The Golem of Hollywood (40 page)

Beside her, Perel has grown still. She is listening, as well.

Forlornly, Rebbe says
Where will he go?

She
the gravelly voice corrects.
And that's not your concern.

Somewhere the need is greater
the round voice says.

The need to flee is sickeningly primal, a kind of nauseous gravity. But she cannot move: Perel's fingers lightly clasping her wrist are like an anchor.

Rebbe says
It will be done.

She looks down, wishing her blank face could show the sorrow she feels, now that their time together has come to an end. The Rebbetzin is staring at the house, in the direction of the voices, and her green eyes are fixed and calculating.

Perel says, “Come with me.”

D
on't tell me that,” Priscilla Norton said, gesticulating like an auctioneer as she shouted into the phone at her landlord. “Don't tell me I need to hire a housekeeper, I keep it quite clean, thank you.”

Cross-legged on the floor, an ice pack pressed to his head, Jacob watched her stomp around, glad and guilty that she had chosen to vent her distress at someone other than him.

“I resent the suggest—excuse me. Excuse me. I resent the—don't you tell me that. Don't tell
me
it's
my
fault. I've never had bugs in my life, not a fly.”

She was naked save the woolen throw carelessly draped over one shoulder, and he could see bruises splotching her milk-white skin: shins, arms, collarbone, wherever the beetle had hit her.

She jabbed the cordless with a thumb and hurled it to the sofa. “Bloody bastard. Accuse me of poor housekeeping.”

“Asshole,” he said.

“It had a horn, for God's sake. You don't get things with a
horn
from not taking out the bloody
rubbish
.”

Jacob began to stand to offer her comfort, but she shook her head and backed away. “I need to take a shower.”

She hurried into the bathroom and shut the door.

He sank down, listening to the water run, examining his own body
for marks. In addition to the soft lump at the side of his head, he had a rug burn on his stomach and another on his flank. No bruises.

It had reserved its true wrath for her.

His lips still tingled where it had touched him.

The water cut off, and minutes later Priscilla appeared in pajama bottoms and a hoodie, her hair tied back severely.

“Do you need more ice?” she asked.

“I'm okay,” he said. “Thanks. How're you?”

“I'll live. Time for bed.” She paused. “Are you coming?”

“Mind if I stay up a bit?”

She looked relieved. “Can I get you anything? Hungry?”

“No, thanks.”

She retreated without an argument.

Jacob sat on the couch, staring at the jagged hole blown in the window.

Behind her bedroom door, Priscilla tossed and turned and mumbled.

His jeans, puddled near the door, began to vibrate. He crawled over to them, turned them right side out, and dug out his phone.

Maria Band said, “I'm keeping track of the favors you owe me.” She sounded noticeably friendlier, though.

Among the events Casey Klute had worked on in the weeks prior to her murder was a cocktail reception for the annual conference of the North American Architectural Design and Drafting Society.

“That help?” Band asked.

“A lot. A whole hell of a lot. Thanks.”

He put down the phone. He got up, went to Norton's bedroom, opened the door softly. He stood there for a while, watching her small form rise and fall, the duvet pulled up to her neck.

She said, “Who was that?”

“Sorry,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

“I wasn't sleeping.”

He sat on the edge of the bed. “Miami PD.”

“What did they have to say?”

He told her.

“That's good news,” she said.

He nodded.

“Are you coming to bed at some point?”

“I'm not really tired.”

She pushed herself up against the headboard. “Should we talk about what happened.”

“What part of it?” he said.

He tried a smile. It felt artificial, and she didn't return it.

“It hurt,” she said. “When you went inside me, it felt like—”

“I was stabbing you.”

She grimaced. “You haven't got some horrible disease or something, have you?”

Not a physical one.
“No.”

“Then . . . ?”

He said, “I don't know.”

She emitted a strange, hiccupping laugh. “I'll tell you what I know. I know we've both had far too much to drink on an empty stomach, followed by far, far too much excitement.”

