Invisible City (Rebekah Roberts #1)(61)

“In part?”

“Can we please go back inside?” asks Saul. “I can explain.”

“I’m supposed to go to talk to the cops,” I say. “They think you’re … involved.”

Saul nods sadly. “Do you think I’m involved?”

“No,” I say, and it’s the truth. I’ve been thinking about it since getting Tony’s text. If Saul had been involved in killing Rivka Mendelssohn, there is no way he would have taken me to see her body. It was a desperate, dangerous move on his part, the only way he could think of to force me to care enough to keep her death in the paper. It hadn’t been difficult to reel me in: You look just like your mother, he had said. That was all it took. I’ve spent twenty years battling the ghost of Aviva Kagan. Fighting to extinguish any emotion involving her. Tamping down anger and longing. Talking myself out of curiosity. My brain and stomach and heart engaged in a f*cking war of attrition against any trace of her. And it hasn’t worked at all. I’ve never been without her for a moment—and I’ve never really wanted to be. The moment Saul said her name, I knew there was nothing on earth I wanted more than to see her; for her to see me. That he lied about his position and that I didn’t think to question it infuriates me. But that shit is about me, not Saul. Saul is not the bad guy here.

“Good,” he says. “Then let me tell you what happened before they do. At least then you’ll have both sides.”

I follow Saul back down the block and into the house. Saul opens a door just off the tiny foyer and we enter a den slash storage closet. Navy blue sheets function as curtains, and two futons are the only furniture. There are boxes and bicycles. An old acoustic guitar leans against one wall, a folded-up crib leans against another.

“Would you like to sit?” asks Saul.

“I think I’ll stand.”

Saul takes a deep breath. “My son, Binyamin, was abused as a child. Sexually.” He looks me in the eyes as he speaks. “Do you understand?” I nod. “After his mother and I separated, she and Binyamin moved back in with her mother and father in Crown Heights. The abuse took place at his yeshiva. I knew something was wrong with him. He was angry and defiant and unhappy, but I blamed the divorce. He did not have a father.”

“My dad said you weren’t allowed to see him,” I say.

“I could have handled the situation better,” he says. “The man who abused my son, and many other boys, was a rebbe. It went on for years—decades—until someone finally spoke to law enforcement. The man was indicted, eventually, but the case fell apart last year. The DA was unable to secure enough witnesses.” Saul pauses. “I argued with one of the men who was involved in silencing the victims, and it got physical.”

“When was this?”

“December. It was a mistake. I allowed myself to be provoked.”

“Who was this man?”

“His name is Leiby Bronner. He was the director of Crown Heights Shomrim.”

“Shomrim, really?”

“If you have not physically witnessed the act of abuse, you are not permitted to go to secular authorities with your suspicions. Most families would go to their rebbe. But if the rebbe is the one you suspect…” Saul pauses. “Parents called Shomrim. But they were directed to keep their stories to themselves. And the man continued to abuse.”

“Is this why your son was fired from his job?” I ask.

“Not exactly,” says Saul, looking away.

There is a soft knock at the door and then Suri peeks inside.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says.

“Come in,” says Saul. I decide to let the last non-answer be; he’s explained enough for now.

“Baruch went upstairs to lay down and Dev went with him,” says Suri. She has her backpack on her shoulder like she is getting ready to leave. “Moses took Heshy home.”

“I’m sorry for the commotion,” says Saul.

“Are you going to find out who killed Rivka?” she asks.

I look at Saul. “That’s what we’re trying to do,” he says.

“It’s hard to imagine anyone wanting to hurt her,” says Suri. “There’s always a lot of drama around here. Everybody is so unhappy and afraid all the time, you know? Rivka was unhappy, too, I guess, but she never seemed that way. She seemed like she’d found some kind of peace, somehow.”

Suri takes off her backpack and opens it. I pull out my notebook; that was a great quote: She seemed like she’d found some kind of peace.

“She was helping me study for my GED. She was really smart, you know. She read a lot. She would give me books she thought I’d like,” says Suri, showing us a paperback book called The God Delusion.

“Baruch is big into atheism, so he read a lot about that. Rivka still believed in Hashem, but she gave me this one book because he talks about how people who grew up with religious parents and in a religious community like ours don’t even know they can think differently. And it’s totally true. I didn’t know I had a choice. Rivka was big on choice. She used to agonize over how her husband was raising their children. She wanted them to know that the world was bigger than Brooklyn. And that it wasn’t all scary.”

“Do you know if there was anyone she was afraid of?” Saul asks.