The Night, The Day (28 page)

chapter 52

A
shok Reddy lifted the receiver,
began dialing Martin Rosen’s number, then put it down without completing the call. He was concerned about the news of Benoît’s suicide, not only because he had referred Benoît to Martin, but because Martin was his friend, and it was undoubtedly a professional crisis for any psychologist when a patient committed suicide.

He looked at the phone once more, contemplating whether he should make the call, and decided against it. The thought that Benoît might very well have been the mystery patient he and Martin had been discussing entered his mind, as did his promise to Martin never to speak of the matter again. It would explain why Benoît had attempted suicide the first time, and why Martin had been so reticent to supply any details about the mystery patient.

Reddy had concluded some time ago that Martin had been discussing someone they both knew. Now, with Benoît finally doing himself in, he found himself even more intrigued.

Whatever the truth, Reddy understood that his grasp of things would forever remain in the realm of speculation. He expected Martin to afford Benoît the same confidentiality in death that the man had been entitled to in life.

Ashok Reddy leaned back in his chair and stared into space. Tomorrow was his weekly golf game with Martin. He knew that Martin would be there despite the suicide, and for more reasons than simply the love of the game. Yet, whatever might pass between them, Reddy was certain that any discussion of the mystery patient would be pointedly absent. And it really didn’t matter. As far as Reddy was concerned, the mystery patient no longer existed.

chapter 53

M
artin Rosen was finishing his
notes on the patients he had seen that day when he heard someone enter the waiting room. It was late at night and his last session had ended over an hour ago. The door to his inner office was open and he could discern that the footsteps were light, like those of a woman. For a moment, he thought it might be Galit, until the figure stepped into his office.

“Mrs. Benoît,” he said, trying to camouflage his surprise.

“Good evening, doctor, I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No, not at all. Please, come in.” Martin gestured to one of the seats facing his desk.

Martha Benoît sat down in the chair. From this proximity, Martin could see that her appearance had taken a beating. He wondered for a moment just what she knew but was fairly certain it wasn’t much.

“I am sorry about your husband,” Martin said.

Martha nodded. “Yes,” she said, “I’m sure you are.”

They looked at each other. Martin’s instinctive reaction was to ask her what he could do for her, but it seemed a silly question under the circumstances.

“My husband,” she said, her voice halting, “I know he had secrets.”

Martin nodded slightly, not indicating agreement, but rather acknowledging her statement. It’s what shrinks do when they don’t know what to say.

“I suppose you can’t help me with this,” she added.

Martin thought about that. It was likely that she now represented Benoît’s estate and, as such, she might attempt to lay claim to his records. Doing so would not only satisfy her curiosity, it would also help if she were planning a malpractice suit, which many families would do in the wake of a suicide. Only, Martin hadn’t yet completed Benoît’s records and still wasn’t sure of when or how he was going to.

He looked at her and doubted she intended any of that. “Do you really want me to?” he asked.

She thought for a moment. “No, I suppose not.”

Martin was both relieved and saddened by her response. He watched her wordlessly.

“I don’t know why I came here,” she said.

“That’s okay. Some of my patients don’t know why they come either.”

“Was Jacques among those?”

“Perhaps there were times when he wanted us to think he was, but in the end…”

“Yes. In the end, it was not as it seemed to be.”

Martin nodded.

“You know,” she said, “he was a good man.” Her eyes began to tear and she reached into her bag for a tissue. “Whatever he may have been hiding, he
was
a good man.”

Martin’s expression remained neutral.

She rose from the chair. “I’m sorry I burst in on you this way.”

“Hardly a burst.”

“You’re very kind. I’ve always thought that about you.”

Martin appeared to accept the compliment.

She seemed to be on her way out, when she stopped and looked at him once more. “By the way,” she said, “the police found something clenched in Jacques’ hand, a pink and gold brooch. It had an inscription on the back, in French. I don’t recall the names – I was in shock at the time – but I knew that they weren’t familiar. I suppose that if Jacques was holding it when he died, it might have some significance.” She stopped herself as if she didn’t want to go on with this, but then the words came: “Do you know anything about it?”

