They’ll be expecting it. You’re gonna need something more … powerful.”

  “If you’re talking about a gun,” Dar cut in, “forget it.”

  Reba and Lila exchanged glances.

  “Maybe you oughta go inside,” Reba said to Dar and Cece. “Lila, you come with me.”

  “Too bad about that ID bracelet,” Cece said when they were settled in the living room later. “Do you have anything else? Anything that proves Teddy Markham was involved?”

  “What about that photo of the six of you in the park?” Lila asked. “The one I found on my father’s computer.”

  “I thought it was destroyed in the fire,” Cece said.

  “Rain made prints,” Dar said. “There could be a copy floating around someplace.”

  “A picture’s not proof of anything,” Reba frowned. “Just that you were all together when it was taken. What about the apartment in Old Town? Was Teddy’s name on the lease? Not that it proves much either, but it’s something.”

  “Alix was the only one on the lease. And after we left, we moved around.”

  “Did Teddy have a job? Is there a record of him working anywhere?”

  Dar shook his head. “He and Payton didn’t work. Except for the Movement.”

  “What about when you assembled the bomb? Any chance he would have signed for anything—credit card receipts, for instance?”

  “We didn’t have credit cards. And even if we did, we weren’t that stupid.”

  “It’s no crime to buy fuel oil anyway,” Benny said.

  Lila stood up and started to pace. “We need something, damn it. We’re running out of time.”

  “When did you first suspect that Teddy … wasn’t who he said he was?” Reba asked.

  “To be honest, I never did,” Dar said, watching Lila. “But Rain never trusted him. She confronted me about him one night.” He ran a hand across his forehead. “I thought she was being unfair.”

  “Maybe you oughta go see this Rain,” Reba said. “Sounds like she might know something you don’t.”

  “We can’t,” Dar said after a pause. “She’s dead. Her car exploded on the highway a few weeks after she came to see me.”

  Everyone was quiet.

  Dar stared at the floor. Then he straightened. “Hold on. Wait a minute!”

  Lila looked over.

  “I just remembered something!”

  “What?”

  “When I saw Rain the last time, she told me Payton had sent her something. Something to do with Teddy. She said I should know it was there if I needed it.”

  Lila’s heart banged in her chest. “What was it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  No one spoke for a minute.

  “Well, I reckon you need to find out,” Reba said.

  FIFTY–ONE

  A few hours before dawn, Dar, Lila, and Cece started out for Brookfield, Wisconsin, a suburb of Milwaukee. Cece was driving one of Benny’s beaters, an ancient Ford Econoline van that vibrated when they pushed it over sixty. Benny checked it for tracking devices; it was clean. Still, it was safer to drive in the dark, and they took back roads.

  They found Rain’s address on the Internet. She’d reclaimed her given name—Julie Bergman—and had operated a flourishing photography business. According to her website, she’d shot portraits, weddings, corporate galas, and bar mitzvahs. Seminal events.

  “That was Rain,” Dar said. “Always in the middle of things. Directing. Pushing.”

  From the shots on her website, she’d become good at it, Lila thought.

  “She pushed your mother into making jewelry, you know. Alix turned out to have a flair for it. She made good money. Her own, not her family’s.” He yawned.

  It occurred to Lila that if her mother had lived, maybe she would have become so successful she would have rejected her family’s money. Which would mean that Lila’s conversation with Joanna Kerr about her grandfather’s will would have been moot. She realized she still hadn’t told Dar and Cece about her conversation with Joanna Kerr; things had happened too quickly. But she could tell them now. She peered over the front seat. Dar was asleep.

  When Rain’s husband answered the door the next morning, he wasn’t what Lila expected. Peter Hesky—Rain used her maiden name professionally—looked at least twenty years older than Rain. He was small-boned and stooped, with white hair and thick white eyebrows. His eyes, a watery blue, were rimmed in red, and the craggy lines on his face suggested his grief at losing Rain was still raw.

  Surprise flooded his face when he saw the three of them parked on his doorstep. “May I help you?”

  Dar explained who he was, and introduced Lila and Cece.

  “So you’re Dar.” Hesky appraised him.

  “She spoke about me?”

  “Many times.” A small smile curled his lips, a smile that said he might have heard more than he wanted. “She said you might show up here one day. And that if she wasn’t here … ,” he swallowed, “ … I should help you. So … ,” he beckoned, “come in.”

  “Thank you.” Dar and Cece went inside, but Lila hung back.

  “You’re Alix’s daughter. One of the twins.”

  Lila nodded.

  “Rain mentioned you, too.” He shooed her in. “It’s all right. You’re safe here.”

  What made him say that? Lila wondered. Did he know they were in trouble? Her senses went on alert. He closed the door and checked his watch. “Kind of early in the day for a visit.”

  Dar nodded. “We don’t have much … ”

  “We’re on a deadline,” Lila said.

  Hesky reacted with amusement. “Must be tight. You look like you haven’t slept all night.”

  Dar picked up on it. “Do you know why we’re here?”

