Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 01

by The Ritual Bath

  “It’s just a baseball game, Ruthie.”

  “The high school boys were thinking about getting a group rate to a Dodgers game,” Chana said. “Why didn’t you wait and send the boys with them?”

  “Chana, they’ve been talking about getting tickets for four months. The season is practically over. Plus, the seats Peter got—”

  “Peter?” Chana asked.

  “Detective Decker got box seats. Some commissioner gave them to him. I just couldn’t put Shmueli off any longer.”

  “You’re getting awfully friendly with him, don’t you think?” Ruthie said.

  “I don’t have to justify my actions to anyone. Hashem knows what’s in my heart.”

  The women made no attempt to hide their disapproval.

  “Rina, I’ve got a cousin coming out from Baltimore,” Chana said. “He’s twenty-eight and a very nice boy. He reminds me of Yitzchak, except he’s a little more fun-loving. He’s already asked me about Universal Studios and Disneyland—”

  “When’s he coming out?” Rina asked.

  “Chol Hamoed Sukkos.”

  She shrugged. “If he’s nice, I’ll go out with him. Where does he learn? Ner Yisroel?”

  “He actually just got smicha. He’s looking for a job. Maybe even here. We can always use a good Rav.”

  “Did you mention me?” Rina asked.

  “In passing,” Chana admitted.

  “Did you tell him I had children?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He didn’t say anything. He said he’d like to meet you. I told him how pretty you are. Shimon has an eye for pretty women. So then I’ll tell him to call you?”

  “All right,” Rina said unenthusiastically. She opened the navi and reread the passage in which David first saw Bathsheva. “…from the roof, he saw her bathing. And she was very beautiful to look upon.”

  She wasn’t simply bathing, Rina knew. She was immersing herself in the mikvah.

  Rina found him sitting underneath a sprawling elm. Directly behind the shade tree, filling the air with the pungent scent of menthol, was a grove of eucalyptus that tapered into the thick, woodland brush. The day sweltered under a blazing furnace of a sky. Briefly she thought about her boys at the game and sunstroke, but then dismissed worry from her mind. Peter had common sense.

  Moshe had a prayer book on his lap, his eyes fixed on the page. He rocked back and forth on his haunches, muttering words that extolled the glory of the Lord. He was dressed as always: black coat, wrinkled white shirt, threadbare wool slacks and a tattered black hat. Beads of sweat had coalesced on his forehead, but he seemed unbothered by the fire of the sun.

  Rina sat down on a mound of leaves a foot away from him. He was neither happy nor upset by her presence. He was oblivious to it.

  “Moshele,” she said softly.

  The man rocked back and forth.

  “Moshele, I know you hear me. Please, answer me, Moishy.”

  His eyes trailed a path to her own. He nodded.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  “Baruch Hashem, I’m fine, thank you. Yes, very fine, thank you very much. I’m fine, Baruch Hashem.”

  “Moshe, did Zvi explain to you what went on that night?”

  “Yes. Yes, he did. He explained everything. Yes he did.”

  “Did he explain to you how you had to stay out of the hills at night?”

  “Yes, he did. Thank you very much. He did. He did.”

  “Moshe, it is very important that you listen to him. You can’t go in the hills at night until the police catch the attacker. Otherwise, they’re going to think you’re the attacker.”

  “Yes, I understand. I understand what you are saying. Thank you very much. I understand.”

  “I’ve seen you in the hills at night, Moshe. Flo and I saw you two times last week. And I saw you on Shabbos when Steve Gilbert walked me home. You have to stop wandering alone at night. You must stay put for your own sake, do you understand?”

  “I understand. Thank you very much,” he murmured. “I understand. I understand what you are saying. I understand, thank you.”

  “Moishy, it’s important. It’s important for you, it’s important for shem tov—for your good name. It would be a chillul Hashem if someone mistook you for the attacker. We cannot let the goyim think we’re a bunch of hoodlums.”

