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Back Ten Years Gone
Chapters (43)
  1. Cover
  2. BOOKS BY JONATHAN DUNSKY
  3. Dedication
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. Thank You
  40. A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
  41. BOOK CLUB DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
  42. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  43. BOOKS BY JONATHAN DUNSKY

"It's about a case. A murder that happened ten years ago."

"Ten years ago? Does this have anything to do with that woman I referred to you?"

"Yes. I found her son."

"I see. I'm sorry to hear that, Adam. Dreadfully sorry. Did I do right when I gave her your name? I wasn't sure, but she seemed hell-bent on keeping on looking."

"Don't worry about it, Reuben. What's done is done. I want to have a look at the investigation report. Can you get it for me?"

"A case that old would have been archived. I'll ask for it and should have it by tomorrow. Unless it got misplaced over the years. I hope it wasn't."

Me too. Because if I don't get that file, I lied to Henrietta Ackerland for nothing.

"The victims' names are Esther and Erich Kantor," I said. "They died on August 26, 1939. The murders took place in Tel Aviv." I explained that the victims were living under false names because they had immigrated to Palestine illegally.

I heard scribbling on his end as he copied the details.

"I'll call the archive right now. If they find it, I'll have it by tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, Reuben. I'll come by tomorrow. Give my regards to Gila and the children."

I paid for the call and went back to what was left of my beer. It had gone stale. Like the murder case, most likely. A crime investigation was like that. It started out with plenty of fizz and bubbles, but they quickly evaporated. What was left was a whole lot of stale information that was largely worthless. When a beer got that way, it got poured down a drain. A case was simply put away, to be forgotten or misplaced. Dear God, I hoped it hadn't been misplaced. Because it was no longer forgotten. Because I knew why I had lied to Henrietta Ackerland, why I had refrained from telling her that her son was dead.

I wanted to find out who had killed him and Esther. I wanted it badly. Maybe, just maybe, if I brought the killer to justice, it would make Henrietta's pain bearable. Maybe she wouldn't crumble to dust when she learned the truth.

I didn't know whether I truly believed that. Maybe it was something I told myself to excuse my lying to her. Maybe I wanted to catch this killer for personal reasons. Because if there was one thing I hated more than anything, it was child killers.

I would never be able to bring the men who had killed my daughters to justice. I did not know their names, and no matter how many Nazis I killed, there would always be more who were involved in the wholesale murder machine that had claimed my daughters, along with so many others. Full vengeance was impossible.

But I might be able to avenge the death of Henrietta's son. And that was what I planned on doing.

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