Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 01

by The Ritual Bath

  “Certainly not to catch bad guys,” Zvi muttered.

  Schulman barked something to Adler in Yiddish. The younger man looked down.

  “There is a mob out there,” Schulman said to Decker. “I’ll do what I can to get the boys back in the classrooms and dormitories, but tell your men to ease up with the threats and pushing. A few of them are becoming abusive.”

  “I’ll go back with you, Rabbi,” Marge offered. “You talk to your boys, I’ll talk to the police.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  Dunn and Schulman left the three of them alone.

  “At smaycha?” Zvi said sarcastically to Rina.

  “Maspeek, Zvi,” she answered. She was almost in tears. “Bevakasha.”

  Zvi sighed.

  “I’m sorry, Rina.” He looked at Decker. “I know this isn’t your fault. I’m frustrated.”

  “It’s okay. I understand,” Decker answered. “I’m going to look around a little more. You’ll stay with Mrs. Lazarus?”

  Adler nodded.

  “You go home, Zvi,” she said, wearily. “Tell my kids, I’m fine. I’ll wait with the women.”

  “Detective?”

  The three of them turned around and saw two patrolmen flanking a yeshiva student in his late twenties. The man was stooped and thin, with scanty, black, untrimmed whiskers that grew from a gaunt face. His black jacket was oversized and torn at the pockets, his white shirt wrinkled and tucked carelessly into patched black pants. The shoes on his feet were scuffed and caked with dirt. His eyes were dark and dull and swirled aimlessly in their sockets. On his head was a black homburg with the rim coming loose. His arms had been pinioned behind him and cuffed. He seemed as insubstantial as a scarecrow as the policemen shoved him along.

  “Look what we found wandering in the bushes.”

  “Oh my God,” Rina muttered.

  “Read him his rights?” Decker asked.

  “First thing,” one of the policemen answered.

  “Take him down to the station.”

  “Peter, that’s not the rapist,” Rina said.

  He looked at her. “What do you mean?”

  “That’s Moshe. He’s the groundskeeper.”

  “Well, he could also be a rapist.”

  “Moshe’s harmless. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “We’ll find out how harmless he is, Rina.”

  “He’s not the man you’re looking for, Peter. Please. He’s a waste of your time.”

  “Why? Because you know him? Because he’s one of your own?”

  Zvi mumbled something in Hebrew. Rina heard it and turned bright red. She was furious at both of the men, but fought to maintain control. “No, not because he’s one of my own, but because I know he’s not a rapist!”

  “What should I do with him, Detective?” asked one of the patrolmen.

  Moshe mumbled placidly, a slack smile on his lips.

  “Wait a minute.” Decker was angry and pulled Rina aside. “You called me here. Let me do my job.”

  “Peter, listen to me. Moshe’s kept on by the yeshiva as an act of compassion. He’s off-balance. He wanders around the grounds at night muttering to himself. Everyone in the place knows about him. He’s cuckoo, Peter. But he’s harmless. I swear to you, he’s harmless.”

  “Unfortunately, your oath doesn’t mean a thing, Rina. If the guy’s a psycho, all the more reason to check him out. If he’s innocent, there won’t be any problem. I just want to ask him some questions.” Decker sucked on his cigarette. “A woman was raped, I was shot at, I want some answers!”

  “He won’t have an alibi for the night of the rape. He spends every night roaming the hills. He won’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Zvi broke in. “Detective, may I say something?”

  Decker gave him a hard stare. “What?”

  “I know how this must look to you, but Mrs. Lazarus is right. As much as I want to murder the mamzer who defiled my wife, I know with all my heart that it is not the man your policemen are holding. Moshe would be no more likely to rape than you or I. He’s crazy, he’s weird, but he’s not a rapist. If you question him, he’ll crack up. You could probably convince him he was the rapist, and he’d be fool enough to believe you.”

  “Peter, please,” Rina pleaded. “If you arrest him, the people here will never trust the police again. That’ll make us open targets.”

