“My name is Rebbe Shlmo Silverstein.” He removed a coiled leather strap from a plastic encasing. “Have you ever wrapped tfillin?”
“I don’t believe in that hocus-pocus.”
The rebbe chuckled. “Stretch out your strong arm.”
“Why?”
“Do it.”
Ryan rolled his eyes as he raised his right arm. “You got the wrong guy, Rebbe. I’m not into religion.”
Silverstein wound the leather strap around Ryan’s right arm. “’Ryan’ means ‘little prince’ in Hebrew.”
Ryan grimaced. Even in Hebrew his height was an issue.
The Rebbe slipped Ryan’s left hand through the loop and let the box dangle. Then he strapped a small box onto the prisoner’s upper bicep, slightly leaning it towards the heart. “Now your physical strength and your emotions are as one.”
Ryan mistrusted the zealots in all religions. “This is a waste of time, Rebbe.”
Silverstein failed to acknowledge his protests. “Repeat after me. ‘Blessed are you, oh Lord our G-d, King of the Universe, who has sanctified us by commanding us to don tfillin.”‘ Ryan grudgingly did as he was told.
The Rebbe tightened the loop over the lip of the box, then wrapped the strap seven times around Ryan’s forearm. “Now you are bound to G-d.”
“Okay, this is getting weird,” said Ryan. Emotions he’d secreted away since childhood ruptured his consciousness. His heart racing, Ryan attempted to loosen the strap.
“Shush.” The Rabbi wrapped the remainder of the strap around Ryan’s palm. He positioned the head tfillin so the lower edge of the box rested on the upper edge of the hairline, with loops around the head and a knot at the base of the skull. He’d just opened his mouth in prayer when Ryan yanked free from his leather confinement.
All the tensions and fears he’d stifled since his heart attack burst through him like a volcano. “I can’t do this!” he screamed.
A guard rushed towards them but Silverstein waved him away. Then the Rebbe gently placed his hands on Ryan’s convulsing shoulders. “G-d is here in this place, Ryan. He will not forsake you.”
Ryan shuddered. “I’ve done bad things.”
“Do not be afraid. G-d will purify your soul.”
37
Laurie’s knees burned with frostbite as she crawled across the frozen cemetery ground. “Why are you doing this?” she called behind her. “Where’s Griselda and Elizabeth?”
She winced as the butt of a gun struck her shoulder. “My turn to talk.”
“Can I get up first?” she pleaded, shivering in the cold December dusk.
A boot stomped her back, forcing her chest to graze the ice. Then a foot flipped her face-up. A stocky-built man yanked off his purple ski mask.
Laurie blinked at the middle-aged man in the camel overcoat. She really must be hallucinating.
He stood over her, brandishing the gun. “What is it with you people? First you try to bring down my company, then you put my son in a coma.”
Laurie crossed her arms over her chest in fear.
“Brad tried to warn your husband off. We’re running an insurance company here, lady. It’s not my fault a handful of young people reached their lifetime caps.”
Laurie’s teeth chattered. “If there was…why…Ryan?”
“When the Insurance Board sniffs around, unhappy clients abound.”
A cultured English voice came from behind her head. “You are a poet, Mr. Hamilton.”
Laurie strained her neck backwards. A pair of sensible black fur boots glared back at her from beneath the frigid sun.
Brad Hamilton knelt at her side and gently repositioned her head so she was staring into his eyes. “Look, I apologize for my son attacking you,” he said, his voice filled with faux-concern. “Gerald advised me to get the boy into counseling. Anger management issues.”
“So I’m the fall guy?” Laurie said bitterly.
“You and several other ladies,” said Hamilton.
Laurie’s heart pounded in her teeth.
Now Griselda stepped into Laurie’s line of vision, a blindfolded, shivering Elizabeth at her side.
“You said Gerald had his PI tracking Elizabeth and her husband,” Laurie hissed.
“Love makes imbeciles of us all,” Griselda said harshly.
Brad Hamilton rose to his feet. “Well, love to chat, but I need to visit my comatose son.” He pointed a pistol at Laurie’s forehead.
Laurie shut her eyes and started mouthing the Yiskor prayer for G-d’s redemption.
