That got Decker’s attention. “She knew Hermann Brecht?”
“Vaguely. Lilah had a real hang-up about her father. Idolized him even though she never really knew him. We used to watch his movies together. I don’t mind movies that tell life like it is. But his movies…whew! What a thoroughly depressing, debilitating view of life. I’m not the least bit surprised old Hermann committed suicide.”
Decker said, “Do you remember the old woman’s name?”
“Sure. Greta Millstein. Like I said, they were pretty close. Greta was different—offbeat—and I think Lilah liked that. She claimed one of her daughters was a Jewish baby given to her by neighbors right before they were sent off to Dachau. Of course the family perished, so Greta raised the child as her own. Maybe she was snowing me because I was Jewish, but I saw no reason to doubt her.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“I haven’t seen her in five years. I don’t even know if she’s still alive. Why are you interested in her?”
“Because she knew Hermann Brecht. And like you said, Lilah is obsessed with her father.” Decker looked up from his notepad. “Did Lilah ever mention her father’s memoirs to you?”
“Memoirs?” Goldin played with his beard. “Did Hermann Brecht write memoirs?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
“If he did, this is the first I’ve heard about it.”
“Did Lilah ever intimate she’d been willed something by her father?”
“Not to me.” Goldin shrugged. “Sorry. What does this have to do with Lilah’s attack?”
“I’m not sure it has anything to do with it. Do you remember where Greta Millstein was living then?”
“In the Valley—a block-long apartment complex planted with rolling lawns and trees. I doubt if it’s there anymore. Some developer probably got his mitts on it and turned the space into a shopping mall.”
“Where in the Valley, Mr. Goldin?”
“Corner of Fulton and Riverside. I never knew the exact address, but Greta’s apartment number was fifty-four.”
“You’ve got a good memory.”
“Memory is my bread and butter, Detective.”
“Did you see Greta often?”
“Only occasionally. But Lilah used to visit her two, even three times a week. It was sweet to see them together—this wrinkled old woman and this beautiful young princess. They had this relationship that bridged what must have been a fifty-year age span. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know exactly. Frankly, that wasn’t uppermost in my mind. Lilah and I were having lots of problems by that time.” Goldin grew pensive. “She was on my case, nonstop. Instead of finding me enthusiastic and stimulating, now I was obnoxious and overbearing. Which I was, but I was always like that. She just didn’t like me anymore. I was crushed when she served me papers. I was angry and bitter and…”
He threw up his hands, shook his head, and became quiet.
Decker waited a beat, then said, “You seem all right now.”
Goldin smiled. “Yeah, I am. All the credit goes to my wife. Man, if Humpty Dumpty had known Wendy, he’d be sitting on the wall today. First time I met her, I wasn’t knocked off my feet like I was with Lilah, but…” He let out a soft chuckle. “God, I love that woman. She scares the hell out of me working downtown at night. But she’s altruistic—genuinely altruistic.” He sighed. “What can I do?”
Decker thought of Rina, how protective he felt toward her. Not that his feelings ever stopped her from doing dumb and dangerous things. “Before you leave, give me the address of the clinic.”
Goldin was surprised. “Why?”
“I’ll give it to the watch commanders at Central. Maybe the cruisers can beef up their passes. But that won’t stop the crime, of course.”
“Just like that?”
“I’m a great guy.”
“Thank you.” He smiled. “Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome,” Decker said. “Perry, you can’t think of any reason why Lilah stopped seeing Greta?”
“No…except…”
“What?”
“In the beginning, Lilah and I didn’t have much to do with Davida. But as we began to fall apart, she got closer to her mother. Also, around that time, Lilah stopped doing all her charity work. She reverted back to type, started spending lots of money. She bought the spa shortly after we divorced. I don’t know. I’ve always felt Lilah was using Greta as a mother figure. When she started up with Davida again, it was like she didn’t need Greta anymore.”
Goldin furrowed his brow in concentration.