  “You know what you’re asking me to do?” Decker said.

  “Please,” she begged.

  “Okay,” he said, mashing out his cigarette with his heel. “This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to release this weirdo into your custody, Mr. Adler. But you people have got to explain to him what’s going on and keep him away from the hills. Because if I get called down here again, and we go through another search and he’s found on or about the area, he’s going to be arrested. And I’m going to be very pissed at you all because I’ll catch deep shit for letting him go in the first place.”

  Decker ordered the man released and stomped away. Zvi took Moshe aside immediately and began talking to him, patiently.

  Fifteen minutes later, the search team called it quits. Within the half hour the mikvah area was quiet except for Decker, Rina, and a group of women who stayed steadfast at her side. The detective walked the group home, dropping them off one by one, until he was alone with Rina.

  “I’ve got to pick up my kids,” she said.

  “Where are they?”

  “I’ve been leaving them with Sarah Libba. I don’t trust baby-sitters anymore.”

  “Pick them up.”

  “Zvi usually walks me home.”

  “So tonight I’ll walk you home.”

  She said nothing.

  Decker frowned.

  “I’d be more than happy to leave right now, but I need to talk to you about this Moshe weirdo.”

  “It would be awkward if I let you inside my house, Peter.”

  “Then we’ll talk here,” he said testily, taking out his notebook.

  “It would really be easier if we could let this go for the evening. I’d be happy to meet you somewhere and answer any questions you’d like.”

  He hesitated.

  “Peter, I’m a nervous wreck.”

  He regarded her face. It was beautiful, but suffused with anxiety. Time to forget about being a cop and loosen the reins.

  “Okay. I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow at eleven sharp.”

  “Could we possibly postpone it until Monday? Tomorrow evening is our Sabbath, and I’m having company. I was planning to cook all day, since we’re not allowed to cook once the sun goes down Friday night.”

  Decker said nothing.

  “I could start cooking tonight, but it’s so late—”

  “No, no.” Decker exhaled. “All right. Meet me Monday at the station.”

  She paused, then asked timidly: “Could we meet at Arleta Park instead?”

  She didn’t want the guys at the station to get the wrong idea, he thought.

  “Fine,” he said brusquely. “I’ll meet you at the park.”

  “Peter, thank you for coming down. Really, thanks for everything.”

  “It’s my job, Rina.”

  “Thanks just the same.”

  He paused for a moment, then asked evenly: “What did Zvi say to you?”

  “He just bawled me out.”

  “What’d he mutter under his breath? That’s what you get for trusting a goy?”

  He was wounded. She almost reached out, but held back.

  Softly she answered, “Something like that.”

  10

  The Foothill rapist had dropped another turd tonight, and Hollander was pissed. The new rape meant more pressure from the brass and more of the media coverage that was turning the case and his detail into a circus. More important, it meant Decker and Marge were out on field work, leaving him stuck here to deal with the crazy Jews on a Sunday night, all in the name of public service. Shit!

  The meetin
g, held in the community hall, was jammed with bodies and had been droning on for over an hour. The Jews didn’t like anyone, but they had gotten sort of used to Decker. They considered him the head honcho and weren’t overjoyed at dealing with a replacement. Hollander tried to answer their questions and assuage their anxiety, but he was getting tired. And he knew if he didn’t make it home soon, Mary would be too sleepy for a roll in the hay. The only bright spot was the little black-haired gal Decker liked, sitting in the back row. She was a looker and didn’t seem nearly as tight-assed as the others.

  Rina sympathized with the fat detective. It was hard being center stage surrounded by hostile forces. Though he tried to ease the tension with humor, his off-the-cuff remarks came out flip and uncaring. Peter would have handled it better.

  Zvi Adler was talking now. Sarah Libba had decided to show her face in public for the first time since the rape. She sat by his side, head down, hands folded tightly in her lap. Zvi was a difficult man, but Rina admired his unwavering support for his wife. He even had the guts to show his feelings for her publicly when she started to cry midway through the meeting. He had hugged her and kissed her on the cheek.

