“I’m married,” he said.
Delilah nodded and waited for him to say more.
“I should have told you that first day I met you. But you were so beautiful and my relationship with Amanda was such a goddamn mess—and I don’t know how you’ll ever forgive me, but I hope you will. I left her tonight, by the way. I couldn’t take leading two lives anymore . . .”
To his relief, Delilah wrapped her arms around his chest and hugged him.
“Is that all?”
“That’s a lot,” said Balint. “Isn’t it?”
“It is a lot,” she replied. “But I already knew.”
Once again, he found himself reeling. The furniture had come back into focus, but now he realized that it was still rocking slightly.
“How?”
“I wasn’t sure if you knew that I knew,” replied Delilah. “But I was afraid to say anything. To be candid, I had a hunch all along. You never invited me to your house or to meet your parents . . .”
“So it was that obvious?”
“Kind of. And on top of all that, it just didn’t make any sense that an attractive, charming doctor would be single at your age. So, at some level, I already suspected. And then I read about that accident in the newspaper—the little girl who drowned—and I understood immediately that you were the same Jeremy Balint. The difficult part was keeping the knowledge to myself. You must have been under so much pressure, and I was powerless to help you deal with it.”
“You did help. More than you know.”
He let her revelation sink in. “So you also know I have two daughters?”
Delilah nodded. “There’s not much I don’t know about you. You’re a wonderful man, but you’re pretty transparent.”
Balint kissed her on the lips. “I am transparent. Aren’t I?”
“Most men are. At least the good ones.”
Delilah clasped his hands between hers again. “Can I ask you one thing?”
“I’m out of secrets,” said Balint.
“Did you really leave your wife? Or did she throw you out?” she asked. “I’ll love you as much either way—but I just want to know the truth.”
She wasn’t lying, he realized. She would love him as much either way.
“I really did leave her,” he said. “Not that she’s particularly distraught. The man she was having an affair with died this week. Was killed, actually. I know it sounds like a lousy thing to leave her at a moment like this—but I gave the eulogy at the man’s funeral, and I realized I couldn’t go on leading a double life. You don’t think any less of me, do you?”
“Of course not. I’m sure whatever you did was the right choice.” Delilah stood up and started fiddling with the coffee machine. “Now that we’ve had our heart-to-heart, it’s time we get you sobered up.”
“I am sober,” he said—but he heard his speech slurring.
“Nonsense. Now get undressed.”
He struggled to unbutton his shirt. Eventually she saw what a difficult time he was having and she came over to help him.
“So what does this mean?” he asked. “For us?”
“What do you want it to mean?” she responded. “I’d like us to find a place for you to live and then I’d like to move into it. Both of us. And then, since we’re putting all of our cards on the table, I’d like us to get married. In a church or a synagogue . . . It’s not that important to me.”
“You know that too?”
“I’m sweet, darling. I’m not an idiot.”
She continued to unbutton his shirt.
“I’ve heard your radio ads for that Jewish organization,” she said. “And I remembered when you first told me your name was Jeremiah in Hebrew. Between that and when you refused communion, I put together the pieces . . .”
She hung his shirt over the chair. Then she unbuckled his belt.
“Anyway, like I was saying, that’s what I want. Of course, I only get one vote. It takes two to tango.”
Balint realized that this wasn’t the sort of decision he ought to make while he was drunk—or even tipsy. “Two votes,” he said. “I want to tango.”
“Tell me that again when you’re sober and then we’ll have a deal. I only wish Papa had lived to see this moment. He liked you, by the way. A lot. He’d never have said anything like that in front of you—he always held his cards close to his vest—but after that first time he met you, he told me he thought you were an honest man, which was his highest compliment. And my father was an excellent judge of character, if I do say so myself.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
Balint was finally naked. He braced himself against the wall, fearful that he might topple over backward. Now that he’d revealed his marriage to Delilah, he felt like an utter ass for getting drunk. The nursing student tugged him into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Soon the room filled with steam. To his surprise, she began to undress herself—and his face must have betrayed his astonishment. “You don’t think I’m going to trust you to shower on your own,” she said with a smile. “Not on the first day of our new life together.”
They kissed again.
“All I ask of you is one thing, Jeremy. No secrets. If you can promise me that, I’ll support you in absolutely anything.” He almost did trust her. But almost carried only so far when murder was at stake.
“No secrets,” he agreed. “I promise.”
A SURPRISE visitor greeted Balint in his office the next morning. He had arrived at the hospital with a pounding headache that was part hangover and part tension. Ahead of him lay a series of unwelcome tasks: revealing his split with Amanda to his parents, hiring a divorce attorney, renting a home. And on top of all these stresses, he still had to murder two more strangers. He was contemplating an early evening drive to Lake Shearwater to acquire more ribbon when he nearly collided with Etan Steinhoff. The rabbi was speaking on his telephone in Hebrew—in a tone more suited for a drill sergeant than a clergyman—and pacing a hole in the carpet of the cardiology suite. When Balint appeared, Steinhoff ended his conversation abruptly.
“I was in the neighborhood,” said the rabbi. “Visiting the sick. I thought I’d drop by for a moment. Is that all right?”
