Faye Kellerman - Decker 13 - The Forgotten

by The Forgotten

  'What kind name is Carter?'

  'A goyish name. His mother wasn't Jewish.'

  'So he's not Jewish. Why you help out a goy when there are so many Jews?'

  'He's a parent.'

  The old man beckoned the snapshot with a crooked finger. Rina pulled it from her purse and showed it to him - grandfather, father, and two smiling sons. Oscar stared at the generations of Goldings. She offered to let him hold it for a closer look. He took the four-year-old snapshot with hands that had a Parkinsonian tremor.

  'Yitzchak is the elderly man—'

  'I know. I'm not stupid.'

  The feistiness was back. That made Rina happy. 'I'm not implying—'

  'Nyaaah,' Oscar sneered. 'You want to know who he looks like to me?'

  Rina was excited. 'Who?'

  'He looks like an old man I never met. Take it back,' Oscar said. 'It won't help if I look longer.'

  Rina took the picture and held it between her fingers. 'Oscar, can I ask you one last favor?'

  'Ask.'

  'Do you remember... about six months ago a shul in the Valley was vandalized?'

  The old man's eyes clouded. 'Maybe.'

  'That was my shul—'

  'Oy vey.'

  'The person who admitted to the crime.' She gave Oscar another look at the picture. 'It was this boy... he was also the one who was murdered.'

  Oscar stared at her. 'I am confused. It is this boy who thinks that his grandfather... Maybe you should start over.' '.

  'I will, but maybe we should move to a little more *private place.'

  Oscar waved her off. 'Why you help the parents of such a bad boy?'

  'Troubled—'

  'Bad.'

  'Troubled,' Rina insisted.

  'Bad and troubled. The two go together.'

  Rina went on. 'When the boy vandalized the shul, he left old black and white photographs. Apparently, he had lots of photographs - bad photographs of dead bodies. But they looked different than the ones I've seen before.'

  Oscar waited.

  'We've all seen the piles...' Rina had to turn her head. It was painful to look in the old man's eyes. 'These were all individual pictures - of Jewish men and Jewish boys.' She felt her throat clog. 'Very focused, very clear. That's what made them so awful to look at.'

  Oscar was silent.

  Rina was supposed to ask if he would look at them. But she couldn't get the words out. 'I don't know.' She squeezed his hand. 'I should be going.'

  'You want that I look at them.'

  'No... no, you shouldn't.'

  'These pictures... the bodies... they are naked?'

  Rina thought a moment. 'Some are, some aren't.'

  Something shone in Oscar's eyes. 'Let me see that picture again - of the old man and the young boys.'

  Rina gave him the snapshot. This time Oscar studied it for a very long time. "This boy...' He pointed a crooked finger at Karl Golding. 'I know him.'

  Rina was puzzled. 'Oscar, he's not the one who died.'

  'I didn't say he was. I said... I know him.'

  'How?'

  He wagged his finger at her as he thought. 'These pictures left behind. No piles, right? It was one body in a picture.'

  'Yes, exactly. What?'

  'This boy...' Again the finger wagged. 'If you give him... four, five years. Maybe, just maybe, he is the boy with the camera. The Polish boy. About... sixteen. Not a village boy, a city boy.'

  Rina was stunned. But, of course, that made total sense. If Oscar were to remember anybody, it wouldn't be the face of an old man who called himself Yitzchak Golding; it would be a young face that had been etched in Oscar's mind some sixty years ago. 'You remember a boy with a camera?'

  'Yes, there was a boy with a camera. He takes pictures maybe one week before the camp burns down.'

  Rina pointed to Karl. 'He looked like the boy.'

  Oscar nodded.

  'Not this boy.' She showed him Ernesto.

  'No, this one.' Again he had pointed to Karl.

  Rina said, 'A Polish boy. Who was he?'

  Oscar shrugged. 'A boy with a camera. So I think he had money. I think his father was big in the Polnische Polizei.'

  The Polish police. Rina nodded. 'Can you tell me anything else about him?'

  Again the finger started wagging. 'He took pictures through the fence... It was electrified, the fence. If you tried to escape...' He loudly clapped his hands. 'Like a mosquito on a lamppost. You could hear them frying... smell it.' He covered

  his mouth, then dropped his hands. 'So he didn't touch the fence. You have the black and white bad pictures.'

  Rina nodded.

  'Show me one.'

  Rina rummaged through her briefcase and pulled out the least offensive one she could find: a bony old man who looked like he was sleeping in striped pajamas.

  Oscar studied the picture. 'Yes... yes. You see these light lines? That's the fence. That is the fence!'

  Rina covered her mouth and nodded. 'Yes, I see.'

  He handed the photograph back to Rina. 'I don't know the boy. Some people talk to that boy. Some tell the boy to take their pictures. One man... he brings his dead son... let the boy take picture. Me?' He shook his head. 'I say nothing to him.

