That evening at dinnertime he told his parents about the Jew and what had happened. After an initial silence, his father—a large, taciturn man with broad shoulders—spoke first. Gotta fight, he had said, when you’re threatened. Gotta protect yourself, protect your family and country. But it’s no damn good to fight someone just because of the way he was born. It’s wrong, and it’s stupid.
His mother’s comment was more theological. The Lord Jesus turned the other cheek. Who are we to judge the infidels? Leave it to the hand of the Lord.
His little brother, Randy, six at the time, smiled and made designs in his mashed potatoes.
The discussion was dropped.
Decker’s friends were cold to him for about a week, clearly angry at his befriending the Hebe. And the Jew wasn’t any friendlier to him either, turning away whenever their paths crossed. Eventually things returned to normal, and the fight was never mentioned by anyone again. But he had learned for a brief period what it was like to be a pariah.
Only his father had seemed to sense his alienation and tried, God bless him, to be more attentive. But Lyle Decker didn’t talk much, and his idea of being therapeutic was having the two of them rebuild the garage together.
Not that Decker had minded the absence of man-to-man discussions. His father was a good person, a hard worker with a gentle soul. His mother had a tougher exterior, but she was also a good, solid person. There was always something sad about her. Decker suspected it had something to do with her not being able to conceive. He’d first learned of his adoption one day after school when he came home and found he had a new baby brother.
Where’d he come from, he’d asked his mother. Same place you did, she’d answered. God. Over the years he’d figured out the truth.
So much for sensitivity, he thought, smiling. But it had been traumatic for him. He’d made a special effort to be open and communicative with his own daughter. It had been hard work, but it paid off. They had a warm, close relationship.
The phone rang.
“Decker.”
“It’s Arnie, Pete.”
“Anything?”
“Local call from the Sylmar area.”
“Nothing more specific?”
“Sorry. You want to come down here? Maybe we can work something out with Ma Bell.”
“I probably will. Thanks.”
“You bet.”
Decker hung up.
Sylmar. Where most of the Foothill rapes had been taking place. Far from the mikvah, far from the Jews. There was probably no connection, but he’d read the files again just to be sure. He opened up a drawer and pulled out the Adler Rape folder. The lab reports showed the semen typing from the internal. The mikvah rapist was a secreter. The Foothill rapist had shown up as both a secreter and nonsecreter. But some of the women had had intercourse prior to their rape, confounding the results. Blood was found at the scene of the Adler woman’s rape and on her clothing. All of it identified as hers. Fiber analysis of her clothes indicated foreign threads of yarn. Rina had told him that the attacker had been wearing a ski mask—probably knitted—and that something fuzzy had been crammed down Mrs. Adler’s throat. The fibers could have come from either or both. Nothing conclusive.
He threw the file back in the drawer and checked his watch. He had a court appearance to catch. An eleven-year-old had snatched the purse of a seventy-year-old grandma as she strolled her six-month-old grandson. The kid had been caught by a good Samaritan. First recorded offense. No major bodily injuries. They’d let him go with a stern lecture.
He got up and put on his jacket. Then he took out his notebook, scribbled “Call Dad” on his message page, and left.
Hawthorne caught Rina just as she was about to enter the classroom.
“What happened at the meeting with the cop?” he asked.
She stared at him in surprise.
“That bad, huh.”
“How did you know?” Rina asked.
“It’s a small place here. Things get around.”
Rina frowned.
“Actually, Sammy told me that you were meeting a policeman. I put two and two together. Find out anything about the rape?”
How in the world did Shmuel know? She’d have to be more careful around her sons in the future.
“Rina, did you hear me?”
“What?”
“The rape…Find out anything new?”
“No,” she said, then turned to leave.
“Come on,” Hawthorne coaxed. “Why else would you bother going down there?”
She hesitated.
“I remembered some more details. Matt, don’t tell anyone about this conversation.”
“My lips are sealed. What details?”
“Just details. They weren’t even important. We’ve both got to go. We’re going to be late.”
“By the way, I picked something up for Sammy.” Hawthorne reached in his pocket and pulled out a baseball card. “Da da! Fernando Valenzuela!”
Rina took the proffered card.
“Thanks Matt. He’ll be thrilled.”
“Tell the little guy I’m still working on the few more that we’ve discussed.”
“I will.”
“You know, I’m free this Thursday night. If you’d like me to take him to a game, I wouldn’t mind. He’s been wanting to go for a long time.”
“He has Computer Club.”
“So let him skip a week. Steve won’t mind. I know Sammy would have a ball.”
“Not this week, Matt. Some other time.”
Baring his teeth and mimicking Dracula, Hawthorne said, “Don’t you trust me?”
Rina gave him a sick smile.
“We’re late, Matt,” she said.
Hawthorne held the door open for her.
“After you.”
His courtliness rubbed her the wrong way. But she lowered her eyes: quietly said, “Thank you.”
9
Something was going on outside the mikvah.
She’d been hearing things for days, now, and had grown sufficiently edgy to have Zvi Adler or some of the other kollel men walk her home.