“Agreed.”

A silence. He reached for her hand but she withdrew, hugging herself, rubbing her upper arms. She wasn't looking at him, so he couldn't tell if she was angry or cold or what.

She said, “I want to tell you something, but I'm worried you're going to think I'm mad.”

“I won't think that.”

“You will.”

“I promise,” he said.

A silence.

She said, “I saw . . . I mean, it wasn't like normal seeing. More like, I felt it. I don't know how else to describe it.” She paused. “I can't say it out loud without feeling like I
am
mad.”

Now when he reached for her hand, she was ready to give it to him. He waited.

“I saw a woman,” she said. “Behind you. Standing behind you. For half an instant, if that. Like lightning, sort of, in the shape of a person.”

“What did she look like?”

“Please don't mock me.”

“I'm not,” he said.

“I feel crazy enough already without you—”

“Pippi. I swear to you. I am not mocking you.”

She fell silent.

“Tell me what she looked like,” Jacob said.

“Why?”

“You saw her,” Jacob said. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Yes, but . . . I mean, she wasn't real.”

“Tell me what you saw.”

“She—are you really asking me this?”

“I really am.”

“Well . . . She was beautiful, I suppose.”

“How?”

“How beautiful?”

“What made her beautiful?”

“Everything. Just—I don't know. I know a beautiful person when I see one. She . . . She was perfect, I reckon. But I really don't see what—”

“Hair color? Eye color?”

She made a frustrated noise. “Why are we discussing this?”

“You told me—”

“I told you because I can never tell anyone else, can I, or they'll cart me away, and to be honest I should never have said a thing to you, either. It's over and done with and I don't want to talk about it anymore.”

“Pippi—”

“I've nothing else to say, Jacob.”

“She was beautiful,” he said. “That's it.”

“She looked angry,” she said.

Pippi Norton, smart cop, clever girl, began to cry. “She looked jealous.”

—

S
HE
LAY
ON
HER
SIDE
, curled away from him while he rubbed her back, talking softly to her. She was right: the whole thing was best forgotten. He spoke as much for his own benefit as for hers. He steered her back to the case, emphasizing how much they'd discovered together, shoring up her bravado. She promised she'd follow up with Scotland Yard. He promised he'd send DNA profiles. They were not coauthors of a shared delusion; they were not failed lovers; they were two cops, absorbed by details, and their parting was cordial, hinged on a tacit agreement to never again discuss the matter.

“It certainly has been a terrific adventure knowing you,” she said.

“You, too.”

“Should you chance through these parts again, please don't hesitate to get in touch.”

“Long as you call an exterminator.”

“Believe you me,” she said, “it's top of my list.”

—

B
ACK
AT
THE
HOSTEL
, he packed his belongings by the light of his phone while his roommates grumbled and clamped their pillows over their heads.

The lobby was deserted. He sat at a computer kiosk and unfolded his transcription of the Prague letter on the table. As before, it was a slog. He frequently stopped to consult the Internet for definitions. No solution for missing words, so he guessed.

The Maharal's fondness for allusion made it difficult to determine where his personal voice ended and Scripture began. Jacob kept a running list of sources. The clacking of the keyboard made a lonely sound.

It was nearing five a.m. by the time he'd finished.

With the support of Heaven

20 Sivan 5342

My dear son Isaac

And God blessed Isaac so may He bless you.

As a bridegroom rejoices over his bride, so may God rejoice over you. For the sounds of joy and gladness yet ring in the streets of Judah. Therefore this time I, Judah, will praise Him.

And I say to you now, what man is there that has married a woman but not yet taken her? Let him go and return to his wife.

But now let us remember that our eyes have seen all the great deeds He has done. For the vessel of clay we have made was spoiled in our hands, and the potter has gone to make another, more fit in her eyes. Shall the potter be the equal of the clay? Shall what is made say to its maker, you did not make me? Shall what is formed say to the one who formed it, you know nothing?

