The Storyteller Read online

  "They don't have to be mutually exclusive," Leo said amiably. And just like that, he steered the conversation away from a critique of me and to an analysis of the last election.

  It's an odd luxury, knowing someone's got my back. Unlike Adam, whom I was always defending to others, Leo effortlessly defends me. He knows what will upset me before it even happens and like a superhero, bends the track of the runaway train before it strikes.

  This morning, when Pepper and Saffron leave, I have a box of freshly baked chocolate croissants for them as a care package. My sisters hug Leo good-bye; then I walk them out to the driveway, to the rental car. Pepper embraces me tightly. "Don't let this one get away, Sage. I want to hear how everything turns out. You'll call me?"

  It is the first time I can remember my sister soliciting contact, instead of just criticizing me. "Absolutely," I promise.

  In the kitchen, Leo is just hanging up the phone when I return. "We can pick up the van on the way to the hospital. Then while you're getting Josef--Sage, what's wrong?"

  "For starters," I say, "I'm not used to getting along with my sisters."

  "You made them out to be Scylla and Charybdis," Leo says, laughing. "They're just ordinary moms."

  "That's easy for you to say. They're mesmerized by you."

  "I hear I have that effect on Singer women."

  "Good," I reply. "Then maybe you can use that magic to hypnotize me, so that I don't screw this up today."

  He comes around the counter and rubs my shoulders. "You're not going to screw this up. You want to go over it again?"

  I nod.

  We have done dry runs of this interview a half dozen times, some with the recording equipment to make sure it works properly. Leo has played the role of Josef. Sometimes he's forthcoming, sometimes he is belligerent. Sometimes he just shuts down and refuses to talk. I say that I'm losing courage; that if I'm going to bite the bullet and actually kill him, I need to be able to think about what he did as a concrete example, not a global genocide; that I need to see a face or hear a name of one of his victims. In every scenario so far, I've gotten him to confess.

  Then again, Leo is not Josef.

  I take a deep breath. "I ask him how he feels . . ."

  "Right, or anything else that seems natural. What you don't want is for him to think you're nervous."

  "Great."

  Leo sits down on the stool beside mine. "You want him to open up without leading him on."

  "What do I say about my grandmother?"

  He hesitates. "Normally I'd tell you not to bring Minka up at all. But you did mention a death in the family. So play it by ear. If you do mention her, though, don't let on that she's the grandmother who was the survivor. I just can't be certain how he'll read that."

  I bury my face in my hands. "Can't you just interrogate him?"

  "Sure," Leo says. "But I'm pretty sure he'll know something's up when I show up at the hospital instead of you."

  The plan is for Leo to be parked in a van across the street from Josef's house. That way the receiver--a box the size of a small briefcase--will be in range for the transmitter of the body wire. While Leo is hidden in the van, doing surveillance, I will be in Josef's house.

  We have a safe word, too. "And if I say I'm supposed to meet Mary today . . ."

  "Then I run in and draw my gun, but I can't get a clear shot without hitting you. So instead I break out the jujitsu moves that got me a blue ribbon in seventh grade. I toss Josef off you like a cheap coat and pin him against the wall by the neck. I say, Don't make me do something we'll both regret, which sounds like a movie line, and is, but I've used those before in tense law enforcement situations and they actually work. I release Josef, who collapses to my feet, and confesses not just to all war crimes at Auschwitz but also for being responsible for the colossal mistakes New Coke and Sex and the City 2. He signs on the dotted line, we call in local law enforcement for an arrest, and you and I ride off into the sunset."

  I shake my head, smiling. Leo actually does carry a gun, but he has assured me that ever since Camp Wakatani in fifth grade any weapon is really for show; that he could not hit a target the size of Australia. It's hard to tell with him, but I imagine he's lying. I cannot imagine that the DOJ lets him carry a weapon without having learned how to use it efficiently.

  Leo looks at his watch. "We should get going. You ready to get suited up?"

  It's hard to wear a wire when it's summertime. My usual outfit, a tank top and jean shorts, is too tight to hide the microphone that will be taped underneath my shirt. Instead, I have opted for a loose sundress.

  Leo hands me the transmitter--it's the size of an iPod mini, with a small hook that can be affixed to a waistband or belt, neither of which I have. "Where am I supposed to put it?"

  He pulls aside the neck of the dress and tucks the transmitter into the side of my bra. "How's that?"

  "So comfortable," I say. "Not."

  "You sound like you're thirteen." He threads the wire with the tiny microphone under my arm and around my waist. I pull down the top of the sundress so that he has better access. "What are you doing?" Leo says, backing away.

  "Making it easier for you."

  He swallows. "Maybe you should do it."

  "Why are you so shy all of a sudden? Isn't that like locking the barn door after the horses are gone?"

  "I'm not shy," Leo grits out. "I'm trying very hard to get us to the hospital on time, and this doesn't help. Can you just, you know, tape it down? And pull up your damn dress?"

  When the microphone and transmitter are in place, we make sure the channels are synced to the receiver that Leo will have in the van. I am driving the rental car; Leo sits in the passenger seat with the receiver on his lap. We go first to Josef's house, where we drop off Eva and test the transmitter for distance. "It works," Leo says when I get back in the car, having filled Eva's water bowl and spread her toys around the living room, promising her that Josef is on his way.

  I follow the GPS directions to the parking lot where Leo is meeting someone from the DOJ. He is quiet, running through checklists in his mind. The only other car there is a van, making me wonder how the other officer will get back home. It's blue, and says DON'S CARPETS on the side. A man gets out of the driver's side and flashes his badge. "Leo Stein?"

  "Yup," Leo says, through the open window. "Just a sec."

  He hits the power button so that the window rolls up again, so that our conversation is private. "Don't forget to make sure that there's no background interference," Leo says.

  "I know."

  "So if he likes to listen to CNN or NPR make sure you turn it off. Power down your cell. Don't grind coffee beans. Don't use anything that could affect the transmission."

  I nod.

  "Remember that why isn't a leading question."

  "Leo," I say, "I can't remember all this stuff. I'm not a professional . . ."

  He mulls for a moment. "You just need a little inspiration. You know what J. Edgar Hoover would do, if he were alive today?"

  I shake my head.

  "Scream and claw at the top of his coffin."

  The response is so unexpected, so irreverent, that a bark of laughter escapes before I can cover my mouth. "I can't believe you're making jokes while I'm freaking out."

  "Isn't that exactly when you need them?" Leo asks. He leans forward, and stamps me with a kiss. "Your gut instinct was to laugh. Go with your gut, Sage."

  *

  As the doctor relays the post-discharge instructions to us, I wonder if Josef is thinking the same thing I am: that a dead man, which he hopes to be, does not have to worry about salt intake or rest or anything else on the printout we are given. The candy striper who wheels Josef down to the lobby so I can bring my car around recognizes him. "Herr Weber, right?" she asks. "My older brother had you for German."

  "Wie heisst er?"

  She smiles shyly. "I took French."

  "I asked for his name."

  "Jackson," the girl says.