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Callaghan from the FBI brought David new information: data on the known Nazi organizations still flourishing anywhere.
    From all of this information, Strauss began to compile his own composite box score on the Nazis. They certainly knew who he was. Now David wanted to know all about them.
    Literally everything about the Nazis.
    The American Nazi Party. Now calls itself the National Socialist White People’s Party
, David wrote in a foolscap notepad.
Based in Alexandria, Virginia, FBI guesstimates 800 to 2,000 active members
.
    The National States Rights Party. Out of Marietta, Georgia. Hate sheet called
Thunderbolt
distributed to 15,000 members every month. Members included Fred Cowan, New Rochelle furniture mover who went berserk in 1976, killing five people in Westchester
.
    American Nazi splinter groups:
    The National Socialist Party of America. Based in Chicago. Attempted Nazi march through Skokie, Illinois, on July 4, 1977
.
    The National Socialist Women’s Organization. Chicago
.
    The National Socialist League (Gay Nazis). Los Angeles
.
    A small group in Pennsylvania called Stormtroopers, but considered “harmless” by FBI
.
    International Nazi groups and movements:
    Die Spinne. “The Spider.” Leaves no mailing address. Not considered “harmless.” The same goes for Die Schleuse, L’Araignée, and ODESSA
.
    Day after day David Strauss rummaged through, or just stared at, the hateful stacks of Nazi papers and Nazi books.
    He wondered exactly which page had killed his brother, his grandmother, his wife
.
    Every night when David closed his eyes, he saw after-images of the funerals.
    Heather’s funeral had been disturbingly peaceful. An Episcopal cemetery called Evergreen. Blue skies overhead. Tall, full-boughed trees like those in Van Gogh’s final paintings at Arles.
    Nicholas, Elena, and Beri’s service had been at Temple Emmanuel on Fifth Avenue. The funeral was held the day after the shootings, according to Jewish law.
    As David lay in his bed at Cherrywoods, he could see himself riding to the funeral in a somber, tomblike limousine. The trees along Fifth Avenue were silently flashing by the limousine’s windows. His own face was reflected on the windows: dark, dreamlike, severe.
    There were nearly four thousand people at the temple.
    Gray police barricades had been set up for three blocks in either direction on Fifth. Two pale blue police buses sat at Sixty-seventh Street, which happened to be the site of the Soviet Embassy.
    David held the arms of his two great-aunts as he slowly walked down the roped-off entranceway to the temple.
    Inside the temple, David’s gaze fell down the long center aisle. At the sight of the three plain pine caskets his eyes filled. A cantor with a basso profundo voice began to sing. A swirling wave made up of sadness and immeasurable loss turned David’s stomach inside out. He felt lightheaded.
    You never know how much you’re going to miss people
. At that moment, David was certain he couldn’t go on without them.
    Dear, dear Heather and Elena. And Nick and Beri.
    Not only family, his four best friends in the world. His flesh. A physical and spiritual part of David gone without warning.

CHAPTER 16
    Dr. David Strauss ran to punish his body, it seemed—
for what sin or sin of omission he wasn’t exactly sure
.
    He ran to prepare himself—
for what Olympic task he wasn’t certain of, either
.
    Six miles a day at first.
    Then eight miles.
    Ten miles. And then heartbreaking quarter-mile sprints.
    Probably because he was a doctor, David pretended to himself that the running would help to lower his blood pressure. It would decrease his cholesterol. It would build up his cardiopulmonary fitness.
    Pure folly.
    David really ran for the pain
.
    During what, David called his “ruthless runs” he had no memory. No practical necessities. No tragic past or frightening, very unsure future.
    There was just the physical act of running, the cleansing pain.
    There was pushing himself