“I was learning.”
That was supposed to explain it all.
Decker tapped his pencil against his note pad. He ached to break through the man’s holier-than-thou attitude. The hell with it.
“How’d you go from pimping to praying, Scotty Stevens?”
Stein burned with a rage that glowed on his face.
“Why don’t you crawl back into your anti-Semitic sewer, Detective, instead of raking innocent Jews over the coals? I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to be a big sheygets hero to impress a woman who is unattainable to you. You’re a goy, Decker. She’d rather be raped by a scum-of-the-earth Jew than let you touch her. Ask her. Ask her what’s halachically correct.”
“Why? Are you the scum-of-the-earth Jew who tried to rape her?”
“Crawl back into your gutter,” Stein mumbled, then returned his eyes to his book.
“So no one can attest to your whereabouts except Shraga Mendelsohn—your partner.”
“Yes.”
“Did Mr. Mendelsohn ever leave you alone to attend to his bodily needs, or was he also imbued with the holy spirit?”
“I don’t remember. Why don’t you ask him?”
“I will, Mr. Stein. And if there are any inconsistencies, you’ll hear from me again.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Stein growled. “Amalek always has a way of rearing its ugly head.”
Decker scribbled down “Amalek” in his note pad, then stuffed it in his breast pocket. He’d ask Rina what the word meant. He hated insults he didn’t understand.
“I don’t know what I can tell you that Shlomi hasn’t already said. We were together the entire night.”
“Just a few questions, Mr. Mendelsohn.”
“Well, let’s get going. It’s almost time for mincha.”
Mendelsohn rocked back and forth, avoiding Decker’s eyes, and bit into an already chewed-up left thumbnail. Behind a full blond beard was a youthful, handsome face. Smooth complexion, light blue eyes, straight thin features that were almost too delicate. His black hat covered most of his hair, but a few blond strands managed to peek out from under the rim.
“Did you ever leave Mr. Stein alone?”
“Alone? No.”
“Not to get something to eat or to go to the bathroom?”
“I might have gone to the bathroom. Oh, I called my wife to tell her I wasn’t coming home.”
“When?”
“I don’t remember the exact time: Early, around eight I guess.”
Mendelsohn chomped on the cuticle of his thumb. A tiny red rivulet began to ooze out. He sucked up the blood and moved onto his index finger.
“How long did it take you to make the phone call?”
“I used the pay phone in the main lobby. Maybe I was gone five minutes. Not long enough for Shlomi to disappear, murder, and return. And I wasn’t gone long enough to murder and return. I don’t know why you’re bothering us like this.”
He screwed up his face and clenched his hands.
“I do know. It’s because of Shlomi’s record. Well, he can’t make his past go away. But I’ll be damned if you’re going to use it against him in the future. I don’t care what Rina told you about him, he’s changed. She had no right to say anything to you. To talk to a…an outsider.”
Decker ignored him.
“You were studying with him the entire time?”
“Yes.”
“Do you two ever do anything else together besides study?”
Mendelsohn looked blank.
“Like what?”
“Hobbies. Fish, for instance. Do you two ever talk to each other about secular things?”
“There is nothing else besides Torah. All other things are nahrishkeit.”
“Well, what about your family, your wives?”
Mendelsohn’s face registered confusion.
“What about them?”
“Are they nahrishkeit?”
“Of course not! They’re part of Torah!”
“Do you talk to your wife about Torah?”
“No. Well, yes. As it pertains to the household, to the raising of the children. But we don’t learn together.”
“Why not?”
Mendelsohn giggled to himself.
“You don’t learn Gemara with your wife, Detective.” He shook his head. “Ayzeh goyishe kop.”
“So your wife knew you were learning all night.”
“Yes.”
“And it didn’t bother her to be left alone?”
“Of course not! She supports it. Why else would I be in kollel if she didn’t approve? My Torah learning is her salvation also.”
“And you called her around eight?”
“What are you trying to prove? That I murdered a black woman that I’ve never met and used the phone call to my wife as an alibi? Detective, Jews don’t murder, Jews don’t rape. Your people murder and rape, not mine.”
“Do you believe in the Ten Commandments?” Decker asked.
“Of course.”
“That they are God-given laws?”
“Yes.”
“And God gave them to the Jews?”
“Yes.”
“And the Jews He gave them to were considered righteous men and women?”
“What are you getting at?” Mendelsohn asked, gnawing at his right thumbnail.
“Simply this. If God was so sure that righteous Jewish men and women wouldn’t murder, why did He bother with the sixth commandment?”
The thumb began to bleed.
19
Decker’s ranch was four acres of scrub oak and fruit trees set into parched terrain. It was located midway between Deep Canyon and the police station, in a pocket of land that once had been used for commercial grazing. Developers had harbored lofty plans for the acreage during the real estate boom of the late seventies, but when interest rates shot up suddenly, the ground went fallow. Decker bought the parcel cheap and went about sinking roots. He’d needed something tangible—something to call his own—after his divorce.
