“Not so fast,” Caruso told him. “I’m going to have to hold you until I can have the San Francisco police talk with your alibi witnesses. If you’ve been telling me the truth, you’ll be released in forty-eight hours or less.”
“Oh, Mercy,” Walker whimpered. “You mean I’m going to have to go to jail?”
“I’m afraid so,” Mark told him. “Michael, do you have any questions to ask Mr. Walker?”
“Yeah, a few,” Michael said. He was glad Mark hadn’t told Walker he worked for the Times. Michael felt he would be more likely to get information from the man if he assumed Michael was with Metro. “Did Cicily say anything to you about a meeting she had at work last Friday? A meeting with a woman named Lois Lewis?”
Walker scratched his head. “No, I don’t think so. If she did, I wasn’t paying attention. Cicily rambled nonsense most of the time, so most of what she said went in one ear and out the other. She was a really stupid bitch. I wouldn’t have stayed with her as long as I did, except I’ve been out of work and she was paying the bills.
“Wait a minute,” Walker remembered. “Last Friday night, Cicily was jumping up and down all over the place, acting like a monkey. She said she had something on someone at Blue Hawaii and was going to sue the company for a million dollars.”
Michael sat up straight. “Did Cicily mention any names?”
Walker shook his head. “Yeah. She mentioned some character out of one of the old comic strips. Little Orphan Annie, Blondie, Dick Tracy. I don’t really remember which one. As I told you, I didn’t pay much attention to anything Cicily said. She was always coming up with a harebrained scheme on how to con money out of somebody.”
The uniformed officers cuffed Walker and took him away. Michael and Mark continued to sit in the conference room.
“Well, Michael, what do you think?” Mark asked. “Do you believe Walker’s telling the truth?”
Michael shrugged. “I was going to ask you the same thing, Mark. I don’t have the experience you have dealing with murder suspects. If he wasn’t telling the truth, though, he did a darn good job of bluffing.”
“I really blew this case, Michael,” Mark confessed. “I should have checked the time Walker parked his truck. And I should have checked the airline passenger lists to find out when Walker left Vegas and where he went. I would have learned he’d flown to the Bay area and I could have had the San Francisco police put out an APB on him.
“You know something? I think Walker’s story is going to check out. And that puts us back to square two.”
“Don’t you mean square one?” Michael asked, knowing Mark’s penchant for muddling metaphors.
Mark shook his head. “No. Square two. Square one was finding Purdue’s body.” Caruso pulled himself to his feet. “Let’s go. I’ll drive you back to the Blue Hawaii so you can pick up your car.”
Fourteen
“DID YOU ENJOY the services tonight?” Myra asked, when the rabbi concluded with the benediction.
“Yes, but they weren’t quite what I expected,” Kimberly replied, smiling. “Between Rabbi Hellmann in his cowboy outfit sitting on the floor cross-legged and surrounded by children, and the female folk singer playing her guitar while she was chanting the prayers to unfamiliar melodies, I felt for a while I was in a 1960s-style hippie commune instead of a synagogue.”
“The rabbi’s sermon was interesting,” Michael commented. “Though it sounded awfully familiar.”
“It should,” Myra laughed. “His sermon was taken word for word from Reader’s Digest. I read it just a few weeks ago while I was sitting in my dentist’s waiting room.”
“Why did you want to come here tonight, instead of Bet Tikva, where we usually go?” Michael questioned.
“As you may have gathered, Rabbi Hellmann’s very liberal,” Myra answered. “Kim and I want to talk with him about our situation.”
“And what situation is that?” Michael asked nervously.
“We’ll tell you later, honey,” Kimberly promised. She slipped an arm around Michael’s waist. “Don’t worry, baby. Nothing’s wrong.”
But Michael was worried. If Myra and Kimberly needed to talk over a “situation” with a rabbi they didn’t know, perhaps they were having second thoughts about the ménage à trois. Initially, Michael had his own doubts about the viability of the alternate life style, but it was working out so much better than he could possibly have imagined that any thought of breaking it up was unthinkable.