  'He comes for five, ten minutes, takes pictures, then he hides back in the forest. You don't stay near the camps too long. You get shot.' Oscar scrunched up his forehead. 'He brought bread... not real bread, most of it was ersatz... sawdust... but better than what we had. He takes it and squeezes it into little balls and throws them through the spaces in the fence. Never missed once. Good arm.' He nodded with admiration. 'A dangerous thing to do. If it hits the fence, it sets off the electricity. Then the guard is warned what is going on. He never missed.'

  Tears were streaming down Rina's face. 'He gave you food?'

  'Tiny balls of bread - half bread. And bits of carrots and turnip. And once... tiny wild strawberries. Do you know how much a luxury that was? Strawberries? Warsaw had nothing! For him to have strawberries... and afford to give them away. Oy vey, he was a very rich boy. The boy with the camera who throws at us bits of food.'

  'Did he speak to any of the inmates?'

  Oscar thought, then shook his head. 'No, he never said a word. Just took the pictures. Maybe he wanted to laugh at the dead Juden after we were all gone.'

  'Or maybe he wanted to remember. He couldn't have been that cruel if he gave you food.'

  'Maybe he liked seeing the Juden act like animals - like feeding animals in the zoo. Still, we act like animals, clawing at the ground to find the bread balls or bits of turnip.'

  'If he had wanted to cause you trouble, he would have hit the fence at least once. He wouldn't have thrown a hundred percent, nuV

  'You want to see good in him.'

  Holding back tears, Rina nodded. 'Yes.'

  'That is nice.' Oscar shrugged. 'Tiny balls of bread. It tasted like... as good as your soup.'

  'That's some compliment.'

  'Yes, it is a compliment.'

  'Should I show you more pictures that were found in the synagogue? Maybe these were the pictures the boy took?'

  'You say they are only of dead people?'

  'I don't remember, Oscar. Maybe some of them were alive.'

  'No matter. They're all dead now.'

  'Maybe he took your picture.'

  'If he did, I don't want to see it!' He spoke with volume and force. Then he exhaled, deflated, as if his lungs had no more capacity to breathe. 'This boy... maybe he wanted to help. Maybe not. But even if he did want to help, he was not a big hero. Nothing like that.'

  There was silence.

  Oscar said, 'At most, he was a small hero.' The old man let go with a lemony smile. 'Still, a small hero is better than nothing.'

  34

  It was going to be an all-nighter, so Decker decided to put in an appearance at home. Pulling into the driveway, he saw that the living room windows were dark, meaning that his family was out, doing their own thing w
ithout him of course, and he could have just as well stayed in the office. The realization that he wasn't needed or missed drew mixed emotions. He felt hurt, but at least his loved ones could function without him - a meager bit of comfort. Since he was home, he decided to freshen up with a quick shower and a change of clothes.

  As soon as he stepped inside, he noticed that the house wasn't entirely dark. There was a light on in Jacob's room... no noise coming from the stereo. No conversation, either. That made his stomach turn.

  Anytime the house was too quiet, and Jacob was alone, Decker held this nagging suspicion that something illicit was going on. As much as he proclaimed his confidence in the kid, he couldn't bring himself to trust him totally.

  He tiptoed over to the room, listened for a minute. Nothing. Then he knocked on the door.

  Immediately, Jacob told him to come in. Decker hoped the kid hadn't heard him whoosh out an exhalation of relief. Wearing a black leather yarmulke, Jake was sitting at his desk, bent over a tome of the Talmud, concentrating as he read the Aramaic text. Then he looked up.

  'Hi.'

  'You're home alone?'

  'Hannah's here.'

  'Oh.' Decker listened, perceiving just air. 'I don't hear the TV.'

  'It's after nine, Dad. She's asleep.'

  Guilt stabbed his innards. 'That would make sense.'

  'Want me to check in on her?'

  'I'll do it.' But Decker didn't leave right away, transfixed by his stepson's aberrant studious behavior. 'I thought it was summer.'

  'I'm trying to catch up before I go to yeshiva. I don't want to look too stupid.'

  'That would be impossible.'

  'You'd be surprised. Amazing. The more you study, the more you know.'

  'Truisms work.'

  'Sammy and I have been learning together for the last two hours, but then a friend called him. I told him to go out. He was looking a little pale.'

  'You didn't want to go?'

  'Someone has to be home for Hannah. Eema's at some old-age home, talking to a camp survivor. She actually offered to come home early so I could get out - I think she's worried about me becoming too serious, if you can believe that. I told her I was okay. This visit seemed important to her for some reason. Besides, I don't mind a little quiet time. Things have been hectic enough around here.'

  Decker kissed the top of his head - his yarmulke. 'I'm sorry, Jacob.'

  'S'right.' He stood up. 'You're exhausted. There're leftovers. Can I fix you up a plate while you shower?'

  'Sure.'

