I don't own them, obviously.
This is a mild au, assume that Fallen Heroes happened as filmed but ended the moment Bayliss got shot. Both Kellerman and Pembleton are still on the force.
The Trick is to Keep Breathing
Once upon a time, in a far away land, there lived a beautiful maiden. It happened that a great and terrible war swept across her country, devouring everything in its path. Her older brother went into the army and far away from home. She and her family went east, fleeing the conflict, but life as refugees was hard and harsh and when the word came that their village had been liberated from the invaders they gladly headed for home. But alas, the liberation was temporary and when the invaders came back all the family, but that missing eldest brother, were captured by the enemy.
Now this enemy had a strange hatred festering in their hearts and toward the maiden and all her people, and for the crime of daring to be one of those people the punishment was death. They herded them into camps, forcing them into slave labor, and finally into gas chambers, men women and children. But the battle raged hot in the maiden's village. So that she and her family never made it as far as the camps. The enemy sent them on a forced march, with neither food nor water, for days on end. They marched them until they dropped off, one by one, dead of starvation and exhaustion.
But the maiden was in fact very beautiful, and an enemy soldier saw her and became infatuated. If she would only marry him and give up her faith, he would intercede and save her life. Her mother begged her to save herself, but she clung to her family and would not be swayed. She kept the faith. She died an unspeakable death.
When Meldrick Lewis thought of his childhood, something he generally avoided as much as possible, his brother popped to the forefront. A big child for his age, as if nature had compensated him with size for what it stole in everything else. Anthony Lewis was everything Meldrick planned never to be. Wild and cruelly emotional...
The boy lay his ear to the wall, listening to the scritch, scritch of the rats. If he squeezed his eyes shut the sound seemed to echo through his head just like it was the big hall of a church. Scritch scritch. If it went on long enough it seemed to become a pattern, almost... musical.
"Hey, Meldrick, you awake?" Anthony asked loudly, breaking the pattern of scritches. Meldrick's eyes snapped open as his brother's finger pinched tightly around his arm.
"What's up?"
"I jus' wanted to see if you're awake. They gonna come eat us you know."
"Who is?"
"Rats. When we fall asleep the rats come and chew on our eyelids. One day they gonna bite through and eat out our eyes."
"No they ain't."
"They are," Anthony smiled knowingly, "They tole me they gonna."
"Rats don't talk," Meldrick pointed out skeptically.
"You callin me a liar? Huh, Meldrick?" Anthony's voice darkened and his fingers on Mel's arms tightened to the point of pain. Meldrick shook his head and swallowed hard, but decided to ignore it.
"No, I ain't calling you nothin, I believe you, Anthony."
"Cause I could help em, Mel. I could help the rats bite your eyes right out when you asleep."
"No." Meldrick bit on his lower lip.
"You should go to bed. You got school tomorrow."
"No."
"Go to bed, Meeeeldrick." Anthony giggled hysterically. "Better keep your eyelids really glued."
"Someday, you gonna try and jump out that window and I ain't gonna catch you," Meldrick hissed a reply. "I just gonna let you fall and I won't even be sorry."
"You won't do it. You gotta love your own brother," the whispered words filtered into Meldrick's thoughts, but he ignored them and went back to sleep.
"Detective Lewis, there's a body downtown. Lloyd street. You're up," a secretary called as she tossed a message on Lewis' desk. He glanced around the squad room. Pembleton was still sitting with Bayliss at the hospital. Falsone and Stivers were hip deep in crime solving and Munch was even deeper in paperwork, trying to get the open cases of the wounded detectives into some semblance of order.
Mike Kellerman was sitting with his feet up, pretending to read a newspaper. Lewis bit his lip and wondered if there was any way he could just take this one alone. He glanced toward Gee's office and tried to imagine what the lieutenant would say about him ignoring a perfectly good potential secondary.
"Hey, Mikey, you busy?"
"I'm reading this." Mike didn't look up from his paper.
"I got me a body. Wanna come?"
"Me?" Mike did look up at that, faint surprise lighting in his blue eyes.
"See any other warm bodies round here?"
"Oh." The light in Mike's eyes died. "So it's like that."
"It is what it is. You comin' or what?"
"All right. Let me grab my coat."
Lewis pulled a set keys for them, trying to ignore the nervous jangling in his stomach. Outwardly, his face was placid and his features serene. Not at all the look of a man who was going on his first real case with the ex-partner he had effectively dumped when Mike needed someone the most. He sneaked a glance over at Mike. The man looked as if he wasn't sure whether to be nervous or angry. Meldrick was hoping for angry, he could deal with that.
Anyway, it was just one body. Maybe it would be open and shut and forget about it. Lewis took a deep breath and walked over to the Cavilers. He didn't bother to look to see if Kellerman was following him or not. He did wait to hear the passenger door slam before he started the engine. He pulled out of the lot and stepped on the pedal heading up Broadway.
"So, did they tell you what we pulled?" Mike asked quietly, after enduring the silence for all of a minute.
