24

A SOFT KNOCK AT THE BEDROOM DOOR. Kitchen smells.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom,” Bob’s voice said. “Dad’s cooking a turkey, and the police are here.”

“Guten Tag.” Two uniformed police officers, both men, sat with Elliott around the coffee table, papers spread in front of them. Elliott, wrapped in his comforter, nursed a mug of coffee.

“Excuse me.” Nina went into the kitchen.

Bob chopped onions on a board on the counter. Kurt stood at the stove, stirring something, a white dishcloth tied around his waist over his jeans. The kitchen air was hot and moist, with an old-fashioned dishwasher sitting in the corner, all its hoses exposed. The stove had legs, as she had noticed while cooking the eggs. But the smells were familiar.

“Happy Thanksgiving. Sleep all right?” Kurt said.

“How long have they been questioning Elliott?”

“Just a few minutes. You haven’t missed anything. They had some more details to go over. Here. Have some coffee.”

“It is Thanksgiving, isn’t it? I’d forgotten.”

“And I had quite a time finding a big turkey. Had to get a friend to buy it for me at the Hainerberg PX. It’s already in the oven. Turkey, chestnut stuffing, pumpkin pie. Home food. Nice job there, bud.”

“How you doing, Mom?”

“Okay.”

“The kitchen’s taken care of.”

“I see that.” She made her coffee, letting her hair fall forward so they couldn’t see how emotional she felt this morning.

“It’s no big thing,” Kurt said. “I always celebrate Thanksgiving. My sister came over last year.”

“How did the police get your address?”

“They called,” Kurt said. “I already had your plane tickets out tonight. I thought it would be okay. Is it okay? I don’t think they’ll be staying long.”

“Sure.” Nina went back into the living room and Elliott made room for her on the couch. The detective was taking him through the same story as yesterday, and Elliott seemed quite coherent for a guy who in the middle of the night had just about convinced her that nothing was real. The detective spoke very passable English. Nina sipped her coffee and listened.

When they finished with Elliott, he went in for a shower and they started on her. She had to repeat everything she could remember about the shooting. They looked disappointed when she had nothing new to add. At length the lead detective, a pale man with a shock of blond hair, gathered up his papers and said, “I knew Silke and her family.”

“I’m sorry.”

“An old family in Heddesheim. Her father was killed in a car accident when she was a baby. Her mother is a baker. Silke’s brilliance was noticed from an early age. She will be greatly missed. She was the first person in her family to go to university, and such a university! You know how it is in a little town-we had a parade for her. A send-off, I think you say.”

“It’s so unfair,” Nina said. “Such a waste.” The full weight of Silke’s death had finally fallen on her shoulders.

“Is there anything you can add to your description of this man with a gun who is wanted in the U.S.? He limped, he spoke American English, he moves around freely, he shoots well, medium height, medium weight-anything?”

“No.”

“Do you have any questions for us?”

“Where did he shoot from?”

“Across the street. The upper floor of a furniture store, empty at the time.”

“What did you find up there?” Nina was just doing her job, asking. She didn’t expect an answer of any substance. The police are adept at not giving out information.

“A fresh fingerprint,” the detective said. “At the window.”

It struck like a brick in the face. Nina put down her mug. “You have a print?” She was covering her mouth, willing it not to cry out and willing her eyes not to water. Evidence! A print.

“We’re running it through Interpol and your IAFIS right now.”

“He’s been so careful. It’s hard to believe.”

“A full impression. A thumbprint.”

“A print.” She blinked and lowered her head.

“Here.” He handed her a handkerchief.

“I’m afraid I’m still pretty upset,” Nina said.

“He took a cab to the airport. We have a partial description. But he wore a-”

“Ski mask?”

“A hat that covered much of his face.”

“Did the driver notice if he had a limp?”

“He favored his left leg.”

“It’s the same man. He has killed four people.”

“So it seems. We will track him down. He will pay.”

“Thank you. I can help, after you know more. You have my card. A print!”

“We will let you know.”

“Thank you,” Nina said again.

