As he drives away, he watches the blue car through the rearview mirror. A cloud of blue-gray tobacco smoke begins to float from the driver-side window until a surge of air tears it away. He’s sure the occupant is watching him. It’s nothing, Posner thinks. Just a coincidence. Someone just happens to arrive in the lot at the same time he comes out of the woods. The lot is empty except for his car, so it’s natural to look at someone in an otherwise deserted place.
He keeps thinking about the man in the blue car. He assumes it’s a man, as he accelerates down the highway then catches himself as he sees the speedometer race to over seventy. He eases off the gas, coasts into Montauk village, and stops at a drive-in. He buys a coffee, gets back in his car, and steels himself that he will not let such coincidences bother him. He sips half of the coffee and drives home feeling more in control. And to the extent he can exercise his will, he doesn’t let the incident intrude on his life.
A few days later he stands in the middle of his living room and watches a procession of spindrift fly off rims of angry surf. There must have been a storm far out to sea, but the local forecast remains sunny with light breezes. For inexplicable reasons he keeps the heel, no matter the remote potential risk of its discovery. It rests in the zippered inside pocket of the windbreaker that hangs in the back of his garage together with other slightly out-of-fashion clothing he is not yet ready to give away. It is not by any means a trophy even though a prosecutor someday might call it such. No. He keeps it as a reminder of his own stupidity and the confusion between innocence and guilt.
The muted whirr of a phone call from Detective Wisdom draws him back. He hasn’t heard from the police in several months. Wisdom explains that it’s just a routine follow-up. Posner is happy Wisdom’s not there. If he were he might hear Posner’s sudden gasp as the detective announces himself, but whatever alarm he initially feels when he knows it’s Wisdom, begins to dissipate in seconds.
“No. We haven’t had any news on the disappearance, but we’d like to stop by and reconfirm a few matters. Whenever it’s convenient is fine with us.”
Posner regains his composure and suggests the following Tuesday at two. Wisdom confirms the time after consulting his calendar. Posner hangs up but is not as shaken by the surprise call as he might have been some months before. Maybe he really is getting more in control. The thought is comforting and he walks back and stands before the floor-to-ceiling glass that faces the ocean.
He loves the almost feral nature of the sea when it abandons all pretense of civility. He becomes engrossed in the abject wildness of the ocean and never once thinks to turn and look out the front window that faces the street. If he did, he would see a small blue car roll down his street and idle briefly at the foot of his driveway before picking up speed and moving away with its lone occupant, a man whose face he might remember, bent behind the wheel.
CHAPTER 9
Wisdom’s next day seems normal at first, and then gets more complex. He speaks to Brigid about the meeting he’s scheduled with Posner and promises to try and reach Welbrook later that day. He leaves word with Bennett and the chief about the Posner meeting. In between other calls, he hears an old voice mail from Bennett, who relates the essentials of a message from a hospital administrator at Mt. Sinai.
Since you’re the only one who’s really still directly involved in this case, it’s probably bestforyou to follow this up. Seems there’s this rabbi of all people who wants to talk to us about Heidi. The name’s Schmittmanfrom the Maccabee Youth Center in Boro Park in Brooklyn. Seems Schmittman contacted Mt. Sinai Hospital who pointed in our direction. NYPD has more or less given up on this, so thanks for following it up.
“What the hell is a rabbi in Brooklyn doing in this mess after almost five months,” Wisdom wonders aloud, but there is no one near or interested enough to venture an answer.
He grabs his phone, leans his back just far enough, so that with his feet crossed on the metal desk, he and the chair are in a semibalanced state. He rocks slightly and calls the seven-one-eight area code number Bennett left. The phone picks up before the first ring ends and Maccabee Youth is announced by an energetic youthful female voice. He suddenly feels much older than thirty-eight.
“I’d like to speak to Rabbi Schmittman, please. You can say it’s Detective Peter Wisdom of the East Hampton Police Department concerning his inquiry about Heidi Kashani.”
The voice says, “Wait a second,” and Wisdom hears muffled sounds in the background. He tilts forward and manages to lift half a cup of tepid coffee with his left hand before his swaying motion begins to move him backward. He struggles to regain balance, but at the last instant some of the coffee splashes upwards until gravity draws it down onto his chinos where it produces a very predictable and raucous repetition of “shit.”
“Is that any way to greet a lady?” asks a new voice.
“Sorry about that,” Wisdom answers, but a part of him wants to laugh. “Just spilled some coffee. I’d like to speak with Rabbi Schmittman please.”
“This is Rabbi Schmittman. And you’re with the police. Right?”
Wisdom fumbles for a reply and resorts to a simple, “Sorry about that. Yes, I’m with the East Hampton police.”
The answer seems to be enough.
“The reason I’m calling is that I just got back into New York last week after being away for six months and found out that Heidi hasn’t been at the youth center in almost as long. When I called the hospital, they said she’d disappeared shortly after I left and referred me to a Sergeant Bennett of the East Hampton Police who said he’d ask you to follow-up.”
There is a long pause before Wisdom speaks.
“It’s true. She disappeared early in May on a day trip out here.”
Thereafter it took only a minute for Wisdom to fill the rabbi in with an overview without mentioning any of the possible suspects.
“May I ask you how you know Heidi?” Wisdom has learned in such cases to always refer to the object of an investigation in the present tense, although he had already written off the chance of her still being alive. The rabbi’s next comment shows she’s struggling with the same issue.
“We were... we are friends. She’s done a lot for the center.”
“Like what?” Wisdom becomes more intrigued at the prospect of adding to the profile of the missing woman.
“She came to us about a year ago. I guess you know she’s a resident in psychiatry at the hospital. One of our board members recommended her when we needed an experienced person to do some part-time pro bono counseling. She arrived a week later. Came direct from the hospital by a car service. Always wore a white hospital jacket and arrived every Tuesday at about five and stayed till eight. After a few weeks everyone began calling her ‘The Woman in White,’ like the title of the old English novel.”
Wisdom just agrees. He’d studied English lit in college, but can’t immediately remember details of that particular book, although something about the name resonates a familiarity. He’s probably read it back when.
“So what exactly did she do at the Maccabee Youth Center?” Wisdom unknowingly pronounces Maccabee with the emphasis on the second syllable and the rabbi points this out after expelling a soft laugh.
“You pronounce it like an Israeli,” she says. “It’s the name of a popular beer in Israel although it’s in honor of Judas Maccabee who led a revolt over two thousand years ago to throw the Greeks and Syrians out of Israel.”