They joined the other congregants headed toward the social hall, where coffee and tea had been brewed and tables spread with assorted cakes and cookies for the Oneg Shabbat social hour. Kimberly filled three Styrofoam cups with coffee. She handed one to Michael and another to Myra. Michael helped himself to a piece of carrot cake. Myra took a slice of pound cake, and Kimberly one of honey cake.
“Oh, look!” Myra exclaimed. “There’s Nellie Sherman!”
“Who? Where?” Michael asked.
Myra pointed out a large woman in her late twenties. She was wearing an olive-green dress. “Over there.”
Michael snickered.
“Why are you laughing?” Kimberly asked.
“Because of Nellie Sherman. She has an appropriate name. She’s built like a tank, hawr, hawr.”
Michael was right. Sherman weighed in at least two hundred fifty pounds. There were no clear lines of demarcation to separate her breasts, abdomen, or hips. All appeared to have the same girth.
“You’ll have to add Nellie’s name to your list,” Myra suggested.
“What list is that?” Kimberly asked, though she’d heard the story before.
“People whose names match their professions or predilections or appearance,” Michael explained. “It’s a little hobby of mine. I collect names, the way some people collect postage stamps. The hobby doesn’t cost anything, and I have a lot of fun with it.
“For example, Sir Henry Head and Sir Russell Brain were two prominent neurologists in Great Britain back in the 1930s. Homer Pigeon is a bird dealer. Sandi Lott and Dusty Rhodes are real estate agents. There’s a chiropractor named Bonebreak, a minister named Lord, and a dentist named Brush. Right here in Las Vegas, there are doctors in the same medical building named Hurt, Payne, Sikh, Plotz, and Gong.”
“Dr. Gong?” Myra repeated. “That name rings a bell.”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Michael chuckled.
“Nellie has a very pretty face,” Kimberly observed. “It’s a shame a woman her age has allowed herself to become so grossly overweight.”
“She’s a nice person, too,” Myra said. “Nellie used to work at Blue Hawaii in the Human Resources department. I wonder if she’s heard that Jeff Herbert was killed? When we finish our cake and coffee, let’s go talk with her.”
But it wasn’t necessary for them to move from where they were standing. Nellie had spotted Myra and was on her way over.
“Good Shabbos,” Nellie greeted.
“Good Shabbos,” they responded in chorus.
“It’s good to see you, Myra.” Nellie gave Myra a hug, then stepped back and eyed Michael and Kimberly expectantly. She was obviously waiting for an introduction.
“Nellie, I’d like you to meet my husband, Michael. And our very close companion, Kimberly Cohen.”
Nellie shook their hands. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”
“I’ve missed you at Blue Hawaii. Where are you working now, Nellie?” Myra asked.
“I’m with NVEnergy,” she replied. “I’ve been in their H.R. department for about five months—ever since my position at Blue Hawaii was eliminated.”
“I wondered what happened,” Myra commented. “You were there one day and gone the next.”
The corners of Nellie’s mouth turned down. “It wasn’t really quite as simple as that. Something untoward happened and eliminating my job position was how they chose to get rid of me. I’m still very angry about being let go so callously, but I don’t want to vent my spleen here in shul. If
you’re interested, Myra, perhaps some day I’ll fill you in. What I have to say might enlighten you.” Nellie’s eyes flashed fire.
“I am interested, Nellie. Very interested. Why don’t you meet me for lunch Monday? Would it bother you to have lunch at Blue Hawaii?”
Nellie contemplated for a minute. “No, I suppose not. The damage is done. I lost my job. What more can they do to me?”
“They?” Myra questioned.
“Let’s leave it at that for now,” Nellie answered cryptically. “I promise to tell you everything on Monday.”
“Did you hear that Jeff Herbert was murdered?” Myra asked. “You and Jeff worked closely together, as I recall.”
Nellie nodded. “Yes, we did. We sat at adjoining desks. I read about Jeff’s death in the Times. It came as quite a shock. Do you know why he was killed? The article in the paper didn’t say. Since Jeff was killed in his own home, I assumed he’d surprised an armed burglar.”
