Several of the mourners turned toward the school, looking with disgust, but there was no inclination to go inside. A line had to be drawn.

It was a while before the police took control and the turmoil was quelled. The crowd eventually dispersed, the procession moved on, and the body of Israel Turner was taken to its final resting place. The man and the woman who were apprehended later denied having uttered any anti-Semitic slogans. They were identified as Nelson Martin, 22, and his common-law wife, Yvonne Gonzalez, 17, who was in her fifth month of pregnancy. They were both taken by police to Kings County Hospital where they were examined and released. Neither they, nor any of the mourners, were arrested.

The entire ordeal had lasted but a few minutes; the fallout would linger for decades.

CHAPTER 47.

Joshua's practice quickly grew. Practically every legal problem belonging to any black person within a five mile radius seemed to land on his doorstep, and he took them all. Real estate closings, partnership formations, wills, personal injuries, and occasional penny ante criminal stuff. He wasn't choosy.

Connie was less satisfied. She ached for another Willie Johnson, a high profile case that could bolster their standing as criminal specialists. She understood, however, that the business they got was the business they did, and why Joshua was thankful for any and all of it.

Eventually there was enough money to hire a secretary. Connie's mother had a friend, a bone skinny, frail looking, fifty-five year old English teacher from East New York who had grown weary of yelling at children. Despite her appearance, she was a toughie, a Caribbean like Connie's parents, stiff and punctilious. The perfect secretary. Her name was Emma, but she preferred Mrs. Sawyer.

Between the three of them, things got organized and moving. Joshua even started getting to the office, and other places, on time. Anything to avoid Mrs. Sawyer's admonition.

Rachel Weissman Frankel changed her name back to Rachel Weissman. She had given Binny the house, the car, the china, the silverware, the money-all the things that had come from his family. She didn't want anything that was his.

She found a job selling dresses in a shop on Kingston Avenue. Often, after work, she saw Joshua. They frequented the vegetarian place, The Greenery, which had become their hideout. On warmer nights, or when they simply needed a change of pace, they strolled the Brighton boardwalk or caught an out-of-the-way movie. Whatever they did, it was always surrept.i.tious. And always celibate.

Joshua was frustrated, but chose not to force the issue. For now, the fantasy would have to do.

They found themselves in troubled times. Notwithstanding their difference in religion, which could have been resolved through conversion-his, of course-racial tensions around them were exploding. Between the Willie Johnson case, the Israel Turner killing and its aftermath, they knew they were playing with fire.

And then there was Rachel's guilt over her father's death, her belief that G.o.d had taken him from her as punishment for her involvement with Joshua. She had never discussed this with Joshua, but he was keenly aware of it anyway. He tried to understand. It wasn't easy.

"There are two men here to see you," Mrs. Sawyer said, standing in the doorway to Joshua's office.

He waved her in. She took exactly one step, indicating that she didn't appreciate being commanded by hand gestures. He beckoned her closer, not wanting anyone in the reception area to overhear them. Reticently, she approached. Without inquiring as to the ident.i.ty of his visitors-he figured they were prospective clients-he asked, "Do they have an appointment?" He didn't like the idea of seeing a "walk-in." It made him appear too available.

"No, they do not." Formal. Snide.

"Then, perhaps you should give them one."

"You might want to see them now."

"And why is that?"

"Because one of them is that famous professor from Brooklyn College. Thompson, I believe his name is."

"Thompson," he uttered. "And who is with him?"

"That, I can't help you with, but whoever he is, he looks important."

Joshua thought for a moment. He could have sworn he'd seen the last of Thompson. But maybe it was payback time. Then it came to him: The Israel Turner killing; the suspect, Larry Pilgrim. Payback time, indeed.

"Show them in," he said.

A few seconds later, she knocked lightly on the open door. Joshua was attending to some papers, feigning indifference, but as soon as he lifted his eyes, his pretense evaporated. For the man accompanying Professor Alvin Thompson was none other than his boyhood friend, Jerome Williams.

"Good afternoon counselor," the professor said, smirking at Joshua's obvious uneasiness. "I understand you already know Reverend Williams."

"Yes," Joshua responded, attempting what subtlety he could muster. He stood to shake hands. Jerome's was clammy, making Joshua feel that he wasn't the only nervous one. "Please, sit," he said, gesturing to two chairs in front of the desk.