  Without another word, Jacob went to the kitchen. Decker peeked into his daughter's room, seeing not much more than orange ringlets on a pillow. He tiptoed over. She was breathing deeply, slowly, the coverlet moving up and down in languid, rolling waves. She smelled of shampoo and fabric softener. He smiled, always surprised that such a miracle could emanate from his loins. He left the room with an ache in his heart, then

  undressed, plunging into the hot needles of a brief shower. After changing into clean clothes, he went into the kitchen and was greeted by white meat turkey, mashed potatoes, and limp broccoli, but a fresh salad. His stepson was dressed in a black T-shirt and black pants. Once upon a time, Jacob was all skin and bones. He still had that long, lank look, but weight lifting had given him a chest and arms, and a good set of stomach muscles. He was a kid on the brink. A year or two more of maturity would put him right up there with James Dean in the heartthrob department - an angry young man with fierce blue eyes and a perpetual sneer. What made him really dangerous was his brainpower.

  'Sometimes you're a real wonder.' Decker ate with gusto.

  'I can warm up grub with the best of them. Do you want coffee?'

  'I'll make it.'

  'No, I can do it, Dad. It's not a problem.' As Jacob made coffee, he noticed his stepfather had finished his meal. 'There's more if you want.'

  'No, I'm stuffed.' He sat back. 'I ate too fast. That's not good.' He sighed. 'Someday I'll retire.'

  'Sure you will.' Jacob watched the coffee drip. 'Did you go to Ernesto's funeral?'

  Decker nodded.

  'Pretty emotional, huh?'

  'Very.' He looked up, started to talk, then thought better of it.

  'What?' Jacob asked.

  'Never mind.'

  'No, what?'

  Decker rubbed his forehead. 'You didn't know any of Ruby Ranger's friends, did you?'

  Out came the sneer. 'No. But I knew plenty of her enemies. Everyone hated her.'

  'You don't know anyone she'd run to if she were in trouble?'

  Jacob sat down. 'What's going on? Is she in trouble?'

  'I think so.'

  'Doesn't surprise me. She's a very bad person.'

  'Maybe it's coming back to haunt her. I think she's in physical danger. She's missing, and no one knows where she is. If you know any friends who might be hiding her, I'd like to hear about it. Be nice to know that she's alive.'

  Jacob blanched. For a brief moment, Decker entertained the thought that Jacob had something to do with her disappearance. And although that was absurd, Decker had a sinking feeling that he had touched upon something. He continued to examine the boy's face. 'Do you have something you want to tell me?'

  Jacob was silent, but unnerved.

  'Jacob—'

  'Nothing!' He turned his face away. 'I don't know anything!'

  Decker didn't have time for niceties. 'Stop lying, damn it! Jacob, she's in trouble. Spit it outP

  'I don't know where she is!' Jacob screamed. 'Why the hell do you always assume the worst with me! I'm not a total fuckup! And fuck you, if you think I am!'

  Without thinking, Decker slapped him across the face, hard enough to snap the kid's face back; hard enough to leave a sizeable palm print. 'Don't you ever, ever speak that way to me!'

  The boy's eyes smoldered as he held his stinging cheek, glaring with hatred at his stepfather. 'I could report you to the authorities.'

  'Go right ahead, big shot! I'll give you the goddamn number!'

  Tears formed in the bright blue eyes. 'How come you can swear and I can't!'

  'Because I'm a parent and I'm a hypocrite.' Decker leaned over, grabbed the boy's chin, and bored into his eyes. 'She's either a perpetrator or a victim. Either way, she's in deep shit! What can you tell me about it?'

  Jacob jerked his face away and looked down, still holding his cheek. 'I don't know where she is!'

  Decker was silent. Then he spoke softly. 'But you know something.'

  It took a while for Jacob to find his voice. It was hidden somewhere between embarrassment and rage. 'You remember that I... I told you that I got into a hassle with her at a party—'

  'You told me that you threatened to kill her.'

  Jacob nodded. 'Sort of.'

  'Go on!'

  'After I... we had words, I stormed out of the house. I don't even know what I was doing there in the first place. It was a couple of weeks after you caught me with Shayna. And I had promised you that I'd stop using. And I wasn't using. I didn't even want to go to the stupid party. But then Lisa called me up... told me she was invited but didn't want to go alone. I was still really angry.' A sigh. 'I sneaked out. I didn't ask Sammy for help, but I knew he would cover for me if he had to.'

  So tell me something fucking new, Decker thought. He clasped his hands together to prevent himself from lashing out. He wanted to throttle the boy. Just take him by the shoulders and shake him to death. Instead, he reined in his anger but not impatience.

  'Speed it up!'

  'I'm getting to it. This is very hard!'

  Decker swallowed, counted to five. 'Go on.'

  'Anyway, I bolted. Just started walking, swearing that this was it. Never again, never again, never again! And I really meant it. Suddenly, Ruby caught up with me, grabbed my arm, and told me to slow down... that she wanted to talk to me. It was like her whole attitude changed - totally. Completely different. Like two separate people. It was weird.'