“May I have the honor, sir?” asked Griselda.
“Sure.” Brad Sr. nonchalantly handed the pistol to his dead partner’s secretary. He gasped as Griselda aimed the death weapon at his chest.
Just then, Detective Maggie O’Connor appeared, her gun trained on the secretary. “Freeze.”
*
An icy wind tossed Laurie’s hair into a clump of cold spaghetti as the three bikes streamed past North Avenue beach. “I’m wiped out,” she yelled into the wind.
“Slow down,” Maggie called, her words getting lost in the air stream as they pedaled around the curve flanking Lake Shore Drive. “Don’t want you guys flipping over the meridian.”
Mitzy signaled east towards Michigan Avenue. “Water Tower Place!”
Minutes later the three women chained their bikes outside the upscale glass and steel shopping mall and pressed through the gliding doors.
Laurie yanked off her knit cap and touched her hair. “Ugh!”
“I gotta pee,” said Maggie.
“Hang on,” said Mitzy, steering her friends into an empty bathroom. Maggie entered the nearest stall.
Laurie winced as she ran a pik through her tangled locks. “Griselda was scary as hell at the cemetery. Hard to believe she was working undercover to expose Great Harvest.”
“Payback after years of unrequited love,” said Mitzy as she combed through her curls.
Maggie massaged soapy foam into her palms. “Now that Gerald’s dead, Griselda says turning state’s evidence against the company will ‘vindicate her soul.’”
“Talk about unrequited love, I feel sorry for Gerald,” said Laurie as they started up the empty escalator leading to the food court. “Screwed out of his relationship with Elizabeth by his own sister.”
“Who better to take you down than those who know all your secrets and foibles?” Maggie said wryly.
Laurie’s thoughts focused on Ryan who, at this very moment, occupied a jail cell. After thirteen years of married life, she was finally privy to all his secrets. The irony of it all.
“I don’t get why Elizabeth didn’t immediately go to the morgue when her son went missing,” said Mitzy.
“Terrence took off for days at a time,” said Maggie as she popped a buttered Italian bread stick into her mouth. “Elizabeth had no reason to believe Terrence was dead.” She turned to Laurie. “FYI, Officer Gomez is real happy to have this TG case closed. You’re on her favorites list ’cause you assisted the police department with their investigation.”
Laurie unloaded her tray of tomato soup with basil and a Mozzarella cheese sandwich on seven-grain bread. “Yeah, well, I was kind of invested in the outcome.”
“Gomez said Helga Beckermann fainted when she learned the dead body in her driveway was Gerald’s son,” said Maggie.
“Odds are she’ll go to her grave without telling Arnold the housekeeper’s son was his cousin,” said Mitzy.
“Once Brad Jr. awakens from his coma, the Attorney General’s office will be all over his ass,” said Maggie. “Subpoenas for information up the gazoo.”
“Ryan’s court date is scheduled for a week from Monday,” said Laurie.
“Still mad at him?” said Mitzy as she dug into her chicken and pear salad.
Laurie smiled. “Not so much.”
“It’s about time.”
“Ever since Ryan abandoned his career, I’ve swum in a cesspool of resentment. Yet, he’s remorseful about his act
ions. A Chabad Rebbe’s been visiting him in jail. He says remorse is proof of an honorable man. That’s something, isn’t it?”
“When you bringing him home?” said Mitzy.
“The Rebbe or Ryan?” laughed Laurie.
“Ryan, smart-ass,” said her friend.
“He’ll be out on bail tonight, thanks to the Rebbe’s emergency fund. At this point, the ball’s in Ryan’s court. Rebbe Silverstein has penciled Ryan in for a series of counseling sessions in the weeks leading up to the trial.”
“I hope you guys are able to get your act together.”
I’m trying to focus on the future, not the past,” said Laurie. “Who knows how Ryan’s trial will turn out? Will Rory have to talk to his daddy from behind a plastic window? Will Rocky ever lick Ryan’s face again?”
“Now you’re getting maudlin,” Mitzy said.
“Speaking about reconciliation, when’s that date with Jeff?” said Laurie.
“You’ll be the first to know,” said Mitzy.
