“I know you,” William said again, more confident this time. “From Chicago.”
“That’s right,” Sal said. “For your entire life.”
“I know you!” he said again, and he threw his arms around Sal’s neck, buried his face in Sal’s neck. Sal thinking finally when the boy began to sob, “I know you!” repeating the words until they seemed to lose all shape, right up until the moment William Cupertine whispered, “You’re the Rain Man.”
AFTER NINETY MINUTES, SPECIAL AGENT KRISTY LEVINE KNOCKED ONCE ON Sal’s door and then opened it a crack. Sal and Jennifer had taken all the sheets and pillows off the bed and were sitting on the floor, William stretched out between them, asleep. Jennifer put a finger to her lips.
Kristy understood. She closed the door for a moment. “Give me five,” she said to the four U.S. Marshals in the hallway. They were locked, loaded, and ready. “Any problems, you’ll hear me.”
She walked into the room and sat down across from Sal, Jennifer, and William. “I’m sorry to cut this off,” she said.
“I should kill you for lying to me,” Sal said, but there was no malice in his voice. Only relief. It would not last.
“It’s fine,” Jennifer said. She grasped Sal by the wrist. “We understand. We appreciate whatever time we can have.”
Kristy said, very quietly, “This was the only way for everyone to get a second chance. Do you understand me, Rabbi? This is how it must be.”
She reached into her pocket, pulled out a pair of zip ties.
“There are four U.S. Marshals on the other side of the door. If either of you make a move, they will shoot you. Nothing I can do about that.” She slipped the ties over William’s wrists, tightened them together. “Your son is under arrest for the murder of Special Agent Gina Roberge, who you knew as Maryann, Mrs. Cupertine.”
“No,” Jennifer said, panic rising, “no, it’s not possible. That can’t be.”
Kristy said, “Mrs. Cupertine, we have video. Do not make me show it to you, please.” She paused. Let that sink in. “He is also under arrest for the involuntary manslaughter of Mitchell Thompkins, the security guard he shot in Chicago last year. He is being remanded to a federal juvenile facility to await trial.”
“No,” Sal said, “no, they’ll kill him.”
“He’ll be in protective custody,” Kristy said. “He’ll have a new identity. He will be protected. You have my word.”
“You told me he was dead and now you want me to take your word?” Sal said.
Jennifer said, “This can’t be happening. What are our rights? He needs a lawyer. He needs his parents!”
The door opened. A U.S. Marshal took one step in. “Everything okay?”
“No,” Kristy said, “but they will be. Give me one more minute.” The door closed and Kristy lowered her voice. “Listen to me. If you want the deal we have in place for you, Rabbi, this is your best chance. All of you are dead, according to the state. You have no rights to argue for. You don’t exist. You want to hold on to Matthew Drew’s personal belongings, Rabbi? You need that as your get-out-of-jail-free card? I understand. But you must accept that your son assassinated an FBI agent. He walked up, while she slept, and shot her in the head. He needs to do time. He will do time.”
Sal said, “How long?”
Kristy said, “Ten years. He gets out when he’s eighteen.”
Sal said, “And then what?”
“Maybe you make a trade, see if you can get the life you want,” Kristy said. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe it won’t matter. He’ll be free.”
Sal said, “And he’ll be able to find us?”
Kristy said, “You’ll be able to speak to him the entire time he’s incarcerated, but you will not be able to see him. I’m sorry.”
Jennifer said, “We can’t leave him in a prison alone, Sal!”
Kristy said, “Sal’s mother has agreed to take legal custody of William. She’s going to have to change her name and identity, too, but she will do it. Frankly, she needs to. She’s not safe, either.”
“And if we say no?” Jennifer asked.
“Your husband goes to prison,” Kristy said, “where he’ll be dead within the month. You’re likely to go to prison, too, for accessory to murder, plus flight, plus obstruction of justice. You’ll lose custody of your child. You’ll never get to speak to him again.”
The three of them sat for a moment, staring at the boy, who was still asleep.
Jennifer took Sal’s hand. “Look at me,” she said, and Sal did. Something in her countenance had changed, like a yoke had been lifted. “You’ve been away for so long, Sal. And it’s been so hard for us. Our son is different because of it. I love William more than I love myself, but, Sal, he frightens me. He needs professional help, help we cannot give him. He deserves the chance for a normal life, a life you couldn’t have. A life away from all of this. Please.” She grabbed Sal by his chin, pulled his face to hers.
Sal said, “Why would he do it?”
He brought his hand to his mouth, and Kristy saw then that he’d wrapped tefillin, that he wasn’t asking either of them for an answer, he was begging it of God.
“Ten years,” Sal said.
“Nothing more,” Kristy said. “Nothing less.”
EPILOGUE
FALL 2002
JUNEAU, AK
CONGREGATION ETZ CHAIM NEVER HAD A RABBI BEFORE—THERE WERE ONLY forty-five members who came from all over the region, by air and sea, and led services themselves—but thanks to a sudden influx of funding from an anonymous donor, they could finally afford to pay the nice rabbi and his wife who moved to town that summer, looking for a simpler life, particularly since the rabbi’s debilitating car accident. They understood he needed time to heal.
Construction of the permanent temple, across the bridge in West Juneau, was far from complete. Rabbi David Kales insisted they have a proper ark to house the Torah scrolls, which would take a bit of time, since they were being imported from Israel.