He drove Rina and the boys along a narrow, rutted road past rolling hills, empty stretches, and an occasional barn, house, or grove of fruit trees. After a long, bumpy ride, the unmarked finally pulled onto a large strip of blacktop, next to a jeep. Also parked in the driveway, in front of the garage door, was an old, wheelless red Porsche with the hood up. Adjacent to the asphalt were groves of citrus, heavy with oranges, lemons, and grapefruits, breathing their fragrance into the hot summer air. The ground beneath them was newly watered and speckled with rotting fruit, glistening in the sunlight.
They piled out of the car, and the boys took off immediately into the trees to play a game of tag. Rina stepped out, stretched, and looked around.
Decker’s home was a modest one-story dwelling, fashioned after a barn. The exterior wood, painted a deep red, was sided with white cross-thatched beams and decorated with rectangular planter boxes full of geraniums and impatiens set beneath the picture windows. He’d put care into the place, she thought. Decker unlocked the front door. Rina called out to the boys, and they went inside.
They walked into a small living room, sparely furnished but flooded with sunlight. She liked what she saw. The floor was wood planks of unfinished fir partially covered by a Navajo rug, and the ceiling was peaked and beamed. The room had an overstuffed sofa, two buckskin chairs, a free-form driftwood coffee table, and a recliner parked next to the front window with a view of the grove. Across from the sofa was a large fireplace, trimmed with brick and flanked by twin copper cauldrons.
Decker led them through the living room, a small dining area, and out a side door between it and the kitchen. The backyard contained a barn, a stable, a holding pen, and a corral. Bales of hay stacked five high leaned against the barn, and to the rear, a mesa of flatland led to the mountains.
He excused himself to change, went into the barn, and came back out in jeans, boots, and a T-shirt. At his heels was a brilliant copper-colored Irish setter. From the wag of
its tail, the dog was overjoyed at Decker’s presence but contained itself. Decker told the dog to sit, and it obeyed instantly. Without hesitation, Jake walked over to the setter and petted it, but Sammy waited until Rina approached it, then followed.
“He’s beautiful!” Rina said, stroking the gleaming fur. “And so well-behaved.”
“He’s a she.” Decker noticed Sammy’s reticence. “Come here, Sammy. Ginger’s very friendly. Too friendly. She’s a terrible watchdog.”
The boy gave the dog a cautious pet and smiled. Jacob was already trying to entice her into a game of tag.
“She looks like you, Peter,” Rina said smiling.
“That’s what Cindy said when she gave her to me.”
“Birthday present?”
“Divorce present. She figured I might be lonely.” Decker let out a small laugh. “At the time, all I wanted was solitude. Anyway, Ginger’s going with us on our ride. She’ll be our guide. C’mon, girl.”
The setter followed Decker back into the stable, and ten minutes later he came out with a saddled Appaloosa filly named Annie. Patiently he explained to the boys the do’s and don’ts of riding, put them on the horse—Jake in front, Sammy behind him—and led them around the corral. When they were acclimated, he took Jake down, gave the reins to Sammy and let go. Then he saddled up another filly and hoisted Jake upward. Within an hour the boys were riding the horses on their own, squealing with uninhibited joy. The dog jumped at the horses’ hooves, barking playfully.
Decker watched them closely, shouting out appropriate instructions when necessary. Rina stood in the background and clicked a camera, as excited as they were. She was glad they’d come. It was a day the boys would remember.
Decker took a brown stallion from the stable, mounted it, and rode to her.
“I want to take them for a short ride in the hills.”
“Fine.”
“Help yourself to anything you want.”
“Okay. Take your time.”
“You know, you could come with us. I’ve got a couple more horses in the stable that can use some exercise.”
She shook her head.
“Sure?”
“Positive.”
He turned around and led the boys out of the corral. They rode off, unbothered by the heat and glare, unaware of anything else except the open land that beckoned to them.
Rina went inside the house. The sun had cooked her scalp, and her head began to throb. The boys would probably be hungry after their ride, so she might as well set up for dinner. She took a stack of paper goods and some plastic utensils out of a bag she’d brought from home, having explained to Peter that his dishes and flatware weren’t kosher even though they’d been sterilized in a dishwasher. She could tell he didn’t understand the logic, but he was nice enough not to debate the issue.
His dining area contained a round cherry-wood table, four matching chairs, and a six-shelf mahogany bookcase. Having forgotten place mats, she unfolded several napkins and covered the table surface. She set out chicken left over from Shabbos lunch, potato chips, and juice. Not exactly well balanced, but at least the kids would eat it.
When she was done, she walked over to the bookcase and studied its contents. The top two shelves held a set of law books, police manuals, and police academy texts—books on law enforcement, criminology, search and seizure policy, forensics, ballistics, firearms, and evidence. Below them was a row of sociological and criminological studies: History of Homicide in America, Criminal Statistics in Los Angeles, The Challenge of Child Abuse, The Juvenile Offender, Detective Work: A Study in Criminal Investigation. The lower half of the bookcase was devoted to fiction; his taste leaned toward best-sellers and spy novels. She noticed a total absence of detective fiction.
