Trap (9781476793177) Read Online Free PDF

that the thugs had targeted. The Sobelmans were both survivors of the Nazi death camps, and Karp rushed right over when he heard they had been victimized again. He found Moishe outside on the sidewalk, sweeping up the glass from the shattered windows of his shop.
    â€œMoishe, I’m so sorry,” Karp had said, hugging his friend.
    The old man had smiled and patted him on the back. “At least neither of us were hurt,” he had replied, then sighed and stood quietly for a moment, leaning on his broom and looking at the pile of glass in front of him. “The more things change, the more they stay the same, eh, my friend?”
    Not knowing quite what to say, Karp had remained silent with his hand on Sobelman’s shoulder. Then the baker looked up at him, his eyes wet with tears. “Stop them, Butch,” he had said quietly. “Stop them before this goes any further. It started like this all those years ago, and before it was over millions of people were dead.”
    Karp had promised that he would do everything in his power to bring the perpetrators to justice. But looking at the newspaper headline now in his office, the words seemed hollow.
    â€œIt’s only a matter of time before someone gets killed,” Fulton stated aloud.
    â€œAny suspects?” Karp asked.
    â€œThe usual head cases, that’s it.”
    Karp knew what he meant by that. The “usual head cases” were getting bold, at least when they weren’t breaking the law, and holding demonstrations in various city parks and outside the Museum of Jewish Heritage, otherwise known as the New York City Holocaust Museum, in Battery Park, as well as on the sidewalks next to the Israeli consulate. They were loud, aggressive, and offensive but other than the usual misdemeanor assaults, failures to follow lawful orders from police officers to allow people to walk past them, and lack of permits for their demonstrations, they avoided committing any felonies. They’d also grown more sophisticated than in years past, using the publicity to get their message into the media and draw other misguided citizens to their cause.
    Karp thought about it for a moment, then rapped his knuckles on the newspaper. “Stay on it, Clay,” he said as he stood up. “Sooner or later, they’ll make a mistake and we’ll go after them.”
    He walked around the desk as the detective rose to meet him. Fulton was stockier, with broader shoulders, but Karp, a former star college basketball player, was half a head taller at six-foot-five. “I’ve got to run, the car’s waiting for me. Let me know if anything breaks.”
    Fulton left the way he came in, but Karp went through a side door of his office to a small anteroom where he took a private elevator reserved for the district attorney and judges down to the Leonard Street side entrance of the Criminal Courts Building. The massive, squat edifice at 100 Centre Street housed the criminal courts—notably the Supreme Courts where felonies were tried—the judges’ robing rooms and chambers, criminal court records, grand jury rooms, and the offices of the New York County district attorney. At its northern end it was connected by an enclosed walkway, the “Bridge of Sighs,” to the Manhattan Detention Complex, popularly referred to as The Tombs.
    The Criminal Courts Building had been Karp’s “home away from home.” Waiting for him now outside its doors was a large, dark bulletproof sedan driven by police officer Eddie Ewin.
    â€œWhere to, Mr. Karp?” the young officer asked when he got in.
    â€œThe Third Avenue synagogue off 67th Street.”
    The winter light was already starting to fade, the street lights illuminating the snow that had been falling all day, when the car pulled to the curb in front of the synagogue. Karp saw Isaac and Giancarlo standing on the snow-covered steps leading into the building with Goldie and Moishe