Before he could answer, she added, “That’s okay. I don’t want to put you on the spot. I prefer to remember Jacques the way he wanted me to, the way I knew him.”

Martin offered a tender smile, reflecting his admiration for her discipline and wisdom. He was relieved not to have to answer the question. There was no need to inflict any more pain upon this woman, nothing to gain by revealing the truth. It may well come out by other means, but
he
didn’t want to be the source of more suffering.

“You don’t need to say anything,” she continued. “I just want to thank you for your time, and for how you tried to help my husband.”

Without waiting for a response, she turned and departed. Martin sat staring at the spot where she had stood, wondering if he had done the right thing with her and, moreover, wondering if he had done the right thing with her husband. These were questions to which he would never have answers, he mused, and that was precisely what made them so difficult to live with. But live with them he would, and also with the sense that through all this he had discovered something within himself that he would never have imagined.

chapter 54

M
artin Rosen signaled to the
bartender for another. It was late, the bar was empty, he knew he should be home, and he also knew that he was about to exceed his limit. Steve looked at him and wondered, but poured the drink nonetheless.

“Rough day?” Steve asked.

“I’d say that’s a fair assessment,” Martin responded as he lifted the glass and sipped. He noticed Steve’s eyes shift toward the door. “See something interesting?”

“Some
one
interesting.”

“Oh,” Martin said obliviously, not even bothering to turn around.

“Catch you later, Doc,” Steve said as he backed off, still looking over Martin’s shoulder.

Suddenly, Martin felt a presence at his side. He turned, and there she was.

“Hello, Marty,” Galit said. She looked at the empty stool beside him.

“Anybody sitting here?”

“Suit yourself,” he responded.

Steve reappeared with a glass of red wine. “Merlot, I believe.”

“Thank you,” she said.

Martin seemed to pay attention only to his drink.

Steve quickly departed, and the two of them sat in an awkward silence.

“Look, Marty,” she said. “We have to talk.”

“Talk? Us? What could
we
possibly have to talk about?”

“You’re drunk?”

“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”

She took a large sip of her wine, as if she needed it. “I’m leaving for Israel tomorrow.”

“Have a nice trip.”

“Damn it, Marty, there are things we need to say to each other!”

“I’ve already said all I have to say.”

“And that’s it for you? You just want to let me go like that?”

“I don’t see that I have any choice.”

“You do have a choice, Marty. Ask me to stay and I will.”

“I can’t ask you that.”

“You mean you
won’t
ask me that.”

“It all boils down to the same thing.”

She stood and set her glass down hard on the bar. “You know what, Marty? To hell with you! If you want to sit there like a pathetic little victim and drown yourself, then forgive me for interfering. I must have thought you were someone else.”

He turned and stared at her angrily. “You have some nerve to come in here and talk to me like that after what you’ve done.”

“
What I’ve done
? That’s ironic, coming from you.”

He looked at her, wondering what she was talking about.

“What I’ve done, Marty, is my job. What I’ve done is follow my convictions, my morality, everything inside me that tells me what is right and what is wrong. I’m sorry – and you can’t imagine how sorry – that you got caught in the middle, that
we
got caught in the middle. I never intended to fall in love with you, or for you to fall in love with me. It just happened.”

“You
did
intend to use me.”

“Yes, and I’m not sorry for that. Sometimes, it is what I have to do. Our choices are not always pleasant ones.
You
, of all people, should understand that.”

“
I
should understand? Why is that?”

“Because of what happened to Benoît.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do. You might pretend to others, but you can’t with me. Whatever went on between you and Benoît, you somehow manipulated him into killing himself. You know it and I know it, so let’s stop the act. You saw what he did and you wanted him to be punished for it, so you used all your shrink know-how and figured out just what to say to make him go home and stick that gun in his mouth. All the things you’ve always professed, your so-called professional ethics, none of that mattered. You as much as pulled that trigger yourself, and you did it because you believed it was the
right
thing to do. Think about that the next time you feel like condemning me.”

“Benoît made his choice, he killed himself.”

“Yeah, right,” she said sarcastically.

He stared at her silently.

