The Dead Don't Talk Page 7

  I went to a bar because it would be noisy there. I went to the back and called Janet D’Amaro.

  “Oh, Danny, you’ll never guess. Never in a million years.”

  “Ennis quit?”

  “No. Ronnie asked me to marry him! It happened so fast he didn’t even have time to get a ring. We’re going shopping for one. Oh, it was so sudden. One day he doesn’t want to talk about it, and the next day he can’t wait. Oh, Danny, I’m...Wait. You asked about him. Did you have anything to do with this?”

  “Of course not, Janet. The man loves you. Honestly, who wouldn’t?”

  “Oh, Danny. Really?”

  “Just enjoy it. I think your mind will be far from the campaign, but that’s all right. The right dress. The right place. Who to invite. You have a lot of great stuff to think about, Janet.”

  “Oh, Danny, I’m so happy. I can’t even tell you.”

  “You deserve it, Janet.”

  “I’m going to cry. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, but I’m going to. I...Oh, Danny you called me. What do you want?”

  “I checked the oppo stuff. There’s nothing special on the guy. Ennis will be angry, so I’ll take what we do have to him. Let him yell at me.”

  “I wish I had a sister to marry you, Danny.”

  “You shouldn’t wish that on your worst enemy.”

  “Seriously. Thank you. I don’t know if you did anything about Ronnie. But if you did, thank you.”

  “We’re friends, Janet. I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Okay, you did it. Now, I’m going to cry.”

  I let her have at it, and then we said good-bye.

  Ari was waiting for me.

  “You’re not hard enough, Danny.”

  “That could be.”

  “What are we doing now?”

  “We still have a murder to solve. We start again tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Some time ago there was a Democratic Congressman in Suffolk County. At the time it was purely a Republican place, although it has changed a bit around the edges. This Congressman, even worse, had gone to Princeton and wore bow ties. There is no way he should have been elected. Only one day he was arrested for putting corn on the water in front of his duck blind and firing at the birds as they settled to eat the corn. This arrest made him part of the people, an ordinary guy, and that is what took him to Washington.

  I think of this sometimes because the Congressman I work for is identified as elitist. He has had the best kind of political luck there is—drawing weak or stupid opponents. But Lucey was neither of those.

  I pondered this as I drove south to Patchogue. I like villages. Some are not in the best shape, but you can walk around on sidewalks, go into shops and restaurants, and see friends all over the place.

  I wasn’t going to see a friend. I was going to see Bret Roth. He was a political activist, a rabble rouser. He went after everybody, claiming corruption. He was the one who had accused Rabbi Siegel of stealing. There was a synagogue in Patchogue, but Roth took his family all the way to Rabbi Siegel’s synagogue and almost immediately began complaining about him.

  Roth owned a hardware store off Main Street.

  I wandered into the store about eleven in the morning. It was cooler than usual outside because of a breeze, and it felt good to get inside.

  I walked up to the counter and the young woman who had her back to me turned around. I remembered April 17, 1964. It was the day Shea Stadium had opened. Before then I had never been to a game but only seen them on television. I walked through a tunnel and heard a crowd. As I headed for the seat I was overwhelmed as I spotted the field for the first time. The game didn’t turn out so well. The Pirates beat the Mets 4-3, but I have always remembered the feeling of being dazzled and overwhelmed by the sight of a baseball field.

  I had the same feeling as the woman turned around. All those descriptions of attraction in songs suddenly made sense to me. Her eyes locked onto mine. Her pink-tinged face was perfectly formed.

  “May I help you?” she asked. It was music that came out of her mouth, which had shaped itself into a smile.

  “I’m looking for a Mr. Bret Roth.” My voice sounded as though I were a teenager trying to ask a girl for a dance.

  “He’ll be right back. Meanwhile can I help you? I’m Rebecca, his daughter.”

  “I think I should talk directly to him.”

  She stared at me for a few seconds, not seemingly impressed by what she saw.

  “Would you mind moving? I mean in case someone else has a question.”

  “Oh, sorry. Of course. I’ll just wait over there.”

  I don’t know how, but I avoided tripping as I walked away.

  A man who looked angry walked toward the counter. His daughter pointed me out.

  He walked over to me, stood directly in front of me, and put his hands on his hips. He smelled of cheap cigar smoke.

  “If I owe you a bill, I don’t have the money.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Roth. You don’t owe me a penny.”

  He nodded.

  “That’s a good start. It’s a hard business. I got to pay a lot of bills late and some people don’t like it.”

  I showed him my Congressional identification.

  “Congressman Miles is an idiot. He lines his own pockets with money from the citizens of this country.”

  “Mr. Roth, I’m not here to talk about the Congressman, who, I assure you, is an honest man. I’m here to talk about a death eighteen months ago.”

  He thought for a minute.

  “You mean the Rabbi?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yeah.” Roth raised his voice. Over his shoulder I could see his daughter looking at him. “That Rabbi was a cheat too. You know those Rabbis have a racket. They get the people to think if they give to the Rabbi they get a ticket to Heaven. So the Rabbi keeps asking them for money, and they keep giving it. Siegel was no different. I’m sorry the guy got shot. He had a nice wife. Most of the congregation was bamboozled and liked him. But he didn’t fool me. I know a cheat when I see one.”