"Some old man they said, left in a Dumpster outside of the B'nai Israel Synagogue. 27 Lloyd Street."
"Homeless?"
"They didn't say. Let's just wait and see instead of worrying about it now, okay?"
"Yeah. Okay," Mike muttered. He began drumming his fingers randomly against his knee and the dashboard. "So how's Barbara?"
"Fine."
"That's good."
"Yeah, she-- Would you stop that?"
"Stop what?"
"Fidgeting like that. It's damn irritating. Why don't you smoke a cigarette or something?"
"I'm trying to quit."
"Again?"
"Those things'll kill me. If you don't kill us first-- watch out!" Mike called as they narrowly missed sideswiping the curb when Meldrick took a far too wide left on East Lombard.
"Since when has that bothered you?" Meldrick asked, as they stopped at a light. He could almost hear the snap as Mike turned to face him. Clear blue eyes blazed with sudden fury, an anger Lewis had seen, but almost never directed at him.
"Meldrick, people got shot in our squad room. Ballard almost lost her foot! Gharty almost died! Three uniforms... three cops are dead. For fuck's sakes, Bayliss could STILL die anytime. Bayliss. And I wanna quit smoking, okay? Does that bother you?"
"No, it don't. Good luck quitting," he whispered, staring into burning blue eyes for a moment, not realizing the light had turned green until the car behind him let its horn wail. He shivered and turned his eyes away, out toward the window. "If you would quit gabbing and let me keep my eye on the road, you wouldn't have to worry 'bout my driving so damn much."
"Yeah, since when does anything help your driving?" Mike murmured the outburst over as if it had never happened. "Bet you never asked Falsone to quit gabbing."
"Like he'd have listened." Lewis snickered. "Let me tell you, Stivers' more than welcome to that mope." Lewis shook his head. Kellerman smiled tentatively, basking in the momentary camaraderie.
With a halting screech, Lewis pulled into the scene, narrowly missing a random officer from CSU.
"Jesus, Lewis, you're an asshole!" The dark haired woman called.
"Look in the mirror, Riley!" Lewis called back. "You got your panties tied in a knot again." He laughed and ignored the finger she flipped him.
"What's with her?" Mike asked softly, shaking his head.
"Long story. Mostly she just a bitch."
"Yeah, that, or someone didn't bother to take Munch's brilliant advice about sticking wicks in company ink."
"Shut up, Kellerman." The words could have been teasing but Meldrick's voice gave them the edge of harshness.
"Fine," Mike muttered, staring at the ground. Lewis looked away from the hurt he'd caused and turned to the officer on the scene as though nothing had happened.
"So, Officer Gordon, tell me what we've got."
"White male, about seventy. Looks like he was shot once through the heart, very neat. But take a look at this." The tall man guided the two detectives toward the Dumpster.
"Aw, hell." Lewis ran his hand through his short-cropped hair. "Aw... damn."
The man's shirt was opened at the chest, and a swastika was prominently engraved in the skin.
"Hello redball," Mike hissed.
"Maybe. The guy have any ID on him?"
"Funny you should ask. Yes. Our Vic had a wallet on him. Fifty bucks, ID, and credit cards, all still there as handy as you please. His name was Ira Scholtzman, the guy who found him, Rabbi Rosen, ID him for us too."
"So this wasn't just a cover for a robbery?"
"Could be a hate crime. Could just be a way of covering up a domestic."
"Then I suggest we find out if he has a family to get domestic with. Oh, damn!" Mike whispered suddenly, stopping his inspection of the body.
"What now?" Lewis muttered impatiently. Mike shook his head and pointed to the man's arm. A faint, small blue number was tattooed on. "No."
"The world is a very fucked up place. I think I'd better talk to Rabbi Rosen," Mike stalked away, not waiting for Lewis to say a word.
The Rabbi was a tall, bearded man in a suit. His black eyes were red around the edges and his face seemed to be trapped in an expression of disbelief. Mike approached him gently.
"Rabbi Rosen? I'm Detective Kellerman, with the homicide unit. You were the one who found Mr. Scholtzman?"
"I-- Yes, I was opening up the shul for morning minyan. Ira came every day you know, except when he or Tatya was sick. We depended on him. We've been having trouble getting minyans lately, what with the college kids going home for the summer."
"A minyan?"
"A service has to have ten adult males to begin, Detective."
"Right. Who was Tatya, his wife?"
"Tatyana. Yes, she is-- was his wife. Good God, how am I going to tell her about this?" The man stared at Mike helplessly. Mike touched his shoulder gently, encouraging him to go on.
"We can handle that, Rabbi, don't worry about it. Could you just tell me what you saw?"
"I was coming in around the back when I saw an odd shape sticking out of the Dumpster... I thought those damn skinheads had-- had vandalized-- but it was Ira."
"Have you been having a problem with vandals?"
"This time of year, school letting out. I suppose they're bored. Yes, we've had problems."
"You knew Mr. Scholtzman well?"
"I saw him every day. But he's the quiet sort, keeps himself to himself."