“You figured that suicide was fitting for Benoît because it gave him a way out of being exposed and humiliated publicly. You took into account his so-called benevolence these past few years, and meted out the perfect merciful punishment. You played judge, jury and executioner, Marty. Only, you won’t admit it. And that’s the sole difference between you and me.”

“If you have such a high opinion of me, why are you here?”

“Because I
do
have a high opinion of you, and I know that you believe in what you did. The only reason you won’t tell me is because you’re angry and you don’t trust me. And you have no idea how much I wish that wasn’t the case.”

“What about you? You mean to tell me that you’re not angry that you didn’t get your man?”

“Angry? I don’t think so. More like disappointed. I suppose if I wasn’t directing all my anger at you for being so stubborn, I might have some left for not getting Benoît. But in the end, Benoît is gone and we are still here. I can be content leaving Benoît’s fate in God’s hands. But
our
fate still belongs to us.”

Martin looked at her, surrender painted on his face. He wasn’t surprised a bit that she had figured it all out. He had even expected as much. The only surprise he had was with himself – how, in his mind and soul, he was at peace with what he did. It was a side of himself with which he had previously been unacquainted but would now have to get used to.

She noticed his face soften. “By the way,” she said, “we found a solid piece of evidence supporting our case against Benoît. It was a brooch that was in his hand when he died. One of our eyewitnesses, a man named Henry Saifer, has identified it as having belonged to his mother. Benoît, or Lemieux as he was known then, confiscated it from Henry and his sister when he caught them trying to flee during the roundups in Lyon. Henry’s mother and father had given the children a suitcase full of jewelry to help them buy passage to a safe place, only Benoît had other plans for them.”

Martin swallowed hard.

“I wonder why Benoît had it with him when he shot himself?” she asked.

“Good question,” Martin said under his breath.

“Still don’t trust me,” she said.

“It’s sometimes best to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“I hate American clichés. Most of them are pretty stupid, you know.”

“We live our lives by them.”

“I suppose you do.”

They looked at each other.

“You’re going back to chasing Nazis?” he asked.

“I doubt it. I don’t even think there are many left, and the few that are, well, people are tired of this. Even my own government is tired of it.”

“Then what will you do?”

“Anything else, maybe even a desk job.”

“Doesn’t sound like much fun.”

“It is what it is.”

She stared at him, waiting for him to say something to make her stay.

“Well,” she said, “I should be on my way. I have a debriefing at the Israeli Mission in the morning, and my flight is right afterwards.”

“They going to give you a hard time?”

“I’ll handle it.”

“Well, good luck,” he said.

“Yes, Marty. Good luck to you too, and to Elizabeth. I hope she grows up to know what a brave man her father is… what a good man he is.” She reached out and touched his cheek. “Goodbye, Marty.”

He held himself back from grabbing her, and sat stoically as she walked away, muttering under his breath, “Goodbye, Galit.”

chapter 55

G
alit Stein stood patiently on
line at the El Al check-in counter, her ticket and passport in hand, her bags on the floor, Arik and Kovi beside her. It was Mossad policy for agents to fly as regular travelers – unarmed, no preferential or diplomatic privileges, nothing that might help a terrorist identify them. Aside from the obvious benefits of having well-trained people incognito on board, it was also for their own safety. The Mossad was the archenemy of virtually every terrorist organization in the world, and an identified agent would be an immediate target for execution during a hijacking.

She had been silent since the three of them left the consulate, and she knew that Arik and Kovi understood why. They had been together long enough to read one another without words. In fact, aside from the five-hour grilling from Jacob Lipton, the financier and PR mogul, and a few higher-ups at the consulate, there hadn’t been much said among them about the case.

She knew that Arik, in particular, was disappointed with the way things had turned out, especially concerning her feelings for Martin Rosen, but she also realized that he was glad it was over. In her heart, there was no doubt that she loved Arik. He had been her guardian, her source of strength through so much. But she was also certain that she could never be with him. He represented her past, and she needed to find a new future.

Jacob Lipton, on the other hand, was irate and appeared as if he would never get past it. He had financed this operation with the intention of a successful trial and international publicity. Galit, who for years had been his wonder girl, was now and forevermore on his shit list. In her world, that was not a good place to be.

