Abe responded by sending a clear message to her that he would like her to get off his lap. When she stood up, he extended a comforting hand to her. “I know I broke a rule and a promise in the past, and we both wish I hadn’t. That night with you just before Hannah’s accident was the worst thing I ever did. If I could take back any hour of my life and live it differently, that would be the hour.”
“For me too. Even before the accident, I regretted what we had done. A few weeks ago I went back to my computerized diary and reread the entry for the day after that night. Do you know what it said?”
Abe paused. “You’ve kept a diary?”
“Yes, on my computer.”
“You know, Rendi, that makes me a little nervous. How secure are those things? Any sophisticated hacker could break into it.”
“Don’t get paranoid on me, Abe. Nobody would want to read my journal—except maybe you. And I’ve got a password that nobody could figure out.”
“What is it?”
“You think I’m telling you? I’ve got stuff in there that you’ll never know about.”
“Rendi, you’ve got to be concerned about the security of your computer.”
“Stop it—listen to me. We’re not talking about hackers now. I’m telling you what I wrote in my diary,” Rendi said, placing an arm around Abe’s shoulder.
“Tell me.”
“It said that the sex was great, but it wasn’t worth it, because you would always feel guilty about betraying Hannah’s trust.
“You were right, especially in light of what happened.”
“We couldn’t have known what was going to happen. And what happened wasn’t our fault.”
“I can never know that for certain. What is even worse is that I will always have a secret from Emma.”
“Believe me, Emma will have plenty of secrets from you.”
“Not like this one.”
“Look, Abe, the flesh is weak. We weren’t the first, and we won’t be the last decent people who succumbed to temptation. And we enjoyed it.”
“Yes, we did. And look what it did to us. If we hadn’t, we would probably be married today.”
“Boring. It’s more fun this way.”
“I can’t play fast and loose with rules anymore, Rendi. I paid too high a price that time. I’m not going to let this son of a bitch destroy my commitment to the rule of law.” Abe sat and stared straight at the small fragment of the statue of Justinian that sat atop Rendi’s mantelpiece.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Abe felt like a juggler with four balls in the air. He spent every minute of every hour obsessing about Campbell. Even though he knew he was doing the right thing, he couldn’t stop himself from running for his New York Times every morning to look through the metro section in search of a new crime that might fit Campbell’s MO. He watched the New York news every night on the cable TV superstation. He was worried sick—his blood pressure had skyrocketed—that Campbell would strike once again.
It was as if a sword of Damocles was hanging not only over the head of Campbell’s next victim, but over Abe’s head as well. Part of him actually wished that Campbell would commit his next crime already and get caught. The real horror of the sword of Damocles, Abe realized, was not in its dropping, but in its hanging.
At the same time, he worried about Emma’s upcoming move to the high-crime neighborhood around Barnard. He bought her a portable siren at Sharper Image. He gave her a book about how not to be a victim in New York. He paid for the self-defense course—it was called “model mugging”—she was taking at the Cambridge Y and was relieved to hear from her that she was now capable of disabling a mugger with a quick knee to the groin. Abe was confident that he had satisfied his religious obligation to teach his daughter to swim. He had much less confidence in the city whose cross-currents she would be trying to navigate.
Abe’s third worry ball was Haskel. His health was deteriorating even more rapidly. Now when Abe came to visit, Haskel would sometimes just sit staring straight ahead, his eyes glazed, his mouth hanging open, and his hands twitching uncontrollably. On his last visit Haskel had seemed particularly anxious to advise Abe about some impending crisis, but had been unable to articulate his warning. He’d kept repeating the biblical names Amalek and Hamen and mumbling something about “future generations.” It had been even less to go on than usual, so Abe had told Justin to check out the names and come up with any relevant sources.
During every visit with Haskel, Abe wondered whether this would be the last time he would see his dear friend alive. He thought constantly about all the things he wanted to say to Haskel before the old man died, but he couldn’t bring himself to deliver his farewell speech lest it be perceived by Haskel as though his friend were giving him permission to die.
Then there was Nancy Rosen, still disbarred for doing the gutsy thing, although she was at least out of prison and working as a paralegal back in Newark. Abe couldn’t get Nancy out of his mind, for two reasons. The first, he knew, was irrational: he continued to blame himself and Justin for Nancy’s disbarment, even though he knew it was not their fault. Neither was it her fault. The blame lay directly at the doorstep of that prick of a prosecutor, Duncan. The second reason Abe thought so much about Nancy was that he believed somewhere in her noble actions lay a clue as to what he should do about Campbell. Yet he couldn’t figure out what the lesson really was.
Nancy had sacrificed her liberty and career to save the life of an innocent stranger—Charlie O. To Abe, that pointed toward blowing the whistle on Campbell to save the lives of Campbell’s future rape victims. Ironically, Nancy was disbarred for her refusal to blow the whistle on her own guilty client, Rodney Owens. It was a mixed message, much like Haskel’s arcane talmudic stories, and unlike the legal ethics course Abe had taken back in law school, where simple answers solved simple problems. One thing was crystal clear to Abe: If Nancy Rosen were in his position now, she would do something to stop Campbell. I guess that’s what makes her a radical and me a cautious lawyer, Abe thought grimly.
