There were so many different ways she could have answered his accusations. But what was the point? He was in trouble, he was hurting, and he was lashing out at her. Had she been a little less scared, a little less agitated, Rina knew she would have taken his anger for what it was—a backhanded compliment. He felt safe with her, secure enough to express himself. But she was too blinded by emotion.

Wiping wetness from her eyes, she said, “I did what I thought was right in the past. And I’m doing what I think is right in the present. If I am wrong now…like apparently I was wrong back then…then, I’ll kindly butt out!”

Softly, Bram said, “I think that’s a very good idea.”

They both stood in silence.

Rina said, “I need the keys to my car.”

“Oh.” Bram rummaged through his pockets, pulled out her keys. He was about to toss them to her. Instead, he walked over to the Volvo and opened the driver’s door. She sighed, dragged herself over, and scooted behind the wheel. She held out her hand and he dropped the keys into her open palm.

He whispered, “Next time you pray, ask Yitzy to forgive me for endangering your life.”

She glanced at his face, blinking back moisture from her eyes. “Did you have feelings for him, Abram?”

Bram stared at her, not believing his ears. “What?”

“I know you didn’t do anything.” She forced herself to look at him. “But did you have feelings for him?”

Bram’s face turned stony, his voice permeated with anger. “You can think whatever you want about me. I don’t care. But don’t you dare call yourself a religious woman. Yitzchak was my best friend. And a truly religious woman knows what real friendship is all about. For you to ask me such a question is reprehensible. You should be ashamed of yourself.”

He slammed the door and stomped off, leaving her alone with her thoughts, her fears, and her tears.

26

Oliver knocked on the open door, then walked inside Berger’s office. Marge followed.

The place was half-empty or half-full, depending on one’s perspective. The diplomas and certificates had been taken off the walls, but the books were still shelved. On the floor rested a dozen half-packed boxes. Berger was on a step stool, depleting the top shelf of its contents.

In Oliver’s mind, it appeared as if Berger was planning to bolt. Which gave all the more credence to his Fisher/Tyne conspiracy theory. But Berger offered a different explanation.

“Three of my associates have been murdered, Detective. I don’t plan to stick around to make it an even number.”

Marge said, “So you’re running out on the hospital—”