"We're here about the matter of Mr. Larry Pilgrim," Thompson said. "Seems Mr. Pilgrim is in need of legal representation, and your name has come up as a possible candidate."

"Why me?"

"Because of the excellent job you did for Mr. Johnson."

"Mr. Johnson was innocent," Joshua reacted.

Joshua thought he saw Thompson squirm in his chair. The professor had obviously expected him to jump at this, offer grat.i.tude, and beg everlasting forgiveness for past iniquities. Not so.

He looked at Jerome, wondering what his role was in all this. He had heard of Jerome's involvement with Thompson. Jerome had become quite an activist since he'd taken over Reverend Sharp's storefront Baptist Church, mixed up with the likes of the professor, preaching about white oppression, black uprising, and other such things. Reportedly, he was quite effective. A budding community force. Joshua had guessed it would be only a matter of time before their paths crossed. And here they were.

"How have you been?" Joshua asked, looking straight into Jerome's eyes.

"Fine," he answered. Expressionless.

"Celeste?"

Jerome flinched slightly, but kept his poise. "Wouldn't know," he said, almost indifferently.

Thompson was growing restless. Joshua turned to him, and asked, "Who else are you considering?"

"The usuals."

Joshua thought about that. He knew who "the usuals" were, the well established criminal lawyers with successful records and sizeable tabs. He also knew that not one of them would let Thompson run the show. It was the same situation as with the Willie Johnson case; Thompson needed him.

He wondered how Thompson could imagine controlling him after what had happened the last time, then realized that Thompson was the quintessential pragmatist. Thompson still had a better shot with him than with anyone else-let bygones be bygones, onward and upward, anything for the cause.

Joshua supposed that this was where Jerome came in. A crafty form of intimidation: Behave, or the whole community learns about your past, how you murdered the good reverend's father.

Nice touch, Joshua thought, wondering still why Jerome would go for it. Wouldn't the story embarra.s.s him too? Maybe not, maybe it would actually help him? What better way to bolster the image of savior than to have once been a martyr? Another hero!

All this aside, the prospect of representing Larry Pilgrim enticed Joshua, though he wasn't ready to share that with them. He was certain Connie would jump at the opportunity, and was thankful she was out of the office. He didn't want her to know about this, at least not yet. First, there was someone else he needed to speak with: Rachel.

"Gentlemen, I don't mean to cut this meeting short, but I'm due in court." He was actually due for a real estate closing, but court sounded better. "Your offer sounds interesting, but I'm not really sure how I feel about it."

"Time is of the essence," the professor said.

"Yes, I know. Even so, I will have to think about it. I'll talk with my partner and get back to you no later than tomorrow. I'm sure that's reasonable."

The professor didn't hide his ire very well. He was accustomed to having what he wanted, when he wanted it. Joshua enjoyed delaying the man's gratification, thus gaining leverage in setting the ground rules.

"That will be fine," Thompson said. Jerome looked at him with surprise; he hadn't expected Thompson to fold this easily. Neither had Joshua.

Thompson stood, Jerome followed his lead. They each extended their hands and the three men shook. "Tomorrow, then," Joshua said.

"Tomorrow!" Thompson responded.

Jerome was silent, his eyes far away.

Joshua wondered about Jerome, whether his old friend had somehow resolved the tragedy that had come between them. It was difficult sitting there, silent about it. Joshua wanted to say something, perhaps only to ask to meet in the future for lunch, or just a drink, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

Maybe someday, he thought.

His next scheduled dinner with Rachel wasn't for two days, but he needed to see her that night. He debated whether to stop by the dress shop, or go to her home later. Either way, it would be ticklish. He decided on her home, thinking her mother would probably be less of a problem than some nosey strangers.

He had first met Hannah Weissman years earlier when the rabbi had gotten him the job in the synagogue, again when she had accompanied Rachel to visit him in the hospital after the stabbing, and a third time at Rachel's wedding. Still, he wondered if Hannah would recognize him, and how he was going to explain his visit. And then there was always the chance that she might be out.

No such luck, he mused as Hannah opened the door. She looked at him and smiled. "Joshua Eubanks!" she said.

