Jonathan Kellerman - Survival Of The Fittest

The law was clear: Saving a life took precedence over shabbat. As with military duty, when police work involved a life-or-death situation, not only was Daniel permitted to work, he was obligated.

Over the years, he'd used the ruling sparingly, working extra hours on weekdays in order to free up Friday night and Saturday. Not hesitating, of course, to go full-force on things like the Butcher, rapists, suicide bombers. As he climbed the ranks and was given more administrative duties in lieu of streetwork, it became easier. The only advantage of becoming a pencil pusher.

Now, here he was, at the airport, sitting at the wheel of a yellow cab at the pickup-zone of the American Airlines terminal.

Back in Jerusalem, he'd be praying in the tiny, ancient Yemenite synagogue near the Old City. Even if he hadn't been on the job, he'd have avoided group worship here, needing to maintain the lowest of profiles, not wanting to have to reject some well-meaning shul-goer who, learning he was an Israeli “software technician” consulting to some anonymous company out in the Valley, just had to have him over for shabbat.

Early this morning, he'd called Laura and the kids, telling them he'd be back as soon as possible but not knowing what that really meant.

His eldest, eighteen-year-old Shoshana, was home for the weekend, furloughed from national-service assignment up in Kiryat Shemona. Assigned to a mental-health clinic where she tried to comfort small children terrorized by Hezbollah bombs from Lebanon.

“I've been thinking, Abba. Maybe I'll study psychology in university.”

“You're well-suited for it, motek.”

“The kids are so cute, Abba. I'm finding out that I like helping people.”

“You always had a talent for it.”

They talked a bit more, then she told him she loved him and missed him and went to get the boys. As he waited, he fantasized introducing her to Delaware someday, getting her some career guidance from the psychologist. Daddy arranging things for her, with his contacts. Delaware would be happy to help… The more he worked with the guy, the more he liked him, that intense drive and focus-

“Abba!” Mikey's twelve-and-a-half-year-old voice, still unchanged, burst from the receiver. Six months away from bar mitzvah, a big party to be arranged, Laura's parents wanted the Laromme Hotel. Then Benny's bar mitzvah, a year after that. A busy period coming up for the Sharavis, something to look forward to.

“Hey, Mike. How's the studying going?”

“It's okay.” Suddenly downcast. Not the student his sister was, the boy would have preferred to be playing soccer all day, and Daniel felt bad for bringing it up. But the bar mitzvah meant memorizing a Torah portion to be read in synagogue. Too bad his father wouldn't be there to see it…

“I'm sure you're doing great, Mike.”

“I don't know, Abba, just my luck to get the longest portion in the entire chumash.”

“Not the longest, he-man, but definitely long. Maybe God gave you that birthdate because he knew you could handle it.”

“I doubt it. I've got a brain made out of marble.”

“Your brain is fantastic, Mikey. So's your heart- and your muscles. How's soccer?”

“Great! We won!” The boy's tone lifted and they stayed on sports til it was Benny's turn. The little one, once wild as an Old City cat, was now studious like Shoshi. Math was his thing. A gentle voice.

Talking to his family gentled Daniel's soul.

The arrangement with Petra Connor was clear: The female detective, dressed in an Alaskan Airlines flight-attendant's uniform and equipped with a carry-on suitcase with push-me handle, was to hang around the terminal, read a paperback, and keep her eyes out for the New York lawyer.

In the suitcase, among other things, was a cellular phone preset to the one in Daniel's taxi.

Once Sanger/Galton deplaned, she was to stick with him. Once she became aware of his luggage status- carry-on versus checked-through- she was to phone Daniel.

If Sanger/Galton picked up a rental car, she'd notify Daniel of the company, make, model, and license number, and try to reach her borrowed car- a dark green Ford Escort- in time to join in and create a two-person tail.

Likewise if some friend was there to greet the attorney.

If Sanger/Galton needed a taxi and Daniel ended up being his driver, Daniel would call Petra and report his destination, pretending to be contacting the dispatcher. If some other driver snagged the fare, Daniel's tail would be hampered and Petra would have to take the lead and wait til Daniel avoided another fare and made it out of the airport.

One way or another, the would-be eugenicist was covered.

Nothing from Petra, yet.

She seemed good. Quiet, serious, all business. So far all the L.A. people he'd met were good, Zev's experience notwithstanding.

Shabbat… still, he was happy to be doing something. Especially after the wasted afternoon at Melvin Myers's trade school.

Nothing strange about the place, they truly did seem to be training handicapped people to get jobs. He hadn't been able to get to Darlene Grosperrin, settling for a brief interview with a young social-work assistant named Veronica Yee.

Each of them thinking the other was the subject.

Smiling, courteous, Ms. Yee had taken a brief history and told him the school was well-established, twenty years old, funded mostly by government money, offering a full range of educational services, including job and psychological counseling. And yes, they would probably have something for him but not until the new term began in two months. He was welcome to fill out the application and get back to them.

Handing him a sheaf of papers- the application, government pamphlets on rights of the handicapped, availability of educational grants, public-relations stuff on the school.

He'd looked for some sign that Melvin Myers's death had caused an impact- a funeral notice, memorial service, anything, and had found only an announcement on the bulletin board. “We regret to announce…” Letters and braille.

It had given him the opportunity to work Myers into the conversation with Ms. Yee.

She'd said, “Yes, he was murdered downtown. Terrible. I have to be honest with you, it is a tough neighborhood, Mr. Cohen.”

Honest, open.

Nothing to report.

The taxi in front of him edged up the line and he rolled forward.

He'd waited until the queue stretched beyond the pickup area before taking a position at the back. Hoping things stayed slow and he wouldn't reach the front before Sanger arrived, then be forced to zoom past a fare, attracting attention.

The phone rang.

“He's here, the plane arrived early,” said Petra. “No one met him at the gate. A briefcase, a carry-on, and a wardrobe, so he probably didn't check anything through- I'll make sure… He's getting on the moving sidewalk, I'm thirty feet in back of him. He's big, about Milo's size, wearing a blue blazer with gold buttons, khaki slacks, dark blue polo shirt. Dark hair slicked back, tortoiseshell glasses, heavy face. The carry-on and briefcase are olive green and the wardrobe's black… Okay, we're at the end now- he's definitely bypassing the carousel… heading for… Avis. Looks like he's got paperwork already prepared.”

Something else Daniel's sources hadn't come up with. Maybe Sanger had used one of those Airfones, set up the car rental while in flight.

“He's filling out an express form,” said Petra. “I'm pretending to be using a pay phone across the hall, will let you know when he heads for the Avis lot.”

Sanger's car was a brown Oldsmobile Cutlass and as it headed east on Century Boulevard, Daniel's taxi was just ahead.

Both vehicles eased into the traffic and Daniel switched to the left lane and slowed, allowing Sanger to get ahead, managing to get a look at the lawyer through the driver's window.