The Shadow Man (51 page)

The rabbi curved an eyebrow up in surprise when he heard this. Simon Winter started to speak, but then held back. Frieda Kroner snorted.

‘No,’ Robinson continued, holding up a hand to cut her off. ‘I think the first priority should be maintaining your safety.’

The rabbi eyed the young detective and said: ‘Again, Detective Robinson, I do not think you are saying everything you know. Leave? Leave now? Why is it that you are suddenly so insistent.’

‘I just want to keep you safe.’

The rabbi shook his head. ‘That is not it,’ he said briskly.

Frieda Kroner had been watching Robinson carefully as he spoke. She suddenly smiled.

‘I know,’ she said, like a child who has guessed which hand holds a concealed sweet. ‘I know why the detective is saying these things.’

Robinson turned to face her. ‘Mrs Kroner, I simply want—’

She shook her head, as if to replace the smile there with some iron-hard attitude.

‘You have seen something, have you not? You have seen something about the Shadow Man, and you will not share it with us because you do not want to frighten us. As if there is something more terrible than what we have already seen. I have seen more of death than you, Detective, even if you live to be a hundred years old. You still do not understand us, do you, Detective?’

Walter Robinson was at a loss for an answer.

The rabbi spoke quietly then. ‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘that sometimes this frightens me more than anything.’

Frieda Kroner nodded. ‘You look at us and you see an old lady and an old man because you are young, and that means you are filled with all the prejudices of the young—’ She held up her hand as Robinson started to protest. ‘Don’t interrupt me, Detective.’

He stopped.

‘All right,’ she said firmly. ‘So tell me now. What is it you have seen?’

Robinson shrugged before replying. He thought, in that moment, that just as it was unwise to underestimate the Shadow Man, so might it be unwise to underestimate the old people sitting before him.

‘I have no real proof—’ he started.

‘But, there is a but coming right here, correct?’ the rabbi said with a slight sardonic smile. ‘There always seems to be a but.’

‘Yes. You remember the man who saw the Shadow Man in Sophie’s apartment?’

‘The drug addict? Mr Jefferson?’ Frieda Kroner said.

‘He was found murdered early this morning in his apartment in Liberty City.’

‘Murdered? How?’

‘Tied into his wheelchair and tortured with a knife.’

Both the rabbi and Frieda Kroner were silent as they absorbed this news.

‘The city police aren’t certain that he wasn’t the victim of the neighborhood drug dealers. In that part of the city revenge is frequent and it can be vicious, and there are indications that he was on many lists of people easily capable of murder___’

‘You do not think this?’ the rabbi asked.

‘No. I think we all know who is responsible.’

‘Mr Jefferson, he was—’ Frieda Kroner started, but again she was cut off by the young policeman.

‘Jefferson died hard, Mrs Kroner. Died hard and slow and in more pain than even he deserved. He was tortured, because someone wanted to know what he knew. And he was subsequently mutilated. I will not have either you or the rabbi in the same danger. Look at it from my point of view: it would mean my career, if something went wrong and this man reached either of you. And I could never forgive myself. So, no, I want the two of you safe.’

Simon Winter had been startled by the news of Jefferson’s death, but had hid his surprise behind a poker face. He watched Robinson carefully and saw that he was genuinely shaken. So, when he did speak, it was softly.

‘You say Jefferson was mutilated? How?’

‘I’d rather not go into the details, Mr Winter.’

‘Well, he was tortured for a reason and then mutilated for a reason, because I think this man does everything for a reason, and so everything he does should tell us something and maybe help us think ahead as to what he will do next. So, I ask again, how was he mutilated?’

Robinson hesitated a moment, listening to the coldness in the older man’s voice. ‘His tongue was cut out.’

Frieda Kroner gasped and put her hand to her mouth. The rabbi shook his head.

‘That is awful,’ the rabbi said.

But Simon Winter’s eyes had narrowed and he was thinking quickly. He spoke in a low, confident tone.

‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ he said. The others looked at him. ‘You wouldn’t have expected it of a low-life like Jefferson, would you? Not in a million years.’

‘What?’

‘That Jefferson didn’t tell the Shadow Man what he went there to learn.’