But let your heart not grow weak; do not fear, do not tremble.

For in truth we have desired grace; it is a disgrace to us from God.

In blessing

Judah Loew ben Bezalel

Shivering, he folded the note up and put it in his pocket and went to check out.

The clerk asked if he had enjoyed his stay in Oxford.

“Yes and no,” Jacob said.

“More yes than no, I hope.”

Jacob handed over the white credit card. “I wouldn't go that far.”

T
hey were waiting for him beyond customs.

Subach grasped the handle of Jacob's bag. “Allow me.”

Beneath a loud L.A. sun, they rafted pockets of exhaust toward the short-term parking lot.

“Nice of you guys to pick me up.”

“Beats the SuperShuttle,” Schott said.

“America greets you with open arms,” Subach said. “How was your flight? Watch the movie?”

“Kung Fu Panda 2.”

“Any good?” Schott said.

“Not like the first.”

“They never are,” Subach said, punching the elevator button.

Schott said, “I hope you brought a book.”

Jacob shrugged. He'd spent the majority of the journey reviewing his notes and studying the page torn from the yearbook, inoculating himself to Pernath's stare. He'd read the in-flight magazine cover to cover, done the crossword and the sudoku, browsed
SkyMall
. Even after he'd run out of reading material, he had not looked at the letter, nor at his translation.

A smooth crossing, devoid of turbulence, everyone else serene, while around him the tube of the cabin spun, endlessly contracting.

Sucking thin recycled air, he'd loosened his seatbelt as far as it would go, watching the dot of the plane as it skipped across the Atlantic Ocean,
touching the tingly strip of skin where the beetle had pressed itself to his lips, raising his finger at every approach of the drink cart, grateful for the lack of judgment in the flight attendants' faces as they sold him his
n
th eight-dollar mini-bottle of Absolut.

Must be a nervous flier.

Now he stepped from the elevator, and they crossed oil-slickened concrete toward a bank of livery cars. Schott raised a remote, popping the locks on an extra-long white Crown Vic with unmarked plates and mirrored windows.

Jacob flinched at his own reflection: a wild-eyed prophet with a five-day beard.

He reached for the door but it swung open on its own, and he saw Commander Mike Mallick, his bamboo body stretched across the bench seat.

Mallick patted the leather. “Hop in, Detective.”

—

I
T
WAS
CHILLY
AND
DARK
inside, the air-conditioning cranked to the max. Schott rammed the car into four p.m. traffic.

“What happened to your lip?”

“Sir?”

“Did you burn yourself?”

Reflexively, Jacob ran his tongue over the spot in the middle of his lip. It no longer tingled, but a coin of dead, dry skin remained.

“Pizza,” he said. “Fools rush in, sir.”

“Mm. Heck of a trip you took.”

“I tried to be frugal, sir.”

Mallick waved. “I'm not concerned with that.”

“Duly noted,” Jacob said. “Next time I'll stay at the Ritz.”

“Next time?”

“Should the need arise, sir.”

In the front seat, Subach snickered.

Mallick said, “You found it fruitful, though.”

“You were right on, sir. Highly educational.”

“Good. Good. Tell me what you learned.”

The sanitized-for-sanity version omitted any mention of Jacob's experience in the garret; his hour and a half in the basement of Radcliffe Science Library; the botched coupling with Norton; his new six-legged friend.

She was beautiful.

She looked angry.

She looked jealous.

When the recital was over, the Commander looked vaguely disappointed, although that might've simply been his default world-weariness.

“You've done a fine job, Lev.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Anything else you want to share?”

“Sir?”

“I recall that when we last saw each other I played a tape for you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mallick weighed his words. “What's your thinking on her.”

“How so?”

“Have you made any headway, figuring out who she is?”

“My plan, sir, was to gather intel on Pernath, seeing as he's a strong suspect. If the woman's involved, and I'm not sure she is, she may very well show up with him.”