"Any family besides his wife?"
"He has two daughters, Rebecca and Rachel. Rachel lives in Munsie, up in New York, but Rebecca and her daughter Hava live in town, ever since Rebecca's husband passed away. I can give you the addresses."
"That would be very helpful."
"Anything I else I can do, you just let me know. You know, I just can't, can't believe anyone would do this. The poor old man. Who would do this?"
"We'll do our best to find that out. Can you tell us anything about those skinheads, that been harassing you? Do you have any names, descriptions?"
"A few names. Descriptions. We've gone to the police before, but they haven't done much to help us. I guess it takes something like this."
"We will help you, Rabbi."
"Of course you will. You catch the animals who did this, Detective Kellerman. You'd better."
"Damn, poor bastard. Everything he lived through and he ends up like this." Dr. Dyer shook her head.
"Life's like that sometimes." Lewis shook his head.
"You could say that, " the ME said gravely. She drew back the sheet to show a swastika, carefully and brutally carved in the victim's flesh. "He was dead when it was done," she added. Mike nodded.
Lewis stared down at the body, feeling suddenly tired. "He got out. He got out of the camps and now this. See, it goes to show you."
"Show what, Lewis?"
"There ain't really no out. You slated for a violent death, that's what you gonna get, one way or the other. Ain't no way out."
"There's always a way out. This is America, land of the free, home of the great escape."
"Escape's an illusion. That's all it is. What do you know bout it anyway, Mikey?"
"Never mind. Anything else you can tell us, Dyer?"
"A single shot with a nine millimeter, clean through the heart. He died instantly," she explained. "I'll have the final report for you two in a few days." Mike nodded and turned to Lewis.
"So, what, we thinking some skinhead did him?"
"Yeah, looks like it. "
"I'll go round up a few skinheads, then. You get the family."
"Hey, who's the primary on this case, Mikey?"
"Look, if I get a viable suspect I'll call you. But somebody has to talk to these guys, and somebody has to get the family. No offense, but you know those assholes are more likely to talk to me."
"None taken. I'm just saying we should be working this one together is all."
"Do you really think that's a great idea, Lewis?"
"Mikey--"
"If I get anything, I'll beep you."
"Wait, I--" But Mike was already gone and Lewis couldn't bring himself to go after him.
Thirty minutes later, Lewis rang the bell of a small townhouse. Internally, he steeled himself. This was the part of the job that everyone hated, but Lewis found that grieving relatives made him more uncomfortable then most. He could never find the words to comfort, to ease the pain. His was not a face, or a manner that invited confidence. As he'd once told Megan Russert, the only confessions he got were in the box. Crosetti, Kellerman, hell even Falsone, had been better at this than he was.
The door opened before he managed to drive himself crazy wondering what this one would be like, hoping like hell the granddaughter knew something helpful so he could close this case fast. Hoping like hell she didn't cry.
The woman who opened the door for him was dark haired and slight, with a set, serious expression. Young too, she might have been legal to drink, but barely. She looked him up and down, confused. "Can I help you?"
"Ms. Hava Greer?"
"I'm Hava Greer, yes. Who are you?"
"Ms. Greer, I'm Detective Meldrick Lewis, with the Baltimore City Police Department. Can I come in?" She stared blankly at the badge he displayed and then nodded.
"Yes. Yes, of course. Is-- There's something wrong, isn't there?"
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Your grandfather's body was found out side of the B'nai Israel Synagogue this morning." Her eyes widened slightly, but that was her only perceptible reaction.
"What do you mean found? He's not dead."
"I'm sorry, ma'am. He was shot once in the heart with a nine millimeter. He died instantly, no suffering."
She blinked and then seemed to collect herself. "My mother is out of town. I'll have to call her, she has to get back in time to bury him."
"The ME will have to do an autopsy before you can collect the body."
"We have to bury it within twenty-four hours. That's the law. I have to call my mother."
"I'll talk to the ME and see what we can do for you. But in the meantime, I have to ask, did your Grandfather have any enemies?"
"Zedi Ira? He was a hero. My grandfather knew what suffering really meant. You know suffering, starvation, misery, seeing your friends and loved ones shipped off to be murdered every day. And finally a train ride to murder for you. He was at Dachau."
"Yeah, we saw the number on his arm."
"Tell me what you're going to do to find the ones who did this?"
"Well, Ma'am, we'll need anything you can think of that might help. Did your grandfather have any enemies, people he may have upset?"
"Enemies? To make enemies you must first have dealings with humanity. My grandfather was not very capable in those areas. The Nazis took that from him," she hissed, real anger visible in her eyes. It made any emotion she'd exhibited earlier seem bland in contrast.
"If he was as cold as you say, maybe he offended someone. People get angry, they do things. Anything at all, even if it don't seem important to you."
"It's possible, I don't know. I guess you'd better talk to my Grandmother about that."
"Do you know if he owed any money? Maybe that he couldn't pay back?"
"A loan shark? Don't be ridiculous. Why don't you just talk to those neo-nazi bastards? They've been vandalizing the Shul you know."