  “Do you recall the day he was killed?”

  Roth stared at me.

  “What’s it to you?”

  “A constituent asked the Congressman to look again at the death, and I’ve been put in charge of investigating.”

  “You some kind of a cop?”

  “I’m a speechwriter.”

  He laughed.

  “Here’s my speech, then. Get lost. You’re looking for suspects. I was in this store working that whole day. Unlike you and Miles, I’ve got to work for a living. Now get out of here.”

  “Was your daughter with you that day?”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. Then he squeezed.

  All of a sudden, he felt his own shoulder being squeezed. He turned his head around and stood face to face with Ari.

  “Take your hands off him.”

  Ari’s voice was very calm, but very scary.

  Roth took his hand off my shoulder. He looked right at me. “Take your thug here and get out. And don’t come back. You want to find a suspect, look somewhere else.”

  He stormed off, heading to the back of the store.

  I started to walk out.

  “I’m sorry.”

  His daughter looked sad.

  I walked over to her.

  “I’m Danny Ryle. I work for Congressman Miles.”

  “Yes. I heard the conversation. They heard my father in Nebraska.”

  “I think his voice trailed off west of the Mississippi.”

  She smiled, but then her face turned serious again. “It’s hard here in the store. There are constant pressures. But my father didn’t have anything to do with what happened to Rabbi Siegel. He was a wonderful Rabbi. I didn’t always like to go because I had to listen to my father complaining on the way back.”

  She looked down with the sadness of a lost soul.

  “I remember the day Rabbi Siegel was shot. My father was
here.”

  “He didn’t go out for a couple of hours?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t think so.”

  She was lying.

  “It’s not easy defending your father. I know from personal experience with my father. Make sure you take care of yourself.”

  “You’re an interesting person, Mr. Ryle.”

  “It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

  Ari and I walked out.

  “I think she’s out of your league,” he said. “I mean in the department of being nice.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Can we get lunch?”

  “I thought you fought terrorists.”

  He shrugged. “Does that mean I can’t get hungry?”

  We went to a bar famous for its hamburgers.

  “Aren’t we done with suspects?”

  “One more,” I said.

  “And do you have any idea who did it? Maybe it’s like one of those Agatha Christie novels, and they all did it.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said. “I just haven’t figured it out.”

  “Who’s the last suspect?”

  “It’s maybe someone you shouldn’t talk to. He’s an anti-Semite.”

  “The serious kind?”

  I nodded. “Right out here in Yaphank there was a pro-Nazi summer camp. They taught straight Nazi propaganda.”

  Ari said, “I’ll be next to you. Let’s hope he takes a swing.”

  “That’s not my hope,” I said.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  His name was Rolf Riefenstahl. I don’t know much about Nazi history, but I had called a friend of mine, a professor, and he told me there had been a woman named Leni Riefenstahl who was Hitler’s favorite filmmaker. I guessed that Rolf had changed his original surname and chosen the name of someone Hitler admired.

  He lived in a small house. A very loud series of barks came from inside as I knocked at the door. Ari stood quietly at my side.

  “Who’s there?” It was a booming voice from within.

  “My name is Ryle. I work for the local Congressman. This isn’t about politics. We’re trying to help someone.”

  “I help myself.”

  “Could you open the door? It’s easier to talk face to face.”

  He opened the door.

  He was a big man. He was trying to make his body look like his ideas. Lots of tattoos. I could see a large Nazi flag on the wall behind him.

  “You a Jew?” he asked me.

  “That doesn’t have anything to do with what I have to say.”

  “I don’t talk to no Jews.”

  “Look, I have a few questions and I’ll go away. I’m not any religion.”

  “Were you born Jewish?”

  “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

  “Were you?”

  “Do you remember Rabbi Siegel’s murder?”

  He surprised me, but not in a good way.

  He laughed.

  “I always remember when a Rabbi dies. It’s a day of celebration. A son of Satan has gone down.”

  “Mr. Rie...”

  “Call me Rolf. That’s my war name.”

  “All right, Rolf. I’m finding it very difficult to speak with you. I’m ready to leave. Just tell me where you were on the day the Rabbi got shot.”

  “Get lost. What are you, a Jew-lover if you ain’t a Jew?”

  “The cops think you may have done it. They found anti-Semitic stuff on the walls.”

  “Everybody’s always trying to blame us. We want a racially superior America. A racially pure America. They should worship us. Who cares who killed the old Jew? And for the record, buddy, I wouldn’t kill one Jew. If I was going to kill, I’d kill a thousand of them.”

  Ari took a step toward him.

  I put my hand on Ari’s arm to restrain him.

  Ari pulled his arm loose from my grip.

  “I am an Israeli Jew,” he said.

  “You don’t look so tough.”

  “You come outside and we’ll find out.”

  “My little sister could beat you silly. The Jews are going to be pushed into the sea. I hope it’s soon. I hope...”

