Halpern fainted.
I don’t get to see my sister look surprised very often—her control is too good. So it was quite rewarding to see her with her mouth hanging open as Halpern hit the floor. I manufactured a suitable matching expression, and bent over to feel for a pulse.
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87
“His heart is still going,” I said.
“Let’s get him inside,” Deborah said, and I dragged him into the apartment.
The apartment was probably not as small as it looked, but the walls were lined with overflowing bookshelves, a worktable stacked high with papers and more books. In the small remaining space there was a battered, mean-looking two-seater couch and an overstuffed chair with a lamp behind it. I managed to heft Halpern up and onto the couch, which creaked and sank alarmingly under him.
I stood up and nearly bumped into Deborah, who was already hovering and glaring down at Halpern. “You better wait for him to wake up before you intimidate him,” I said.
“This son of a bitch knows something,” she said. “Why else would he flop like that?”
“Poor nutrition?” I said.
“Wake him up,” she said.
I looked at her to see if she was kidding, but of course she was dead serious. “What would you suggest?” I said. “I forgot to bring smelling salts.”
“We can’t just stand around and wait,” she said. And she leaned forward as if she was going to shake him, or maybe punch him in the nose.
Happily for Halpern, however, he chose just that moment to return to consciousness. His eyes fluttered a few times and then stayed open, and as he looked up at us his whole body tensed.
“What do you want?” he said.
“Promise not to faint again?” I said. Deborah elbowed me aside.
“Ariel Goldman,” she said.
“Oh God,” Halpern whined. “I knew this would happen.”
“You were right,” I said.
“You have to believe me,” he said, struggling to sit up. “I didn’t do it.”
“All right,” Debs said. “Then who did it?”
“She did it herself,” he said.
Deborah looked at me, perhaps to see if I could tell her why 88
JEFF LINDSAY
Halpern was so clearly insane. Unfortunately, I could not, so she looked back at him. “She did it herself,” she said, her voice loaded with cop doubt.
“Yes,” he insisted. “She wanted to make it look like I did it, so I would have to give her a good grade.”
“She burned herself,” Deborah said, very deliberately, like she was talking to a three-year-old. “And then she cut off her own head.
So you would give her a good grade.”
“I hope you gave her at least a B for all that work,” I said.
Halpern goggled at us, his jaw hanging open and jerking spasmodically, as if it was trying to close but lacked a tendon. “Wha,”