"We have to look into all the possible angles, Ma'am."
"Those neo-nazi punks are your angle. They're scum."
"They are that." He agreed.
"People don't understand, they think that kind of hate is dead in this country. They think it's something that happened to some dirt scratching peasants in Russia or something," she continued agitatedly. Meldrick sat back and let her talk.
"Those people in those German suburbs weren't peasants on the tundra ridden down by Cossacks. They were just like you. They were rich and assimilated; they had nice German friends. They were part of life and society. They were safe. Oh sure, there were hints, can't forget about those hints. Some invective sprayed on the walls of synagogues. Vandalism. A couple of politicians with views we don't like to think about. Some nasty names. Pat Robertson. Louis Farrakhan." She stared pointedly at Meldrick but hurried on before he had time to interject anything. "Kike, right? Lying, cheating greedy Jew."
"Lots of people can say they were persecuted," Lewis pointed out. He didn't flinch under her baleful glare.
"I'm not excusing people dealing crack and shooting babies on the street, Detective." She spat. "My people came out of prejudice as bad as anyone has ever suffered, with their minds and morals intact. I just think it's too soon to get comfortable. I think my grandfather's murder is proof that no matter how comfortable we get anywhere this isn't our country. We only have one country." Her eyes shone passionately and he found himself almost captivated in spite of himself.
"Can you tell me anything else about your grandfather, Ms. Greer?" he asked calmly, shattering her momentum. She shrugged.
"You'd better talk to my grandmother about that, Detective."
"Yes, Ma'am, I'll be seeing her next. Here's my card, if you think of anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to give me a call."
"I'll do that," she said. Just as she was about to shut the door after him, she called something out. "There's a word for it you know."
"For what?" He turned back toward her.
"Hate like that. Amalak. That's the word."
"I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"Sure you do. You're an African American." She almost smiled, before closing the door.
Tatyana Scholtzman had her granddaughter's clear, dark eyes, still visible under the wrinkles and shock of white hair. She stood ramrod straight, making her seem taller than her five feet.
"Friends? Ira?" Tatya shook her head. "He would not have been able to make any or keep them."
"What do you mean, Mrs. Scholtzman?"
"Tatya, please, detective, call me Tatya. It was not always so, but my husband was a difficult man to get to know."
"How long has he had this problem?"
"Since the war."
"You mean the Second World War?"
"For people my age, Detective, there's only one war of any consequence."
"Well who did Ira spend time with?"
"He went to minyan every morning and almost every night. He might have spoken to some of the men there. And he made sure to see Hava and Rebecca at least a couple times a month."
"Was Hava close to her grandfather?"
"In some sense, I suppose. My granddaughter is a good woman, but she has more passion than even a young person should. I think if my generation had her kind of faith when we were young, God in his heaven would have seen it and spared us the Nazis."
"Did your husband see things the same way?"
"Ira liked things to be a certain distance. He loved our girls and Hava in his way, but even they could never quite penetrate his defenses. You have to understand, in the ghettos, in the camps, we were doomed. Everyone around us was doomed. Anybody you got closed to could vanish the next day, to the camps, to the gas chambers, to... It is so difficult to forget that. It's easy to let things and people just slide away without ever touching you."
"So you're saying he didn't get along with your granddaughter?"
"I'm saying she wanted things from him he didn't know how to give. But if you're insinuating something detective, you can stop. My granddaughter honors him for what he went through; she would have no cause to kill him. And if you think that she would mutilate any Jew in that way, you've never heard her speak," Tatya's reedy voice picked up strength as she spoke, but Lewis had caught the most important thing.
"In what way, ma'am?" he asked quietly.
"A swastika carved on a survivor, is-- is an atrocity. How can you not know that?"
"Mrs. Scholtzman, we didn't release any information about a swastika. How did you know that?" He watched her careful as she shook her head and covered her mouth with her hands.
"What? No, you must have said something, I--"
"I didn't."
"Then, I must have... somehow. Listen to me, Hava would have never done such a thing. It doesn't matter anyway, she was with me last night, she'd brought us groceries."
"Why don't I ask her that myself?"
"You can't."
"I'm sorry, Ma'am, but that's my job."
"She's gone up to Munsie to help her Aunt Rachel deal with Ira's death. My Rachel was always such an emotional girl." Tatya smiled pleasantly, while Lewis manfully resisted the urge to smack her one.
"Hey, hey, hey, Mikey!" Meldrick called cheerfully as his partner shuffled into the squad room. Mike looked as though he'd taken too many long gulps of something bitter. "Any luck?"
"Luck? What's that again? Jesus, Meldrick, those guys are fucking brain dead and they've all got sheets the length of my arm. If it had been one of them, we'd have found their prints all over the scene."
"That's okay." Lewis grinned widely.
"How's that-- you got something don't you? What do you have?"
"Read this." Lewis handed his interview notes to Kellerman. Mike thumbed through them, skimming down the irrelevant things, before he hit it. His eyes widened.