She found a Natural History magazine wedged between two textbooks and pulled it out. The lead article was on the African tree frog. Settling down on the living room couch, she skimmed it quickly, looking at the pictures, too jittery to really concentrate on the text. Finally, she gave up and tried to stop thinking about the murder and rape. Forcing herself to take advantage of the peace and quiet, she sat back and closed her eyes.
An hour later there were hoofbeats in the backyard. The three of them stomped in with Ginger, the boys sweaty and excited.
“Boy, am I tired!” said Sammy, happily plopping on the couch.
“I’m starved,” Jake moaned.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Decker said, setting out a bowl of water for the dog. “Be back in a few minutes. You can feed them in the meantime.”
He disappeared.
“You kids can go ahead and wash up in the kitchen sink,” she said, piling their plates with chicken and potato chips. “You don’t have to make Al netilas yadaiyim because I didn’t bring any bread.”
The boys washed, then sat down at the table.
“Did you have fun?” she asked.
“Yeah, but my legs are sore,” Jake said.
“My butt is sore,” Sammy added. “This chair is like a rock. Can I have something to drink?”
Rina pulled out individual cartons of apple juice, poked straws in the openings, and gave them each one.
“I can’t cut with a plastic knife, Eema,” Jake said.
“Eat it with your hands. Did you guys see anything interesting in the woods?”
“Just some jackrabbits and squirrels,” Sammy said. “Nothing weird, but it was real neat. I felt like a cowboy. I wonder if the yeshiva will ever get horses.”
“Maybe one day,” Rina said.
“Can we have a dog?” asked Jacob.
“No. The house is way too small.”
“A little dog?”
“No.”
“It was real quiet out there, Eema,” recalled Sammy, dreamily.
“It was hot,” Jake complained, sipping the last drops of juice through his straw. “Can I have some more?”
Rina handed him another carton.
“Can we come here again?” Jake asked.
“I don’t think so,” Rina answered quietly.
“Why not?” Sammy asked. “Peter said it would be okay.”
“It’s not right to impose.”
But she knew that was an excuse. It was she, not Peter, who didn’t want them to return.
“Besides, school’s starting soon, and you have shiur on Sunday—”
“Not all day Sunday,” Sammy protested.
“There’s Maccabee soccer league, computer club, and piano lessons. You’re going to be swamped with activities.”
Sammy sighed and pushed his plate away.
“What’s wrong, Shmuel?” Rina asked.
“Nothing,” the boy sulked.
They ate in silence for a while. Ginger walked around the kitchen, then began to beg at the table.
“Can I give Ginger some chicken?” Jacob asked.
“Don’t do anything until you’ve asked Peter.”
Jake looked at the mournful dog. “Sorry,” he told her.
She whimpered.
Rina stroked Sammy’s arm.
“I’ve been trying to find another Jewish Big Brother for you guys—”
“I don’t want a Big Brother,” Sammy snapped.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Shmueli says they’re all perverts,” Jake said.
“They’re not perverts,” she said.
“They’re weird,” said Sammy. “The last one that took us to the movies was weird.”
“So we’ll find a good one,” Rina said. “In the meantime, the yeshiva boys are always happy to play ball with you—”
“Not really. They do me a big favor sometimes and let me play deep center. Just forget it, Eema.”
“You do understand why Peter can’t be a Big Brother?” Rina asked him.
“Yes. Just forget it!”
Sammy was holding back tears. Rina brushed the hair out of his eyes and repinned his kipah.
“It’s just not fair,” he said in a cracked voice.
Decker walked in, hair wet and slicked back, carrying a big box.
“Why the long faces?” he asked.
Rina waved her hand in the air, and he didn’t press it.
“Don’t beg, Ginger.” Decker placed the carton on an empty chair, then poured out a bowl of dry dog food.
“Can I give Ginger some chicken?” Jacob asked.
“The grease isn’t good for her, Jake.”
“What’ve you got in the box?” asked Sammy.
“These are some Jewish books and articles that my ex-wife’s grandfather brought over from Europe. When he died, no one in the family wanted them, so I took ’em. I’ve been meaning to take them to the yeshiva.”
Decker ripped open the sealed top and held up a leather-bound book with pages edged in gilt.
“Does this mean anything to you?” he asked.
“Wait a minute,” Rina said. “My hands are dirty.”
She and the boys washed their hands, and Decker took the carton of books into the living room.
Jake picked up the book that Decker had been holding. “That’s a machzor,” he said.
“A what?”
Sammy took it and opened it carefully. “It’s a prayer book for the New Year. This side is Hebrew, but I don’t know what language this is.”
He handed the book to Rina.
“It’s German,” she said. “Was her grandfather from Germany?”
“I don’t know,” said Decker.
“Look at all these beautiful sepharim,” Rina said, pulling out another volume. It was bound in dark green leather, the cover lettering stenciled in gold. She looked at the date of publication—1798.
“A lot of sepharim were destroyed during World War Two. These may be very valuable, Peter.”
“Look at this, Eema,” said Sammy, holding up an elaborately filigreed, foot-long scroll case.
“Yeah, what is that?” Decker asked. “See, you pull this tab over here, and the text comes out of this slit. It’s illustrated with all this beautiful artwork—”
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