Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 07

by Sanctuary

  Decker was hurt. “I’m being sincere!”

  “Sincere, my foot!” Rina held back a laugh. “Besides, it’s not the feminists who look askance at us stay-at-home moms. It’s everyone else. Especially the men—”

  “What?”

  “Men today have such unreasonable expectations—”

  “Is this conversation going to deteriorate into a petty battle of the sexes?”

  “It’s not enough for us poor women to keep house and take care of the kids.” Rina began to tick off her fingers. “We’ve also got to be beautiful, charming, sexy, physically fit, good cooks—amend that to gourmet chefs—”

  “I don’t believe I’m hearing—”

  “…who can make cappuccino. You haven’t the faintest idea how to steam milk, have you?”

  “You got me there, Rina,” Decker said. “For your information, lady, I don’t drink cappuccino.”

  “And we also have to work full time and bring in enough money to pay not only our own way, but also help pay for the kids’ clothes, the baby-sitters, the groceries—”

  “Are you done yet?”

  “Basically.”

  “Never once have I asked you to work outside the home. And never once have I asked you to pay bills. So I must be way ahead of those other schmucks you’re talking about.”

  “Indeed, Peter, you are neither a chauvinist nor a jerk.”

  “So how about a little appreciation?”

  “You’re a saint.”

  “I didn’t say that! How’d we get on this stupid topic?”

  “You were talking about Jewish divorce,” Rina stated. “It’s not the law that’s bad, it’s the implementation of the law that’s the problem. In biblical days, if a husband was recalcitrant, the rabbis had ways of making him cooperate. They might starve him or beat him until he relented and gave his wife a get. Harsh methods weren’t considered inhumane acts.”

  “You don’t think starving or beating a guy is inhumane?”

  “He doesn’t starve or get beaten if he relents, Peter. He only gets into trouble if he remains unreasonably stubborn. Then the rabbis take action because they feel they are actually doing the man a favor—”

  “They’re doing him a favor by beating him up? This I’ve got to hear.”

  Rina said, “Any man who would blindly refuse to give his wife a get was under the control of his yaitzer harah—his evil impulses. The rabbis considered it appropriate to beat the yaitzer harah out of his soul until he came to reason, until he felt the compassion and kindness of his yaitzer tov—his goodness.”

  “A lot like leeches. You bleed to death but it’s good for you.”

  “Peter, the process wasn’t irreversible. At any time, when the husband saw reason and gave his wife a get, the beatings were stopped.”

  “They just whopped him until he cried uncle?”

  “I’m not a rabbi, so don’t take what I say as fact. But I think the process went something like this. They’d ask him if he was going to give his wife a divorce. If he said no, they’d strike him. Then they’d ask him the same question again. If he said no again, they’d strike him again. And so on. Each time, they’d stop to ask him, hoping that the yaitzer harah had left his soul and he saw reason.”

  Decker didn’t speak right away. Then he said, “And what happened if his yaitzer harah refused to leave? What happened if he never saw reason?”

  Rina was quiet.

  “Rina, did you hear my question? What happened if the guy kept on refusing to give his wife a get?”

  “Again, I’m no rabbi.”

  “I understand. Answer the question to the best of your ability.”

  Rina exhaled forcefully. “I think that if he died during the procedure, it was not considered murder. It was considered the ultimate liberation of his yaitzer harah. The man has seen reason through death. His wife was free.”

  “Are you saying if he consistently refused, he was beaten to death?”

  “You should ask Rabbi Schulman—”

  “To the best of your knowledge, darlin’.”

  “I think he could be beaten to the point of death. If he was that desperate or vengeful to hold on to his wife, he was possessed.”

  “So this whole ritual is kind of like an exorcism?”

  “Peter, I don’t want to misrepresent the law. Ask Rabbi Schulman.”