Tonight the sounds seemed closer. The crackling of twigs, dull noises that could have been footsteps. It had been going on for the last ten minutes, but there was still a half hour’s worth of work to do. She was sick of being frightened by shadows, terrorized by a phantom that lacked the courage to show its monstrous face in the daylight. She wanted this ogre captured and felt her fear turn to rage.
She grabbed up the phone receiver and called Foothill Division. Decker’s extension rang twelve times before she finally gave up. She stared at his home number pinned on the wall. He’d said feel free to use it, but the pangs of anger had abated, and she was hesitant about intruding upon his privacy.
The footsteps outside returned, louder. She acted.
He picked it up on the third ring.
“Peter? It’s Rina Lazarus.”
“Are you calling to rescind your restraining order?” he joked.
“Peter, I’m at the mikvah. There’s someone outside.”
“Is everything locked?” His voice turned serious.
“Yes. The windows and doors are all bolted shut. But I’m scared stiff.”
“Rina, it’ll take me about fifteen minutes to get there. If you really feel endangered, don’t wait for me. Call up one of the yeshiva boys—”
“No, that’s okay. I’m all right. Just get down here as soon as you can.”
“Bye.”
After hanging up, she forced herself to do the laundry. There was a light load tonight, but it took the same amount of time to wash a light load as a heavy one. The same amount of time waiting.
She slammed the washer lid shut and looked around for something that could be used for protection. Just in case. The only objects that looked remotely lethal were a blow dryer and a curling iron. She imagined using the iron on the intruder’s genitals and felt better for a moment.
She paced aimlessly and
heard a rattling at the door. Someone was trying to get in. Her heart began pounding wildly. She reached for the phone, but the sound disappeared. Gripping the receiver, she listened to the dial tone, then hung up.
Peter should be here any second. Don’t panic. Stay cool. You can’t always be dependent on someone else for protection. You have to use your own head.
Silence. Then the washer gurgled, and she jumped. She’d loaded the machine with too much soap, and the tub was frothing with bubbles. Damn it! The towels would probably have to be rinsed a third time.
Vowing to herself to retain control, she plopped into the armchair and picked up a sheaf of math papers. The numbers and symbols danced in front of her eyes, suddenly foreign. She didn’t know what any of it meant. Just numbers and letters and funny Greek signs.
Calm. Stay calm. These were senior papers…This had to be calculus…She’d been teaching the seniors integrals. That Greek symbol was a summation sign. Slowly she relaxed, and the papers became comprehensible again. She picked up her red pen and began to grade.
A minute later she heard a loud, confident knock that startled her and caused the pen to skid across the paper. But she knew who it was.
“Who is it?” she asked, just to make sure.
“It’s Peter, Rina. Open up.”
She recognized the voice and opened the door.
“Am I glad to see you,” she said spontaneously.
“Ditto,” he smiled.
She blushed. “I didn’t mean that as a—”
“I know you didn’t. I’m just trying to lighten you up. You look terrified.”
“I am…I was. Did you look around outside?”
“Not yet. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I’m coming with you.”
He shook his head.
“Uh uh. If something’s going on, you’re much safer inside.”
“That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who feels vulnerable, waiting alone and hearing noises.”
“I’ll be close by.”
“You’re not going to search in the bushes?”
“If need be, but—”
“I want to come with you, Peter.”
“What will the neighbors say?” he grinned, moving toward the door with long strides.
“Pekuach nefesh. The saving of a life takes precedence over everything in Judaism.” She looked upward. “Forgive me if I improvise a little.”
“Come on. We’re wasting time. Stay close,” he said.
“That sounds fine to me.”
They walked outside into a gust of warm air. Westerly winds had cooled the valley but had also brought a plague of gnats. Goddam bugs gnawed at your flesh, Decker cursed to himself, slapping. Turning on a high-beam flashlight, he swept it over the brush and the pathway. Frowning, he began to walk slowly and deliberately toward the woods. Rina kept slightly behind him and to his left.
“See anything unusual?” she asked.
His ears perked up. “Hear that?”
She shook her head. “What is it?”
“I think you’re right,” he whispered. “Something’s going on out here.”
“Why?”
“Look here. Footprints leading to the forest. Sounds. Breathing. Not like any animal I know.” He turned to Rina. “I don’t want you out here with me. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t mind a back-up. Go back in the mikvah and call the police. When you get through say, ‘Code Six.’”
“Walk back alone?”
“It’s less noisy that way.” He took out his gun. “I’ll cover you. Who knows? Maybe we’ll get lucky and flush out the son of a bitch.”
“That sounds peachy,” she said with an edge in her voice.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll walk you back. Let’s not waste anymore time on it.”
“No, I can handle myself. Just make sure I’m inside before you take off.”
“Flash the lights twice when you’ve bolted the door.”
“Be careful out there, Peter.”
She started back and was almost at the door when she saw the figure coming. Before she had a chance to react, she heard Peter scream, “Police! Freeze!” Rina threw herself to the ground but could make out a silhouette swiveling toward Peter’s voice and taking aim. She heard a burst of loud popping noises coming from all directions, then saw the figure make a dash for the woodlands.
