„That hack looks familiar.“ Riker leaned closer to the television. „Hey, isn’t he the same expert they used to explain the war in Bosnia?“

The redhead was saying, „ – to recap for viewers just tuning in. We have the sudden death of a witness to the shooting. And the mysterious disappearance of another witness, Crossbow Man.“ The woman smiled, momentarily dazzling Riker with her large buckteeth. „The police have made no progress in their search. Our sources at Number One Police Plaza tell us this has all the signs of an NYPD cover-up. Crossbow Man is still – “

Mallory grabbed the remote control from his hand and switched off the set. „I’ll find that little bastard myself.“

„No you don’t,“ said Riker. „Coffey’s right on this one. You don’t go near Richard Tree. The lieutenant put two full-time men on the kid. They’ll find him.“

„So we do have an open homicide case.“ Suspicion was back in her voice.

„No, Mallory, we don’t. But somebody leaked the kid’s juvenile record to the press.“

And now she glared at him to say, So you were holding out on me.

Riker knew when to make a timely exit. He grabbed up his hat and walked toward the closet to retrieve his coat. „We’re following a directive from the mayor’s publicist. He wants us to find Crossbow Man and deliver him to the reporters. This has nothing to do with police business.“

He opened the door to the closet and looked down to see a cardboard package large enough to house a Shetland pony. „What’s in the big box?“

„Rabbi Kaplan’s bread board,“ she said.

Riker threw his hands up. „Okay, okay. Forget I asked.“

The young detective had left her gun hanging on the coatrack by the rabbi’s front door, but she still seemed a bit dangerous as she leaned over the kitchen sink with her screwdriver and coaxed sparks from a jumble of wires in the wall.

Rabbi David Kaplan stood near the empty carton and nodded politely, as if he were actually following her plan to extend wireless electricity across the floor to the outlets of the new butcher-block island. But he knew nothing of electrical affairs. Only his wife understood overloaded circuits and knew the secret location of the fuse box. So the rabbi had no idea what Kathy Mallory was talking about.

While she replaced the cover of the wall outlet, he averted his eyes and stared at the grand piece of furniture she had assembled in the center of the room. The cart was well crafted, surfaced with strips of hardwoods in complementing grains.

The rabbi shook his head in silence. Kathy always went too far.

Or perhaps this was an atonement of sorts. But was it for past or future crimes? Should he regret arranging an interview with the old man?

Too late now.

Mr. Halpern was looking forward to seeing the ‘pretty child’ he had met so briefly last night.

What was the worst thing that could come of their meeting again?

Well, Mr. Halpern was very fragile.

She had finished testing the outlets on the cart, and now she was frowning at Rabbi Kaplan, misunderstanding his expression. „You don’t like it?“

„Oh, yes, Kathy. I like it very much. It’s wonderful, but so – “ So extreme? So suspicious? „You broke a five-dollar bread board, not an heirloom.“ She had also broken his heart and shaken his faith. It might be a bad idea to let her get away with that. But he must pick his words carefully; she was not very tolerant of criticism.

„Last night, you said anyone at the table could tell Malakhai how twisted you were. How could you say such a thing in – “

„You didn’t rush in to contradict me, did you, Rabbi?“

Her face was turned away from him as she bent over to tighten a screw, but he had heard the cold accusation in her voice, the opening cut. The game was on.

„Kathy, under the circumstances, how could I contradict you? I would’ve stepped on your best line of the evening.“

Good parry.

The rabbi smiled as he stepped up to the butcher block and pressed his advantage. „But now I want to know if you really believed that, or were you lying to a purpose?“

„You believed it.“

He made note of her game point – a fast shot to a vital organ. His hand rested over his heart as he rallied with, „You think I believe you’re twisted? I never did.“

Was that entirely true? Well, no, but he had not intended to lie – not that time. Some of his counterpoints were pure acts of self-defense, words pulled quickly to fend her off. „I’ve known you since you were ten years old and – “

„Eleven.“

„Ten. You lied a year onto your age. Don’t deny it.“ Here he stopped to compliment himself on this maneuver, insisting upon honesty on the one hand, while the other hand was busy obfuscating the truth. „Helen Markowitz’s judgment carries more weight with me than yours.“

She was somewhat subdued by this. Invoking Helen’s name still had some stopping power, but it would not last long. He needed a hook of words to hold his ground with her. „I remember the night when Louis brought you home to Helen.“ As if he might have forgotten a child felon in manacles, a tiny hellmouth of obscenities. „Do you remember your room, the way it looked that first time Helen put you to bed?“

She nodded. „It used to be the guest room.“

„Yes, that’s what they called it. They bought that house ten years before you came to live with them. And for all those years, Helen changed the sheets in the guest room once a week without fail. But whenever there was a houseguest, she always made up a bed on the fold-out couch downstairs. A little odd, don’t you think?“

Yes, he could see that she thought so. „Ten years before you arrived, there was a baby’s crib in that room. Louis disposed of it before Helen came home from the hospital – without the child.“

Other than replacing the crib with a bed, over the ensuing decade, the bedroom had remained unchanged. The wallpaper stripes had never faded, but stayed true to the primary hues of a child’s coloring book. A soft woven rug invited the soles of small bare feet, and the bed quilt was a cheerful patchwork of folk-art animals. The entire room had the look of a crafty trap that Helen Markowitz had set to catch a loose child on the fly. For ten years, that gentle woman had never uttered one soft word about her dead baby, lost before it was even born.

For ten years, the room screamed.

„Helen had been waiting for you such a long time. You completed her life, Kathy. She thought you were perfect in every way – not at all twisted.“

And because of its blind spot, a giant gaping maw of a lacuna where heinous crimes were overlooked, motherlove was both imperfect and perfectly wonderful.

„Not by any word or act have I ever contradicted Helen – and you know that, Kathy.“

And thus he completed a neat escape by the artful framing of words, but at what personal cost? He knew what she was – though her foster mother had vehemently denied it. Helen Markowitz had torn up the child’s early psychiatric evaluation, putting great anger into the shredding of paper, strongly objecting to the word sociopath in connection to a little girl whose life had barely begun.

Rabbi Kaplan wanted to go on believing that Kathy Mallory did not know what she was. So long as she remained in ignorance of the truth, this ruthless, amoral child could exist in a state of innocent grace. Sometimes he believed that truth was not a shining thing, but a weapon of great destruction. At other times, he wondered if he had merely become a proficient deceiver, an uncommon liar.

In the moments of heavy silence between them, he scrutinized her face, looking there for signs of redemption – hers or his own? He could not say. Their wordplay was done, and he was bleeding only a little – as usual.

He ran his hand over the surface of the butcher block. „I didn’t thank you for this. It’s beautiful.“ He looked up, gratified to see the faint smile on her face. „Your meeting with Mr. Halpern is arranged for tomorrow. But it might be a waste of time. He wasn’t in Paris during the occupation.“