  Decker reflected upon her words as the Subaru continued its upward path to Jerusalem. The whole approach to divorce seemed not only arcane and unnecessary, but dangerous. A frustrated woman, a vindictive man, and no way out. Decker cleared his throat. “Does it have to be beating or starving the man?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Suppose the rabbis…” Again, Decker cleared his throat. “Can they exorcise the demons by drowning instead?”

  “Gershon was shot, Peter.”

  “But he died from drowning, Rina. And it makes sense, doesn’t it? Because if anyone was possessed, it was Gershon Klein. It wasn’t his fault per se, just his yaitzir harah acting up—”

  “You’re making fun of me.”

  “I’m trying to make sense out of something that’s irrational to me. I’m trying to think like Honey’s Rebbe, putting myself in his position. Because that’s who she’d run to. The Rebbe probably figured what would it hurt to give him a few minor dunkings. It’s better than a beating because it doesn’t leave marks—”

  “Peter, the main objective of the process wasn’t to kill anyone. It was to bring the man to reason.”

  “But what if the man is simply incapable of reason, Rina?” Decker heard another honk. Instead of pulling over, he pressed the pedal to the metal. The car bucked, then flew upward, jolting them back in their seats.

  “What are you doing?” Rina cried out.

  Decker said, “Car doesn’t accelerate too well, does it? You like my theory?”

  “No.”

  “Why? Because you don’t want to picture a bunch of holy rabbis methodically drowning a crazy man?”

  “Even if you’re right, even if they were trying to bring Gershon to reason, I’m sure they didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “But Gershon’s still dead all the same. No wonder the great Rebbe didn’t want me on the case. He wasn’t protecting Honey. He was trying to save his own hide.”

  “Maybe he was doing both.”

  “One thing is for certain. He was being obstructionist for his own gain. Because he couldn’t see beyond the absurdity of what he was doing. Talk about blindly following the letter of the law.”

  Rina didn’t answer. They drove the next few minutes in heavy silence. Finally, she said, “I’m very religious, Peter. I accept lots of laws on faith. Even laws that don’t make a lot of sense to me. Even so, I am a product of the twentieth century. The way Jewish divorce has been used by some men against their wives is a crime. Resentful husbands basically blackmail the women. They use gets as weapons—to obtain better property settlements or better visitation rights…to get lower alimony and child-support payments. It’s terrible. Some of the rabbis are very sympathetic to the women’s plights.” She paused. “But others are not.”

  “Is anyone doing anything about it?”

  “Yes, of course. Some of the rabbis are putting clauses in the official Jewish marriage contract—the ketubah. They add clauses that state that if the husband refuses to give his wife a Jewish divorce after the civil divorce goes through, he must pay her enormous amounts of money daily until he relents. Unfortunately, the rabbis weren’t doing things like that when Honey got married.”

  Decker said, “I don’t think money would have been a motivating factor for someone as far gone as Gershon Klein anyway.”

  “So maybe the rabbis did what they thought they could do. Maybe they used what halachic means they had available.”

  “It’s murder, Rina!”

  “You’re judging by American jurisprudence standards.”

  “Damn right, I am. They live in the U.S.A., not in Israel…do they do t
hat in Israel?”

  Rina shook her head. “They just put them in jail.”

  “But they don’t starve them…beat them?”

  “No, they can’t do that legally.”

  “So even here, it’s murder.”

  Rina didn’t speak.

  Decker said, “You don’t consider it murder?”

  “I consider the whole thing tragic.”

  Rina navigated Decker down Jaffa Road—an old main thoroughfare cluttered with people and traffic. Decker wanted to gawk, to take in the parade, but there was work to be done. Sightseeing was for another time and occasion. By the grime collected on the buildings, Decker could tell he was in the old area of town. It wasn’t pretty but it wasn’t ugly either. Part of the reason was that all the buildings were made from the same colored limestone. The material not only lent a uniformity to the city, but was durable as well.

