The smells coming from the kitchen were hugely tempting.
She admitted that she was starving and said it would take her an hour or more to get home; she lived across the river, in the next state.
Kling suggested the hot pastrami.
She told him she loved hot pastrami. She said that when she was a kid her mother used to take her for walks around the neighborhood . . .
"I'm Jewish, you know."
"Gee, really?"
"… past all these wonderful delis. But she wouldn't let me eat anything they served, I was only allowed to stand outside and smell the food. 'Take a sniff,' she would say, 'take a good sniff, Karin.'"
She smiled with the memory now, though to Kling it seemed like extraordinarily cruel and unusual punishment.
"So what'll it be?" he asked.
She ordered the hot pastrami on rye. He ordered it on a seeded roll. They both ordered draft beer. There was a big bowl of sour pickles on the table. They sat eating their sandwiches. Reaching for pickles. Sipping beer. There was only a handful of other diners in the place, men in short-sleeved shirts, women wearing summer dresses. The air was hushed with the expectation of rain.
"So why'd you want to see me?" Karin asked.
"I don't like what happened on Wednesday," he said.
"What didn't you like?"
"You and Eileen ganging up on me."
"Neither of us . . ."
"Because it just isn't true, you see. That whatever happened to Eileen is all my fault."
"No one says it was, Mr Kling …"
"And I wish to hell you'd call me Bert."
"I don't think that would be appropriate."
"What do you call Eileen?"
"Eileen."
"Then why isn't it appropriate to call me Bert?"
"I told you. Eileen is my client. You're not. And whereas it may not be true that you were responsible for …"
"Never mind the buts. It isn't true."
"I'm not suggesting it was. I'm saying that Eileen perceived it as the truth. Which, by the way, she no longer does."
"Well, I hope not. If she wants to think of herself as some kind of damsel in dis …"
"I'm sure she doesn't. In fact, she never did."
"I think she did, where it concerns that night, where it concerns her having to put that guy away. Damsel in distress, woman in jeopardy, whatever you want to call it. When the plain truth of the matter is she was a cop in a showdown with a serial killer. It was her job to put him away. She was only doing her goddamn job."
"It would be nice if it were that simple," Karin said, and bit into her sandwich again. "But it isn't. Eileen was raped. And unfortunately, the rapist resembled you. So when you later step into a situation that…"
"I didn't know that."
"He had blond hair. The rapist. Like yours."
"I really didn't know."
"Yes. And he was armed with a knife …"
"Yes."
". . . was threatening her with a knife. Cut her, in fact. Thoroughly terrified her."
"Yes, I know."
"So now there's a second man with a knife, coming at her again, and she's alone with him because you caused her to lose her backups."
"I didn't deliberately…"
"But you did. This isn't merely her perception, it's reality. If you had stayed home that night, Eileen would have had two capable and experienced detectives following her, and chances are she wouldn't have found herself in a confrontational situation with a serial killer. But there she was. Because of you."
"Okay. I'm sorry it happened. But. . ."
"And you're wrong when you say she had to put him away. She didn't have to. Her perception - and, again, the reality as well - was that this man was going to cut her if she didn't stop him, she was going to get cut again if she didn't stop this man. But she didn't have to kill him in order to stop him. The man was armed only with a knife, and she had her service revolver - a .44-caliber Smith amp; Wesson - plus a .25-caliber Astra Firecat in a holster strapped to her ankle, and a switchblade knife in her handbag. She certainly did not have to kill him. She could have shot him in the shoulder or the leg, wherever, anything of the sort would have effectively stopped him. The point is she wanted to kill him."
Kling was shaking his head.
"Yes," Karin said. "She wanted to kill him. Even though he wasn't the man she really wanted to kill. The man she really wanted to kill was the man who'd raped her and cut her, and who -I say 'unfortunately' again - looked somewhat like you. If it weren't for the blond rapist, she wouldn't have to kill this man. If it weren't for you. . ."
Shaking his head, no, no, no.
"Yes, this is what her mind was telling her. If it weren't for you, she wouldn't have to kill this man. I gave you a chance, she told him, meanwhile pumping bullets into his back, I gave you a chance. Meaning she gave you a chance. To prove yourself, to show you still believed in her …"
"I did believe in her, I do believe in her."
"But you didn't. You followed her to the Canal Zone …"
"Yes, but only . . ."
"Because you didn't trust her, Bert, you didn't think she could take care of herself. It was your failure of confidence that caused the mixup, caused the confrontation, and eventually caused the murder."
"It wasn't murder, it was self …"