‘Which was?’

‘What do the authorities know? How hard are you looking for him? How close are you to finding him? What evidence is there that he exists? I can think of a dozen questions that would take the Shadow Man out in the middle of the night.’

Winter hesitated, shaking his head. ‘It also says this to me: that Leroy Jefferson didn’t tell the Shadow Man about the composite drawing. So we still have that working for us.’

Walter Robinson thought hard for a moment, then nodded. ‘I think you’re probably right,’ he said. ‘Poor old Leroy.’ He hesitated another second, then added: ‘Of course, the mutilation could mean that the Shadow Man

was simply angry at Jefferson for talking, and this was his way of showing it.’

‘Organized crime hit men have certain signatures,’ Simon Winter said quietly. ‘They do things that are supposed to leave a message. I don’t think the Shadow Man does the same. His killings try for the concealment of routine. This time, I think he was frustrated. Frustrated, and perhaps you can see a touch of the racist as well. Leroy Jefferson wasn’t anything to him other than an unfortunate obstacle. I think we should try to move quickly now. He is moving fast. So should we.’

Walter Robinson thought hard about what Winter had said, and nodded. ‘Simon, I think you’re correct. All the more reason to get Mrs Kroner and the rabbi out of Miami Beach today. This minute. Right now.’

When Winter looked blankly at him, Robinson added in an exasperated tone: ‘Damn it! The two of them are what holds it all together, right? Without them, what do we have? Herman Stein becomes a suicide again, forever. Sophie Millstein goes into the books as unsolved, assailant unknown. Just another goddamn statistic. And Irving Silver, he remains wherever he is. Missing. Period. Not even classified beyond disappeared, possible drowning. How many others are there out there in the same damn category? The only thing that points at one man and murder are these old folks! Without them, we never get into a court of law.’

Winter took a moment before replying. ‘I know that.’ He was about to add to that statement, when Frieda Kroner interrupted.

She had paled slightly, and she was shaking her head vigorously back and forth. ‘I will not go,’ she said.

Robinson turned to her. ‘Please, Mrs Kroner. I know your intentions are admirable, but this is not the time. I

believe you are in great danger, and I believe you are essential to any ultimate prosecution of this killer. Please let me help you—’

‘I can only be helped one way, Detective. Find the Shadow Man.’

‘Mrs Kroner—’

‘No!’ she replied angrily. ‘No! No! No! We spoke of leaving before and decided against it.’ Her words drove her to her feet. ‘I will not hide! I will not flee! If he comes for me and I am alone, then I will fight him alone. He may kill me, but I will give him a battle he won’t soon forget! I tried to hide from this man once and it cost me my entire family! Not again! Do you understand that, Detective?’

She took a deep breath.

‘I am scared. That is true. I am old as well. And perhaps I am not as strong as I once was. But I am not so ancient and weak and feeble that I cannot make my own choices, and my choice is to stay whatever happens!’

She turned toward the rabbi. ‘Rabbi, this is simply me, the stubborn old woman speaking. You must make your own decision—’

He interrupted her. ‘And my decision is the same.’ He reached out and grasped hold of her hand. ‘My dear and old friend. Whatever there is that threatens us, we shall face together. You will pack a bag or two and move into the guest room here for a week or so or however long it takes for this to end. Then we can face whatever arrives together.’

He turned to Walter Robinson. ‘We have lost much to this man. Families, and now friends and there are but the two of us left. I do not know if together we can be stronger than he, but I am certain that we must try. So thank you, Detective, for your concern for our safety. But here is where we stay.’

Robinson opened his mouth to say something, but Winter cut off his reply. ‘Listen to them, Walter,’ he whispered.

Robinson turned to the old detective, angry for an instant, but then he let the anger slip away, replaced by the advantage he thought keeping the two old people close would give him. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘But you will be protected. By me. I’m going to have an officer assigned here, around the clock.’

He picked up the composite drawing.

‘It’s time to let this do us some good.’