  He and Rina weren’t talking much. Their discussion about Honey and divorce had sobered them. His mind was ablaze with images: a crazy man dunked in a bathtub, never fully understanding the gravity of his crime. A wife hopelessly trapped in a loveless, mindless marriage. Children caught in the middle…

  Rina said, “I think it’s right off Machane Yehudah—the Jewish Marketplace. Turn down the next road and let me see where we’re at.”

  Decker’s attention snapped to the present. “Where are we going?”

  “To Or Torah. It’s one of the biggest yeshivas for newcomers. Turn here.”

  Decker made a sharp right, the Subaru hugging the cobblestones quite nicely.

  Rina said, “Park anywhere you can just so long as the curb is marked with blue and white stripes. They Denver-boot here. The yeshiva’s a couple of blocks. We’ll walk. It’ll be easier and nice to stretch our legs.”

  “How about that solid blue curb?”

  “That’s okay, too.”

  Decker squeezed the car into a tight space. As per instructions from the car rental agency, he crook-locked the gear shift to the wheel and got out of the car. He sprinted around the side and opened the passenger door for Rina.

  “A gentleman,” she said.

  Decker smiled, helped Rina out of the car, and looked around. The cobbled street was tiny and had no sidewalks. Many of the cars were parked with their right wheels over the curb onto dirt and their left wheels still in the street. A line of cars doing wheelies.

  The neighborhood held what appeared to be apartment houses—square limestone buildings punched with small windows. Laundry hung from the sides. Some of the structures had grass patches in front. Some had window boxes. A small fruit stand was perched on one corner; across the street were a bakery and post office. A background buzz of yelps and shouts permeated the air. Something Decker hadn’t heard for a long time. Children in the streets at play.

  They started walking.

  “You look very upset,” Decker said.

  “I am,” Rina said. “This whole thing with Gershon is just horrible. What’s worse is, Honey’s probably taking the blame for the village’s mistake. The cops think she did it. And she’s not around to set the record straight.”

  “Anything for the Rebbe,” Decker said. “And to tell you the truth, I’m not crying for her. Even if she didn’t murder her husband, she owns some culpability. She knew what was going to happen.”

  “I’m sure Honey never dreamed they would actually kill Gershon. And I’m sure they didn’t mean to kill him. Oh, Peter, the whole thing is just sickening!”

  “Yes, it is. But right now, I’ve got Dov and Gil Yalom to worry about.”

  “Poor kids. Peter, how in the world do you deal with so much tragedy?”

  “I compartmentalize. Come on. Let’s go.”

  32

  The cell-like stone entry to the yeshiva was cold and dim, the scant illumination provided by a small, square barred window and an uncovered light bulb dangling from the ceiling. The walls were masoned with limestone blocks; the floor was tiled with a travertine-colored crushed rock. The air was damp. Decker could almost smell the spores. He stuck his hands in his pockets and bounced on his feet, eyes darting about.

  Rina lagged behind, watching her husband’s jumpiness. He was lost, depending on her to trailblaze. She stepped inside the chilly room, her hand reaching up to touch the mezuzah posted on the doorjamb. She kissed her fingertips.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “I’m with you, I’m fine.”

  He waited for his pupils to dilate, then looked around. An empty desk stood along the right-hand wall; behind it was an open door leading somewhere. He called out a hello, then wondered if hello was the greeting of choice in Israel.

  It took a few moments for a young man to come through the door behind the desk, his fingers touching the mezuzah, then his lips, as he came into the room. He was good-looking with solid features and a masculine bone structure, even though his cheeks and chin were hidden by a thick, black beard. He wore a black suit, white shirt, and no tie. Atop his close-cropped head was a black hat. Big brown eyes studied Rina first, then Decker, then climbed back to Rina. It was as if he instinctively knew to whom to talk.

  “Yes, can I help you?”

  An American accent. Decker was elated. The man spoke English. “You’re from the States.”

  The man nodded.

  “Whereabouts?”