“I felt bad for Greta. I even visited her on my own once or twice. She wasn’t the least bit upset by Lilah’s behavior. Took it all philosophically—as if she expected it.”
“Did she have any clues as to why Lilah stopped coming?”
Goldin shook his head. “I don’t remember her saying anything specific. Just something about she knew it wouldn’t last…‘it’ being their relationship. Like I said, she was philosophical about Lilah’s rejection. I wish I’d reacted that way. Saved me a lot of self-flagellation.”
“Nah, that never gets you anywhere.” Decker flipped the cover of his notebook and stuffed it in his jacket. “You’ve helped me out. I’ll call if I have any more questions.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
“Sure, call me anytime. This was kind of fun in a way—macho therapy. You missed your calling as a shrink.”
Decker wondered how much money shrinks made. He said, “I’ll give you my number in case you think of anything significant to add.” He pulled out his business card and a picture of Rina fell out of his wallet. Goldin picked it up.
“Your daughter?”
“My wife.”
Goldin moaned. “Ye olde foot back in ye olde mouth.”
“She’s young, Perry.” Decker took the picture back. “Not as young as she looks, but young.”
“Can I see that again?”
Decker paused, then handed him the snapshot.
Goldin said, “Is she this pretty in the flesh—I mean, in real life?”
Decker said, “You’re asking me?”
“I’m not trying to be cute,” Goldin said. “I’m asking you the question in earnest, Detective.”
The guy had something on his mind. Decker said, “In earnest, she’s better. She’s six months pregnant and she still gets wolf whistles every time she walks down the street.”
“She’s pregnant?” Goldin asked.
Decker said, “It can happen.”
“No, I don’t mean it like that.” He handed the photo back to Decker. “Don’t let Lilah see her or your life’ll be hell.”
Decker said, “Go on.”
“Lilah’s competitive spirit isn’t confined to Davida. She loves married men. I should know. I must have fielded dozens of calls from distraught wives. If she finds out you have a beautiful—and pregnant—wife, you’ll never get rid of her.” Goldin bit his lip. “Lilah can’t resist a challenge.”
Decker placed his hand on Goldin’s shoulder. After all this time, the guy still sounded bruised and Decker knew that feeling. “She likes making mincemeat out of men?”
“Detective, it’s what she does best.”
19
A full moon: the perfect topper to a freaky day. Decker stared out the window, half expecting to see werewolves or vampire bats. But instead, he played witness to a silvery disc drifting through diaphanous clouds, to silhouetted birch branches swaying in the summer wind. Transfixed by the spectacle, he hadn’t even realized the rabbi had come in until he felt a gentle pat on his shoulder.
Rav Schulman was well into his seventies, and for the first time, Decker noticed a slight stooping of the old man’s shoulders. The hunching had cut a couple of inches from the rav’s height, putting him at around five-ten. Most of his face was covered by a beard that was more white than gray a
nd what skin did show was creased and mottled with liver spots. But his coffee-colored eyes were as radiant as ever. As usual, he was dressed in a starched white shirt, a black suit that hung a little too loosely on his frame, a black silk tie, and an ebony homburg. The old man leaned against the windowsill, eyes focused on nature’s snapshot.
“Beautiful, nu?”
“Yes, it is,” Decker answered.
“Peaceful.” Rabbi Schulman faced Decker. “So unlike your day from what I hear.”
Decker exhaled slowly. “I must have been more affected than I realized for Rina to call you. And here I was thinking I was maintaining perfectly…”
The rabbi smiled. “Are you all right, Akiva?”
“Physically?”
“Physically…emotionally.”
“I’m fine.”
The old man absorbed his student’s words, weighing their veracity for just a moment. Then he pointed to a chair, offering Decker a seat. Schulman eased into a leather chair, and rested his elbows on his sprawling desktop. Clasping his hands, he touched his lips to his fingers and waited.