“I’m not afraid of this jerk,” Bob said, selecting a big piece of turkey breast from the platter. The police had left. The four of them were gathered around the coffee table, which Kurt had covered with a batik. A big fire burned. They were all starving.

“Hang on,” Kurt said. “We’re going to have a blessing.”

“Oops.”

“Who’s going to do it?”

“You should, Kurt,” Nina said. “We’re just visitors.”

“All right.” He thought a moment, then said in his reverberant voice, “On this Thanksgiving Day we gather for a meal like the old pilgrims, grateful to be here together. We are grateful for this meal, and feel glad to share it. I am happy that my son is here along with his lovely mother. And that all here in this house are safe.”

“I am grateful that you cooked,” Bob said, sniffing, “and it smells so good. And I’m glad to be here, too.”

Kurt smiled at him. “Thank you, Spirit of All, for this moment, for this fine food. In the midst of trouble and sadness, together we celebrate life.”

“Think of my friends Silke and Raj,” Elliott added quietly. “Remember our missing friends and family.”

“Amen,” they all said. It was the most heartfelt “amen” Nina had ever heard.

It was also the best turkey and stuffing she had ever eaten. A creative type who undoubtedly needed a lot of nurturing himself, Kurt was taking care of them. He had realized how close to chaos they had come, how battered they felt, and he had prepared a meal and a cocoon of warmth for them. Nina would always be grateful to him for that. They ate, and ate more. They clinked glasses. They even laughed.

After they had finished an entire pumpkin pie and pot of Earl Grey tea, Kurt stood up, rubbed his stomach, and stretched. “You guys clean up.” He nodded toward Bob and Elliott. “I’ll direct you on the dishwasher.”

“What about me?” Nina asked.

“We’re going for a walk around town, of course. It’s traditional on a holiday.”

“But is it safe?”

“You yourself said nobody but the police knew we were in Wiesbaden.”

“Right.”

“And I’ll keep you safe, Nina.” He pulled her coat out of the closet and held it out for her.

She put her arm through the sleeve, trembling slightly at his touch. “I guess we could. Bob, don’t you want to come?”

“You go ahead, Mom.”

Kurt held open the door. “See you in a while,” he called to Bob and Elliott.

“Later,” Bob called from the kitchen.

The light was fading. “Let’s go toward the park,” Kurt said. “You’re not too cold?”

“Me? No.” They walked down the street, the stores still open, matrons choosing fruits and vegetables for dinner. At the end of the street was a green park full of tall trees. Old fellows in overcoats behind tightly leashed and well-behaved little dogs walked among the lindens.

“Do you often come here?” Nina asked.

“All the time. I’d like to have a dog, but the landlady’s afraid of them. Franz keeps me busy, though, always trying to get out. He’s a hunter. You don’t want to know some of the funky prey he’s brought me.”

“This whole morning he lolled innocently on the windowsill.”

“His eyes narrowed, secretly on the alert for danger,” Kurt insisted. They both laughed at the idea of his slumbering cat on the lookout. “Is this really your first trip to Europe?”

“’Fraid so. I always wanted to go to Paris to see the Picabias at the Mus'ee d’Orsay. I took French in high school and I love French wine, so I meet the minimum qualifications, I believe.”

“You should go.” He closed his eyes. “I see it all. Your pretty hair hanging down your back, bugging you because it’s come loose; drinking too much St. Emilon in a cafe on the Ile de la Cit'e, inside to hide from the rain, a good man holding your hand, confessing his love across the table while you flirt with the Moroccan waiter.”

“Don’t forget the part where I’m making a fool of myself ordering frog legs in aspic when all I really wanted was a turkey on rye.”

“You’re many things, Nina, but never foolish.”

What presumption, she thought. You don’t know me anymore. Then she smiled to herself. Here she was being foolish, annoyed by what amounted to a compliment. “Oh, you’ve forgotten.”

“I haven’t forgotten anything,” he said seriously. “I haven’t forgotten we talked about Paris before, and that I promised to take you there.”

