Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 01

by The Ritual Bath

  “What was so weird about him?”

  “He asked me too many personal questions. Things like did I still go to the mikvah even though I was a widow? Or was I going to stop wearing my wedding ring? Or uncover my hair. I kept my hair covered for a long time afterward. Now I only cover it when I leave the yeshiva. Or if I know I’m going to see an outsider…or you…”

  “What else did he ask you?” Decker prodded.

  “Did I ever eat nonkosher food? Did I ever smoke dope? Those questions may not sound so strange to you, but they’re highly irregular coming from a yeshiva bocher.”

  “Go on.”

  “That was all, really.”

  “Guy’s still here?”

  “Yeah, he’s married now. Learns in the kollel. I think his wife straightened him out a bit.”

  “What’s his name?”

  She looked at him, suspiciously. “He’s not the rapist.”

  “I didn’t say he was. I just asked for his name.”

  She didn’t answer, and Decker dropped it.

  “So your dates just didn’t work out, huh?”

  “Disasters. I might have started dating too soon after.”

  “Or maybe you’re just fishing in the wrong pond.”

  She sighed. “There are a lot of other Jewish communities. Bigger communities with lots of men. I’m just not ready to face the mating rituals again.”

  “You sound as if you could use someone close to home to help ease the transition.”

  She smiled. “And you’re volunteering?”

  “As a community service.”

  “You know, Decker, you would have made a great yeshiva bocher.”

  He broke up.

  “No, I’m serious. You have all the external trappings. You’re intelligent, curious, hardworking. You asked the right questions. You’re even a lawyer. A yeshiva is like a Jewish law school with ethics and morals thrown in. Anyone who’s ever studied both will tell you that Jewish law is much harder and more challenging than American law.”

  “I missed my calling, huh?”

  “You laugh, but I can tell, Peter. If you’d been born Jewish and raised in an Orthodox environment, you would have been a fanatic.”

  Her words made him uncomfortable. He fidgeted.

  “You don’t have any cigarettes, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s okay.”

  “Would you like some coffee or juice?”

  “Just water.”

  She got up and he let out a deep breath. Jesus, it was hot in here. Funny he should just notice it. She returned with a tall glass of iced water.

  “Thanks.” He drained the glass. “If you don’t go to movies and don’t eat out in restaurants, what do you do for fun?”

  “What’s that?” Rina said deadpan.

  “Think back to when you were a baby and you used to smile, but everyone thought it was gas.”

  “Ah yes—it’s coming back to me.” She gave him a light poke. “We have fun.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Shabbos is fun. I cook huge meals for Friday night and Saturday lunch until I’m ready to drop, and everyone stuffs themselves, leaving me to do the dishes.” She laughed. “Seriously, I love Shabbos day. We go to services in the morning. Then, either I have people over for lunch or we’ll be invited out. There’s lots of talking, singing, learning, playing with the kids, eating, drinking…We don’t use any electricity on the Sabbath. We don’t even turn on a light, pick up a phone, or drive a car. Disconnecting from the outside world for one day is purifying, Peter. Like the plunge into the mikvah.

  “I’ve done a lot of reflecting these past two years since Yitzchak died and found that I like being religious. There’s purpose in it, and purpose in life is a rare treasure these days.”

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to attack you. Yeah, even a lowly goy can control himself. I just want to hold your hand.”

  Surprisingly she complied.

  “I like talking to you,” he said. “Do you like talking to me?”

  “You know I do.”

  “Find me trustworthy?”

  “What are you leading up to?”

  “Why don’t we go out together? We can do something harmless like take a drive to the beach and talk. It would be really nice.”

  “I just can’t do it.”

  “Why not? We won’t tell anybody.”

  “It’s not the external conflict. It’s the internal one.”

  “So we’ll just be buddies. Like Marge Dunn and me. Marge and I go out for drinks all the time. Everybody needs a good buddy.”

  She shook her head.

  “Just one time. See how you like it.”

  “I can’t, Peter. It wouldn’t stop at one time, and you know it.”

  She was right. He might as well salvage what he could.

  “Look, you went out with Goldberg, and you thought he was a real weirdo. I’m not even a teensy bit weird, so how about your giving me as much consideration as old Goldberg?”

  “Goldberg?”

  “The weirdo who asked you all those questions.”

  “That was Shlomo Stein. Where’d you get the name Goldberg?”

  “Shlomo Stein, huh?”

  Rina glared at him, but didn’t pull away. “That was really rotten.”

  “I was sincere about the invitation.”

  “I’ll give you that statement now.”

  Decker grinned expansively. The evening wasn’t a total loss.

  14

  Sammy gazed into space, knotted his fingers into a fist, and slammed it into the mitt. Rina checked the clock. He’d been gawking at the wall and punching the baseball glove repetitively for the last hour, and there was still another fifty minutes to go before Peter showed up.

  She’d tried talking to him, suggesting they play a game or learn some Chumash together, but he shrugged her off. Jacob, on the other hand, had spent the morning like every other Sunday morning—glued to the TV. He was excited about going to his first baseball game, but he was just as excited about the Jerry Lewis movie that came on at eleven. Jacob was so good-natured, so easy to please. Sammy was a sweet boy with a heart of gold, just much more serious by nature than his brother.

