Chapter 29
From time to time, she noticed a flicker of tenderness in Larry’s eyes, almost despite himself. Sometimes she caught a sneaky look of admiration or wonder—it was hard to decipher—but all this did not stop him from trying to entrap her, to squeeze every detail of her childhood, her adolescence, her family, from her. When she told him of her father’s death, he was quick to commiserate and to share with her his sorrow at his own father’s death a few months earlier. She was almost ready to fall into this trap, to believe in his putative friendship, but then she caught herself and deliberately spoke rudely. “I don’t need your pleasantness, Inspector Koren. Your father doesn’t interest me,” she cut him short, indifferent to the hurt that clearly registered on his face, like a child’s. “You killed Jonathan. It was all your fault! You were derelict in your duty when you left him alone.”
“I went to get him a sandwich,” he explained.
“If you were a responsible person, you would have sent someone else to get the goddamn sandwich. I bet you were hungry, and not Jonathan. You selfish bastard! Murderer! You should be put in jail, you corrupt cop!”
Larry cut the investigation short after less than an hour, worried about Talia’s pallor and shortness of breath. “Wait, I’ll take you home,” he offered.
“Oh, what a chivalrous knight! Your concern for me is so touching. Call me cab, please.”
“You needn’t be so sarcastic. I am not your enemy, and I wasn’t Jonathan’s enemy.
“You shouldn’t even mention his name. You’re not even a flea on him, and you never will be.”
She had never spoken to anyone like this, and she was surprised at herself, at her harsh, rude words. But no, he fully deserved such cruelty. Every insult she hurled filled her with a triumphant feeling. He was most hurt when she mocked his height. “I never noticed how short you are,” she told him, as he reached up put papers back into a high cabinet. He blushed, obviously seething with anger. At another point she bent down to check if he was wearing elevator shoes, and his hands grabbed her like a vise; he didn’t let go until she cried out with pain. The sight of his face contorting with anger filled her with intense emotion, an exciting mixture of pleasure, fury, sorrow, and empowerment. She marveled at the intensity of this emotion, the scorching sweetness of revenge.
Talia should have known by now how short-lived and unsatisfactory revenge is; and, at any rate, she was quite disgusted with herself for using such primitive means to get at him. Her father had taught her to ignore people’s physical shortcomings. But she couldn’t help insulting Larry, trying to hurt him, especially after he had allowed her, on a sudden whim, to read the confidential file on Jonathan. Somebody had written there, in practically illegible script, the word “vomiting” next to the schedule. It was not Larry’s handwriting, but Larry was there and had seen Jonathan throw up at eight PM, then at midnight, and later at three and five in the morning...
She had to do something to overcome her helplessness, her frustration, and the pain that filled her like an infestation, or else, she felt, she might lose her mind. “You murdered Jonathan! You saw him vomit, yet you never called a doctor! He was weak and exhausted, yet you did nothing!” She wanted to scream, but her voice was hoarse and tired, and her heart pounded like a grandfather clock in an empty room.
“Talia, don’t blame me! There was somebody of a higher rank there. He should have called the doctor, not me! Besides, after five in the morning, there was no more vomiting...”
“Sure, because he had nothing left to throw up! You weakling, you nothing! His blood is on your head!”
At that moment, she felt a sharp pain in her stomach, the same contraction-like pain she’d experienced in London that by now had become a faded memory. The doctor had diagnosed her with hepatitis, but the burden of subsequent events made her forget her condition altogether.
Talia was barely able to traverse the distance from the gate to her door. She collapsed on the doorstep, writhing in pain. Jenny dragged her upstairs and called Dr. Yalon, Jonathan’s physician.
“I’m on my way,” promised Dr. Yalon, in her heavy German accent that even forty years of hospital work could not eradicated. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” Dr. Yalon had known Jonathan all his life, and she was not going to take any risks with Greta Schwarz’s daughter-in-law. “It’s bad enough those kids have no daddy, we don’t want them to lose their mommy, too,” she muttered as she examined Talia. “Your blood pressure and your pulse are hitting the roof. I’m calling Dr. Laniado to take you in immediately.”
Pale and trembling, Talia was placed in a bed at the department of internal medicine at the hospital. The intense pounding of her heart was almost painful. She could feel her extremities growing cold as the blood flow slowed down. Her eyes were closed and her mind was empty of thoughts.
“Hello, Talia,” somebody said in a cheery voice, and a face beamed above her. “This is a good man,” the thought flashed in her mind, and she entrusted herself to his care. There was great relief in the sensation. She was not thinking of her children, or Jonathan, or, as of yet, her enemies—Larry, Goldberg, any of them.
“Quick!” she heard Dr. Laniando command his staff, and this time, despite the soothing smile, there was a note of urgency in his voice. “Send right away for an E.K.G. Take all the necessary blood, do all the other tests; it’s clear she’s suffering from a severe drop in hemoglobin and some post- traumatic symptoms. Get that blood pressure down and check her pulse every ten minutes. If the tremors continue, give her a shot of...
Thus began quite a commotion. A nurse holding a test tube kit asked her to sit up. Dr. Laniado held her hand and smiled. “I know everything about you. After what you’ve been through, I’m not surprised you ended up here with blood pressure of 220 over 180. But everything is going to be all right. You were lucky that Dr. Yalon was home. You came here at five minutes to twelve. It’s two o’clock now,” he smiled when her eyes turned to the clock on the wall in front of her, “that’s what we call the nick of time.”
“Doctor, what’s going to happen to me? I have small children,” she sobbed.
“Everything will be okay,” he patted her hand. “But you must reduce the tension. The good news is that the hepatitis Dr. Yalon mentioned on the phone has all but disappeared. These things happen sometimes, that the body cures itself. You probably needed all your strength to fight back. You see, Talia, you’re basically a healthy woman, so you’re going to be fine.”
He kept on talking, and she closed her eyes. Now she was completely calm. In the distance she heard the doctor whisper, we’ll release you this afternoon. I’ll give you a prescription. But you also need something to strengthen you...”
Her heart missed a beat. The burly policeman was standing on the threshold, his hand pressed against the doorbell, even after she had opened the door to him.
“You have evidently decided to give me a heart attack. Leave the poor doorbell alone. What do you want this time?”
“You have a letter from Inspector Koren. It doesn’t require an answer.”
She grabbed the envelope and slammed the door. She opened the tightly glued envelope in her bedroom. He had neat handwriting, with rounded, squiggly, elongated letters, dotted i’s and crossed t’s.
Talia,
I was at the hospital and heard what you went through. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. Please accept my apology. I won’t summon you to any more interrogations, and you can trust me to be good to my word.
Sincerely yours,
Larry Koren