Lieberman's Day by Stuart M. Kaminsky Page B

take a shower, change clothes?”
    He shook his head no and watched his sister-in-law sitting with the photograph album on her lap, slowly pointing to a David of the past and telling the story of the lost moment.
    â€œThat’s her history,” Bess said. “That book, some memories of things that don’t mean anything to anyone else. We teach kids about kings and wars but pay no attention to the history that will really count for them, their own lives.”
    â€œYou’re right,” he said.
    â€œYou’d tell me I was right if I said your Cubs deserve to lose a hundred games this year. I’m not mad anymore, Abe. We’ve got grief to deal with here. Are you all right?”
    Lieberman couldn’t answer.
    â€œAre you feverish, Lieberman?” Bess said, putting her cool hand on his brow.
    He closed his eyes. “Keep it there,” he said.
    She took her hand away and he opened his eyes.
    â€œCan you stop by the house when Barry and Melisa come home, just before three? Todd’s going to pick them up and keep them for a few days. Lisa got some time off and she’s going to help me here, pick up Edward at the airport.”
    â€œBess,” he said. “I’m trying to catch the people who killed Davey.”
    â€œYou want to make arrangements for the funerals, the burial, food, calls to relatives? Maish can’t do it. Yetta can’t do it. Carol is in the hospital trying to …”
    â€œEnough,” said Lieberman, holding up his hands. “I’ll be home. I’ll change clothes. I’ll get the kids packed …”
    â€œLisa packed them.”
    â€œThen I’ll sit there till Todd comes.”
    â€œAt three-fifteen.”
    â€œI’ll be there,” said Lieberman. “I gotta go. I’m late.”
    â€œStay a few minutes. Rabbi Wass is on the way.”
    All the more reason to get out of here, Lieberman thought, but he said, “Can’t. Bill’s waiting for me.”
    He kissed Bess on the cheek and she stopped him to kiss him gently on the mouth. Her smell seeped into his being and made him feel like sex or sleep.
    â€œAbe,” she whispered. “Don’t think that way.”
    Her face was in front of his, her brown eyes wide and unwilling to look away.
    â€œWhat way?” he said with a patient sigh.
    â€œThe way you looked when that Puerto Rican girl was murdered. Like you’re going to hurt someone, probably yourself.”
    â€œI’m late,” he said.
    â€œThree o’clock,” she reminded him.
    â€œThree o’clock,” he confirmed, moving past her to kiss the seated Yetta, to accept a hug, and to nod to Lisa.
    â€œYou remember this one, Abe?” Yetta asked, pointing at a photograph of her two sons at the ages of about ten and thirteen and a younger Abe who looked in the picture exactly as he looked earlier that morning and as he had looked from his fifteenth birthday.
    â€œRound Lake,” Yetta said. “See, David’s fishing in a bucket. You know why he didn’t have a shirt on, didn’t wear one all summer?”
    Lieberman looked at the photograph for some clue, but saw none.
    â€œHe thought,” Yetta explained, “that he was going to be a superhero. He’d puff up his little tan chest and try to look strong.”
    â€œI remember,” he said, looking at Lisa, who saw the same thing in her father’s eyes that Bess had seen.
    â€œAbe,” she said as he stood.
    â€œI know,” Lieberman answered. “Your mother just told me about Todd picking up the kids.”
    â€œI don’t mean about the kids.”
    â€œI know,” he said. “I gotta go.”
    He was halfway through the crowd when Irving Hamel appeared before him. Irving was not a bad man, but he was an irritating one. He was also young, not yet forty, and a lawyer. He had all his hair and it was black. He wore contact lenses. He stood tall and