  Ari swung and hit Riefenstahl directly in the face. He crumpled down on his floor.

  Ari bent down.

  “We have your name. My friends don’t play dress-up. We don’t very much like Nazis. You wouldn’t want to know what we do to Nazis, but you’re going to find out very soon if you don’t shut up.”

  “I’m going to call the cops.”

  “You do that. And then pack for Hell.”

  We walked away.

  “I think that went very well,” Ari said.

  “Not that I think you were wrong, Ari, but if this gets out, the Congressman is going to have to fire me.”

  “You think that Nazi is going to say that a Jew beat him up?”

  I thought about that.

  “I hope he’s the guilty one.”

  “Oh, he’s guilty,” I said. “Although I don’t think he’s guilty of killing the Rabbi.”

  “Too bad. He’d be a nice person to see in a cell.”

  I thought about that as I headed home to plan what to do next.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I didn’t sleep well that night. I got up early and decided just to drive. I needed to clear my head and think about where to find clues.

  As I often did, I headed east. I drove on Route 25, Middle Country Road. Once I got past Coram, the traffic thinned out.

  I had been driving for almost an hour when I braked to make a curve.

  I put my foot on the pedal, and it collapsed to the floor. I tried to pump it, but I couldn’t get the pedal up.

  The car was speeding along, and I could not stop it.

  Afterwards I realized I should have downshifted. I should have done lots of stuff. But at that point, I was in a panic. My mind raced along with the car. I kept struggling, trying to think of what to do.

  And then I saw them. A family was out walking. A mother and three children. One was a little girl in a bright pink dress and a matching ribbon in her hair. The mother, a woman with a blue blouse and blonde hair, was trying to protect the children. She was walking partly in my lane so she could let the children walk on the side of the road.

  A truck was coming in the opposite direction in the other lane. I couldn’t go there without a head-on collision with the truck, and I knew who’d win that.

  I looked to the side. There was water off to my right. Truck, a mother and children, or water.

  I had nowhere else to go. It was going to be the water.

  Sometimes in moments of great stress, a temporary calm emerges. It did for me at that moment.

  I put on the emergency brake.

  It didn’t stop the car, but it slowed it down.

  I steered toward the water.

  But if I stayed in the car, I’d drown. I had to get out.

  I opened the door as the car bumped over the grass leading to the water. There wasn’t much time. I jumped, trying to put my body at an angle so the car wouldn’t hit me as it passed my flying body. I tucked my arms and legs as I jumped and hurled myself toward some soft grass.

  I hit the ground hard and rolled.

  There wasn’t a part of me that didn’t hurt, but I was conscious.

  And I was in better shape than the car. It was in the water. I saw it stuck there. Maybe it would sink. I wasn’t sure, but the front end where I would have been was completely submerged.

  The family ran over to me. The trucker stopped and he hurried to see if I was all right. He had some kind of an emergency kit. Then he put it aside. He saw that I was beyond its help.

  “An ambulance will be here soon,” the trucker said. “I called on my CB radio.”

  I tried to thank him, but I couldn’t speak. My head was cloudy. I thought I saw an older woman standing over me. But she wasn’t really there. She was some kind of a vision. I had this wild thought that maybe she was Death waiting to take me. That
she was going to interrogate me about my life. And it would take a long time to prod some justifications from me for my choices.

  “Are you all right?” The voice was sweet. The sound appeared to me as a color, maybe a deep red or a soothing blue.

  I couldn’t answer, so I nodded. Or tried to nod.

  Then the vision left and I saw the woman was the mother next to her children. She pulled some of the grass and gently tucked it under my head.

  “Oh, please don’t die. You were so brave. Thank you for doing that and saving my babies.”

  She began to cry.

  I just lay there.

  I decided to try to sit up, moved a bit, and collapsed back down.

  I stared up at the robin’s egg blue sky, at the trains of clouds chugging along in slow motion with no destination in mind, at the birds making a mockery of the laws of gravity we poor humans have to accept. I felt a warm wind and some spray from the water on my face.

  And then my eyes closed and I thought I heard some music, and I fell into eternity.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I thought I had died. I mentally shrugged. This wasn’t so bad, just a simple lapse into a darkness that won’t let go. Fall back. Enjoy it. Be wrapped in it. The darkness was a blanket. I wasn’t scared. I had no feelings other than the peace of floating free.

  My eyes snapped open. I couldn’t move, but I didn’t have to. I was in a hospital bed.

  It took ten minutes before a nurse came in. I was on some medicine or drug or my mind was sufficiently damaged that I barely noticed.

  She leaned over me and looked at my open eyes.

  “So you decided to come back to see us, Mr. Ryle.”

  My voice was a croak, a bad imitation of a frog trying to make a wisecrack response.

  “Don’t even try,” the nurse said. “You’ll be okay. You ought to become a stunt driver. That was some trick. No broken bones. Nothing. Except a little pain.”

  A little. You try it, lady.

  “You’re a hero, you know, Mr. Ryle. The family wants to make sure you get some kind of commendation. The mom thinks you’re about the best person in the world.”

  “The brakes went.” More croaking, but clearer.