'But this is so ugly…'
'All misfortune is ugly. You mustn't keep thinking about it. Tell me about the girl.'
Bronstein did not answer immediately. He got up from his chair and paced the floor as if to gather his thoughts or to control his emotions. Then he stopped suddenly and faced the rabbi. He spoke in a rash:
'I never saw her before in my life. I'll swear that on my mother's grave. I've played around. I admit it. I suppose some people might say that if I loved my wife, I'd be completely faithful to her, even under the circumstances. Maybe I would have been if we'd had children, or maybe I could have if I were stronger. But what I have done, I'm willing to admit. I've had affairs with women, but there's never been anything serious or intense about them. And I've played fair with them. I never tried to hide the fact that I was married. I never handed a woman this line about my wife not understanding me. I never suggested that there was a possibility that I might divorce my wife. It was always straight forward and aboveboard. I had certain needs-my body had certain needs. Well, there are plenty of women who are in the same position and who use the same remedy. This woman that I shacked up with in motels a couple of times-it wasn't this kid. It's a married woman whose husband deserted her and she's filing for divorce.'
'If you gave the police her name-'
Bronstein shook his head violently. 'If I did that, it would interfere with her divorce. They might even take her children away. Don't worry, if it ever gets to the point where I'm actually put on trial, and it hinges on this, she'll come forward.'
'You saw her every Thursday?'
'No, not last Thursday, and not for a couple of Thursdays before that. To tell the truth, she was getting edgy about our meeting. She got the idea that her husband might be having detectives trailing her.'
'So that's how you came to pick up this girl-as a substitute?'
'I'll level with you, rabbi. When I picked her up, I wasn't planning any platonic friendship. I picked her up in a restaurant, the Surfside. If the police were really interested in getting the truth, rather than on pinning it on me, they'd inquire around among people who were there, the waitresses and the customers, and some of them would be sure to remember how I was sitting at one table and she at another, and how I went over to her and introduced myself. Anybody could see that it was a pick-up. But what I was going to say, was that after we had eaten together and talked for a while, I saw that the poor kid was frightened-frightened stiff, and trying awfully hard to be gay and not show it. Wouldn't that show she was expecting trouble?'
'Possibly. In any case, it's something worth looking into.'
'I felt sorry for her. I just forgot about making a pass at her. I stopped being interested in her in that way. All I had in mind was a pleasant evening. We drove to Boston and went to a movie.' He hesitated and then came to a quick decision. Leaning forward, he lowered his voice as though he were afraid of being overheard. 'I'll tell you something I haven't told the police, rabbi. The silver chain that she wore, the one she was strangled with-God forgive me-I bought it for her just before we went into the show.'
'You say you haven't told this to the police?'
'That's right. I'm not handing them anything they can use on me that I don't have to. The way they questioned me, they'd latch onto that as proof I was planning all evening to kill her. I'm telling you so you can see I'm leveling with you.'
'All right. Then where did you go?'
'After the movie we dropped into a restaurant for pancakes and coffee and then I drove her home. I drove right up to her house, parking right in front, all open and aboveboard.'
'Did you go inside?'
'Of course not. We sat outside in the ear for quite a while just talking. I didn't even put my arm around her. We just sat there and talked. Then she thanked me and got out of the car and went into the house.'
'Did you make arrangements to meet her again?'
Bronstein shook his head. 'I had a pleasant evening and I think she did too. She seemed a lot more relaxed by the time I took her home than she had at dinner. But there was no reason for me to repeat it.'
'Then you went right home from there?'
'That's right.'
'And your wife was asleep at the time?'
'I guess so. I sometimes think she only pretends to be asleep when I come home late. But anyway, she was in bed and the light was off.'
The rabbi smiled. 'That's the way she described it to me.'
Bronstein looked up quickly. 'You mean you've seen her? How is she? How is she taking all this?'
'Yes, I've seen her.' In his mind's eye he could still visualize a thin, pale woman in a wheelchair, her hair just beginning to gray, brushed back from a high, un-lined forehead; a nice-looking woman with finely carved features and gray eyes that were quick and bright.
'Her attitude was quite cheerful,' said the rabbi.
'Cheerful?'
'I suppose she was making an effort, but I got the feeling that she was absolutely certain of your innocence. She said that if you had done this thing, she would have known it at a single glance.'
'I don't suppose evidence like that would be of any use in court, rabbi, but it's true that we're very close to each other. In most marriages women get involved with their children, more or less to the exclusion of their husbands. But my wife got sick about ten years ago, and so we were together more than most couples. We can practically read each other. Do you understand, rabbi?'
The rabbi nodded.
'Of course, if she were only pretending to be asleep-'
'She said she always waited up for you, except on Thursdays. I thought perhaps it was because she was tired out from the excitement of entertaining her bridge club, but she assured me it wasn't that. It was because she knew you had been out with some woman and she didn't want to embarrass you.'
'Oh my God.' He covered his face with his hands.
The rabbi looked at him with pity and decided it was no time for preaching. 'She was not hurt, she said. She understood.'
'She said that? She said she understood?'
'Yes.' The rabbi, uncomfortable at the turn of the conversation, tried to change it: 'Tell me, Mr. Bronstein, does your wife ever leave the house?'
His face softened. 'Oh yes, when the weather is nice and she feels up to it I take her for a ride. I like to drive, and I like to have her beside me. It's a little like old times then. You see, she's sitting there beside me just as she would be if she were well. There's no wheelchair to remind me that she's sick, although I have one, a collapsible one, in the trunk and sometimes on a warm night we drive over to the boulevard and I put her in it and walk her along the water.'
'How does she get into the car?'
'I just pick her up and slide her onto the front seat.'
The rabbi rose. 'There are one or two points I think might be worth calling to the attention of the police. Maybe they can check into them if they haven't already done so.'
Bronstein also rose. Hesitantly he offered his hand 'Believe me, rabbi, I appreciate your coming here.'
'Do they treat you all right?'
'Oh yes.' He nodded in the direction of the cells. 'After I finished answering their questions they left the door of the cell unlocked so I could walk up and down the corridor if I wanted to. Some of the policemen have been in to chat and they gave me some magazines to read. I wonder-'
'Yes?'
'I wonder if you could get word to my wife that I'm all right. I wouldn't want her to worry.'
The rabbi smiled. 'I'll be in touch with her, Mr. Bronstein.'
21