Book Discussion Questions
How does Laurie react upon discovering a dead body on the lawn of her summerhouse? How would you react in a similar situation?
What is Ryan’s response when Laurie tells him the dead body disappeared? Why is he hell-bent on discrediting her account of events leading up to the disappearance?
Do the local police take her seriously? Why or why not?
Describe Laurie and Ryan’s marital relationship. How does their constant bickering affect their son?
What methods does Laurie employ to ferret out TG’s identity?
Why is Ryan unsupportive of his wife’s investigation? Discuss why feelings of guilt permeate his life.
What special favor does Laurie ask of Mitzy on Yom Kippur, the holiest day on the Jewish calendar? Why?
How does Ryan’s demeanor change upon returning from his trek to Champagne? Why?
Why did Ryan initially leave Great Harvest? What does Ryan hope to achieve upon visiting his former employer. How do his expectations play out?
When Brad Jr. suspects Ryan has reported Great Harvest to the insurance board, how does he initially retaliate? How does his final retaliation impact Ryan’s marital relationship? How does Ryan respond?
Discuss how the lives of Helga, Elizabeth, and Gerald are intertwined.
Explain Arnold’s unrequited love for Laurie and how the napkin with the two addresses culminates in TG’s death.
Describe the heartbreak and consequences of Griselda’s unrequited love for Gerald. How does she save Laurie’s life?
Does Gerald learn of his son’s whereabouts before he kills himself? How does TG die?
How do Laurie and Ryan change by the end of the story?
About the Author
Suspense author Jennie Spallone wrote over one hundred profiles and feature stories for local and national publications, as well as award-winning novel Deadly Choices, before putting pen to Window of Guilt.
Jennie, an active member of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America, has spoken at local bookstores and libraries, in addition to Mystery Conferences throughout the Country, including Scene of the Crime, Bouchercon, Printer’s Row, Sleuthfest, Malice Domestic, Magna Cum Murder, Midwest Literary Fest, Love is Murder, Public Safety Writers of America, and the University of Wisconsin Writer’s Institute.
Please send your comments, questions and speaking engagement queries to [email protected], www.jenniespallone.com.
MORE Jennie Spallone
Please continue for a bonus excerpt from Award-Winning
Deadly Choices
1
Warning lights unlit, siren silent, Ambulance Number 60 careened down fog-drenched streets in the pre-dawn autumn darkness. Some unseen radar directed the driver as she deftly maneuvered the ghost-like rig down West Madison Street through a maze of shattered liquor bottles and discarded syringes. The ambulance soundlessly streamed past derelicts pasted on a backdrop of scarred buildings. Replenishing supplies in the back of the rig, paramedic trainee Beth Riley stole a glance at the driver. She grimaced as her paramedic officer pulled a sandwich bag from her jacket. Angie often relied on that white stuff in her baggie to anesthetize herself against an avalanche of shootings, beatings, and vehicle collisions.
After five years as a nurse in Viet Nam, followed by twenty-two years as a paramedic with the Chicago Fire Department, Angie Ropella seemed to delight in all forms of human trauma. Knuckled in-between 24-hour stints of stabbings, multivehicle collisions, and assaults was an assembly line of little old ladies forgetting their insulin, yuppies jogging into cardiac arrest, and winos urinating in doorways.
Beth quickly averted her glance as Angie smirked at her through the rearview mirror. Her face still felt hot with shame at the tongue-lashing she’d received tonight. She had efficiently resuscitated a drug addict lying half-dead on his bungalow porch as neighborhood kids hopped over his unconscious form in a midnight game of tag.
But the last fiasco had completely unnerved her. A scrawny seventeen-year-old kid in an over-sized leather biker jacket had been weaving his motorcycle back and forth across four clear lanes of traffic when his luck was stolen by a black Toyota traveling southbound down Lake Shore Drive.
“Where’s the body?” Beth, the former librarian, had asked. ”The kid must have been a human slingshot. Probably hit a tree and bounced into an oncoming lane of traffic. Let’s check out the median strip,” Angie said, grabbing a backboard. “Don’t forget your gloves.” Extracting a pair of latex gloves from her pants pocket, Beth scurried to match Angie’s long strides. Six weeks into her job, she had no intention of contracting AIDS.