  Zvi was putting Hollander on the spot again, and the detective was responding with bluster. Peter was sorely missed. He’d called her to tell her why he wouldn’t be coming tonight and had asked her to keep mum about the newest rape. The knowledge, he’d felt, would raise the anxiety level and make the session harder on Hollander. But she felt sure the yeshiva people would suspect something from his absence.

  Steve Gilbert and Matt Hawthorne entered the room and parked themselves next to her.

  “What are you two doing here?” she asked.

  “Personal invitation from Rabbi Schulman,” said Hawthorne. “All will be explained.”

  “How are you doing, Rina?” Gilbert asked.

  “Not too well.”

  “Where’s your friend?”

  “What friend?”

  “The boys are saying you’re pretty chummy with the red-haired detective,” Hawthorne explained.

  “What!”

  “No need to get excited,” said Gilbert. “What you do on your own free time is none of our business.”

  “He’s not my pal. Unfortunately, we’ve been thrown together recently.”

  “Not so unfortunate for the good detective.” Hawthorne grinned.

  She ignored him.

  “What’s happened so far?” Gilbert asked.

  “Nothing really. We’re yelling at the poor man up there, and he’s trying to defend himself. It’s yeshiva twenty, detective zero.”

  Her face clouded.

  “Everyone’s scared, and for good reason.”

  “And yourself?” Gilbert asked.

  “I’m petrified.”

  “Why don’t you stop being the mikvah lady?” Hawthorne asked. “It’s become a dangerous job for a lone woman.”

  “The yeshiva supports the boys and me. In exchange, I teach and run the mikvah.”

  “They wouldn’t kick you out if you quit,” Steve said.

  “I’d feel like a moocher if I didn’t contribute.”

  “Dedicated until the end.” Steve shook his head.

  She looked at him sharply, and he shrugged apologetically.

  “Did Sammy ever thank you for the baseball cards, Matt?”

  “He sure did. You should have let him come with me to the ball game Thursday evening. It would have been a lot safer there than it was here.”

  “The boys were perfectly safe,” Gilbert said. “They were with me.”

  “Yes, I meant to thank you for walking them to Sarah Adler’s after Computer Club,” Rina said to him.

  “No problem.” Gilbert paused a moment. “Yossie Adler has been awfully quiet lately. Does he know what happened?”

  “He must,” Hawthorne replied. “He’s thirteen and very bright.”

  “Did anyone say anything to him?” Gilbert asked, wiping his glasses with a tissue.

  “No one that I know of,” answered Rina. “Certainly his parents haven’t said anything.”

  “We’re being watched, comrades,” whispered Hawthorne.

  Rina turned and saw some of the women staring at her.

  She moved down a row.

  “I highly recommend this security company,” said Hollander. “Many businesses and developments in the area have worked with them successfully. Their field of expertise is residential and ground patrol.”

  “What about the female guards?” someone asked.

  “They’re as well-trained as the men. And let me tell you people something: The women are big women. They wear firearms, and they know how to use them.”

  “I don’t see why the yeshiva has to dole out extra money to do the job the police should be doing,” someone else complained.

  “Menachem, it’s impossible for the police to be everywhere all the time,” explained Rav Schulman. “On the other hand, Rabbi Marcus’s skepticism is valid. The police did nothing about the vandalism. Why should this case be different?”

  “Rabbi Schulman,” Hollander sighed wearily. “We know the kids who’re responsible, but unless we catch them in the act, it’s impossible to prosecute.”

  “It’s those punk kids.” Ruthie Zipperstein grimaced. “They wear those Nazi armbands and the leather pants. Anti-Semites, each and every one of them. I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if they were behind what happened at the mikvah.”

  “They bother us when we do our marketing in town,” Chana added.

  “Did you file a complaint?” Hollander asked.

  “What good would a complaint do against obscene language?” Chana shouted. “You can’t control the vandals, you can’t control them from raping, you’re obviously not going to be able to control their mouths.”