“Even if it’s not all right,” replied Balint, “you’re already here . . .”
Balint motioned for Steinhoff to follow him into his office. As soon as Balint shut the door behind them, the rabbi said, “Amanda phoned me this morning. She told me what happened.”
“Did she? Everything?”
“She told me that you two had decided to separate—at least for the time being,” said Steinhoff. “Obviously nothing is carved in stone.”
“Almost nothing,” replied Balint. “Headstones are carved in stone.”
He hung his overcoat on a hook inside the closet door.
“Cornerstones are also carved in stone,” mused Balint.
Steinhoff smiled. “I suppose that wasn’t the best choice of words,” he said. “In any case, I thought you might want some moral support. I’m here as a rabbi, of course, but I’m also here as a friend.”
“That’s very kind of you. But I’m fine.”
He stepped away from the door, hoping the rabbi might take his leave.
“Sometimes these things don’t hit you all at once,” observed Steinhoff. “If you do want to talk . . . my door is always open.” The rabbi offered him a kind-yet-somber nod that Balint suspected was designed to reassure him. “I know how busy you must be, Jeremy. But even busy professionals can struggle.”
“I suppose they can. But I’m not struggling.” Balint settled down behind his mahogany desk. “In fact, I haven’t felt better in years.” He booted up his computer and added, “I had no idea how liberating divorce could feel. You really ought to try it sometime.” He couldn’t resist adding, “Or if you’d like to have an affair, I can fix you up with one of my patients . . .”
Steinhoff raised his hand to his lips, clearly straining for a suitable response. “You’ve
had a shock,” he finally said. “I won’t pressure you. If you do want to talk, you know where to find me.” He paused. His eyes darted around the office, avoiding direct contact with Balint’s gaze. “While I’m here, I also wanted to make sure that you’re still committed to the Project Cain health center—that your separation hasn’t put you under too much stress to continue.”
So that was it, thought Balint. The rabbi was afraid he’d jump ship, that he might divorce himself from the clinic as well as from Amanda.
“I hadn’t actually thought of that,” said Balint. “Now that you mention it, I might find myself under a lot of additional stress.”
A shroud of disappointment fell over the rabbi’s face.
“On the other hand, I might not. How is the project coming along, by the way? How many crimes have you prevented?”
“It’s not that kind of project,” replied Steinhoff—apparently relieved to be discussing a subject about which he felt more comfortable. “Our goal is to prevent crimes in the future. Years from now. When these kids are teenagers.”
Balint frowned. “But surely, you must have prevented a few crimes already . . .”
“Maybe. You can never know for certain.”
“You don’t know? You mean you’re not keeping records.”
Steinhoff’s neck was turning crimson. “Our project is coming along splendidly. We’ve generated enthusiasm in the community. That’s our most important objective right now.”
Balint’s spirits had soared since he’d started poking fun at the rabbi. He hardly felt his hangover anymore. “I’m glad people are enthusiastic. But you’re going to have a hard time sustaining that enthusiasm, if you ask me, unless you’re able to show some results.”
The rabbi’s cell phone rang to the tune of “Hatikvah.” “I should be going,” said Steinhoff.
“One quick question,” said Balint.
“Yes?”
“I’m just wondering. Do you think a program like yours could have made a difference in a case like the Emerald Choker?”
“I’d like to believe so. With the right intervention, I’d like to believe that any child can be rescued from a life of violence.”
“And Project Cain is the right intervention?”
“I’m sure of it,” said the rabbi. “If we’d gotten the Emerald Choker into one of our programs early enough, he’d probably be an upstanding citizen right now.”
“Maybe a doctor or a rabbi?”
“Why not?”
“Indeed. Why not?” echoed Balint. “I’ll tell you what. If I run into him on the street, I’ll invite him on a free tour of the clinic.”
The rabbi shook his hand to end the conversation.
As soon as Steinhoff departed, Balint telephoned Delilah. “I’m calling you now that I’m sober. I still want to get married,” he announced. “And I’ll be happy to get married in a church. I know how important that is to you.”
BALINT’S FINAL patient of the afternoon was the same blind, demented woman whose poor medication compliance had delayed him on the night of his first date with Delilah. Fortunately this time Mrs. April arrived in the company of her adult son. At first, the appointment progressed like any other ordinary checkup. He listened to the old woman’s heart and lungs, palpated her abdomen, and checked her ankles for swelling; then he reviewed the results of her recent EKG and echocardiogram. “The good news is that your ejection fraction has stabilized,” he noted. “Unfortunately your blood pressure is still running high.”
“It’s probably all the stress we’ve been under,” interjected the son. “I might as well tell you, doc. My boy has had a rough year—he was arrested for killing animals—and Mother’s had a difficult time handling it. Jared has always been her favorite.”
“Killing animals?”
“It’s not how it sounds. We had this crazy woman living on our block, real vicious lady, and she owned a pair of German shepherds who used to terrorize the neighborhood. Scaring children. Attacking the postman. Straight out of a concentration camp. And then one day last summer, one of the dogs bit my little girl. So Jared did what any protective older brother might do: he stabbed the animal with a carving knife. I’m not saying it was the right response, but the beast had it coming.”