  How could two boys with the same parents, born only a year apart, be so different?

  She decided to bake. It was therapy for her, calming her nerves. Picking up the wooden spoon, she creamed the margarine with the sugar, mashing the yellow lumps into a smooth, sweet paste.

  When Peter had first offered to take the boys to the Dodgers game, she’d refused. She didn’t want them getting attached to him, and he said he understood—they were her kids, she knew what was best for them.

  But guilt began to tug at her heartstrings. Every single morning after his prayers, Sammy would open the paper and pour over the sports section, studying it as diligently as he studied the scriptures. He’d memorized all the statistics, backward, foreward, sideways. Name a Dodger, and he could tell you his life history. It just seemed cruel to deny him such a small pleasure. She’d been putting him off so long. So she asked him if he wanted to go to Sunday’s game with Peter, and the boy’s eyes livened with unabashed excitement. So she called Peter back.

  She sifted in flour and cocoa powder, and stirred the batter vigorously.

  “Eema?” Sammy called from the other room.

  “What, honey?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Forty minutes to go.”

  Silence.

  Then the dull thud of flesh hitting leather. She was sure his knuckles were red and raw by now.

  Jake came in the kitchen.

  “Whatcha making?”

  “Cupcakes.”

  “Are they pareve?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can we take them with us to the game?”

  “That’s why I’m making them,” she said, pouring the batter into the
paper liners.

  “Can I lick the bowl?”

  “One of you gets the bowl, the other the spoon. Work out the division between yourselves.”

  Jake pulled over a chair and watched her put the cupcake pan in the oven.

  “Are you excited?” Rina asked him.

  “Yeah.”

  “You like baseball, don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I hope the Dodgers win.”

  “Yeah. Can we buy a Coke there?”

  Rina smiled. “I think that can be arranged.”

  “Thanks.” He slid off the chair, went out to his brother and returned a minute later. “Shmueli isn’t hungry. Can I have the bowl and the spoon?”

  Rina gave him the cookware coated with chocolate batter. The little boy scooped up the bowl and utensils in his arms and returned to his television program. Just when the cupcakes had cooled sufficiently for packing, the doorbell rang. Sammy answered it.

  Rina was taken aback by Peter’s appearance. Her image of him until now had been that of a “professional detective” in a shirt, slacks, and tie. This afternoon he wore a white T-shirt, sloppy cut-off shorts and sneakers, and a baseball cap perched atop his thick patch of orange-red hair. He looked so all-American, so working class. So goyish. With him were two teenagers. The girl was attractive, but too gangly to be beautiful. She had her father’s hair, cut short, big brown eyes, and an open, toothy smile. She was dressed in short shorts, a midriff tank top, and sandals. The boy was surfer blond and slightly taller than the girl, with meat on his bones. His dress was identical to the girl’s. They had their arms looped around each other.

  Immediately, Rina wondered if she hadn’t erred in her judgment. Although she couldn’t shelter her kids forever, perhaps it would have been wiser to expose them to the goyim at a less impressionable age. She had definite misgivings, but it was too late to back down now.

  “Thanks for taking them,” Rina said.

  “My pleasure.”

  Something was bothering her, and Decker knew instantly what it was. Their dress was too secular. The kids were showing affection publicly. She was sorry she’d agreed to this, leaving her sons in the hands of a goy. He had almost told her about his adoption and origins that night. They had achieved a certain intimacy, and he’d wanted to be open with her. But something stopped him. Years of silence on the subject had put his lost identity in cold storage. To reveal himself to her would have opened a Pandora’s box that he wasn’t prepared to deal with. Not with a job to do, a rapist on the loose.

  “This is my daughter, Cindy, and her boyfriend, Eric,” Decker introduced. “Kids, this is Rina Lazarus and her sons, Sammy and Jake.”

  The teenagers smiled and tightened their grip on one another.

  “What do you think?” Decker asked, cradling his daughter’s face in his hands. “Isn’t she beautiful?”

  Rina smiled. “Gorgeous.”

  “Dad!” Cindy whispered, embarrassed.

  “I do this to her every time.” He grinned, then threw his arm around Sammy and touched the glove. “You’re coming prepared.”

  Sammy shrugged sheepishly.

  “Ready?”

  The boys nodded.

  “Peter, this is their food.” Rina handed him a double bag. “They can have Cokes or Seven-ups, but nothing else. No hot dogs, ice-cream, french fries, nachos, potato chips—”

  “What if it has hashgacha?” Jake asked.

  “Yonkie, I packed more than enough goodies for you guys.” She turned back to Peter. “Only drinks. Here’s a five-dollar bill—”

  “What are you giving me?” Decker laughed. “Even a cop can afford to buy a round of Cokes. And calm down. I’ll bring ’em back in one piece. And they’ll still be Jewish.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out.

  “I trust you.”

  “Cynthia, why don’t you and Eric walk the boys to the car. I want to talk to Rina for a minute.”

