“I don’t know.”
“You must have some sense of these things.”
“No. I don’t, really.”
“But you talk to them, you meet them. What do they say, the killers?”
“They don’t talk much, most of them.”
“Do you ever ask? Not why they did it, but what makes them capable of it in the first place.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because they wouldn’t answer. Their lawyers wouldn’t let them answer.”
“Lawyers!” He tossed his hand.
“They wouldn’t know how to answer, anyway, most of them. These philosophical murderers-Chianti and fava beans and all that stuff-it’s bullshit. It’s just the movies. Anyway, they’re full of shit, these guys. If they had to answer, they’d probably tell you about their rough childhoods or something. They’d make themselves the victims. That’s the usual story.”
He nodded once, to urge me on.
“Dan, the thing is, you can’t torture yourself looking for reasons. There are none. It’s not logical. Not the part you’re talking about.”
Rifkin slid down in his chair a little, concentrating, as if he would need to give the whole thing more thought. His eyes glistened but his voice was even, controlled. “Do other parents ask these sorts of things?”
“They ask all kinds of things.”
“Do you see them after the case is over? The parents?”
“Sometimes.”
“I mean long after, years.”
“Sometimes.”
“And do they-how do they seem? Are they all right?”
“Some of them are all right.”
“But some of them aren’t.”
“Some of them aren’t.”
“What do they do, the ones who make it? What are the key things? There must be a pattern. What’s the strategy, what are the best practices? What’s worked for them?”
“They get help. They rely on their families, the people around them. There are groups out there for survivors; they use those. We can put you in touch. You should talk to the victim advocate. She’ll set you up with a support group. It’s very helpful. You can’t do it alone, that’s the thing. You have to remember there are other people out there who have gone through it, who know what you’re going through.”
“And the other ones, the parents who don’t make it, what happens to them? The ones who never recover?”
“You’re not going to be one of those.”
“But if I am? What happens to me, to us?”
“We’re not going to let that happen. We’re not even going to think that way.”
“But it does happen. It does happen, doesn’t it? It does.”
“Not to you. Ben wouldn’t want it to happen to you.”
Silence.
“I know your son,” Rifkin said. “Jacob.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve seen him around the school. He seems like a good kid. Big handsome boy. You must be proud.”
“I am.”
“He looks like you, I think.”
“Yeah, I’ve been told.”
He took a deep breath. “You know, I find myself thinking about these kids from Ben’s class. I feel attached. I want to see them succeed, you know? I’ve watched them grow up, I feel close to them. Is that unusual? Am I feeling that because it makes me feel closer to Ben? Is that why I’m latching onto these other kids? Because that’s what it sounds like, doesn’t it? It looks weird.”
“Dan, don’t worry about how things look. People are going to think whatever they think. The hell with ’em. You can’t worry about it.”
He massaged his forehead some more. His agony could not have been more obvious if he had been bleeding on the floor. I wanted to help him. At the same time, I wanted to get away from him.
“It would help me if I knew, if, if the case was resolved. It will help me when you resolve the case. Because the uncertainty-it’s draining. It’ll help when the case is resolved, won’t it? In other cases you’ve seen, that helps the parents, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“I don’t mean to pressure you. I don’t mean to sound that way. It’s just, I think it will help me when the case is resolved and I know this guy is-when he’s locked up and put away. I know you’ll do that. I have faith in you, of course. I mean, of course. I’m not doubting you, Andy. I’m just saying it will help me. Me, my wife, everyone. That’s what we need, I think. Closure. That’s what we’re looking to you for.”
That night Laurie and I lay in bed reading.
“I still think they’re making a mistake opening the school so soon.”
“Laurie, we’ve been all through this.” My voice had a bored tone. Been there, done that. “Jacob will be perfectly safe. We’ll take him there ourselves, we’ll walk him right up to the door. There’ll be cops all over. He’ll be safer in school than anywhere else.”
“Safer. You can’t know that. How could you know that? Nobody has any idea who this guy is or where he is or what he intends to do next.”
“They have to open the school sometime. Life goes on.”
“You’re wrong, Andy.”
“How long do you want them to wait?”
“Until they catch the guy.”
“That could take a while.”
“So? What’s the worst that could happen? The kids miss a few days of school. So what? At least they’d be safe.”
“You can’t make them totally safe. It’s a big world out there. Big, dangerous world.”
“Okay, safer.”
I laid my book down on my belly, where it formed a little roof. “Laurie, if you keep the school closed, you send these kids the wrong message. School isn’t supposed to be dangerous. It’s not a place they should be afraid of. It’s their second home. It’s where they spend most of their waking hours. They want to be there. They want to be with their friends, not stuck at home, hiding under the bed so the bogeyman doesn’t get them.”
“The bogeyman already got one of them. That makes him not a bogeyman.”
“Okay, but you see what I’m saying.”
“Oh, I see what you’re saying, Andy. I’m just telling you you’re wrong. The number one priority is keeping the kids safe, physically. Then they can go be with their friends or whatever. Until they catch the guy, you can’t promise me the kids’ll be safe.”
“You need a guarantee?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll catch the guy,” I said. “I guarantee it.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“You know this?”
“I expect it. We always catch ’em.”
“Not always. Remember the guy who killed his wife and wrapped her in a blanket in the back of the Saab?”
“We did catch that guy. We just couldn’t-all right, almost always. We almost always catch ’em. This guy we’ll