“It certainly sounds that way,” agreed Balint.
“To you and me. But not to the police. They get my kid to admit that he also shot a couple of squirrels with a BB gun once—what eleven-year-old hasn’t?—and all of a sudden they’re blaming him for murdering cats and dogs across the whole damn state. They even accused him of blinding a horse in the Catskills. I mean: How could my son possibly get to the Catskills? But it has practically ruined our lives.”
Balint had nearly forgotten about the boy who’d been charged with killing Sugarman’s neighbor’s dog. How strange, he reflected, that the wheels of destiny turned even when he wasn’t paying attention.
“I’m truly sorry you’ve had such a hard time of it,” said Balint. “All I can say is that life is full of surprises. Everything may look grim right now, but the future is long. Your boy sounds like the kind of well-grounded young man who’ll get himself back on his feet—one way or another.”
“Amen to that,” declared Mrs. April.
“And in the interim, Mrs. April,” he continued, “I’m going to recommend we increase the doses of your blood-pressure medications.”
Balint wrote the demented woman a handful of new prescriptions. By six o’clock, he was out the door and on the road to Hager Heights. Several times he found himself thinking that he could visit both his parents and Lake Shearwater, and still make it back to Laurendale for his daughters’ bedtime, before he caught himself. He’d already spoken to Amanda that morning, and they’d agreed that his calling every evening was likely to upset the girls, at least for now. Instead they’d agreed that he’d take them out on Saturday and Sunday afternoons. Once he had a permanent address of his own, then they’d consider other arrangements. While he’d been on the phone with Amanda, Balint had been impressed with how easily they’d come to an agreement. For all of his shortcomings, Sugarman had been right when he’d said that Balint and Amanda had a knack for teamwork. And now that his rival was dead and his marriage had collapsed, Balint couldn’t even muster much anger toward his soon-to-be ex-wife.
He pulled into Hager Estates shortly after nightfall. The street lamps cast a pink glow over the rows of identical duplexes. Even the yard signs campaigned for the same handful of candidates in the upcoming legislative primaries. Balint parked opposite his parents’ house and rang the bell. Nobody answered. Then he knocked. After a long wait, he let himself in with his key.
“Mom!” he called. “Henry!”
An irrational sensation of unease took hold of him. His parents never went out after dark. His mother drove only short distances in clear weather; his stepdad didn’t drive at all. Balint hadn’t bothered to call in advance, because he’d never considered the possibility that he wouldn’t find them both at home. Yet walking from room to room, it became increasingly clear that he was alone in the house. Suddenly he was seized with the ridiculous—paranoid—fear that they’d been murdered. That, of course, would have been the ultimate irony: if another serial killer, maybe an Emerald Choker copycat, randomly chose his parents to slaughter.
He found no indications of foul play. His impulse was to call Amanda for instructions on what to do next; the phone was already out of his pocket when he again recalled that he was now on his own.
Balint sat down on the living room sofa to think. A few moments later, he heard the front door rattling. He was in the process of scanning the room for a suitable object with which to defend himself when his parents appeared in the entryway.
The couple wore matching orange outfits bright enough to blind passing motorists.
“Jeremy! What a surprise!” exclaimed his mother.
She hugged him and kissed his cheek and hugged him again.
“Stop futzing over the boy,
Lilly, and get him some food,” insisted Henry. “He’s probably starving.”
“Hold your horses. Since when can’t I hug my own son?” demanded Balint’s mother. “If you’re so afraid he might starve, you know where the refrigerator is.”
Yet the protest was hardly out of Lilly Serspinsky’s mouth when she disappeared into the kitchen. Less than a minute later, she reemerged with three cups of instant coffee. A platter of bagels, lox, and whitefish followed. “We’ll get a head start on tomorrow’s breakfast,” she said. “Unless you’d like me to heat up some chicken for you.”
“Breakfast is fine.”
Balint scooped up a slice of whitefish. “You had me worried. I figured it was late for you to be out.”
“I’m sorry we weren’t home. You haven’t been waiting long, have you?”
Balint shook his head; his mouth was already full of fish.
“You didn’t think the Emerald Choker got us, did you?” asked Henry.
Balint couldn’t tell whether his stepfather was joking.
“Your father’s captain of our neighborhood watch,” added his mother. “We’re doing exactly what the police suggested. We’re making Hager Estates an inhospitable environment for serial killers.”
“If it makes you happy.”
“It makes us safe,” countered Henry. “Now what brings the hardworking man out here on a weekday night? Is anything wrong?”
“Nothing’s the matter with the girls, is it?” asked Lilly.
“If it’s a money problem,” added Henry, “you know we’ll help any way we can.”
“The girls are fine. And this has nothing to do with money,” he said quickly. “I guess I just better lay it out on the table: Amanda’s leaving me.”
His mother flashed her husband a telling look—one that suggested she’d predicted the demise of his marriage all along. “Can you change her mind?” asked Henry.
The Mask of Sanity Page 19