Haltingly, Decker related the details of the morning’s ordeal. As he spoke, he began to feel lighter of weight, his emotions releasing in slow steady leaks rather than sudden bursts. He was sheepish about using the rabbi as a spiritual springboard. But the old man seemed used to it.
Afterward, Schulman said, “It was a fluke, this horse going crazy?”
“No, Rabbi, the horse was drugged.”
The old man pondered the statement. “Someone tried to kill this lady using a horse?”
“Maybe just frighten her. But who knows?”
“Terrible,” Schulman said. “Truly terrible.”
“If that’s what happened, yes, it is.”
The old man seemed a shade paler than before. Decker quickly added, “She’s fine, Rabbi. Sure she was shaken, but she’s fine.”
“Did you bench gomel?” the old man asked.
Gomel—thanks to God for delivering a person from harm. Decker had not only said it, he had said it with feeling.
“Yes, though technically, I guess she was the one who should have done the praying.” He added under his breath, “Not that I can imagine her praying.”
Schulman said, “She’s an atheist?”
“No, I don’t think so.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “She’s more like a New Ager. Do you know what that is?”
“It’s a person who worships chandeliers.”
Decker smiled. “Crystals, Rabbi. Not chandeliers.”
“There’s a difference?” Schulman waved his hands in the air. “It’s all avodah zorah—idol worship.”
Easily categorized, easily dismissed. But something was gnawing at Decker’s gut.
“Rabbi, the woman claims to have magical powers, says she can predict things by the miasma in the air. Of course, she’s strange. But something in me can’t completely disregard her. Before the horse bolted, she felt something bad was going to happen. And then the horse went crazy. I don’t know what to think.”
Schulman’s expression was grave. “And this woman. She is beautiful, Akiva?”
Decker raised his brow. “Truthfully, she is.”
“And sensual?”
“Yes.”
“And seductive?”
“Very.” Decker observed the old man’s face. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”
“In theory only. I have met her in the Bible.” Schulman adjusted his hat. “‘Mechashepha lo techaye—do not let a sorceress live.’ Not that I’m wishing harm to befall her in any way. I’m relieved that she’s fine.”
“I know you are, Rabbi.”
“Perhaps, Akiva, this woman’s feelings of power are nothing more than a wish to be special, a shout for attention.”
“Could be. Although she hasn’t called the press. And she could get press if she wanted to.” Decker drummed his finger on the desk. “Rabbi, what made you ask if she was seductive?”
Schulman threw up his hands. “I’m not in the business of personality profiles.”
“I won’t hold you to anything.”
“Just so we understand that I’m talking theoretically.”
“Understood.”
“Okay.” Schulman sat up in his seat. “When one hears of predicting the future, if one is a rabbi, he thinks of false prophets or sorceresses. Makes sense, correct?”
Decker nodded.
Schulman said, “I asked about those specific characteristics because they’re traits of the sorceresses and false prophetesses recounted in our history. Many of them were beautiful and seductive because they were the ones able to obtain followers. They would entice the men sexually, win them over to their profane ways, and eventually the poor wives and daughters—not wishing to be deserted—would follow the men. Many men fell prey to the lures and were sucked into lives of idol worship and sexual depravity. Insanely jealous of Hashem and His true powers, these so-called prophetesses would do anything to get Jews to abandon the Torah. That is why the biblical punishment against them is so strong.”
“The Torah doesn’t advocate killing prostitutes and they’re pretty licentious,” said Decker. “Why such harsh measures for a seductress?”
“Sorceress, not seductress, Akiva. But still it’s a good question. You have a woman causing problems—who is sexually loose and is preaching false words, doing black magic—why not just exercise some other form of punishment? Perhaps a sound flogging or even banishment? Why death?”
Schulman lifted his finger in the air.