The plan was simple. That evening at services in two dozen different temples and synagogues, a brief, potent message was to be read:

A person known only as the Shadow Man, who is alleged to have committed crimes against our people in Berlin during the great darkness, is suspected of coming to live amongst us once again, here on Miami Beach. Anyone with any information about this individual is urged to contact Rabbi Chaim Rubinstein or Detective Walter Robinson of the Miami Beach police.

Nothing was to be mentioned concerning the murders. Simon Winter thought the announcement already too specific, and ran the risk of scaring the Shadow Man out of the territory, but Walter Robinson had insisted the wording be direct, half hoping that precisely that would occur, and then he could take his time to find the man wherever he went, leaving the two old people safe. He also did not think that the Shadow Man was likely to hear the message directly; he did not think the man spent any time observing any religious niceties. So, he thought, the

Shadow Man will learn of the announcement secondhand. A conversation in a lobby, or on an elevator. Perhaps in a restaurant or at a newsstand. And just the reconstruction of the announcement, he hoped, would prompt the man to take steps without caution. That was all he wanted; for the man to act without thinking once, without preparing once. This time, Robinson was certain, he would be there.

More critically, both the old and the young detective agreed, the Shadow Man would still not know his anonymity was compromised. It was merely a question of putting a name to the picture.

Winter had suggested adding a further element to the plan, which Robinson had thought a wise one. The two of them were each to take the composite picture of the Shadow Man to the heads of several condo associations, including the one that Herman Stein belonged to. The idea was that by showing the picture quietly, someone might point them in the right direction.

When Walter Robinson returned to his office, before heading out on this task, he discovered that Espy Martinez had called. She had listed her arriving flight information and the cryptic message: ‘Some success.’

He did not allow himself to speculate on what this might be, although he passed this news on to Simon Winter as the two of them drove north, up Miami Beach, into a world of high-rise apartment buildings.

‘The name,’ he answered for the detective. ‘She got the name.’

‘He won’t still be using it,’ Robinson replied.

‘Maybe not. Probably not. But look, if he suddenly disappears, at least you’ll have something to start with in records. Immigration records. Tax records. Records from relief organizations after the war. It’ll turn you into a historian. My guess is, he rode that name into the States

before changing it. Maybe there’s something in social security. You never know.’

‘Sounds like a lot of work.’

‘And people think being a homicide detective is all glamour and glory, huh?’

Robinson laughed briefly. He had left the old couple in the rabbi’s apartment, preparing tea for the uniformed Miami Beach officer assigned to watching them. What he had told the watchdog was simple: no one allowed inside unless authorized by him, personally, or carrying a recognizable badge. He had taken a copy of the composite drawing and taped it to the front door, next to the peephole. He had thought there are few advantages to high-rise condominiums, but one is that when one shuts the door, the apartments have the same safety characteristics as a cave. Only one way in and out. This allowed him to feel as if things were slightly under control.

‘But,’ Simon Winter continued, ‘I don’t think you find this guy through conventional methods. Never have. I think he finds you. What we have to do is beat him to the spot.’

‘That’s a basketball term, right?’

‘Precisely. When you’re playing defense against a good player, you try to anticipate where he wants to set up on the court. And then you simply get there first.’ Winter paused, then added: ‘He’s never experienced that sort of unpleasantness before.’

‘At least, not that we know of,’ Robinson said.

They entered into the concrete canyon sections of Miami Beach, where huge, ungainly high rises seemed to compete with the clouds at blocking out the sun. Like any city, the buildings give one the sensation of uniformity. Stack after stack of similar apartments, people living in vertical hives,

their own identity and uniqueness competing against a world of identical shapes, angles, and sizes.

The first place they visited was Herman Stein’s condominium, and the association head, a robust, bald-headed man, glanced at the picture they presented him with, but shook his head negatively. He pointed out that the association had over a thousand members, representing hundreds of apartments, and the picture, as best as he could say, didn’t resemble any of them. This did not surprise Simon Winter. Nor was he surprised when the next two apartment complex association heads said much the same thing.

‘Stein said he spotted the Shadow Man at a meeting,’ Robinson said, frustrated after several hours with negative results. ‘You know what we could do? Get lists from every building, find all the single residents, then go door to door until we come face-to-face with the bastard. He’ll be on some list.’