call. My associate will put your father on the phone.”
“Thank you, yes.” Meer took the slip of paper he offered.
“One last thing we overlooked at your father’s house. I need your address in Vienna, along with a phone number where we can contact you.” He opened a notebook.
“You can’t suspect her—”
“I don’t, Mr. Otto—” Fiske cut him off “—any more than I suspect you, and I am going to make the same request of you.”
He offered Meer the pad and pen and waited while she scribbled the name of her hotel and a series of numbers. “My cell isn’t turned on yet but that’s the number,” she said.
“That’s fine. Now, Mr. Otto, shall we take care of this in the hall and give Miss Logan some privacy to call her father?”
A man answered on the second ring. She asked for her father and, during the long silence, Meer imagined the policeman getting up and walking over to her father who she tried but failed to picture in a hospital bed—
“Meer, I’m sorry you were the one who found Ruth. Are you all right, sweetheart?”
She had an instantaneous visceral reaction to his voice that, like a giant breeze, blew away all other sound and she bit the inside of her mouth to keep her emotions in check. It had been a long time since she broke down and cried and she wouldn’t let it happen now with the police and Sebastian and her father’s coworkers waiting for her outside.
“Me? Yes, I am. Are you? What happened? The police said it was a robbery?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you to worry. The doctor tells methe thieves knocked us out with chloroform. I have a slight headache…but it’s nothing at all.”
She could hear his efforts to hide his weariness from her. Picturing him, she imagined he was wearing the mask, her name for his default expression, taught to him, he’d told her, by his own father. A legacy from Hitler’s troops. Never show the depth of what you are feeling. Don’t give yourself away. Don’t give the enemy ammunition.
Jeremy wore the mask too often when it came to Meer. Donning it, she knew, to spare her pain. He’d hidden or tried to hide so much from her—his worry over her dreads and the doctors’ failure to help assuage her anxiety, then his concern during the weeks she was in the hospital, uncertain what kind of mobility she’d have once her spine healed. Later, he’d worked so hard to conceal why he and her mother were separating, and then divorcing. But she knew what had broken their relationship. The same thing that had broken her spine.
“Sweetheart, my friend Dr. Smettering has had a stroke. He…the stress was apparently too much for his blood pressure… The hospital is trying to find his son, who is traveling. I should stay here until we can find him, except I’m very concerned about you and don’t want you to be there alone.”
Her mother tried to keep her out, her father tried to keep her safe.
“There’s no reason to worry about me,” she said in an eerily calm voice, using the same words she had said to him hundreds of times before.
“I can’t help it.”
“Please. I’m staying in a lovely hotel that has room service. I’ll be fine.”
“I wish I’d been there. Wish more than anything that you weren’t the one to find Ruth. Poor Ruth…”
Meer heard the sadness and guilt in his voice. Staring down at the picture of her with her mother she recognized that even though she’d tried, she’d never been able to ease anyone’s pain. “I’m so sorry.”
“Did Sebastian find you?” her father asked.
“Yes. He did. He got there a few minutes after I did. He’s still here.”
“I’m glad. If you need anything, please ask him, all right?”
“Yes, but I’m fine.”
“Meer, the doctor’s asking for me, I have to go now.”
“Wait. Why was Ruth killed? Does it have something to do with what happened to you in Switzerland? Dad, what are they looking for?”
She heard him suck in his breath.
“I’ll tell you
“Thank you, yes.” Meer took the slip of paper he offered.
“One last thing we overlooked at your father’s house. I need your address in Vienna, along with a phone number where we can contact you.” He opened a notebook.
“You can’t suspect her—”
“I don’t, Mr. Otto—” Fiske cut him off “—any more than I suspect you, and I am going to make the same request of you.”
He offered Meer the pad and pen and waited while she scribbled the name of her hotel and a series of numbers. “My cell isn’t turned on yet but that’s the number,” she said.
“That’s fine. Now, Mr. Otto, shall we take care of this in the hall and give Miss Logan some privacy to call her father?”
A man answered on the second ring. She asked for her father and, during the long silence, Meer imagined the policeman getting up and walking over to her father who she tried but failed to picture in a hospital bed—
“Meer, I’m sorry you were the one who found Ruth. Are you all right, sweetheart?”
She had an instantaneous visceral reaction to his voice that, like a giant breeze, blew away all other sound and she bit the inside of her mouth to keep her emotions in check. It had been a long time since she broke down and cried and she wouldn’t let it happen now with the police and Sebastian and her father’s coworkers waiting for her outside.
“Me? Yes, I am. Are you? What happened? The police said it was a robbery?”
“Yes, but I don’t want you to worry. The doctor tells methe thieves knocked us out with chloroform. I have a slight headache…but it’s nothing at all.”
She could hear his efforts to hide his weariness from her. Picturing him, she imagined he was wearing the mask, her name for his default expression, taught to him, he’d told her, by his own father. A legacy from Hitler’s troops. Never show the depth of what you are feeling. Don’t give yourself away. Don’t give the enemy ammunition.
Jeremy wore the mask too often when it came to Meer. Donning it, she knew, to spare her pain. He’d hidden or tried to hide so much from her—his worry over her dreads and the doctors’ failure to help assuage her anxiety, then his concern during the weeks she was in the hospital, uncertain what kind of mobility she’d have once her spine healed. Later, he’d worked so hard to conceal why he and her mother were separating, and then divorcing. But she knew what had broken their relationship. The same thing that had broken her spine.
“Sweetheart, my friend Dr. Smettering has had a stroke. He…the stress was apparently too much for his blood pressure… The hospital is trying to find his son, who is traveling. I should stay here until we can find him, except I’m very concerned about you and don’t want you to be there alone.”
Her mother tried to keep her out, her father tried to keep her safe.
“There’s no reason to worry about me,” she said in an eerily calm voice, using the same words she had said to him hundreds of times before.
“I can’t help it.”
“Please. I’m staying in a lovely hotel that has room service. I’ll be fine.”
“I wish I’d been there. Wish more than anything that you weren’t the one to find Ruth. Poor Ruth…”
Meer heard the sadness and guilt in his voice. Staring down at the picture of her with her mother she recognized that even though she’d tried, she’d never been able to ease anyone’s pain. “I’m so sorry.”
“Did Sebastian find you?” her father asked.
“Yes. He did. He got there a few minutes after I did. He’s still here.”
“I’m glad. If you need anything, please ask him, all right?”
“Yes, but I’m fine.”
“Meer, the doctor’s asking for me, I have to go now.”
“Wait. Why was Ruth killed? Does it have something to do with what happened to you in Switzerland? Dad, what are they looking for?”
She heard him suck in his breath.
“I’ll tell you
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