  “Sure,” the girl answered. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Same here. Enjoy the game.” Rina started to plant kisses on her sons. “Have a wonderful time, and listen to Detective Decker.”

  Sammy squirmed out from her grip and walked out the door with the teenagers. Jake stayed behind an extra moment to get another hug, then quickly caught up with the others.

  “We hit paydirt with Shlomo Stein,” Decker said when they were alone. “Guy’s got a past. Indicted for two counts of possession of cocaine with intent to sell, one count of racketeering, and one count of assault with a deadly weapon. None of the charges stuck except the assault, and in that case, he beat the rap. Hired himself a hotshot lawyer named MacGregor Dayton. I’ve heard of the man. He was defending heavy-duty dealers back when I was still a boy in Florida. And they say he only got sharper over time.”

  He paused.

  “In his secular days old Shlomo Stein was known as Scotty Stevens. I’d like to know what the hell he’s doing here.”

  “Finding meaning, I guess.”

  “Yeah, well I’m cynical enough to think that major personality changes don’t take place overnight.”

  “He’s not the rapist, Peter.”

  “No, the guy is perfect now that he prays all the time.”

  “I didn’t say that,” she answered, defensively. “Granted, he’s a weirdo. But he was in class with twenty other men at the time of the rape.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I was one step ahead of you.”

  “What did you do, Rina?”

  “I asked around—”

  “Damn!” Decker interrupted. “Rina, you gave the guy a chance to set up an alibi.”

  “We are very protective of one another, but nobody here would cover up to protect a rapist. I asked a few trustworthy people—like Zvi. Now would Zvi protect a man who raped his wife?”

  “Who the hell knows? I have trouble understanding this place’s mentality.”

  “Peter, I’m not a character reference for Shlomo Stein. I’m just telling you that he didn’t do it.”

  “Did you know about his former criminal activities at the time you went out with him?”

  “Of course not! I wouldn’t have gone out with him had I known. It wasn’t until later that I found out he’d had some problems. Apparently, he was brought up Orthodox, strayed, and now has returned like the prodigal son, lehavdil. Rav Aaron let him stay after he found out, even though he wasn’t happy about it. He doesn’t want this place to be a refuge for weirdos and misfits. But a community can’t turn its back on members who’ve made mistakes in the past.”

  “But you knew he had a record when I talked to you.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She looked down. “I knew he’d been in some sort of trouble. I thought it was drugs.”

  “Why didn’t you mention it to me?”

  “I knew you’d find out.”

  “But why didn’t you tell me your suspicions?”

  She said nothing.

  “You’d rather protect your own, even if he’s a criminal, than trust an outsider who happens to be a cop and, more important, a human being who’s very concerned about your welfare.”

  “Peter, it’s not that.”

  His eyes bore into her.

  “I do trust you,” she said, earnestly. “I didn’t want to cast doubt on him just because he’d had a checkered past. I didn’t know what he was. Let the investigation come from the officials. Let it come from you.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder about this place. I have a mind to conduct a complete investigation—”

  “Peter, this place houses sixty families, two hundred college-age boys, and another one hundred high school kids. The boys graduate and leave, others take their places. Some kids come here mid-semester. There’s a constant turnover of students, not to mention visiting rabbis and scholars who learn at the yeshiva for a year or so. With that many people coming and going, you’re bound to come across a few oddballs.”

  “You’ve got a gangster and a
psycho—”

  “Moshe is harmless.”

  Decker said nothing.

  “You must have had him checked out,” Rina said.

  “He’s clean.”

  “Of course he’s clean.”

  A beeper went off. Decker unhooked the portable radio from his belt loop and listened to a number being mumbled over a lot of static.

  “I need to borrow your phone for a moment.”

  “Sure.”

  He made his call, gave a few instructions, and hung up the receiver.

  “Anything important?” Rina asked.

  “Not really. With this Foothill bastard on the loose, I like to be as accessible as possible.”

  “It must be hard on you.”

  “At least it saves on gas. I’m always taking the unmarked to be near the radio. I don’t think I’ve driven my personal car in three months.” He looked at his watch. “I have to go.”

  “Peter?”

  “What?”

  “Once you conned Shlomo’s name out of me, I should have told you the rest. I’m sorry.”

  His expression softened, and he plopped his baseball cap atop her head. “Take care of yourself.”

  “Your daughter’s lovely.”

  He gave her a wide smile.

  “I’ll tell her you said that.”

  Even though Rina showed up early for the Bible class, Ruthie Zipperstein and Chana Marcus were already there, deep in conversation. She liked the book they were studying—Samuel—for it described the excitement of the reign of King David. Not only was the book of Samuel interesting historically, but it provided magnificent insights into the frailties of human nature. David, the righteous Jew who did the unspeakable to obtain the woman he wanted. A leader, a learned man, a sinner, and humble servant of Hashem.

  David was also a redhead.

  She sat down and told the women where her boys were. She knew they’d find out anyway, so it might as well come from her mouth.

  “Rina, I can’t believe you let the boys go with him.”