“I don’t think so,” Michael responded. “I was at Jeff’s house just minutes before he was murdered.” Myra gave Michael a stern look. She did not want him to mention the sexual harassment complaint to Nellie. “On business for the company I work for,” he quickly added.
Nellie wiped a tear from her eye. “I feel so sorry for Jeff’s family. He was such a nice man, always so polite to everyone. I guess it’s just an example of the good dying young. I wonder why it has to be that way.”
Rabbi Hellmann stepped up and joined the group. “Shabbat shalom,” he greeted.
“Shabbat shalom,” they responded in unison.
The rabbi addressed Michael, Myra, and Kimberly. “This is your first time at Temple Mazel Tov, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Kimberly answered.
“Did you enjoy the services?”
“The services were, er, unique.”
Kimberly’s noncommittal answer appeared to satisfy the rabbi. “I try to blend the traditional with the modern. People tell me that attending services at Temple Mazel Tov is like spending an evening on a kibbutz in Israel. The melodies we use for the prayers are traditional Sephardic tunes.
“The younger generation relate well to my services. My main goal is to keep our youth interested in Judaism. I think I’m succeeding.”
Myra had noticed the large number of children and teenagers in attendance. “It certainly appears you are, Rabbi.”
“If you have just a few minutes after the Oneg Shabbat, could we speak with you privately?” Kimberly asked.
The rabbi checked his watch. “Yes, certainly. People are starting to leave already. We can go to my study now.”
“I’ll see you for lunch Monday,” Nellie said to Myra. “Shall I meet you in your office?”
“Yes. That will be fine,” Myra agreed.
Fifteen
RABBI HELLMANN’S STUDY was in a room measuring about fifteen by eighteen feet. It was conveniently situated between the temple administrator’s office and the office of the principal of the religious school. The entrance to the study was from the hall.
One wall of the study was completely lined with books of assorted sizes and diverse colors of bindings. From the condition of the myriad volumes, it was obvious they had been well-read and frequently referenced—if not by the rabbi himself, then by someone with an immense thirst for knowledge.
Several framed oil paintings of Jewish subjects hung on the second wall. The third wall was dotted with eight-by-ten color photographs, also framed, of the rabbi posing with the governor of Nevada, a senator, a former vice president of the United States, famous entertainers, and other celebrities and notables. The remaining study wall was solid glass and overlooked a compact cactus garden.
A computer monitor and keyboard sat on a large, uncluttered oak desk. Four upholstered chairs were arranged in an arc in front of the rabbi’s desk. Behind the desk was an executive-type leather chair, and behind the chair was positioned an oak credenza that matched the desk. A menorah and several other items of Judaica sat atop the credenza. A door inside the study concealed a walk-in closet, and a second door led to a private bathroom, complete with a shower and dressing area.
“Please sit down and make yourselves comfortable,” the rabbi invited, pointing to the chairs in front of his desk. Rather than separate himself from his guests by sitting behind his desk, Hellmann took the fourth chair, turning it towards the others. They, in turn, rotated their chairs so each was facing the rabbi.
Hellmann waited a few moments for someone to tell him why they wanted to meet with him. When no words were forthcoming, he broke the ice. “As you know, I’m Rabbi Isaac Hellmann. But I don’t know your names. Would you please introduce yourselves.” It was a request, not a question.
Myra spoke up. “I’m Myra Kaplan, and this is my husband, Michael,” she said, pointing to him. “Kimberly Cohen is the beautiful young woman sitting next to Michael.”
The rabbi addressed Michael. “What can I do for you this evening, Mr. Kaplan?”
Michael looked uncomfortable. He tugged at his collar. “Please call me Michael, rabbi. I really don’t know what we’re doing here. I’m as much in the dark as you are. This meeting wasn’t my idea. It was Myra’s. Kimberly’s, too, I suspect.”
A slight smile crossed Hellmann’s face. He turned toward Myra. “I sense all three of you are a trifle nervous. Please don’t be. I don’t have any idea what you’re going to say, but I’ve been a rabbi for over twenty years and I’ve seen and heard most everything. Don’t be afraid to tell me your problem. I am not judgmental, I am here to help. What you say in this office will never leave the room. Everything you reveal to me is privileged, and I would never disclose it, even in a court of law.”
