“Oh, God! Oh, my God, I’m so, so sorry!”
A wacko, Marge thought and turned away in disgust. She heard chanting, looked up, and saw Moshe fifteen feet away. The thin, ghostlike man had come through. Yet here he was, head buried in a book, chanting to himself while swaying back and forth, acting as if nothing had happened.
Another wacko, she thought.
The good wacko and the bad wacko.
A moment later a black-and-white pulled up. Folstrom and Walsh got out.
“Caught him in the act?” Walsh asked grimly.
“More or less,” Marge answered. “You take over. I want to talk to the victim.”
“Who’s he?” Folstrom asked, pointing to Moshe.
“The hero.”
“Should I get a statement?” Folstrom asked.
“You can try, but he’s a little…” Marge made a circle with her index finger around the side of her head.
Rina was huddled under an elm tree. Her knees were drawn tightly to her chin, arms clasped around her shins, as if embracing herself.
Marge walked over and sat down beside her.
“I called an ambulance.”
Rina nodded.
Marge placed her arm around her shoulder.
“It looks like it’s over.”
The tears began to fall down Rina’s cheeks, stinging her wounds. When she spoke it was barely above a whisper.
“How can you work with someone day after day, for five years, and be so oblivious to what goes on in his head?”
“Don’t blame yourself,” Marge comforted. “A lot of crazies maintain. They hold jobs, have families, and slip by the police, the shrinks-all the so-called experts who should know better. I’ve had a couple of real foolers myself.”
She shrugged, then patted Rina’s shoulder.
“You did terrific, kiddo. I couldn’t have done better myself.”
Rina didn’t respond.
Marge knew she was still in shock. She saw Decker walking down the hillside, helping a limping man. Another black-and-white pulled up, then a transport. They threw Gilbert into the back. The boys from the yeshiva began to drift over, and she saw she had a job to do. She excused herself politely and walked over to Decker and Hawthorne.
“Are you okay, sir?” she asked Hawthorne.
Matt glared at Gilbert in the backseat of the transport.
“I can’t believe it,” Hawthorne said. “I just can’t believe it. There must be a logical explanation. There must be some mistake.”
“There’s no mistake,” Marge said.
“Shit,” Hawthorne muttered, rubbing his head. His forehead was raised and red, sporting a bluish lump. “Rina! Is she okay?”
“She’ll live,” said Marge.
Luis Ramirez pulled up and got out of his patrol car. Decker motioned him over.
“Mr. Hawthorne, this is Officer Ramirez,” he said. “If you’re up to it, you can give him a statement while you’re waiting for the ambulance to come.”
Hawthorne nodded, still stunned.
“Why don’t you come with me, sir?” said Ramirez. “You can sit down in the backseat of the patrol car. You’ll be more comfortable.”
Hawthorne acquiesced. A moment later the transport vehicle, with Gilbert inside, sped away.
Decker stared at the throng that had assembled.
“Where’s Rina?” he asked Marge.
“Over there,” she said pointing to the tree. “She’s bruised, but she’ll be okay. She’s a tough lady, Pete.”
He walked over and sat down beside her, but she didn’t acknowledge him. He was suddenly tongue-tied, thinking only of how much he wanted to hold her, how he wanted to make it all go away.
Finally, she spoke: “Help me up.”
He lifted her in his arms and held her for a moment. Her face…what the bastard had done to her beautiful face…
He let her down on her feet as gently as he could.
“What should I do with this?” she asked, holding up the gun. “It belongs to him.”
Decker pulled out a handkerchief, took the gun from her, emptied the barrel, and wrapped it up.
“I fired at him, so it’s minus a bullet.”
He nodded.
“I missed him.”
“I’m surprised you did.”
“So am I,” she said.
Decker saw Zvi Adler approaching, looked at Rina, and realized suddenly that she was half naked. He slipped off his jacket and gave it to her.
She smiled weakly.
Zvi stopped ten feet in front of them. His face bore a painful look of déjà vu.
“Oh, my God,” he said softly, tears in his eyes.
“I’m okay.”
He looked as if he wanted to say more.
“Can I do anything?” he asked her after a moment.
“My boys!” she gasped. “They can’t see me like this!”
“We’ll keep them for as long as it takes,” Zvi said softly.
“Tell them the truth-that I had to go to the hospital for a check-up. I’ll call as soon as I get there.” She swallowed back tears. “They mustn’t worry about me. They’ve gone through enough already.”
“They won’t, Rina. I promise you.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you sure I can’t-”
“No. Nothing else. Just take care of my boys.”
“Rina,” he whispered gently. “Come over for Shabbos.”
“Okay,” she said, her voice breaking.
Zvi turned to Decker and offered him his hand.
“Thank you, Detective. How did you do it?”
“I didn’t,” Decker said. “It was Rina and Moshe-”
“Moshe?” said Zvi. “Moshe caught the mamzer?”
“Rina and Moshe,” Decker corrected.
But Zvi was off. Running over to the rocking man, he embraced him warmly, hefted him onto his shoulders, and began to sing in a rich baritone. Soon others joined in and a circle formed around the two of them. The dance began, and within minutes the woods were filled with deep male voices and loud stomping.
“They seem to have forgotten about you,” said Decker.
“It’s okay.” She was weeping and laughing at the same time. “It’s easier for Zvi to deal with Moshe than me. My face must have frightened him off.”
She tried to smile at him, but instead her lips quivered, turned downward, and her face fell. He took her in his arms and pulled her to his breast.
“It hurts,” she sobbed. “My head feels as if it’s going to explode.”
“We’re going to fix you up, honey,” Decker said, embracing her. “You’re going to be fine.”
“I’ll never be fine,” she wailed.
“Yes, you will. I promise, Rina, you’ll be fine.”
“Oh, God!” she cried out in pain. She lifted her head and looked at him. “I’m going to miss you so!”
She sobbed on his chest while hugging him tightly.
“That hurts most of all,” she wept in anguish.
Decker pushed her hair off her forehead.
“Hey, come on now,” he whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
She buried her head in his arms and clung to him tightly, finding security in his touch.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, looked up, and saw Chana.
“Come on, Rina,” the woman said firmly. “The ambulance is here. I’ll help you.”
“In a minute,” Rina said, wiping her tears on Decker’s shirt.
“Mr. Hawthorne is waiting-”
“I said in a minute,” Rina snapped at the woman.
“Ze lo yafeh,” Chana said.
“Yafeh lo shayach po.”
Chana threw up her hands and walked away.
Rina leaned her head on Peter’s chest.
“She disapproves of my hugging you,” she explained to him. “She said it wasn’t nice.”
“What did you tell her?”
“I told her nice wasn’t important now.” She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his fingers, one by one.
“I want to ride with you to the hospital,” Decker said.
She shook her head.
“But I want to go.”
“No,” Rina answered. “I need to be alone. I need time to think. I just don’t want to let go of you. Not just yet.”