“And if she doesn't?”

“I'll continue to focus on Pernath, hope he screws up and I can grab him, swab him, and squeeze him for info.”

“And if he turns out to be a law-abiding citizen?”

“He is. He's gone twenty-five years without getting caught. But he's also a psychopath.”

“So you leave him running around but keep an eye on him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“A psychopath.”

“I don't see what choice I have, sir. Everything I've got on him is circumstantial. Move too soon and I guarantee you he'll never so much as make a rolling stop for the rest of his life.”

“Meantime she's also running around out there.”

“For now, yes.”

“I don't like it.”

“Me neither, sir. But I don't see how else to locate her.”

Mallick didn't reply.

“Sir? Is there something I need to know?”

“Such as?”

“Do you have an idea who she might be?”

The mood in the car shifted as Mallick drew up, smiling thinly. “Is that a joke, Detective?”

“You seem more concerned about her than Pernath, is what I mean.”

“Certainly I'm focused on her. She calls in Florack and disappears? Far as I'm concerned, that's probative.”

“True, sir, but even if she did do Florack, I think Pernath's running the show, just as he was with Florack and Heap. Get him, kill the cancer.”

“This investigation is about the murder at Castle Court,” Mallick said. He leaned forward, his head grazing the felt of the ceiling, and Jacob could feel his breath, cold and odorless. “That was your assignment. That makes her the priority. I appreciate your creative thinking, and I'm willing to adopt your strategy and wait it out. Lest there be any confusion, though, let me reiterate: she is our primary target. Not Pernath. Do you understand?”

Jacob said, “Ten-four, sir.”

“Another thing. I want updates.”

“A hundred percent, sir. I'm giving you one right now.”

Mallick shook his head. “I want more. And I want it more often.
From this point on, you're going to inform me on an hourly basis where you are and what you're doing.”

Jacob chuffed. “Come on.”

“You're really that close?”

“I think I am, but—”

“Then loop me in.”

“Sir. It's tough to operate like that.”

“You'll figure it out. Text me. E-mail me. Call. Set an alarm, if you need to. I don't care. I certainly don't want you moving on either of them, Pernath or the woman, without us there to support you. Understood?”

Jacob turned to look out the window at nudie bars and off-site airport parking. They'd gone no more than a mile down Century. He felt angry and jumpy; eager to throw open the door and walk.

Mallick said, “You haven't told me about Prague.”

“I thought I covered everything, sir.”

“Not the case,” Mallick said. “The city.”

“What about it, sir?”

“Anything. General impressions.”

Jacob said, “It was pretty good, I guess, sir.”

“We send you on an all-expense-paid European vacation and that's it? ‘Pretty good'?”

“I'm very grateful for the opportunity, sir.”

“I hope you had a chance to do some sightseeing.”

“Some,” Jacob said.

“How did you find that?”

“Pretty good, sir. Thank you, once again.”

A silence.

“I haven't been to Prague in years,” Mallick said.

Jacob looked at him. “I wasn't aware that you'd been at all, sir.”

Mallick nodded.

The rest of the trip dragged on in tight silence. Finally, Schott pulled over outside Jacob's building, leaving the motor running.

“Keep me apprised,” Mallick said.

Subach carried Jacob's bag, setting it down outside the door to the apartment.

“Do I tip you now, or when the case is closed?” Jacob asked.

Subach smiled. “Don't worry about the Commander. Times like these, he gets nervous.”

“Times like what,” Jacob said.

“You need help with this Pernath guy, let us know. We'll get you what you need.”

“Mel? Can I ask you something? You ever been to Prague?”

Subach chuckled. “As it so happens, I have.”

“What about Schott?”

“I think he might've said something about that once or twice.”

“I never knew cops to be such a well-traveled bunch,” Jacob said. “We should start a club. Get together. Do slide shows.”

Subach patted him on the shoulder and lumbered back down to the idling car.