These images—each so different from the other—cascaded through Abe’s mind, causing him anguish, confusion, and sleepless nights.
Now there was a new worry. The morning after Abe’s visit to Rendi’s apartment, she had called him in a panic. She had logged onto her computer diary from her modem at the office and had noticed something strange.
“If not for your little bit of paranoia last night, I probably wouldn’t have even spotted it,” Rendi said.
“What?” Abe asked nervously.
“Somebody logged into my computer yesterday for almost an hour, and it wasn’t me.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Don’t you remember, Abe? I was away all day yesterday, except for the evening. I never was near my computer.”
“Could it be a mistake?”
“Could be, but I doubt it. I think you were right. Somebody was reading my diary.”
“Well, it wasn’t me, Rendi—if you’re thinking that.”
“No, I’m not thinking that. You wouldn’t have a clue how to break in.”
“Could it be Campbell?”
“Could be, but why?”
“Maybe he’s looking for some dirt that he can use as insurance in case I decide to blow the whistle.”
“Sounds plausible. Maybe he’s looking for something on me,” Rendi speculated.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“It just gives us something else to worry about.”
With all these concerns, Abe preferred to focus his attention on Emma. At least with her he could do something positive—enjoy her last few days at home, lecture her about safety, give her advice about courses, teachers, restaurants, and boyfriends. He could joke with her about her new, more sophisticated wardrobe. He could be with her at home, sharing a Chinese take-out dinner from the Lucky Garden, with the final movement from Mahler’s Fifth playing in the background.
“I’m really wo
rried about you, all alone in New York.”
“I’m a grown woman, Daddy.”
“Yes. I know that, and that’s exactly why I’m worried about you. You think you’re invincible.”
“I am woman. Hear me roar,” Emma sang in a mocking voice, momentarily drowning out the Mahler.
“I am mugger. See me mug,” Abe sang back in an equally mocking tone.
“You really don’t have to worry. I’ve gotten my certificate—with honors—from the model mugging course at the Y.”
“That worries me even more, because now you really believe you can take on a professional career mugger.”
“Daddy, the first thing they teach you in mugging school is to avoid muggers. The second thing is how to escape from them. They teach us how to fight back only as a last resort.”
“That sounds sensible. Will you follow their advice?”
“You bet I will. Do you think I want to spend my college years in a wheelchair? Forget it. I know how to run, and I’m damn fast,” Emma said, pointing to a trophy she had won in a prep school track meet.
“You do understand why I’m so worried?”
“Yes. Because that’s your job, and because that’s your nature. I worry, too, Daddy. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I also worry about you. You seem so preoccupied, and I heard you on the phone yesterday, talking to Dr. Gurewitz about your blood pressure. Why has it shot up? I hope it’s not because of me?”
“No, it’s not because of you. It’s a work thing that I can’t talk about.”
“Daddy, you always told me that it was wrong to get depressed about work. Depression, you said, should be reserved for personal or family crises, not for work. You can get upset, angry, or worried about work—you always say—but never depressed. And you seem depressed.”
“I am a bit depressed, and my pressure is up a bit. And it is because of something at work. Even my rules don’t always make sense. This is something at work that affects me very personally.”
“Is it about Rendi?” Emma asked. “Are you two finally making some decisions now that I’m out of the way?”
“No, it’s not about Rendi, though I suspect that your absence may either bring us closer together or drive us farther apart.”
“Can’t you share it with me, Daddy? My friends all tell me I give good advice.”
“No, I can’t, Emma. It’s about a client. And it’s confidential. I can’t discuss it with anyone outside the office.”
“That rule sucks, Daddy. Fathers should be allowed to discuss confidential stuff with their adult children.”
“And children should be willing to discuss confidential stuff with their parents,” Abe said pointedly. “Yet you keep secrets from me, don’t you?”
“That’s part of growing up, making our own mistakes. I wish you could share with me what’s bugging you, Daddy.”
“I wish I could also. I know I would benefit from your advice. Unfortunately, it’s against the rules.”
“And Abe Ringel is a stickler for rules,” Emma added, knowing that she had lost the argument. “By the way,” she added almost as an afterthought, “I’m leaving for New York day after tomorrow, on Thursday, one day early. I’m doing something special for my birthday on Friday, and my new roommate, Zoe, is taking me shopping the day before at her uncle’s boutique in SoHo.”
“What are you doing that’s so special?”
“Can’t tell you. Don’t worry, it’s perfectly safe. I’ll tell you afterward. I’m sworn to secrecy for the moment.”
“Even from your daddy?”
“Especially from my daddy,” Emma said with the Hannah smile that always melted him.
Abe was tempted to play the adolescent game of “I’ll tell you my secret if you tell me yours.” Yet he knew he couldn’t reveal Joe Campbell’s terrible secret under any circumstances.
“I guess I have to trust you,” he said, squeezing Emma’s hand in his own.