  “Omaha, believe it or not. Is there something I can help you with?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact there is. I’m Detective Sergeant Peter Decker from the Los Angeles Police Department.” Decker took out his badge and showed it to the Nebraskan. “I’m here on official business. I’m looking for two teenaged brothers—Gil and Dov Yalom. Their parents were murdered about a week ago in Los Angeles and they’ve disappeared. We’re trying to find them—just to talk to them.”

  The young man studied Decker’s badge, then lifted his eyes. “And you think they’re here?”

  “I know they’re in Israel. I have reason to suspect that the younger boy—Dov—might be hiding out in a yeshiva.”

  “In Or Torah specifically?”

  Decker said, “A frightened, young kid alone in a foreign country. A yeshiva is a perfect sanctuary.”

  “What does that mean?” The man was offended.

  “All my husband meant was that the boy may be in trouble. He’s probably seeking Hashem for guidance.”

  “Do you know Dov Yalom?” Decker said.

  “Not at all.”

  Too fast a response? Decker studied the young man. “Dov Yalom’s parents were murdered. He ran away because someone scared him away. It’s imperative that we find him before someone else does.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I think the boy’s in danger. And frankly, anyone who’s keeping him might be in danger as well.”

  The man stepped back and folded his arms across his chest. “Who exactly are you two?”

  Decker peered into the face. “Has someone else been asking for Dov Yalom, sir?”

  “No.” Again, he spoke too quickly. “I think I should call the police.”

  Decker called his bluff. “Go ahead. We’ll search the place together.”

  The man said nothing. He rocked back and forth on his heels. Rina broke into Hebrew. The man answered her back angrily. Decker bit his tongue, as the two of them went at it for a while. In the end, Rina seemed to have won out. The man dropped his arms at his sides and stared at Decker.

  “You two are married?”

  Decker nodded.

  “She isn’t your partner?”

  Decker didn’t answer right away. Now he was positive that someone had been here before him. Someone who told this young man that a cop and his female partner were out looking for Dov Yalom. Who? Gold? Milligan? Both knew Marge was Decker’s partner.

  “No, she isn’t my partner. She’s translating for me.” Decker rolled his tongue in his cheeks. “Do you have a name, sir?”

  “Moti.” He held out his hand. “Moti Bernstein.”
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  “Moti Bernstein from Omaha.” Decker took the hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Moti. Now who told you that I might come over here and poke around.”

  “No one told me anything.”

  “Then why did you think that this charming young woman who covers her hair was my partner?”

  Bernstein didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “Look, I’d like to help you. But there’s no Dov Yalom here. Sorry.”

  “He might be using an alias.” Decker handed Bernstein a stack of Dov’s high school pictures. “Does this boy look familiar?”

  The religious man flipped through the pictures, then handed them back. “I’ve never seen this boy.”

  “I’d like to look around anyway.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I believe you, Moti,” Decker said. “But sometimes I see things that no one else sees.”

  “You know, parents are really nervous about letting their kids stay here. Israel gets a real bad rap because the foreign newspapers depict it as a much more dangerous place than it is. If I let you poke around, it’s going to raise a lot of dander.”

  Decker didn’t speak right away. “You’re willing to risk a kid’s life to keep up an image?”

  The tops of Bernstein’s cheeks took on a rosy hue. “I’m just saying I don’t recognize the boy in the picture. So what excuse do I have to let you poke around and invade people’s privacy?”

  Again Decker paused before he spoke, his eyes boring into Bernstein’s. “I thought Judaism has a concept called pikuach nefesh. That the saving of a life takes precedence over everything!”

  Bernstein stared at Decker. “You learn, Sergeant?”

  Decker stared back. “What?”

  “You know about pikuach nefesh, you must have done some learning.” Bernstein dragged his toe over the stone floor. “See, if you were learning, then maybe you’d want to go inside the bais midrash to look up something.”

  Decker knew the bais midrash was the study hall which held the library of reference tomes for the yeshiva students. Most of the students congregated there for classes, lessons, and studying. In effect, Bernstein was giving him an excuse to look over the majority of the boys at the yeshiva.