“You okay?” shouted the detective already moving.
“Yes!”
“Get the hell inside and change the police call to a Code Three! I’m going after him.” He was off.
She sprang to her feet, ran into the mikvah, and locked herself inside. She dialed the station and was amazed at her calmness in relating the story, going through the motions mechanically. But once she got off the phone she began to shake uncontrollably. Minutes later she heard footsteps followed by more banging at the door.
She opened it.
There were a dozen policemen. Overhead, a helicopter rumbled like a giant locust, turning night to morning with its spotlight. She squinted and returned her gaze to the officers, looking for a familiar face. She found two: the big blonde, Marge, and the fat detective. They jogged toward her.
“Detective Decker’s out there, somewhere in the hills,” Rina said breathlessly to Marge. “I think the guy shot at him, but I don’t think he got hit.”
Marge, Hollander, and the uniforms conferred. The patrolmen scattered quickly into the brush, and Hollander went off to search the yeshiva grounds, leaving the two women alone.
“Want to go inside?” Marge asked.
“I’m fine. I’d feel a lot better if I knew Peter was okay.”
“Peter?”
“Detective Decker.”
Marge had to smile. “Yes. Detective Decker.”
Rina looked up and laughed nervously. “I guess there was no need to explain who he was. I’m very jittery.”
Marge threw her arm around the quivering woman. “You’re holding up just fine. And don’t worry about Peter. He knows what he’s doing. You want to tell me what happened?”
As Rina related the events of the evening, students from the yeshiva began to converge upon the area. The boys stared wide-eyed at the squad cars and the circling ’copter and asked her what was going on. She turned away, weary of being the center of attention, just wanting to go home. She hoped to God the police would find this fiend and free her of the fear that was eating at her insides.
And she hoped nothing happened to Peter. Just let him be okay. He was her responsibility, she felt, since she’d called him down in the first place.
Within minutes a sizable crowd had gathered and Marge was working hard to contain the mass to one area.
Chana, Ruthie, and Chaya came up to Rina. They had been attending a bible class that evening and on their way home were attracted to the tumult. What had happened? Rina tried to say as little as possible, but they kept pumping her. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone and go home? They meant well, but her patience was gone, and she turned away. Finally, they shook their heads and gave up.
The helicopter kept whirling overhead, flooding the ground with a hot jet of white light. The minutes turned hopelessly long. Finally, she saw Peter emerge from the trees.
“Baruch Hashem,” she said out loud, blessing God.
“Did they catch him?” Chana asked excitedly.
Rina looked at her, then at Decker. He was alone.
“No. I don’t think they caught him yet.”
“Then why the Baruch Hashem?”
Rina ignored her and walked over to Decker who led her to an isolated spot beyond the crowd. She felt Chana’s eyes boring in on her. She was pleased when, a moment later, Marge and Hollander joined them. That made it look better.
“How are you holding up?” Pete asked her.
“I’m fine. Nobody shot at me. I’m glad you’re all right.”
Decker smiled at her. To the other detectives he said: “I lost the bastard. I saw him a couple of time
s, but I couldn’t close in on him because he kept popping bullets at me. Asshole’s a good shot. He came awfully close.”
He lit a cigarette.
“Couldn’t make a damn detail on him except he looked like he was shooting with his right hand. I’d put him at five eight to eleven with an average build. Dark clothing. And he was wearing a ski mask. That’s it. So damn dark up there. The last time I saw him was about five hundred feet behind the main building in the backlands. There’re four uniforms up there right now. It’s probably useless, but I told them to keep at it for another half hour. I’m going to poke around the grounds just in case the prick gets cute and decides to camp out overnight.”
“I’ll comb the buildings,” Hollander said.
“Good idea.”
A man was approaching them.
“The Adler woman’s husband,” said Marge. “Here goes nothing.”
“Luck, Peter.” Hollander saluted with his pipe and left.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Adler,” Decker said when Zvi was in hearing distance. “We’re still looking.”
Zvi’s eyes were full of rage. “I want to help.”
“There’s nothing you can do, Mr. Adler. It’s in the hands of professionals.”
“Professionals?” Zvi turned on Decker. “You can’t find this mamzer, and you have the nerve to call yourself a professional? Is this what professionals do? Stand around and gab while he’s still loose in the hills?”
“Detective Decker’s been in the hills for over an hour, Zvi,” Rina defended him. “That animal was shooting at him.”
Zvi peeled off some rapid Hebrew at her. She fired some back. They stared at each other.
“Seems to me everybody’s frustration is being misdirected,” Decker said calmly. “It’s the criminal’s throat we want. Not each other’s.”
The Rosh Yeshiva walked over.
“What is going on here?” he asked tensely. “Nobody is telling me anything.”
Decker filled him in on the details.
“And you called the police?” Schulman asked Rina.
“I called Detective Decker, actually.”
The old man said nothing.
“She did the right thing,” Decker said. “That’s what I’m here for.”
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