"The granddaughter?"
"That's right. I checked, her mother has a nine millimeter registered in her name."
"Did you find the gun?"
"Not yet, it ain't in the house. She maybe got rid of it."
"You bringing her in?"
"She went to see her Aunt in New York. The locals are gonna bring her in for me. Her grandma gave her the heads up if you believe that."
"Her grandmother? Imagine being with someone that much. Being married all those years and then--Boom! He's dead. You think she'd miss him more."
"I dunno."
"Anyway. I guess we're almost done here."
"Maybe. If we don't get a confession on this one, she can wiggle her way out of it in court."
"We'll get a confession."
"Yeah."
"Imagine being married that long... I still miss Annie and we didn't even make it two years. And I know she's still out there, doing okay. Hell, doing better than me! But..."
"Yeah, I can understand that. I guess I got to used to havin Barbara around. And I still keep expecting to see Crosetti's big ole head in the squadroom."
"I know." Mike smiled softly.
"How do you know?" Lewis demanded, trying to think of when he might have let something of that nature slip.
"You told me that. You know, that night, on my boat." That night could only ever have one meaning for the two of them.
"I hardly even remember what was coming out of my mouth then."
"I do. I remember every word."
"Oh," Lewis muttered uncomfortably. "We done here. I doubt the New York boys will get her down here before tomorrow. Maybe we could head over to the Waterfront and get a drink or something?" He peered at Mike, rather nervously. Kellerman stared at him and then nodded.
"Let's go." Kellerman stood up without even questioning the change in topic. Even he could learn when to just let it go.
A few hours and more than a few drinks later, Lewis wished he'd never asked.
"I mean murdered by his own granddaughter! How sick is that?" Kellerman demanded. "What the hell is wrong with people?"
"When it's your time, it's your time. That's just how it is. Could be your wife, your granddaughter, a piano falling on your head. Could be you kill yourself."
"Well the guy didn't just kill himself!"
"Mike, you're drunk." Lewis sighed. Kellerman blinked up at him and then shook his head slowly.
"I'm okay. I think I'm ready to go home, though." Kellerman stood up clumsily, using the bar for leverage.
"No, you're not okay. Home's a good idea, but you better let me have your keys." Lewis held out his hand for them. Kellerman looked at him as though he'd been monumentally insulted.
"Those are my keys!"
"I know they are, I'll give em back when you're sober."
"All you people are so alike. Just wanna take my damn keys. I'm not even that drunk."
"Tell me that one again when you can walk in a straight line."
"Fine. You want them? Here you are." Kellerman dug into his pocket, through a bunch of papers and pulled out a key ring, which he practically flung in Lewis' face. Lewis managed to catch them.
"Thank you. I'll call you a cab or something."
"I can't afford a cab. I'm just gonna walk. Not that far."
"You can't barely walk either. You gonna fall into the water or something."
"Your partner just falling in the water." Mike giggled. "Sounds familiar, huh?"
"Don't even go there, Mikey. You can try and get me mad all you want, I still ain't letting you walk home the way you are."
"Well, what do you want me to do, sleep on the bar?"
"I'll take you home," Lewis offered. Mike shook his head.
"Letting you drive me anyplace really would kill me. Pass."
"Look, forget driving. I'll walk you home if you like."
"Wow, that's generous. Should I be grateful?"
"Mikey," Meldrick said tiredly.
"Should I maybe kiss your feet and thank you for the crumbs. At least I'm worth the crumbs now! I guess I should be grateful."
"Look, I'll pay for your cab."
"You can't afford one either, unless you been taking a little extra in on the side. Is that it, Meldrick, a little bit of squeezing for cash?" Mike sneered belligerently. Lewis stared blankly at him before anger overcame his grip on calm.
"Will you just shut the hell up and let me take you home?" he screamed, ignoring the uncomfortable stares of the Waterfront patrons. Kellerman flinched and the sneer faded from his face, to be replaced by confusion.
"Okay," he suddenly agreed, with surprising meekness. Meldrick nodded firmly, hooked an arm around his partner's shoulder, and steadily guided him out the door and in the direction of the boat. It wasn't far, but Mike's wild stumbling and weaving made the task an intricate one.
When they finally got to the dock Mike fumbled with his keys so badly that Meldrick had to open the door for him. "Jeez, Mikey. What do you do when you this drunk an on your own?"
"Sleep on the deck." Mike shrugged. "Beats sitting around with a gun in my mouth anyway."
"Gun?"
"I do that. Sit there and watch the gun and the clock and try to fall asleep. But when I'm buzzed enough s'easy. S'nice out here anyway, to sleep. Stars. Cold sometimes, but nice." He grinned toothily.
"You ain't gonna do that tonight." Lewis tried to suppress his real horror.
"Nope," Mike agreed happily. "You're here to help. Anyway, have to work the case tomorrow. Should really sleep."
"Yeah, case." Lewis expression seemed to penetrate Kellerman's drunken haze and he examined his partner with more careful precision.
"Meldrick, are you-- you okay? This case is really sucky and all. It bugging you?"
