‘I want the bastard’s name, not the book,’ he panted.
‘I understand,’ said Denise.
They rose up the wooden stairs and into the light.
Denise approached the desk. The library wasn’t open but she saw the bright-eyed woman who’d helped get them access to the archives. ‘We found the reference.’
‘Well, then,’ said the woman, ‘if you’ve got the book number, I’ll see what I can get you.’
The woman disappeared. Thirty minutes later she came back. ‘It’s not good, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.’
‘What? It’s not there?’ said Aaron.
‘No, please, come this way.’
Denise and Aaron followed her down a long corridor. ‘I had hoped that the records would have been put in some order.’ She opened the door marked
‘Even for her day, the librarian was an old-fashioned woman, but fastidious. Once you have the reader, you can look through the reader cards and find the whole of his or her reader history. But without a name…’
‘Can we set ourselves up in here?’ Denise asked.
‘Sure, please do. I’m sorry it’s not any easier.’
The door closed. Denise and Aaron stared at the rows of books. Aaron pulled one out. He opened it. ‘All handwritten. There’s a lot of borrowing. We’re never going to be able to find him.’
‘We will. Let’s just try to narrow it down to some dates.’
‘How?’
‘A ten-year slot. He’s in his thirties. He might have started this as a teenager. So, let’s say he’s thirty-five. Twenty years ago he’s fifteen. About the right age, give or take a couple of years. We can go five years either side of thirty-five. So let’s start in 1990. You go five years forward, I’ll go five years back.’
‘I don’t understand your logic, Denise, but it’s a plan.’
Chapter One Hundred and Six
Abby pulled herself up slowly and stared out. ‘We can’t sit here like victims. We’ve got to do something.’
‘No.’
‘You’ve got to help, Lucy,’ said Abby, straining with each word. ‘You know him. What makes him tick?’
‘He doesn’t like women.’
‘Or Jews. He wants me to reject my Jewishness. Why should that matter to him?’
Lucy pushed herself against the brick wall. ‘He’s Jewish, Abby.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘He can’t be. That’s… Come on, Lucy, help me. I need something. I feel so weak. Please.’
‘He’s a cop. Did you know that?’
‘Then he’ll kill us.’ Abby felt her legs aching and she stumbled against the wall and fell to the ground. Since getting out of her tiny cell, she wanted to walk, to feel her limbs again, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have the strength. She looked up at the shower heads.
‘He’s made a gas chamber. He’s Jewish? I can’t understand it.’
‘He was adopted. His mother was Jewish, I think, and he was adopted by a Christian family. I think his mother was a prostitute, but I don’t know. I don’t know if he knows. He wanted to find her as a kid, as he was growing up, as he was feeling different, but he couldn’t trace her. He was adopted when he was five. He loved her, you know. Guess she didn’t love him back.’
‘Did they mistreat him?’
‘I guess they did. Not like you’d call social services,’ said Lucy. ‘They just weren’t kind to him.’
‘That’s it?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘What about his father and the shoes in the cellar?’
‘He didn’t have a cellar. I don’t think it’s his story.’
‘Then what’s his problem?’
‘He’s sensitive, I don’t think he was ever loved. I don’t think he could belong. Other kids knew he was Jewish — he was bullied and all that — but he wouldn’t talk about it. He won’t talk about anything that makes him feel weak.’
‘He hurt you?’ said Abby.
‘To some men, Abby, a woman constantly makes them feel weak. He needed me and hated it. He hated my existence. Look — I’m not a psychiatrist.’
‘He joined the cops because he wanted to exert power,’ said Abby.
‘Probably,’ said Lucy.
‘Is there anything that you can remember? Anything that might help us?’
Lucy stared blankly ahead.
Abby waited but nothing came. She walked around the walls, pushing at every brick, looking for a weak point. ‘I’m not going to die like this, Lucy. You got to fucking think.’ She looked at Lucy, who was crying. Abby stood over her. ‘Quit it!’ she rasped. ‘Just fucking quit it.’
Lucy looked up, surprised and upset.
‘I want you to
Lucy closed her eyes. ‘He always said he wanted to find his mom. He imagined that she’d be proud of him. A cop. A detective. Big and strong.’
‘Well, she’s not going to be proud of this fucking get-up, is she? Nazi crap. He’s like a child, playing games. I don’t know if it’s real. You look at his eyes and they’re empty.’
‘I’ll try to think of something,’ said Lucy.
Abby paused. She stared out at the Nazi flag. He had become the worst thing he could become. ‘You don’t need to think of something,’ she said. ‘I think you already did.’
Chapter One Hundred and Seven
Harper stood outside the home of Martin Heming and stared at the street. What had they missed? He had nothing from the research on the memorabilia. He walked down the rundown street, looking for a clue as to why these people formed their sick little hate groups. As he reached the subway, he got a call from the Hate Crime Unit.
‘It’s Jack here. How are you, Harper?’
‘I’m out on a limb, Jack. I guess you heard about the operation.’
‘I’m down with Heming’s body now. I heard all right. We’re hoping there’s something on him.’
‘Been there already, I got nothing. Shit, Jack, I went out without authorization last night.’
‘You got to do what you got to do.’
‘That’s okay if it works,’ said Harper. ‘But if it doesn’t?’
‘You got Heming, that’s got to weaken the killer’s position.’
‘That’s true.’
‘No right-hand man to help him out.’
‘No.’
‘Did you see the other guy? See anything at all?’
