Beyond the Shadow of Night(104)
Diane noticed pain on his face like she hadn’t seen before, his jowls trembling, his frown casting a dark shadow over his eye sockets. He sniffed the tears away as the guard outside let him out, leaving Diane alone.
She called Brad, who picked her up. She didn’t initiate a conversation all evening, and Brad didn’t push her on the matter.
By daylight the next morning Diane had given up trying to sleep and was lying on the couch, her eyes shut but her mind firmly locked in the “on” position. Giving up trying to sleep must have done the trick, because then she managed to sleep in fits and starts, and was woken some hours later by the sound of the fridge shutting and the aroma from Brad’s coffeemaker.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was trying my best not to wake you.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I thought I was disturbing you in the night, so I figured I’d better come out here.”
“I didn’t notice, but you’ve got the bed to yourself now if you want to sleep more.”
She shook her head. “No. I’ll feel better for getting up. I’m restless and I don’t think that’s going to change. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You’ve lost your father, and it’ll take time to come to terms with it.”
She glanced at him, and by the time she realized she was chewing her lip and grimacing, it was too late.
“What is it?” he said. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“It’s not that, Brad. It’s not just that I’ve lost Father.”
He eyed her quizzically. “It must be something pretty big to overshadow that.” He gave her that brief window to reply, as he always did, before the politeness kicked in. “Look, you don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“You know, I really do. I should have told you yesterday, and I can’t keep it to myself any longer.”
“Okay.” He nodded—one of his serious nods. “Give me a minute to get us coffee.”
Diane used that time to stretch the crick out of her neck and sit up. Soon they were next to each other on the couch, their hands clasped around steaming cups.
Diane went to speak, but only exhaled.
“Why not try saying it as it is?”
“Okay. I think Father was, uh . . .”
He waited. She didn’t finish.
“You can tell me. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”
“Well . . . okay . . . I’m not sure whether I told you at the time—it happened a couple years after we started dating—but Father was questioned by the authorities about war crimes.”
“About what?” Brad almost spilled his coffee.
“Obviously I didn’t tell you; it’s not the kind of thing you go shouting about.”
“Jeez. No, I guess not. But carry on.”
“It was 1997. Some old guy said he recognized Father from one of the death camps—Treblinka, to be specific. He said Father helped operate the gas chambers there. Of course, the case came to nothing. Father said the allegations were the ramblings of a madman, that thousands of Ukrainians would have looked like him at that age, that he’d never been near the place in his life. And the cops—or whoever it was—obviously agreed, as they dismissed the allegations for lack of evidence. But some newspaper printed Father’s picture, Asher saw it, and traced him. That was how they got back in contact.”
“That was some coincidence. I never realized.”
“Like I said, I probably chose not to tell you.” Diane took a long breath. “Anyhow, earlier this year, Asher goes to Treblinka, sees a photo, suddenly goes along with this guy that I thought was a madman. He insists my father was there, that the allegations were true. I told him about the authorities dismissing the case, but he wasn’t having it, said Father had admitted it to him.”
Brad absentmindedly chewed on a nail for a few seconds. “That doesn’t mean anything legally if he didn’t get it on tape. But it would explain why Asher killed your father. It ties everything in so it all makes sense, because now we have a motive.”
“It also means Father was a war criminal.”
For a moment Brad stared, his face turning a shade lighter. He took a gulp before speaking. “Hey, I’m sorry, Diane. I . . . I wasn’t thinking straight. It must be awful for you.”
“It’s no party, but I have to admit, it’s like stubbing your toe after you’ve broken your leg.”
“No wonder you hardly slept. He told you all that yesterday?”
“The day before. I didn’t tell you at the time because I wasn’t sure whether I believed him.”
“And now?”
Diane huffed. “And now I’m starting to accept it. I trust Asher. And yes, I guess, stubbed toe or not, it makes me feel terrible to know what Father did.”
“I totally get that. Is that why you . . . the question that night about the sins of the father?”
“That aspect kind of plays on my mind. I loved my father. I still do. He wasn’t perfect, but he was good to me. It’s hard to come to terms with.”
Brad stood up and walked aimlessly around the room. “Your father? I mean . . . I thought I knew him too . . . but this?” He shook his head as though trying to discard his confusion and disbelief. “And you’re telling me you feel some sort of guilt or blame?”