"For God's sake, Mikey, forget about the damn case!"
"Well, are you sure? Because if there's something I can do to help, you know I'm here for you, right?"
Lewis stared at him incredulously. "I'm fine, Kellerman. Don't worry about me."
"You sure? I mean it, if I can do anything to help..."
"You wanna help me? Jesus, Mikey, you just told me you sit here every night on this boat with a gun in your mouth and you wanna help me?"
"Not every night," Mike said quietly.
"Every night, any night, whatever. What the hell is the matter with you, man? How do you do that? Why do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Let people just rip you open like this."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, man."
"Why do you keep trying when you know you just gonna get bit again?"
"I dunno. I think, I mean I know everybody needs other people. You can't just turn that off, I guess. If you do that, what good are you?"
"Damn, you sound like... If you start wailing about Lincoln next I'm gonna hit you." Lewis frowned and shook his head.
"Who? Lincoln? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"It's not important. Anyway, I gotta be getting home. Early day tomorrow."
"Don't you have time for a beer?" Mike asked hopefully. He moved over to the cooler himself and pulled one out. With the careful application of studied precision, he finally succeeded in popping the lid.
"No, I don't. Sorry 'bout that. Anyway, you really had enough of that for one night."
"If I can still pop the lid I haven't had enough yet. You sure you don't want to stay for a while?"
"No, I really can't."
"Why, Barbara waiting for you?"
"More likely the process server with the divorce papers." Lewis sighed, pressing his hand to his forehead. Kellerman patted him on the back sympathetically.
"I'm sorry, man."
"Don't be, it was just a matter of time."
"I'm still sorry."
Lewis stared into sincere blue eyes and found he had to look away. "Mikey?"
"Yeah?"
"You gonna be okay here alone?"
"I've been here alone for a while now, Meldrick. I'm used to it."
"I--" he tried to force the words that were caught in his throat, but they choked him. "I gotta be going. See you tomorrow."
"'Til tomorrow, partner." Kellerman saluted him playfully with his beer. Lewis smiled faintly and walked down the pier toward the Waterfront and his car, still feeling like the worst kind of coward in the world.
Hava Greer took her seat across from Lewis in the box with a steady poise that seemed to advertise that she knew exactly what she was doing. That would have to be chisled away if she was going to be made to talk.
"What's this all about, Detectives? What's going on?"
"Why did you leave town, Ms. Greer?"
"I didn't know I had to stay."
"You missed your grandfather's funeral."
"We don't say Yitzkor for a grandparent. My presence wasn't required."
"All the same, it looks a little strange, you missing his funeral."
"I don't understand, are you accusing me of something?"
"Where's your mother's gun, Ms. Greer?"
"How should I know? I can't even shoot a gun."
"So then who shot your grandfather?"
"What? Are you seriously... what possible reason would I have to kill him?"
"Why don't you tell me that?"
"You're out of your mind! I brought my grandmother groceries that morning, even if I were capable of such a thing, I couldn't have done it!"
"You didn't get along with him did you? Neighbors heard you fighting with him a few nights before the murder."
"That has nothing to do with anything."
"Why did you fight with him?"
"I found information that-- Look, it's none of your business."
"A dead body makes everything our business."
"I found out that, that-- My grandmother told me the truth about him," her voice actually trembled. "He was one of those in charge of liquidating the Warsaw ghetto."
"What?" Lewis demanded. Mike leaned back against the wall, reveling in the sudden gift. Motive from the supect's own mouth. A motive would be the thing that could make this case fly.
"My grandfather was a collaborator," she said bitterly, ignoring the shock of the detectives. "That's how he kept out of the camps until nearly the end of the war, that's how he saved my grandmother's life."
"So that's why you killed him?"
"I didn't kill him."
"He worked with the Nazis. That made you angry. I understand that. You got so angry you had to make him pay for betraying your people like that. Betraying your trust," Kellerman leaned toward her, almost whispering the words in her ear. She pulled away, shying from actual contact.
"You have to understand. He was a collaborator. He had them in his soul."
"Them?" Meldrick pursed his lips and hoped to hell this wasn't the beginning of an attempt to make an insanity defense. Hava shook her head.
"You know what I mean, or you would if you weren't goyishe. Them. The spirit of Amalak, of hatred. He collaborated with the Nazis against his own people. He was--"
"You being a little hard on an ole man, don't you think? Come on, Hava, everybody does what they gots to, everybody wants to survive."
"What good is surviving if everything that makes you human is dead? My grandfather was a walking dead man, Detective Lewis."
"He went through hell to come out alive," he prompted carefully.
"How the do you know what hell looks like? You grew up here, in this country. You never suffered."
"Maybe." He smiled bitterly. "Maybe I don't have a clue. But neither do you, Hava Greer. Or weren't you born and raised in the suburbs of Bawlmer? But he knew. He survived that and you killed him."
