Beyond the Shadow of Night(86)

“I know that part,” Diane snapped when he started to detail the events of that year. “The newspaper photo. The charges.”

“That’s right. Except by then he’d changed his name to Michael Peterson.”

“Right.”

“I guess he didn’t tell you about his days at Treblinka?”

Diane had nothing to say to that question. The news—or at least, Asher’s allegation—that her father had helped run the gas chambers at Treblinka had left her numb. She was so numb that Asher’s retelling of how he’d tracked down her father in 1997 washed over her like an ambient breeze, and at no time did it occur to her to interrupt him or ask questions or even argue the case for her father’s innocence; he had, after all, not been charged after being investigated back then.

Equally, when she and Asher were interrupted and told that the day’s session would have to end, she could only nod in silent acceptance.

“Diane,” Asher said as he stood up to leave, “you have no idea how sorry I am that you had to hear all of that. I hope you understand the reasons for your father’s actions.”

Still Diane said nothing.

“Tomorrow I’ll tell you exactly what happened between myself and your father earlier this year—how we fell out.”

Asher waited, looking down at Diane’s forlorn figure sitting at the table, until a guard led him away. Diane stayed there a while longer, still trying to come to terms with what she’d just heard, until another guard suggested she leave.

“Of course,” she said, then silently walked out of the building.

She called Brad to pick her up and waited in the cool air of the parking lot, her mind burning with thoughts.

Now she had a good idea what they’d fallen out over, and perhaps why Asher had killed her father. It was the information she’d wanted, but a part of her wished she’d settled for a benign ignorance.

As she waited, her thoughts started to brew. It occurred to her that Asher had made a serious allegation with no evidence whatsoever. Yes, he’d told her what had happened, but was it the truth? How could she be sure he wasn’t making it all up?

She was still cursing him when Brad arrived to pick her up. He leaned over to open the door, and she jumped in. He drove off. He talked on the way, but Diane only heard discrete, disconnected words; no meaning registered with her. No, she was too preoccupied with turning Asher’s story over in her head, gently folding those thoughts over and over, perhaps accepting that he might be right about her father. But even if she accepted Asher’s version of the truth, there was something else troubling her: regardless of his confession, Asher still didn’t seem the murdering type.



They were both back home—Brad’s home—before she realized she hadn’t uttered more than a few syllables to him since he’d picked her up. And, being Brad, he hadn’t asked for any more than that.

But in the quiet of the living room she felt compelled to say something, to get those spiraling thoughts out of her head before they took control and twisted her mind in knots.

“Brad?”

“What?”

“I . . . uh . . . could I get a drink please?”

“Sure.”

“Just a soda please.”

“Of course.”

They settled on the couch—he at one end, she at the other.

“I don’t know how to explain this,” she said. “It’s too . . .” She took a nervous sip.

“Just . . . say it as it comes.” He waited, but it didn’t come. “Or just leave it, tell me when you feel—”

“No,” she said. “I have to talk. I won’t be able to rest until I do.”

“Okay. So, did you find out why he killed your father?”

“Not exactly, but I’ve got a good idea. I’m going in again tomorrow.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s definitely the last time.”

“If he didn’t tell you why he killed your father, what did he say?”

Diane’s eyes were stark and resolute. “He told me some things about my father I found hard to believe.”

Brad waited for thirty seconds, not speaking or even daring to drink for fear of missing something. “You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I get that certain things have to remain private or secret. He was your father, and you were the one who needed to know, not me.”

“Part of me needs to tell you, but I guess it’s still sinking in and I’m figuring out a way to understand it all. You really wouldn’t mind if I didn’t tell you?”

He put down his glass and took a few seconds to get himself comfortable, which told Diane it would be one of his longer, speech-like talks. She usually liked them; he was good with words. But just lately, nothing was good.

“Diane, you know how I feel about you. You’ve stayed over at my place since this whole ugly thing blew up, and I’ve loved every minute, despite the circumstances. It’s the longest period we’ve been together, apart from vacations, although I’ve been dating you since 1995.”

“Six years. I know.”

“The six best years of my life. After three years I asked you to move in with me permanently. You said the time wasn’t right, so I waited and asked you again a couple times. And I remember the millennium celebrations, when I took you and your father and Asher to that big party at that swanky French restaurant, when I—”