  “That’s right. That’s correct. Shem tov is very important. It is very important to have a good name. Rav Hillel says it’s very important. He was a gadol, Rav Hillel. It’s very important.”

  The conversation was breaking her heart. She remembered him and Yitzchak, the sparks in their eyes as they learned, the animation, the excitement. Now one was dead, the other a zombie. For a second she felt overwhelmingly angry at Hashem. Yitzchak was bad enough, but how could He abandon Moshe so cruelly? But her ire was quickly quelled by the immediate guilt that followed whenever she doubted her faith.

  “Please, Moshele. Stay out of the brush at night. Please.”

  “Yes I will. Thank you very much. I will. Thank you very much. I will.”

  She got up and left, leaving him to flounder in his own world.

  Rina greeted them at the threshold of her door.

  “They won!” Sammy shouted excitedly.

  “I know,” Rina said, smiling. “I tuned in the game on the radio.”

  To Decker’s surprise, she stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

  “Boys,” she said, “why don’t you take Detective Decker, Cindy, and Eric into the backyard and show them our orange tree?”

  “Huh?” Sammy asked quizzically.

  “Go on,” she said sweetly, prodding them in the right direction.

  “Ma at osah, Eema?” asked Sammy.

  “Shmuel Dov, lechu kulchem hachutza achshav!” she said forcefully, then quickly smiled at the others. “It’s a beautiful tree. Excuse me for a moment.” She went inside the house leaving them marooned on her doorstep.

  Sammy frowned. “Wanna see a tree?” he asked.

  “Sure, let’s see the tree,” replied Decker.

  He wondered what the hell was going on and was resentful that Rina hadn’t pulled him aside to explain herself.

  “C’mon,” said Jake.

  Cindy giggled. “Is this a rare Orthodox custom, Dad? After baseball games, one pays homage to the holy orange tree?”

  “That’s a snide and rude remark, Cynthia,” Decker snapped.

  Cindy’s gaiety vanished, and she looked downward. Decker sighed and put his arm around his daughter.

  “I don’t understand this place either, Cindy.”

  “I was just making a joke.”

  “I know. I’m feeling a little put upon now. Sorry.”

  “Well, here’s the tree,” Jake announced. It was a fifteen-foot mandarin orange loaded with fruit.

  “Bitchin,” said Eric flatly.

  Sammy picked an orange, peeled it, mumbled a prayer, and popped a section into his mouth.

  “They’re real sweet.” He handed the rest to Decker, who gave it to the teenagers.

  “You can pick some if you want,” offered Jake. “Eema won’t mind.”

  “Sure. Why not?” Eric said, plucking a few oranges. “Nothing better to do.”

  As the kids busied themselves with harvesting, Decker walked over to the side of the house and stared at Rina’s front door. He felt like pounding the shit out of it. He despised being left in the dark. It was one of the reasons he obsessed on his cases; he needed a sense of closure. He hated vacuums and was angry at Rina for creating one.

  A minute later, the door opened. Rina and a young woman emerged, linked arm-in-arm. They spoke briefly, and Rina leaned over and kissed the woman’s cheek. Decker squinted as he studied her profile, and a second later he recognized the face.

  It was Sarah Libba Adler. She looked so different from the last time he had seen her. Much younger and not as frail. Her posture was erect and her dress was stylish. The
blond wig she wore fell gracefully to her shoulders, framing a delicate face no longer cut and bruised. No one would ever suspect that she had been an assault victim. The scars that remained were internal.

  Rina watched Sarah walk away, then rejoined the others in the backyard.

  “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I’ll get you kids a sack. Take as many as you want.”

  She noticed immediately that Peter and Cindy had changed their clothes. Cindy had put on a short-sleeve shirt and a lightweight cotton skirt. Peter was wearing a polo shirt and a pair of designer jeans that looked brand new. Although the clothing hugged his body, showing off his muscular build, he appeared odd in it—like a kid dressed up for a birthday party. She left for the house; then, returning a moment later with the sack, a stack of cups, and a pitcher of iced tea, she began to play hostess.

  “It was a close game,” she said to Sammy.

