36
While the lawyer knelt and wept, the rabbi Epstein prepared to catch a flight to Toronto.
Epstein had managed to get in touch with Eleanor Wildon, the widow of Arthur Wildon, and she had agreed to meet with him at her apartment in Toronto, where she had moved following her husband’s disappearance. She had never remarried, and had not sought to have her husband declared legally deceased. This had led to speculation in certain quarters that she had some knowledge of where he might be. Some said he had fled to avoid his financial obligations, others that he had committed suicide because of the depth of his money problems, a situation exacerbated by his grief. He had lost focus on his business interests following the deaths of his daughters, driven instead to find the person or persons responsible, and those to whom he had entrusted the care of his principal company and his investments had mismanaged both, with the result that, when he disappeared, he was worth only a fraction of what he once had been, and the Canadian revenue service was about to hit him with a massive tax bill.
Tonya Wildon was due to leave for a short trip to Europe the following evening: her nephew was being married in London, she told Epstein, and she was booked on Air Canada’s 6.15 p.m. flight to Heathrow. Rather than wait until the following morning, Epstein decided to catch American Airlines’ 9.25 p.m. flight out of LaGuardia and spend the night at the Hazelton Hotel in Toronto. Adiv and Liat would see him safely on to the plane. At Toronto he would be met by another associate, a former major in the Canadian armed forces who now specialized in personal protection details.
While Epstein rarely traveled without security, he was more conscious than ever of his safety and that of the men and women who worked alongside him. The existence of the list offered them a chance to strike at previously hidden enemies, but the actions of the Collector had endangered them all. Davis Tate was dead, and his producer, Becky Phipps, was reported to be missing, which led Epstein to believe that she was also being hunted by the Collector, or had already suffered at his hands.
It was possible that Barbara Kelly had died before revealing to her tormentors the names of those to whom she had sent the partial list. Even so, those who had ordered her death might have suspected that Epstein would be among the likeliest of recipients, and possibly the lawyer too. By starting to work through the list, the Collector would have confirmed those suspicions: if the Collector and the lawyer had received a communication from Barbara Kelly, then their enemies would surmise that Epstein almost certainly had received one as well.
Eldritch and Epstein: men of similar name, of similar age, and with similar aims, yet they had never met. Epstein had once suggested a meeting, and had received in return a handwritten note from the lawyer politely declining his approach. It had made Epstein feel like a spurned suitor. Now the lawyer’s pet killer was running loose, assuming Eldritch ever had any real control over the man to begin with, which Epstein doubted. Perhaps it was as well that they had never sat across a table from each other, for they were not really the same. Epstein did no man’s bidding, while the lawyer was the Collector’s creature.
Adiv, driving his own car, collected Liat and Epstein from the latter’s home on Park Slope. They were waiting to turn at the corner of 4th and Carroll when a young man dressed in jeans and an overlong sweater, and wearing worn sneakers, threw a carton of milk at the car, smearing the windshield. His skin was sallow but unhealthy, as though he were suffering from jaundice. Spying Epstein’s clothing and Adiv’s yarmulka, he then began kicking the side of the car while screaming, ‘Fucking Jews! Fucking Jews! You’re leeches. The whole country’s going to hell because of you.’
Epstein placed a hand on Adiv’s shoulder to restrain him.
‘Ignore him,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
And that might have been the end of it had not the young man struck the windshield a hard blow with something in his right hand. It appeared to be a pool ball, and it cracked the glass instantly. Furious, Adiv got out of the car, slamming his door shut behind him. A shoving match ensued, with the sallow-skinned man seemingly trying to get around Adiv, not away from him. It ended when the sallow-skinned man spat in Adiv’s face and tried to run away.
‘Leave him, Adiv,’ ordered Epstein, but Adiv’s blood was up. This had been a bad week for him, and he now had an outlet for his anger. He started running, but his prey was too fast for him, and Adiv’s legs still ached from the long walk through the Jersey Pine Barrens. He still managed to grab the strap of the running man’s battered satchel, which he was holding in his hand instead of wearing over his shoulder. The bag came away so suddenly that Adiv fell backwards, landing painfully on his coccyx. The young man paused and looked back, as if debating whether it was worth trying to retrieve his satchel and possibly take a beating for his troubles, then decided to sacrifice it.
‘Jew bastard!’ he shouted once more, before disappearing into the night.
‘I have your bag, asshole!’ cried Adiv. ‘You lose, you prick!’
He got to his feet and dusted himself off. His butt ached. He limped painfully back to the car. Liat had opened the passenger door on the far side and stood on the road, watching him. He could see the gun in her hand.
‘I got his bag!’ said Adiv, raising the satchel.
Liat shook her head. No, no, she mouthed. Her eyes were wide. She waved her arms. Drop it, Adiv. Drop it and run. Liat pulled Epstein from the car and began dragging him to safety, keeping her body between Epstein, and Adiv, and the satchel.
Understanding dawned on Adiv. He looked down at the satchel. It was made of soft brown leather, and only one of the buckles on the front was tied. Adiv lifted the unsecured end of the bag and peered inside. There was a package wrapped in aluminum foil, like sandwiches, and beside it a thermos flask.
‘I think it’s okay,’ said Adiv. ‘I think—’
And then he was gone.