I walked into the living room because we would clean up later.
I said, “I know about the homicides in this state, and I’ve never heard the New Zionists mentioned in connection with any of them, or with any crime at all, for that matter.
I’ve never heard they are involved in the occult, either.
Only on-the-fringe politics and oddball extremism. They seem to hate America and would probably be happy if they could have their own little country somewhere where Hand could be king. Or God. Or whatever he is to them.”
“You want me to pop this thing?” Marino held up the champagne.
“The new year’s not getting any younger,” I said. “Now let me get this straight.” I settled on the couch. “Eddings had some link with the New Zionists?”
“Only because he had one of their bibles, like I already told you,” Marino said. “I found it when we was going through his house.”
That’s what you were worried about me seeing?” I looked quizzically at him.
“Tonight, yes,” he said. “Because I’m more worried about her seeing it, if you want to know.” He looked at Lucy.
“Pete,” my niece spoke very reasonably, “you don’t need to protect me anymore, even though I appreciate it.”
He was silent.
“What sort of bible?” I asked him.
Not any sort you’ve ever carried to Mass.”
“Satanic?”
“No, I can’t say it’s like that. At least not like the ones I’ve seen, because it’s not about worshiping Satan and doesn’t have any of the sort of symbolism that you associate with that. But it sure as hell isn’t something you’d want to read before going to bed.”
He glanced at Lucy again.
“Where is it?” I wanted to know.
He peeled foil off the top of the bottle and unwound wire. The cork popped loudly, and he poured champagne the way he poured beer, tilting the glasses sharply to prevent a head.
“Lucy, how about bringing my briefcase here. It’s in the kitchen,” he said, and he looked at me as she left the room and lowered his voice. “I wouldn’t have brought it with me if I thought I was going to be seeing her.”
“She’s a grown woman. She’s an FBI agent, for God’s sake,” I said.
“Yeah, and she gets whacked out sometimes, and you know that, too. She don’t need to be looking at spooky stuff like this. I’m telling you, I read it because I had to, and I felt really creepy. I felt like I needed to go to Mass, and when have you ever heard me say that?” His face was intense.
I had never heard him say that, and I was uneasy. Lucy had been through hard times that had seriously frightened me. She had been self-destructive and unstable before.
“It is not my right to protect her,” I said as she returned to the living room.
“I hope you’re not talking about me,” she said as she handed Marino his briefcase.
“Yeah, we were talking about you,” he said, “because I don’t think you should be looking at this.”
Clasps sprang open.
“It’s your case.” Her eyes were calm as they turned to me. “I am interested in it and would like to help in even the smallest way, if I can. But I’ll leave the room, if you want me to.”
Oddly, the decision was one of the hardest ones I’d had to make, because my allowing her to look at evidence I wanted to protect her from was my concession to her professional accomplishment. As wind shook windows and rushed around the roof, sounding like spirits in distress, I moved over on the couch.
“You can sit next to me, Lucy,” I said. “We’ll look at it together.”
The New Zionist bible was actually titled the Book of Hand, for its author had been inspired by God and had modestly named the manuscript after himself. Written in Renaissance script on India paper, it was bound in tooled black leather that was scuffed and stained and lettered with the name of someone I did not know. For more than an hour, Lucy leaned against me and we read while Marino prowled about, carrying in more wood and smoking, his restlessness as palpable as the fire’s wavering light.