  “It was a good game,” he said emphatically between slurps of tea. “But you know what else happened?”

  “We heard a robbery on the police radio, Eema,” Jake said, his eyes gleaming.

  She looked at Peter. “What?”

  “An armed robbery happened a couple of blocks from the stadium,” he explained. “We heard the whole thing over the radio. The kids thought it was pretty neat.”

  “I wanted to go see it, but Peter wouldn’t let us,” Sammy complained, handing Rina his empty cup.

  “Detective Decker,” Rina corrected. “And he showed good judgment.”

  “They caught the guy,” Cindy added. “They had to tear gas the place to get him out.”

  “You know what else we heard, Eema? A disturbing the peace call, a disorderly conduct, another robbery, a purse snatching, and something else…”

  “A battery victim,” Eric answered.

  “There’s no shortage of crime in this city,” Peter said and shrugged.

  “It was so neat!” Sammy exclaimed, pounding his fist into the glove with excitement.

  “It sounds like Detective Decker’s police radio was as big a hit as the game.”

  “The game was great,” Sammy said. “Can I have some more tea please?”

  “Sure.” She poured him another cup and refilled the others.

  “We stopped off at Peter’s ranch,” Jake said. “He has horses. Can we go ride them today?”

  “Detective Decker,” she scolded. “Where are your manners?”

  “He told us to call him Peter,” Sammy said, irritatedly.

  “Can we go ride the horses?” Jake asked again.

  Rina hesitated.

  “It’s fine with me,” Decker said.

  “Not today. It’s getting late.”

  “I’m not tired,” Sammy protested.

  “Not today, Shmuel.” She tousled his hair. “Some other time, okay?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Sammy, I promised you a ball game, you got your ball game. I keep my word. If I say some other time, it will be some other time, all right?”

  He nodded.

  “You boys thank Peter for taking you.”

  “Thank you,” Sammy said glumly.

  Peter held out his hand. When Sammy gave him his own, Decker flipped him into the air, caught him, and placed him on the ground. Then he did the same series of acrobatics with Jake. The giggling boys charged him, but Decker threw them up as quickly as they pounced.

  The whole day had left Rina feeling inadequate. The useless conversation with Moshe. Being put on the defensive by her friends. But mostly it was Peter. Why did she trust this strange goy as if he were a lifelong friend? And why did he have to be so good with the children? As much as she tried, she couldn’t be both a father and a mother to her boys. They required roughhousing that was just too physically demanding for her. They needed a constant male figure. The boys at the yeshiva were nice, but didn’t provide consistency. She had tried a Jewish Big Brother once, but it hadn’t worked out. It was nearly impossible to get someone who had an understanding of her religious views.

  She let them horse around for a minute, then said: “Boys, that’s enough.”

  “It’s okay,” Decker said holding Jake upside down. “I can use the workout.”

  “They’re a little overexcited, Peter. Time to quiet it down.”

  He recognized the tone of voice. Like Jan. You’re working her up, Peter. He reminded himself that these weren’t his kids, he had no say-so in their rearing. He stopped wrestling.

  “You two want to go out to dinner?” Decker asked the teenagers.

  “Uh, we sort of made some plans with our friends, Dad.”

  “Fine,” Decker said, then raised his eyebrows to Rina. “They hit the teens and they’re gone.”

  “Dad?”

  “What?”

  “Can we borrow the Plymouth?”

  Peter laughed. “No, you can’t borrow the Plymouth.”

  “Just for about a half hour? We’ll be real careful.”

  “Cynthia, that’s outrageous. You can’t borrow a police car to go cruising with your friends. Give me a break, honey.”

  “Just asking.” She shrugged. “We’ll wait for you back at the car.”

  “Fine.”

  “Nice meeting you again,” she said to Rina.

  Rina said good-bye and handed them the bag of oranges.

  Eric dragged Cindy out of the backyard, and the two of them exploded into laughter as soon as they were out of sight.

  Decker looked puzzled.

  “I must have missed some private joke.”