  “Before we get into that,” Hesky replied, “I want to show you something. Upstairs.” His tone grew soft. “Julie would have wanted this.” He motioned for them to follow him and slowly mounted the steps.

  They climbed up to a large room. Rain’s studio. Three walls, painted a warm gray, were lined with large portraits. Couples wreathed in smiles, prim corporate executives, children looking by turns angelic and feisty, teenagers with self-absorbed expressions. One boy, wearing a tallis and kipah, was hunched over a lectern, brandishing a silver pointer over a Torah scroll.

  The fourth wall was different. Painted white, it held a collection of black-and-white photos. Faces of weather-beaten farmers, migrant workers, black children from the inner city. Some looked to be in despair, others were hopeful. The effect was dramatic and stark. Very Dorothea Lange.

  “This was her real work,” Hesky said. “The pictures she loved to shoot.”

  Dar walked slowly past the wall, studying the photographs. When he reached the last photo on that wall, his breath caught. It was the picture of the six of them in the park forty years ago. It was larger and sharper than Dar remembered—Rain must have worked
some technical wizardry on it.

  There was Alix, long blond hair framing her face. Rain with her glasses and ashy-blond hair. Casey behind. Payton, looking intense and passionate. Then Dar, and next to Dar, Teddy, with a lazy smile as if he was in the middle of telling a joke.

  Lila and Cece joined Dar in front of the photo.

  “It’s like stepping back in time,” Dar said softly.

  “She was beautiful,” Cece said.

  Dar smiled and slid an arm around her. Then he turned to Lila and cupped her cheeks in his hands. “You are so like your mother sometimes, it’s … it’s … ”

  “Painful?” Cece finished.

  “No.” Dar smiled, dropping his hands. “Wonderful. I am blessed to have you in my life.”

  Lila turned away, but he saw the makings of a smile.

  Hesky cleared his throat.

  Dar turned toward him. “Sorry … ,” he hesitated, “I don’t know if you knew, but Rain … Julie came to see me a few weeks before she died.”

  “I knew.”

  He pointed to Payton in the photo. “She told me this man had sent her something important. She said I should know that, in case I needed it.”

  Hesky didn’t look surprised.

  Dar’s pulse sped up. “Did she tell you what it was?”

  “No. But I know where it is.” Hesky studied them. “In our safe-deposit box. But the bank doesn’t open for another half hour. Let me fix you some breakfast.”

  Ten minutes later, the tantalizing scent of bacon filled the air. Lila couldn’t remember the last time someone had cooked it for her. Gramum? Or Sadie? Hesky scrambled eggs and toasted bread as well. The smells blended together in a rich, hungry aroma.

  “Who do I have to cook for anymore?” he asked, when they protested he was doing too much.

  Dar and Cece wolfed down their food, but Lila only managed a few bites. She listened to Hesky’s chatter. He’d grown up in Milwaukee. He met Rain at his niece’s bat mitzvah—she was the photographer. They hit it off, but he didn’t pursue her. He was divorced and thought their age difference too wide. A week later Rain came to his condo and said he couldn’t get away from her that easily.

  They married six months later. It was a perfect pairing—she gave him passion, he gave her stability. Two months after her death, his eyes still filled as he rinsed the breakfast plates and loaded them in the dishwasher.

  Thirty minutes later they piled into the Econoline and drove a few blocks to the bank. The bank manager, a woman, seemed surprised to see Hesky with three strangers but greeted them politely. After he explained what he wanted, she led them down a flight of stairs to the sign-in area where Hesky filled out some paperwork. Then they went into a large room walled with metal drawers of various sizes and shapes. Three curtained-off booths occupied one corner. A waist-high counter ran around all four walls.

  The manager took Hesky’s key, matched it with another one, and removed a slender metal box from one wall. Number 7584, Lila noted automatically. Two-digit numbers. Separated by nine. The manager laid the box in a curtained-off booth and withdrew.

  Hesky pushed the curtain aside and fished another key out of his pocket. The box wasn’t large, about twelve-by-fifteen inches. He unlocked it and swung the lid up. Inside were papers and a few small velvet boxes that probably held rings or necklaces. But something else was there, too. Hesky drew out a clear, hard plastic container, slightly larger than a CD case. He handed it to Dar.

  “I believe this is what you’re looking for.”

  Dar took it to the counter. Cece and Lila crowded beside him. Dar opened the case, lifted out an object cocooned in tissue paper, and started to unwrap it. Lila couldn’t breathe. Cece’s lips were pressed together. Even Hesky craned his neck.

  Dar held the object up. It was a small metal plate about the size of a dog tag, two inches long, and an inch wide. Dark smudges that looked like dirt marred part of the surface.

  Unable to contain herself, Lila asked, “What is it?”

  Dar studied the object, as though he was trying to make sense of it. Then recognition flooded across his face. His lips parted.

  “Well?” Cece asked.

  Dar picked it up by the edges. “I don’t believe it.”

  “What?” Lila’s voice tightened.

  “It’s the VIN from the van we stole.”

  “The what?”