“Why? I’ll tell you why. Because sexual licentiousness wasn’t the sole moral problem of the false prophet. The pagan ritual practices were barbaric, Akiva, often full of human sacrifice and infant slaughter as offerings to their idols. If the pagans didn’t kill outright, they often mortally maimed—castration, evisceration, amputation. Not to mention hideous torture to animals. Once morality is compromised like that, ethics fall by the wayside permanently. The hedonistic rituals—all of them completely contrary not only to the Torah, but to the seven Noachide laws.” The old man got a gleam in his eyes. “Which are…”
Decker smiled.
“Always the teacher, Akiva,” Schulman said. “Name them for me.”
Decker listed the seven laws—the six prohibitions against blasphemy, idolatry, murder, adultery, theft, and eating or drinking blood from live animals as well as the one positive commandment to establish legal systems. Divinely revealed laws given to the world after the Great Flood.
Schulman said, “Very good. The commentaries teach us that it is not necessary to be Jewish to have a share of the world to come. But it is necessary to follow the Noachide laws. That is why the other religions are not an affront to Hashem—quite the contrary. There is a place for all righteous people. But not for pagans who torture.”
Decker thought a moment about the Noachide statutes.
“You know, I’m thinking to myself, Rabbi, these laws are the polar opposites of devil worship. Satanists must have formulated their rules by doing the antithesis of the Noachide laws.” He laughed. “Not exactly an earth-shattering observation.”
“But a correct one, Akiva. Satan is the polar opposite of Hashem. Is your seductive lady a Satanist by any chance?”
“I don’t have any indication of that, but I don’t really know. Maybe she does belong to some crazy cult and some lunatic is out to make her a human sacrifice. I think that’s a long shot. Still…”
“And as long as you’re considering long shots, may I suggest something else?”
“Sure. Shoot.”
“Perhaps some demented mind took the biblical words ‘Don’t let a sorceress live’ literally. Perhaps some fanatical crazy she knows is hearing voices commanding him—or her—to do a terrible deed.”
Decker thought about the suspects; none impressed him as psychotic. But who knew what they’d concocted in the secrecy of their minds.
“It wouldn’t be the first time, Rabbi. I’ll th
ink about it.”
Schulman stroked his beard and nodded gravely. “Akiva, I know you have certain responsibilities to your cases. Not that I’m saying anything against this lady, I don’t even know her. But a false prophetess is a tricky animal. Do use caution—physically and mentally.”
“I’m always cautious in my work, Rabbi.”
Schulman patted Decker’s hand. “Good.” He paused, looking perplexed. “These shmystal-crystals, Akiva. What do people do with them? Do they talk to them and wait for an answer? Do they hold them up to the sun and tan their faces? What?”
“I’m not a crystal expert, Rav Schulman, but I think they’re used to communicate with the dead.”
The old man shook his head with disapproval. “I will never understand the fascination with the dead.”
“We all die.”
“Yes, we do, but we all live as well. People should concentrate on bettering their lives, not trying to second-guess the other side. If they live righteously, they’ll have nothing to worry about. Boruch Hashem, I’ve made it this far. Now one might even say I have one foot in the grave—”
“Rabbi—”
“Not that I’m ready to die.” The old man stood and took out two shot glasses. “But if it happens, it happens. People who fear death do not fear God. Besides, Akiva, what do the sages teach us about Torah?”
“It was meant for the living not the dead.”
“Correct!” Schulman filled the glasses with whiskey and handed one to Decker. “So, my friend, let us live and learn and do mitzvot as Hashem commanded us.” He held his drinking glass aloft. “To life—l’chaim.”
“L’chaim,” Decker said.
The rabbi downed his whiskey in one gulp. Decker marveled at the way Schulman could drink rotgut without emitting fire from his nostrils. He sneaked a sidelong glance at the rav, watched him lick his lips with pleasure. What a kick to know this man—this septuagenarian chock-full of energy and spirit and humor. A relief to know the good didn’t always die young.
The sharp knock woke Decker first, but Rina sat up a moment later, hand slapping onto her chest.
Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 05 Page 23