About fifty feet north, a tree lay broken in half. The limp body of a kid in a motorcycle helmet sprawled across the adjoining median strip. Carefully, the paramedics lifted the broken body onto the backboard and velcroed on a Cervical Collar. Upon applying a tourniquet to halt the bleeding from his leg and splinting several broken bones, they gently placed the boy on a stretcher and boosted the gurney into the ambulance.
“Oh, man,” Angie said, groaning. “Check out this bone sticking through the kid’s thigh. As if he won’t have enough grief with a fractured pelvis, severe neck and back injuries, and a fractured skull.”
After one look at the mangled body, Beth vomited all over the back seat. Angie just grinned. “You gonna be a medic, Riley? You can’t keep having these little accidents. Clean it up. Then keep the kid company back here. I’ll drive.”
Upfront, Angie picked up the radio. “This is Ambulance 60. We’ve got a trauma bypass and are en-route to Masonic.”
The early morning weekday scramble had already kicked in as Angie switched on her illegal boom box to some old Led Zeppelin. Flipping on the siren and lights, she expertly weaved the red and white rig through a maze of congested traffic. She zigzagged around buses that suddenly jutted out in front of her onto Halsted and Clark. Cab drivers leaned on their horns while joggers sprinted off to work and the unencumbered meandered home from all-night bars.
Sirens screeching, Angie drove as quickly as possible but the fog and congestion held her back like a dog in quicksand. “Oh, fuck, son-of-a-bitch. Damn bus drivers don’t give a shit about a life in danger.” Lights and sirens still whirring, Ambulance 60 finally pulled up the ramp to Illinois Masonic Hospital. Angie jumped out and ran around to the back of the ambulance, yanked open the doors, and wheeled the gurney into the ER where the trauma team waited.
Beth was wiping down the back of the ambulance with peroxide when Angie poked her shoulder. “Listen, I got to take a pee and get some supplies. Why don’t you jump start the paperwork, then we’ll split for tacos?”
“Sure. Meet you back on the ambulance. I mean the rig.”
Pushing the empty gurney out through the double doors, Beth considered confiding in her best friend Sue Dotson about yet another of Angie’s cocaine breaks. Nix that plan. Sue’s familiar refrain was, “The woman has sinned against her body and should
be reported.”
After fourteen years as a medical librarian for the University of Chicago, Beth could spout drug statistics in her sleep, but she’d already memorized the fire academy’s unwritten code; never pimp on your partner.
Whenever she felt guilty about not squealing, Beth reminded herself that Angie was a dedicated professional whose performance was always top notch. Her uncanny ability to accurately diagnosis a patient’s physical condition with little more than a glance and a few physical probes was firehouse legend. Probably the reason no one had ever reported the veteran paramedic’s coke habit.
Unfortunately, Angie’s sarcasm was also legendary. It took all of Beth’s emotional strength to not disintegrate when Angie would zap her with a searing retort coupled with a disgusted shake of the head and rolling eyes. Many nights she would climb into bed feeling as though her soul had been ripped from her body. Yet she somehow continued to endure, feeling blessed to inhale even one daily air bubble of knowledge from the former Vietnam nurse whose heroic performance in saving lives could fill a textbook. So, she remained silent.
Once in the hospital laboratory, Angie allowed herself a whiff of congratulations from the white stuff in her Baggie. Only two years from retirement, adrenaline still rushed through her every pore. What a high it had been to save that kid’s life! Amazing he’d survived at all, considering the damage to his kidney and spleen. Angie grinned as she grabbed another backboard and more peroxide from the ER supply cabinet and then headed back to the rig.
Firing the ignition, Angie glanced into the rearview mirror; Beth the Barfer was straightening supplies. In compliance with the Equal Opportunity Act, the fire department had to hire female trainees, but hiring this wimp was really taking it out-of-bounds. Being a paramedic meant quick reflexes and the ability to instantaneously analyze a life-or-death situation. Pretty similar to the emergency nursing she’d done in Viet Nam. Yet there was so much to learn. As a trainee, she had devoured every tidbit of information her paramedic officer would share regarding procedure, medical conditions, and firehouse protocol. Totally different scenario with Riley.
Window of Guilt Page 24