"h.e.l.lo Mrs. Weissman."

Her expression was curious, and he still hadn't concocted a good tale. Some lawyer. Suddenly, she turned sad. "I'm sorry, Joshua, but the rabbi isn't here. He died a few months ago."

"Oh," he responded, "I'm terribly sorry." He knew it was low to play along, pretending he had actually come to see the rabbi, but he couldn't come up with anything better at the moment.

He tried convincing himself that he hadn't actually lied to her, technically speaking. Notwithstanding his duplicitous display of surprise, his sorrow was genuine. Perhaps he was a better lawyer than he thought.

There was a moment of silence, and then she said, "Why don't you come in and have a drink?"

He entered, discomfited, keenly aware of his infringement. He wanted to turn and leave.

"Rachel," Hannah called out, "guess who's here to visit?"

Rachel came out of her bedroom and turned pale at the sight of him. "What..."

"Joshua came to visit Papa," Hannah interjected.

"Well," he said, "I actually came to see the family."

Rachel was speechless, her face without expression. He knew he was in it up to his chin, and regretted having come. He should have just taken the Pilgrim case, and dealt with Rachel afterward.

"Why don't you two sit in the living room, I'll make some tea," Hannah suggested.

They moved to the living room, and as soon as Hannah was gone, Rachel turned to him, whispering, "What the h.e.l.l are you doing here?"

"Shh," he said. "I needed to see you. Something's come up, and I have to speak with you about it before tomorrow."

Hannah entered the room. "I put the water up, it'll just be a minute." She sat down. "So, Joshua, what exactly was it you were coming to see my husband about?"

He felt Rachel's disgust as he looked at her. "Well," he began, "like I said, I wanted to talk to both of you. It's about a problem I have, and I would like to know what you think." He could hear the nervousness in his own voice. "As you know, I defended the man who was accused of having attacked Emma Lukins."

"I read about that," Hannah said. "I didn't realize it was you, though."

"Yes," he answered. "Anyway," he continued, "I suppose that some of my old friends in this community weren't very happy with me for having done that."

Hannah: "I don't know about other people, but I can a.s.sure you that the rabbi never said anything derogatory to me about it. Come to think of it, I don't recall his having mentioned it at all. Do you, Rachel?"

Rachel: "No."

Joshua: "Well, that's good to hear, because my intention was only to help my client. You folks were always kind to me, and I was concerned about how you felt."

Hannah: "There's no need for you to be concerned. I'm sure the rabbi was proud of how you turned out, even if he only played a small role in it.

Joshua: "He actually played a large role. He gave me a break, got me a job when I needed one and no one else would hire me, and he didn't even know me."

Hannah: "Well you paid him back tenfold with what you did for Rachel when those hoodlums attacked her and Esther."

Rachel feigned a smile as her mother looked in her direction.

"The reason I'm here tonight," he said, "is because another case has been offered to me and I would like to know what you think before I decide whether to take it. Your opinions are important to me."

"And what case is that?" Rachel asked, almost as if she were alone with him. Her mother looked at her strangely.

He swallowed hard and uttered the name, "Larry Pilgrim."

Rachel and Hannah looked at one another, both wondering if they'd heard correctly.

Hannah: "The man who killed Rabbi Turner?"

Joshua: "I didn't know he was a rabbi."

Rachel: "Most people didn't. He was a humble man who worked as a mechanic; as far as everyone knew, that's all he was. But when a man dies, you learn the truth, things you never knew before."

Joshua hadn't read anything in the press about Turner having been a rabbi. Strangely, the new information made a difference. He knew it shouldn't have-a human being is a human being and all that-but it did. Isaac Weissman, a rabbi, had been his friend.

He could see Hannah's disappointment, while Rachel's face remained barren. It ate at him; he would have preferred being chided.

"I'm not sure what you want from us, Joshua," Hannah said.

"I'm not, either," he responded.

Hannah: "I understand you have to do your job, but this is so..." She couldn't finish her own sentence.

"Ugly," Rachel added, making no eye contact with him.

The word pierced him like a dagger, right into his gut. He stared at her, hoping she would glance back, but nothing. "I suppose I wanted to hear it was okay," he confessed.

"And why is that important?" Hannah asked.