"Don't you understand, he didn't survive! He wasn't a he, he was an it. A thing who couldn't hold any kind of relationship. He didn't love my grandmother, my mother or me. If he ever knew how, he lost that knowledge. Bubby Tatya only stayed with him because she's almost as dead inside as he was."
"Are you gonna kill her too?"
"Of course not! She's my Bubby, my grandmother!"
"But you killed your grandfather? She knew, she went along with him for all those years, why not kill her too?" Lewis demanded. Hava stared at him blankly.
"I used to think it was okay. I used to think he was a martyr, a breathing reminder of what my people went through. But he wasn't a martyr, he was a traitor."
"So you killed him?"
"He was already dead."
"And you just finished him off, right? You just put the poor walking dead man right out of his misery with a nine millimeter."
"You said it was one shot and it was over. He didn't feel it. When they killed my Great Aunt the Nazis didn't want to waste a bullet. They made her dig her own grave and then they buried her in it. She was still alive and they buried her. I'm not like that."
"You shot Ira Scholtzman through the heart with a nine millimeter?"
"I was doing the right thing."
"Why?"
"He was supposed to be a martyr, not a traitor. This way he was a martyr. This way he was what he should have been."
"Yeah, tell it to a jury," Mike said quietly, turning off the tape recorder and ending the interview. As he was about to stand up, the door to the box swung open. A uniformed police officer stared at the two detectives rather sheepishly.
"I think you guys better take a look at something," he muttered.
"In a minute, we're almost done here," Lewis said.
"That's why you need to see this." Lewis and Kellerman exchanged glances, sparing a look for the suddenly too calm face of Hava.
"What is it?" Kellerman asked.
"The girl didn't do it. It was the grandmother."
"What?" Lewis demanded.
"It was the grandmother. We've got a signed confession and the murder weapon. Latent's checking the prints now, but it's a pretty good bet the girl never touched the weapon. The note said she hated guns."
"Note?"
"Suicide note. Tatyana Scholtzman ate her gun about an hour ago. She called 911 before she did it. I got to you as soon as I found out."
"You're kidding," Lewis hissed.
"I'm sorry, detective. There's nothing we can do about it."
"You have that note?" Kellerman asked quietly.
"Latent's dusting it for prints. I've got a copy." He handed the paper to Mike, who scanned its contents briefly before passing it on to Lewis. When Lewis looked up at Mike, who gestured to the box with his chin.
"You want me to talk to her?" he offered.
Lewis shook his head. "No. No, I'll do it."
"Fair enough." Mike followed the officer to take care of the paper work, leaving his partner staring at the box and its resident. A straight, slim girl, not quite of drinking age, who didn't cry. He took a deep breath and stepped inside.
Her dark eyes were wide with tension; her knuckles clenched and white. She looked almost trapped as she stared at him.
"Ms. Greer, there's been a mistake."
"Where is my grandmother?" she whispered, so softly he could barely hear her. If he'd had any doubts before, now he knew. She'd known all along, she'd been willing to go down for it, but she'd known everything.
"She committed suicide about an hour ago, Ma'am. I'm sorry," he said as kindly as he could. "She signed a confession and left us the murder weapon. A few tests and we'll have you cleared of this whole mess."
"Suicide? Suicide is a sin."
"So is murder, Ms. Greer. I read her note, I know what happened." She nodded convulsively.
"She felt so guilty, living with him. She felt like a traitor for living at all when so many died. They were both dead inside, I think. It was my fault." She stared up at him, as if to gauge his reaction to her statement.
"How was that?" he said, as impartially as he could.
"She told me the truth. About what he did, about what she did. I got so angry, so angry. I told them both I wouldn't see them again. That I'd tell everyone what they really were. It's my fault." She shook her head, as if trying to shake something out of it.
"You where going to let yourself go down for murder to protect her," he offered sympathetically.
"She was my Bubby. I honored her. If only I hadn't-- if only I'd been a little warmer, more forgiving. I never meant for anyone to die."
"I am sorry."
"Did you really think I would have done it?" she asked softly.
"I thought so, yeah. Would you have, if she hadn't done it first?"
"I don't even know how to shoot a gun. I hate guns. And to kill another Jew..." She shook her head. "No."
"I'm sorry. In my line of work it's my job to think the worst of people. But you would have gone to jail for her?"
"For my Bubby? Yes. She's a good woman, she really was. The guilt, the things I said to her. I--She suffered so much. My generation owes them so much just for surviving. If I could take it back..."
"Did you love your grandfather?" What he wanted to ask was how she could cover for his killer if she loved him too, but the answer was too painfully obvious.
"I told you, I honored him, both of them. Is that important?"
"Not for the case. I jus' need to know." He shrugged and looked away.
"It's possible to care for someone who doesn't know how to care back for a little while. Not forever, not anymore. That's unhealthy."
"Yeah. You're right." They sat together in silence for a little while before he stood up. "I can get someone to drive you home."
"That's okay. I'll get a cab."
"Maybe... if you need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to call," he made the offer without quite knowing why.
She shook her head and rather gently lay her hands on his. "That wouldn't be a good idea, Detective. People might talk."