  “Don’t worry about it. You’ll miss many more in your day.” She turned to her sons. “Boys, go inside. I want to talk to Peter alone for a moment.”

  “Do we have to?” Sammy asked.

  “Yes, you have to. Now.” After they had left, Rina said, “I’m sorry for shooing you away like that.”

  “It’s all right. You had your reasons.”

  “Sarah Libba was over when you came back from the ballgame. We were talking and lost track of time. She couldn’t bear to see you face-to-face.”

  “I certainly don’t remind her of good times.”

  “That, and she’s embarrassed. But she does appreciate what you’re doing.”

  “I’m glad,” he said. “How’s she holding up psychologically?”

  “Better.”

  “That’s good.”

  “You changed your clothes,” Rina commented.

  “You’re an open book Mrs. Lazarus. Disapproval was painted all over your face.”

  “It’s the yeshiva, Peter. The people here have standards…”

  Decker said nothing.

  “And it’s me, also,” she admitted. “I should be more tolerant, I guess.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  “The kids are waiting,” Decker said.

  “Thank you for everything.”

  “Sure. Take care, Rina. And don’t ever hesitate to call me if you need something, even just to say hello.”

  “I won’t.”

  It was close to eleven o’clock, and she thought she heard something outside. It wasn’t loud or clear enough to alarm her, but it alerted her to her own vulnerability.

  She thought of calling Peter, but changed her mind. She was beginning to wonder if she heard the noises at all. Was she just using them as an excuse to talk to him?

  That was ridiculous. Why should a grown woman need an excuse to talk to another adult? If she wanted to call him, she should call him. After all, he’d said to phone anytime.

  She picked up the receiver.

  What would she say?

  She thought a moment. She’d thank him again for taking the boys. Sort of a polite follow-up call.

  But it was eleven at night.

  He’d be up. She couldn’t picture the man as an early-to-bed-early-to-rise type.

  She dialed and felt her heart beating in anticipation.

  On the third ring, a throaty woman answered.
Quickly, she apologized for the wrong number and tried again.

  When the same woman answered, she placed the receiver quietly back in its cradle.

  She was positive she had dialed correctly.

  15

  Florence should have been back a half hour ago. It was taking too long, and Rina began to worry. She put down her stack of papers, got up from the chair, and pressed her ear against the door. All she heard were crickets and a mockingbird going through its repertoire. Drawing the curtains back, she peeked out the window. The moon was full, the night starlit, but she saw no one.

  She stared at the phone.

  She had spoken to Peter a few days ago when he’d offered to take the boys to his ranch this Sunday. She’d thanked him and said she’d think about it, but her tone had been very cool. He’d noticed the frost in her voice and had asked if anything was wrong.

  Nothing was wrong.

  Except that woman.

  Rina couldn’t erase the thought of him and her, whoever she was. That voice. That soft, husky, sexy voice. It stuck in her craw like a fishbone. She knew Peter was a regular man, not a priest, and she hadn’t given him an inch with which to work. It was absurd for the woman to bother her. But jealousy had seeped into her marrow like a chilly London fog. She’d shied away from calling him in case she answered.

  But now her fear for Florence’s safety overrode her petty resentment.

  She dialed his number at home, and no one answered. Please let him be at the station, she thought. She tried his work extension and felt immediate relief when he picked up the call.

  “Peter, I’m worried.”

  “What’s wrong, Rina?”

  “I think something’s happened to Florence. She left the mikvah to walk Shayna Silver home and should have been back a good half hour ago. She may be out patrolling, but I’m too nervous to open the door to find out.”

  “Don’t open the door,” he said. “I’ll be right over.”

  “Thank you.”

  She paced mindlessly, like a palace guard, back and forth for ten minutes straight. This was solving nothing, she thought. Better to do something. Better to take your mind off being alone. She started straightening out the supply cabinet. They were low on shampoo. She took out a pen and wrote down “shampoo” on a list tacked onto the cork bulletin board. Her handwriting was lopsided and spastic.