They walked on in silence as a soft mist fell between the trees along the parkway.

“Do you have to go back right away?” They had reached an all'ee of trees, the path civilized and crunchy beneath their feet. The twilight lingered.

“I’d like to stay,” Nina said. “But I have to help take out this asshole. This has to stop.”

“Nina, I have no right to say this, but I feel compelled. Don’t go back to Tahoe. You’ve almost been killed twice. This killer’s on a rampage, trying to eliminate everyone, witnesses, lawyers. You can’t tell what he might do.”

“I’m a big girl,” Nina said.

But Kurt didn’t accept that. “You’re a young woman and you are a mother. You don’t belong in the line of fire. Is this how it always is for you? This stress? This worry?”

“No, of course not. We have a life,” Nina said. “We have a dog, a big one. He could teach Franz a few things about bringing down funky prey. My brother and sister-in-law-I’m crazy about them. Bob loves his cousins.”

“You know, Bob’s very protective of you.” He said this as though it had great significance.

“He’s fourteen, just a kid. I watch out for him. What are you getting at, Kurt?”

“He doesn’t want to let you out of his sight.”

“He has so much heart. He doesn’t get incredible grades-he’s not like Silke Kilmer, you know? He’s a complete, perfect, normal human being. He goes to school. He plays ball. He loves his dog…”

“You don’t have to tell me. I wonder if you have any idea how well I know him and how intensely I love him.”

“Stop. Kurt. Please, stop. You make me feel guilty.” She stopped and faced him.

“He has your focus and pragmatism, Nina. Your depths of emotion.”

“He has your musical talent.”

“Keep after him with lessons.”

“He looks like you.”

“He reminds me of you. He reminds me of us.”

An earthquake of feelings shook through her. She touched the scar on his cheek. He flinched.

“Sorry.”

“I try to forget it’s there.”

“Did I ever tell you,” she said, wishing she could bring him up to date on who she was now but afraid they had lived too many years apart ever to make up for the lapses, “that I was shot a few years ago, before you came back into Bob’s life? It happened during my first murder case, when I had just set up my practice at Tahoe. A bullet brushed my lung. I hate the scar.”

“Poor Nina,” Kurt said. He appeared angry, but after a minute or so, during which he put his hands in and out of his pockets a few times, balling them up and releasing them, he finally said, “When you’re young, you can’t foresee the amount of tragedy, how much baggage you’ll carry into adulthood. No wonder we all seem so serious and burdened to the young.”

“It’s true.” The girl she was saw sweet things ahead. The hardships, like car crashes, struck so suddenly there was no preparing.

“I try to remember the alternative and appreciate that all I received was a scar,” Kurt said. “But I don’t like being marked.”

“That’s it. You never forget. You just don’t get over it. I’m really feeling bad about involving you in this violence. I put you at risk. I didn’t realize-”

“It’s everywhere,” Kurt said. “Don’t worry, I can handle it. It’s you and Bob I’m concerned about.” He put his arm around her.

“Don’t,” she said, shrugging it off. “You watch out,” she went on. “I’ve been through a lot lately. I’m not myself.”

They came to a pond where swans glided, bordered by a grassy yard with a carousel. They sat down on an iron bench and watched a few kids go round and round. A few feet away she saw a gaily decorated cart selling hot dogs. It was just another November weekday in Germany, not a holiday for them, not many people about.

Cold, she held her arms around her chest. Kurt had picked up a stick from somewhere and begun to draw lines on the gravel.

“So this is Germany.”

“It’s the Kurpark. We have a casino here in Wiesbaden, pretty famous. I’d take you under other circumstances.”

“What time is the flight?”

“Eight-forty. Listen, Nina, about the flight. I have to tell you something. It’s hard to say.”

“Well? What could be so difficult after-”

“I only bought two tickets.”

Puzzled, Nina said, “What about Elliott? He’s coming back with us.”

“He’s going back with you. Bob isn’t.”

Nina shook her head. “No, no, no,” she said. “This is crazy. You can’t take Bob away from me.”

“He asked me how he could get a gun when he goes back.”