"Because I'm black? I'm not asking you out, or anything." His face turned warm at the last words, and he was glad his skin didn't show blush easily.
"Not yet." She almost smiled. He wondered when she had become the one doing the comforting. "But if you ever consider converting, don't hesitate to try."
They shook hands as if they were old friends or comrades; she did smiled at him once before she left, a real smile that brightened her face to something that could have been beauty. That was beauty.
Lewis wandered out into the squad room, waiting for Mikey to come back. After tossing the football up and down into the air got boring, his gaze focused on Munch, who was busily pretending to be busy.
"Hey, Munchkin, can I ask you something?"
"What is it, Lewis?"
"Do you know what Amalak means?" he asked hopefully. Munch's brow furrowed in thought.
"It means a lot of things, none of them friendly. Concrete or philosophical sense?"
"Just tell me what it means!"
"Okay, okay, don't get so damn excited. Mostly it's a biblical thing. It's the name of a tribe in the desert that used to attack without warning and kill off the weakest. Supposedly they were almost totally wiped out, but the Israelites stopped just short of genocide. For which act of mercy they were rewarded by the remnants of Amalak popping up and making life miserable every once in a while."
"What do you mean?"
"If you believe it, people like Hitler are Amalak." Munch shrugged. "Is that what you wanted to know?"
"That all it means? What about in the philosophical sense?"
Munch's expression turned intense and focused. His gaze almost seemed to spear through Lewis. "It means hate, Meldrick. Hate without reason, conscience or pause. Hate that's so devouring it eats people alive and makes them commit unimaginable horrors. It's something so poisonous; the only way to get rid of it and be sure it's gone is to destroy it utterly, completely and without mercy. That what you wanted to know?"
"Yeah. Thanks." Lewis rocked back on his chair. Munch grinned and nodded, as if he'd never been anything but lighthearted on the subject.
"Sure. Anytime."
As if by prearrangment Lewis and Kellerman found themselves wandering to the Waterfront after work, and then back to the boat. They didn't talk about anything in particular. Paper work, sports, the weather. They might have found some kind of tentative pleasure in each other's company, but nothing that made what Lewis said any less of a bombshell.
"Mike. I-- I'm gonna need a partner."
"They're gonna get us a new transfer in, Lewis. You'll have some warm bodies to chose from."
"I don't want-- I mean, it ain't that. I know I didn't do right by you. Said some things I can't just take back, but I do wanna make things right again."
"Do you? Do you really?"
"This ain't easy for me, Mikey."
"What ain't?"
"Apologizin."
"Is that what you're doing?" Mike snorted incredulously. Meldrick supressed the urge to just walk out now, while he still could.
"You enjoying this, ain't you?"
"You expect me to answer that?"
"I'm sorry, Mike. I'm sorry about... everything."
"Okay."
"Okay, what?"
"Okay, I accept your apology. Forget about it."
"So will you partner with me again?"
"You have to tell me why. You have to explain why you want to partner with me, because I have to understand." A part of Mike couldn't believe he was questioning this. All he'd wanted was to work with Meldrick again since they rotated back in to homicide, but now he had to know.
"I dunno what you want me to say."
"I'm here for you, Meldrick, if you need me, but you-- I can't go through this again just on this. You got to give me something. Something to stand on, because I don't feel like I got much there right now."
"I-- I miss working with you. I-- care what happens to you. I care about--" Lewis frowned trying to think of something to say until Kellerman took pity on his floundering.
"Fine. I'll see you tomorrow."
"So you saying yes?"
"Yeah, I'm saying yes. I'm the idiot who lets himself get ripped open, remember?"
"Thank you." Lewis shook Kellerman's offer hand to seal the bargain. He stared into Mike's blue eyes before releasing him. "We're going to have to talk things over."
"Yeah," Mike whispered. "But not tonight, right?"
"Right. Will you be okay here by yourself?"
"I'll live." Mike smiled, but it was a painful smile.
"But will you be okay?"
"No." Mike looked up at Meldrick, watching his face carefully. "I won't be okay."
"I guess I figured as much. You got yourself a really comfortable couch here, Mikey," Meldrick whispered, forcing himself to keep meeting his partner's eyes.
"It's not too bad, best I could do on my salary. I'll find you some blankets or something," Mike offered quietly. Maybe a little bit of the hurt drained from his face, Lewis couldn't be sure.
"Thanks. That means a lot to me, Mikey. Partner."
Once upon a time, in a far away land, a young man came back from war hoping to find his family. He wandered through the streets of the village of his birth, hoping to see at least one of them, his parents, his brother, and his sister, to hear any news of them. He begged the people for any word at all, but most of them were strangers to him. The original villagers had scattered or died. Finally, a sympathetic man, who had worked as a cook for the enemy, told him the story of his family, his beautiful sister and their fate.
The young man was mesmerized with horror, but like many of his people he did the only thing he could do, and lived. He went to university and met a young woman who had survived the war by suffering through the hardships in the East. He married and had children and he lived and he remembered.