Muller, Marcia - [McCone 05] Leave a Message for Willie [v1.0] (htm) Read Free Book Online Page A

were
turning to look.
    He cut straight through an open stall that sold ceramics, and I
followed. Briefly I was aware of the vendor standing open-mouthed, a
garish ceramic cake topped with strawberries in her hands. The man
plunged into a crowd near an ice cream peddler and, my eyes fixed on
him, I smacked into a woman in a long dress who wore five flowered
bonnets piled on her head.
    "Watch where you're going!"
    "Sorry!"
    "That's okay. You want to buy a hat?" I heard her last
words over my shoulder as I sprinted toward the exit. The man was
pushing around a line of people and heading for the frontage road.
    He ran along beside the cars that were parked there, his shiny
shoes slapping on the pavement. I raced after him. Near the
half-finished marina, he came to a sudden stop and jumped into a
beat-up brown sedan. When I got to it, he was frantically grinding
the starter.
    I reached through the driver's window and grabbed at the keys. He
slapped my hand, got the car started, and stalled it. I pulled the
keys from the ignition and backed up, bracing myself for a struggle.
But the man gave a groan and flopped back against the seat, his eyes
closed. Beads of sweat stood out on his forehead.
    "Okay," I said, "who are you and why have you been
watching Willie Whelan?"
    He remained still for a moment. Then he brought his hands down on
the steering wheel with a thump.
    "Answer the question."
    Slowly he opened his eyes and turned his head. "Who are you?"
    "One of Whelan's employees. Now you answer
my
question."
    "I don't have to tell you anything. Give me back my keys."
    "No."
    "Give them to me!"
    "Uh-uh."
    He tried to glare at me, but wasn't able to summon up much
ferocity. His fingers began to drum on the steering wheel. "I
told them this would happen," he said.
    "Told who?"
    "The committee. I told them I'm no good at this sort of
thing; none of my training has prepared me—"
    "What committee?"
    He shook his head.
    I stuck the keys in the pocket of my jeans, went around to the
passenger side, and got in the car.
    "What are you doing?" He shrank back against his door.
    "Neither of us is going anywhere until you talk."
    "Get out of my car!"
    "No."
    He fell silent, staring down at his hands. He'd put up a token
resistance, but there was very little real fight in him.
    "Look," I said, "I'm a detective. Whelan hired me
because you've been bothering him. You can either talk to me, or to
the cops. Take your pick."
    He remained silent.
    "What committee?" I asked again.
    He looked up, his face flooded with anger and frustration. "The
Torah Recovery Committee. I told them it was ridiculous, skulking
around like some kind of double agent, and now look what's happened!"
    "What's your name?"
    "I don't have to tell you."
    "Like I said, you can tell me or you can tell the cops."
    "Oh, all right! It's Levin. Jerry Levin."
    "And you're a member of this…Torah Recovery Committee?"
    "Sort of an investigator for them."
    And a poor sort at that, I thought. "Okay, Jerry, what have
they hired you to investigate?"
    "The Torahs… Maybe I'd better start at the beginning."
    "I wish you would."
    "Torahs are Jewish religious scrolls…" He paused.
"There's a lot of background; it's complicated."
    "We have plenty of time."
    He sighed, glancing at his watch.
    "As you were saying…"
    "The Torah Recovery Committee is an East Coast organization.
It was formed a couple of years ago, in response to a rash of thefts
from synagogues back there."
    "Thefts of Torahs?"
    "Yes. The scrolls disappear, and later they turn up in other
synagogues around the country."
    "You don't mean the other congregations are stealing them?"
    "Oh, no. What happens is they buy them, not knowing they're
stolen."
    "I see. And your job is to find them and get them back?"
    "Yes."
    "Where does this tie in with Willie Whelan?"
    "I'll come to that. Torahs are hand-copied parchment scrolls.
They contain only the Hebrew words from the first five books of the
Old Testament. But in 1982, a number of