“You sure do, especially since I don’t even have to tell you what I’m doing anymore, except if I want to.”
“I hope you’ll always want to,” Abe said with a touch of sadness in his voice.
“Well, probably not always,” Emma said. “Maybe sometimes.”
“I love you, Emma. And I do trust you.”
“I love you, too, Daddy. And I know you’ll always be there for me.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
CAMBRIDGE—FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 1
It was September first—Emma’s eighteenth birthday. Abe so wished he could spend it with her, as he had spent all of her previous birthdays. Since September 1 always fell between the end of summer camp and the beginning of school, it was not a time for parties or group celebrations. When Emma was a child, she had bemoaned her fate, since she was deprived of the school or camp birthdays her friends celebrated. Abe and Hannah had developed the tradition of getting all dressed up and taking her to a grown-up restaurant and a show.
This year she was starting her new life in New York. Abe knew that she was getting dressed up for dinner and maybe a show—that part of the tradition would never change—only this time it was with someone else. Maybe her new roommate. Maybe a new boy she had met in New York. Maybe Jon was coming down for a last fling. Abe hoped she would have a great time, only not quite as great as the times she had experienced with her parents. Memories have their place, he thought, even in the life of a quickly maturing young adult.
Abe was spending Emma’s birthday in the office, trying to catch up on correspondence. Typically, his mind was on Campbell. He imagined his devil at the computer, searching for yet a new victim. Abe shut his eyes tight as if to focus his imagination more sharply, perhaps even to be able to see the new name on Campbell’s computer. Would it be another ad executive, an editor, an investment banker, maybe a lawyer? Abe tried not to visualize the victim in his mind’s eye.
While he drifted off into his day-mare, Rendi burst into the office. She had a worried look on her face.
“What’s wrong?” Abe asked.
“I don’t know for sure. I was at home working at my computer—actually erasing some of my journal entries that I didn’t want to fall into anyone’s hands…”
“Closing some barn doors after the cows have gotten out?”
“In any event, that’s not what I came down here to talk about. Emma called me this morning—just a little while ago. She was in a giddy mood, and she wanted to talk. Girl talk. She told me not to tell you. And I probably shouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s going to upset you. It would upset any father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Promise me you won’t tell her I told you.”
“I promise. Now, please, what did she tell you?”
“It’s not what she told me. It’s what she asked me.”
“How so?”
“She asked me about woman stuff. The kinds of things she could never discuss with you.”
“She’s talked about that kind of stuff with you before, hasn’t she?”
“Yes, in the abstract. Today there was an immediacy, as if she needed to know now—today.”
“She told me she had something special planned for tonight, and she wouldn’t tell me what it was until afterward,” Abe said.
“Abe, it sounds to me like your little girl is planning to lose her virginity as a birthday present to herself.”
“That is upsetting to me, Rendi. You’re right. It’s inevitable. I guess I’m glad she waited until college. And I’m certainly glad she’s talking to you about it. I wish I’d learned about it after it happened. Now I’m going to be sick to my stomach all night trying not to think about it.”
“I know. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
“So why did you tell me? It’s so out of character for you to break a promise of confidentiality to Emma, especially since there’s nothing I can do about it except drive myself crazy.”
“Abe, if that were all there is t
o it, I wouldn’t have told you. And maybe that’s all there is to it, and I shouldn’t have told you. Except she said something that I had to tell you. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything. I’ll leave the decision to you.”
“Now you’re really getting me worried—and confused. What did she tell you?”
“Not tell me. Ask me!”
“What?”
“She asked me about the difference between sex with someone her own age and with someone a lot older.”
“Oh, my God. She’s having sex with a professor—already? Those goddamned exploitative bastards. I just read about that schmuck from the University of Massachusetts who believes that it is his academic mission to ‘cure’ his students of their virginity. I’ll sue the bastard who’s taking advantage of Emma. Do you know who it is? Can we stop him?”
“No, I don’t know who it is—for sure. It’s not a professor. She implied to me that it’s someone she has known for a while and went out with in Boston.”
“Who the hell could it be?”
“I don’t know. There’s just one guy who fits the description.”
“Who? Damn it, stop playing games. One of her high school teachers?”
“Abe. Think. Stop blinding yourself. It’s not like you.”
“I can’t think. I’m too scared and too confused. Who, Rendi? Who?”
“It could be Joe Campbell.”
Abe stopped breathing. His heart literally skipped a beat. He felt nauseated and dizzy simultaneously. Why had he not thought of that? Why had his two major obsessions—Campbell and Emma—remained on two separate tracks? Why had he not put them together? Had his DLBS blinded him even when it came to his daughter’s welfare? He retraced the clues that should have led him to suspect this awful possibility.
Emma had been open about her “crush” on Campbell. She had come to the trial. She believed he was innocent—and Abe never tried to disabuse her of that fantasy. She had gone to dinner with him, maybe even flirted a little. It seemed so innocent at the time. It simply never occurred to Abe that there could be anything sexual or romantic between them. Campbell was almost fourteen years her senior—a man of the world. Now it all came together. Well, not quite all, Abe realized.
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