  “If they are really harassing you—”

  “Forget it,” Ruthie said, disgusted. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

  “Now I want to say something, Detective Hollander,” the Rosh Yeshiva broke in. “First I think the police should show good faith and tell us the real reason for Detective Decker’s absence.”

  Hollander chewed his pipe stem. What the hell? It would be on the eleven o’clock news.

  “He’s out investigating another Foothill rape.”

  “Is this madman the same one who attacked my wife?” Zvi demanded.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Adler. You’ll have to ask Detective Decker for the details.”

  Zvi turned to Rina. “Did you talk about this with him?”

  She didn’t know what to say, so she hedged. “I don’t know any more than you do.”

  “Don’t you have a hotline to the detective?” Chana said accusingly.

  Why didn’t they leave her alone…

  “Anyone can call him,” she snapped back. “You want to call him up and ask him questions, call him up.”

  “This is getting nowhere,” the Rosh Yeshiva interjected. “I have a plan, and it’s a good one. One, we hire a female security guard to watch the mikvah and walk the ladies home at night. Two, on Shabbos we will take extra precautions. I will not have this rasha violating our holy day of rest!”

  The old man broke into a spasm of coughs. When the hacking subsided, he continued.

  “I’ve just spoken with Steven and Matthew, and Baruch Hashem, they’re gutten neshamas.” He translated for Hollander: “Good souls. They want to help out and have volunteered to patrol Friday nights when we’re in shul.”

  The audience turned to the teachers with grateful smiles, but Hollander was skeptical. He suspected everyone connected to the place, and the teachers were no exceptions. But he kept his opinions to himself and smiled approvingly.

  “That’s nice of you,” Rina whispered.

  “At least until Steve gets married,” said Rabbi Schulman smiling. “And that’s going to be when, Steven?”

  “Three months.”

  “So”—the old man clasped his hands—“we’ll all work together. The po
lice will do their job, and we will be especially vigilant. If it be the will of Hashem, justice will be served.”

  He turned to Hollander.

  “We will fight back if we have to, Detective. Never again will we be lambs led to slaughter.”

  He looked as hard as an old Baptist preacher, thought Hollander. Gazing at the roomful of angry faces, the detective groaned inwardly. He could just see it. Some kid throws an egg at the gate and winds up in the hospital minus a pair of nuts.

  “I understand your feeling of frustration, Rabbi, but please, if something comes up, I strongly urge you to leave it up to the police. It’s dangerous to take the law into your own hands, and it could get you in a heap of trouble, legally.”

  The rabbi was not daunted. “That may be a chance we’ll have to take,” he said, firmly.

  “Rina Miriam,” the Rosh Yeshiva called out as she was about to leave.

  She walked back to him.

  “Yes, Rav Aaron.”

  “Rina Miriam,” he said softly, “a yeshiva isn’t the ideal atmosphere for a young widow with two children. Are you happy here?”

  “I’m content. My boys have found a home here.”

  “Then I am glad we can do honor to Yitzchak, alav hashalom, by providing his family with a community.”

  “Thank you,” she said.

  But she knew there was more.

  “We will always have a place for you and your boys, Rina Miriam. You have a very important role here. You teach, you lecture irreligious women on Taharat Hamishpacha. Many women now go to the mikvah because of you.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  “You and your children will always be welcome, but…” The old man’s eyes became as hard as granite. “But there’s no room for a goy.”

  She turned a deep crimson.

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You’re a very smart lady. You know what I mean.”

  “I don’t know what kind of rumors you’ve heard—”

  “I don’t listen to rumors, Rina Miriam.”

  “Of course you don’t.” She looked at the floor.

  “But, Baruch Hashem, my eyes still work, and I see things. Like the expression on your face last Thursday when you talked to the big detective. And the one on his face when he talked to you. He’s a nice boy—rugged looking, hard working, well-mannered—a mensch. It’s easy to get caught up, especially if you’ve been alone for a while.”