Notwithstanding all this, the most prominent thing on her mind was Martin Rosen. She knew there would be more grilling in Israel, and she had already done as well as she could explaining how the Benoît suicide had nothing to do with her actions. Whether anyone bought it was of no consequence. She wanted out anyway; she wanted a different life. Only, she was suffering from a very clear sense that she’d lost her best chance for it.

This was what was running through her mind when she was jolted by a hand on her shoulder. As she turned and saw who the hand belonged to, she wondered for a moment if she was dreaming.

“Marty,” she said, puzzled.

“Hi.” He was panting and it was obvious he’d been running. “I thought I might not get here in time.”

“In time for what?”

“In time to say what I have to say.”

She turned to Arik and Kovi and looked at them. They ignored Martin, but listened as she muttered a few words in Hebrew. Martin guessed that she said something akin to
I’ll be right back
, as she led him away.

“Your comrades in arms?” Martin said.

“You could call them that.”

When they were out of earshot, she said, “What are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t let you go, not with the way we left things last night.”

She looked at him, thinking,
But you still can let me go.

“I don’t want this to be it, not forever,” he said.

“Why not?” she responded, also wondering what he meant by
forever
.

He swallowed hard. “Because I see now that I was wrong, wrong about you, wrong about myself, wrong about a lot of things.”

Hearing this, and seeing how difficult it was for him, she softened. She took his hand.

“I guess what I came here to say is that I need some time.”

“I know,” she responded tenderly. “I need time too.”

With their eyes, they shared an understanding that they couldn’t be together until they were both completely sure about it.

“Last night, you said some things,” he said. “They were all true. But there is more.” He stopped to gather his thoughts. “When I met you, I was a wreck. For two years, since Katherine and Ethan died, I hadn’t lived. Sure, I went through the motions, but inside, except when I was with Elizabeth, I was dead too.”

He saw tears on her cheeks and wiped them with his fingers. “I’m telling you this because I have to.”

“I know.”

“With you, everything changed.”

She squeezed his hand tighter.

“The moment I learned the truth about you, I felt dead again. I was convinced I had fallen in love with an illusion, and that the feelings you had professed weren’t real. Last night, when you came to see me, I realized that all that was wrong. I know now that it’s
you
I love, not an illusion, and I believe that you love me too. If anything, I had my doubts about Cheryl Manning, reservations all along that there was something not quite right with her. I don’t have that sense with Galit Stein.”

“What sense do you have?”

“That we’re alike. We’re both very strong-willed, and each of us will do whatever we have to if we believe in our cause.”

“But I
did
deceive you.”

“And I didn’t give you what you needed.” He hesitated. “I knew about the brooch. He had given it to me out of some need to repent, and I gave it back to him.”

She looked at him as if she wasn’t surprised. “Are you saying that we’re even?”

“I’m saying what you said last night, that we each did what we believed was right and neither of us could have done anything else.”

“You believe that what you did was right?”

“I guess I’ll have to let God be the judge of that.”

She looked at him inquisitively. “God?”

“I told you I realized I’ve been wrong about
a lot
of things.”

She smiled. “Through all this you found God?”

“Through all this I have been forced to find myself. I have been worshiping some false gods for a very long time. They weren’t able to help me here, so I had to look inside for something else, something I’d lost a long time ago.”

“You’re a complicated man.”

“Life’s complicated.”

She hesitated. “So, where do we go from here?” she asked softly.

He shrugged his shoulders.

They looked at each other awkwardly.

“Part of me wants to grab your bags and take you home with me,” he said. “The other part tells me it’s smarter to wait and sort it all out. I’m not alone in this world. I have a daughter.”

Through her sadness, she managed to brighten up. “It’s been quite a whirlwind,” she said.

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“You’re probably right,” she agreed. “The dust does need to settle before we make any lifetime commitments.”

He nodded.

She heard her name called, turned, and saw Arik waving her over. “Looks like I have to go check my bags.”

He took out a pen and piece of paper. “Where can I reach you?”

She smiled as she grabbed the pen and jotted down her particulars.

“Have a safe flight.”

They shared a tender hug, each knowing that anything more would only intensify the pain of parting.

“I guess… I’ll hear from you,” she said.

“You will.”