Myra was not actually nervous, but she was unsure how to divulge the facts to the rabbi in a way that he would not find them to be repugnant or offensive. “Michael and Kimberly are in love,” she spurted out.
One eyebrow raised. “I see.” He turned to the others for confirmation. “Is what Myra just told me true?”
Michael nodded affirmatively. Kimberly spoke out. “Yes, rabbi. Michael and I are very much in love.”
“Then what you’re asking of me, Myra, is for marriage counseling. Is that right? You want to know how you can save your marriage? With Kimberly here, that might be a difficult task. Usually, just the husband and wife come to see me. Seldom do they bring along the other woman.” He turned to Kimberly. “Excuse me. I don’t know any other way to put it.”
“That’s not quite the problem, Rabbi Hellmann,” Myra corrected him. “You see, Kimberly and Michael want to get married. I want them to get married, too.”
Hellmann stroked his beard. It was predominately gunmetal gray, with flecks of pure white and solid black. “Then you’ve resolved yourself to the fact your marriage is over and what you need is not marriage counseling, but divorce counseling. Right?”
“No, I don’t want to get a divorce. Heavens, no. That’s the last thing I want!” Myra protested, throwing up her arms for emphasis.
Hellmann slanted a glance toward Michael. “Michael, how do you feel about this situation? Do you want a divorce?”
Michael didn’t know what to say. “No. I don’t want a divorce, either. But Myra is right, Kimberly and I are very much in love.”
Hellmann turned to Kimberly. “How long have you and Michael been having an affair?” he asked bluntly.
“Michael and I have been in love for months, but we never did anything to consummate our feelings until the week before last. Now that we’ve made love, we never want to be apart again.”
Hellmann turned back to Myra. “I must give you credit for perseverance, Myra. Despite your husband’s unfaithfulness, you want to stick with him and make the marriage work.”
“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with my marriage, Rabbi,” Myra protested. “I couldn’t be happier. Well, I could be happier, and that’s why we’re here.
“It doesn’t bother me at all that Michael and Kimberly are having sex. I
wanted them to. I told them to.”
The rabbi’s other eyebrow raised. “Now I’m totally confused. Please, somebody enlighten me. Exactly what is it you want my help on?”
Myra finally mustered up enough nerve to blurt it out. “I’ve heard—it’s no great secret— you have performed some alternate lifestyle marriages. Marriages of same-sex couples.”
The rabbi smiled. His reputation had preceded him. “That’s true. I have. Of course, they’re not legally recognized by the state.”
“Michael and I want to stay married. But he also wants to have Kimberly as his wife. I want that, too. Is there anything you can do to help us?”
The rabbi thought for a moment. “There is nothing in the Torah or the Talmud to prohibit a man from having more than one wife. Unquestionably, there is ample precedent in the Bible to permit it. Abraham had two wives and Jacob had four.”
“I remember the story of Elkanda,” Kimberly interjected. “He had two wives—Hannah and Peninah.”
Hellmann laughed. “That isn’t a very good example. Those women didn’t get along well with each other. I certainly hope you don’t want to emulate them.
“The Torah tells us of many men who had more than one wife. So, from a purely rabbinical point of view, there is absolutely nothing to prevent Michael and Kimberly from marrying.
“On the other hand—it is also Jewish tradition to obey the laws of the country in which we live, and polygamy is not permitted in the United States. I realize the prohibition is in direct conflict with the principle of separation of church and state promised by our Constitution. I know polygamy is openly practiced by an offshoot of the LDS church in a town on the Utah-Arizona border and elsewhere. Regardless, plural marriages are against the law.
“Let me ask you this. If I do not marry Michael and Kimberly, what will you do?”
“We’ll continue to do what we are doing now,” Kimberly explained. “We live together and sleep together and make love together. We love each other fully and completely, in every sense of the word.” Michael and Myra nodded their approval of Kimberly’s statement.
A Time For Us (Michael Kaplan Mysteries) Page 10