  “The ID plate from the van. Teddy tried to pry it off so it couldn’t be identified. It didn’t work, of course—the same number was on the engine mount, which wasn’t destroyed in the blast. Turned out they traced the van pretty easily.”

  “I don’t get it,” Cece said. “Why is that important?”

  “See these smudges?” Dar pointed to them. “Teddy cut himself when he tried to pry the rivets loose. This must be his blood. Or what’s left of it.”

  A chill ran up Lila’s spine. “And his DNA … ”

  “And Payton kept it. All these years.”

  “You know what this means,” Cece said, looking at Dar, then Lila.

  Lila felt goose bumps on her skin. “But how did Payton know it would be so important forty years after the fact?”

  “Maybe he didn’t,” Dar said. “He probably just held on to it, not knowing why. Payton sometimes had a sixth sense about things. And, of course, we don’t know if they can still get a viable sample after all these years.” Dar carefully rewrapped the piece of metal, laid it back in the case, and then closed the cover. “Still … ,” he turned to Hesky, “may we have it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Payton was always the zealot,” Dar said softly. “And yet he’s the one who came up with the goods.” He shook his head. “I wonder why he didn’t come forward forty years ago. Maybe none of … ”

  Lila cut in, “Maybe he figured no one would believe him.”

  “Or that they’d charge him with murder,” Cece said.

  “Or maybe he knew it could disappear,” Lila added. “Like the ID bracelet.”

  Dar nodded. “That is the way he’d think. But I still don’t believe it.”

  But Lila did. She believed it all. She hugged herself. It would all be over soon.

  FIFTY–TWO

  “They weren’t all like Eichmann, even if they were SS.”

  Lila couldn’t help eavesdropping on the couple in the next booth at Denny’s that night. The woman was trying to convince her partner that not all Nazis were evil and was touting a film called Black Book as proof. Lila could empathize; she’d seen the film at an art house in New York.

  “What’s our next step?” Cece slipped a napkin into her lap. “How do we deal with Teddy?”

  Lila forced herself back.

  Dar propped his elbow on the table and rubbed his temples. “It won’t be easy. We can’t call. He won’t take the call.”

  “And you can’t show up at one of his campaign appearances,” Cece added. “You’d never get through security.”

  A young African-American waitress wearing soft-soled shoes came over to their table. Her hair was braided in cornrows. “Take your order?” she asked.

  Dar ordered meatloaf with the soup of the day, Cece a chicken Caesar salad. Lila, remembering the smells in Hesky’s kitchen, ordered pancakes and a side of bacon. The waitress collected their menus and retreated. Lila waited until she was out of earshot. “We need to make him come to us.”

  “How?” Dar asked.

  She leaned forward. “We may not have to do anything. His people are probably still out there, which means he must know I’ve been ‘out and about.’ He may even know I’ve been introducing myself as Sebastian Kerr’s granddaughter. Hell, I’ll bet it’s driving him crazy.”

  “Driving him crazy and getting him to come to us aren’t the same things,” Cece said.

  Dar threw up his hand. “Stop. Both of you. This is exactly what I didn’t want.”

  “What?” Lila said.

  “I don’t want you involved. It’s too risky. His people will get to you. May
be they’ll pump you first. But then they’ll make sure you have an ‘accident’ just like Rain. And Casey. And Payton.”

  “You’re forgetting something,” Lila said.

  “What?”

  “The VIN. If the blood sample matches Teddy’s DNA, it implicates him in the bombing. And changes everything.”

  “We need to stay alive until that happens.”

  Their drinks came, along with split pea soup for Dar. It looked so thick a spoon could probably stand up in it. Lila watched him ladle it into his mouth. The couple in the next booth blathered on about the Holocaust.

  “Know thy enemy,” the woman was saying. “That’s what she did. Went right into the belly of the beast. Do you realize how much guts that takes?”

  Dar’s head tilted, as if he was listening to their conversation. A moment later he put down his spoon. “I have an idea.”

  “About what?” Lila asked.

  “About how to get Teddy to come to us.”

  The sunset was a red smudge in the western sky by the time they arrived in Madison the next evening. It had been a quiet trip, Dar, for the most part, lost in thought, rehearsing what to say to Judge Stephen Markham, Teddy’s father.

  Cece got directions when they stopped for gas, and a few minutes later they passed through a wooded area and parked across the road from the Markhams’ multi-level redwood and glass home on the shore of Madison’s Lake Monona.

  Cece whistled. “Pretty high end.”

  Dar thought the house looked smaller than it had forty years ago. And shabbier. The redwood needed a coat of stain, the glass windows a good cleaning. Still, it was imposing. Which, of course, was the point.

  There was another difference, he thought as he surveyed the house. Forty years ago you could walk across the back lawn, all the way down to the lake. He remembered doing that with Casey and Payton while Teddy talked to his father. Now, though, a fence prevented access to the back. He pointed to it. “This is new.”

  “I thought Secret Service protection didn’t kick in until after the election,” Cece said.

  “I suspect he’s got private help,” Dar said. “Stephen Markham is an old man. I doubt he can manage the place on his own.”