Beyond the Shadow of Night(9)

Diane continued. “But I just can’t be the person I was anymore—the person my father wanted me to be. And that’s because you’ve got his corpse lying on a slab. Now, I want to know why it’s on that slab and not in his easy chair listening to the damned music he loved so much. I want to know exactly what happened that night and why—or as much as I can find out from that man you have in the cell. And if I have to go over your head and take legal action to get my rights, I can promise you I will. I won’t give up, Detective Durwood.”

“All right.” The detective nodded slowly. “Okay. I was only trying to prevent you from upsetting yourself further, but if that’s the way you feel . . .”

“It most certainly is.”

“In that case, legal action won’t be necessary. As you say, it’s your right, and I think you’d win if we contested the case. I honestly can’t see what you stand to gain from a situation like this, but if that’s what you want, we’ll arrange it.”

Diane exhaled a calming breath. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He grimaced, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“What?” she said. “Is there something else?”

“Actually . . . Well, he seemed delirious, sort of gabbing away about how you two have some sort of bond.”

“Bond?”

“Something in common. Do you know anything about that?”

Diane was taken aback for a moment. “Uh, nothing. We have nothing at all in common, except that he knew my father. He stayed over at the house plenty of times, almost like he was my uncle. But I can promise you, other than that we have absolutely nothing in common.”

“Is he . . . going senile?”

“God, no. He’s sharp, believe me.”

“I have to admit, that’s what our guys say too. Anyhow . . . we’ll be in touch, although it might take a couple days.”

“Not a problem. I can wait.”

They exchanged polite smiles and got to their feet.

“And I’m sorry,” Diane said. “I didn’t mean to be forceful.”

“Oh, of course not.”

“No, really. I didn’t. I’m sure you’d be just the same if it happened to you. I just need to meet and talk with the man who left a big bullet hole in my father’s head.”





Chapter 4

Warsaw, Poland, 1937

The months flew by, but a part of Asher still longed for the wide-open spaces of the farm, the toil that seemed to give such satisfaction, and the lazy afternoons fishing with Mykhail. Yes, he told his parents that he was looking forward to leaving school and perhaps getting a job working with his papa, but although Warsaw was a home of sorts, it didn’t feel like home, and he still wasn’t sure whether the friends he’d made at school were anything more than acquaintances.

One Saturday afternoon, late in the summer of 1937, when a hazy sun was doing its utmost to brighten up the dust-lined streets, Papa told everyone to put their coats on.

Asher looked at him closely. Papa had a broad smile and his shoulders were high and proud as he handed the coats out.

“It’s been a good week,” he said. “Today we’re having a treat.”

Asher was the only one not to get out of his seat.

“Come on,” Papa said to him. “We’re going to Baran’s.”

“Baran’s?” Keren said, her face almost alight with joy. “Really?”

“I don’t want to go,” Asher said.

“You know what Baran’s is, don’t you?” Papa replied.

“No, but I don’t want to go.”

“You don’t know what it is, but you don’t want to go? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Leave the boy alone, Hirsch,” Mama said.

While Papa sucked air through his teeth and shook his head, Mama handed Asher his coat.

“Asher, please,” she said. “Café Baran is one of the best cake shops in all Warsaw. They have delicious food there—food we haven’t even heard of.”

“What sort of food?”

“Well, like . . .”

“She doesn’t know,” Rina chipped in. “She hasn’t heard of it.”

A few subdued laughs filled the room, and Rina took Asher’s hand, pulling him up and out of his chair.

“Come on,” she said. “I’ve heard things about this place, and you’re not going to stop me going.”

“It’s a treat,” Papa said to him. “They have cakes and desserts to make your mouth sing with joy—so I hear. And I won’t be taking you there often, so make the most of it.”

Mama pulled Asher close and kissed him full on the temple, leaving a wet mark. He pushed her away, both of them giggling.

“Ah, my baby’s growing up. He doesn’t want his mama’s attentions.”

Then Keren closed in. “Or his sister’s either.” She, too, went to kiss him, exaggerating her pout.

He was now fending off both of them, as well as his own laughter, which was coming loose and loud. He could also see Rina, waiting at the door, her coat already on, tutting at the scene, although she afforded herself a barely hidden smile.

“More kisses unless you agree to come,” Keren said.