“What?”

“He said he would protect you that way.”

“Oh, no.” But she thought about the bolos, Bob’s relentless rock-throwing. “No.”

“You’ve put yourself in a line of fire twice in the past month,” Kurt said. “What if Bob’s beside you next time, sick with worry about you, immature. Trying to be the man in your life.”

“It’s not like that with us. I’m the parent. He knows that I’d do anything to keep him safe. He’s fine!”

“Anything?” Kurt sounded almost, not quite, casual as he asked what amounted to a piercing question. “I called the high school and talked to the vice principal. She faxed me a permission form to allow Bob to take a leave until after Christmas vacation. She’ll work with his teachers. They can send him lesson plans so he won’t fall behind.”

“You can’t do this! I need him with me.”

“You have to sign the form.”

“I won’t.”

“Do you remember that time you wouldn’t leave the cabin at Fallen Leaf? The local squirrels infected with plague. Signs all around. Signs hammered into trees. Danger. Hints of an ugly death. Still you wouldn’t leave.”

“Of course I do. Note, please that I didn’t catch anything.”

“Then you were alone. You risked only your own life. I believe,” he said, “individuals should control their destinies, right down to choosing death, if they must. I admired your left-brained willfulness. You said the odds favored your survival.”

“Is that why you parked yourself out front and made me your mission?”

“My destiny was different. Mine involved-” He sighed. “Shall we walk some more? There’s a path around the lake.” His voice stayed calm.

They walked for a while along the gravel path. A pale setting sun broke through the cloud cover and more children came out. She couldn’t take her eyes off one particular chubby-cheeked toddler running back and forth across the grass, bundled into a sphere in his red coat.

“Look, Kurt, what I admire about myself is that I can admit it when I’m-occasionally-wrong,” Nina said, feeling pain with every breath. “Bob stays with you.”

He took her by the shoulders and turned her so she faced him, appearing entirely unsurprised at her change of heart.

“Did you already tell him?” Nina asked.

“No. We’ll tell him together. This will be a good time to consolidate our power. Two parents can prevail when one might not.”

“This murdering animal is ruining my life,” Nina said, unleashing only a little of the anger that burned in her. “The minute he’s caught, Bob comes home.”

“Of course. You could stay, too. Reconsider. Paris is only eight hours away by car.”

“No. I do my job. I always do.”

His head tilted as he considered that, as he considered her, in her wholeness.

Paul would be mad. Kurt wasn’t. What did it all mean?

“Sweet of you to offer,” she said.

“Once you would have followed me anywhere.” He was smiling now, looking at her with Bob’s deep-set bluish-green eyes. “We didn’t follow up very well after the trial.”

“How do you mean?” Nina said. “You and Bob got to know each other. He spent a whole summer with you in Sweden.”

“You were with Paul.”

“And you? Were you alone?”

“A girl from Uppsala. An artist.”

“Ah. The paintings in your room?” He nodded. “So…”

“So. When my contract ended in Sweden, I decided to come back to Wiesbaden. We met for a few weekends, once in Copenhagen. But it petered out.” He pondered this, then added, “Franz never accepted her. She sneezed when he merely rubbed demandingly against her leg.”

“You’re alone now?” Nina prodded.

“I’m used to it.”

“Well, just don’t get used to having Bob around.”

He offered her a wry smile. “I guess we should be getting back. How did you like the pie? Homemade. Momma Scott’s old family recipe.”

“Magnificent,” Nina said. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

“I remember you couldn’t, back when I knew every freckle on you.”

She felt a blush creeping up her neck, which she tried to stop by thinking of cool things, green trees, the ocean, the Truckee River splashing. “When Bob came along I had to learn. I’m good with macaroni and cheese. Someday, when this is all over, I’ll cook for you.”

“Or maybe I’ll cook for you. Frog legs in aspic. Something yummy like that. Sans noodles.”

“Or we’ll order food from people who know their food.”

“From a Moroccan waiter. And if you flirt with him, I’ll follow him into the kitchen and kick his butt.”