by Stone Kiss
Twenty minutes later he was dropped off in the heart of the diamond district, at the 580 building on Fifth between Forty-seventh and Forty-eighth, the exchange floor located between a blue awning OshKosh B’Gosh clothing store and another blue awning retail jewelry store. It was a grand old building—about fifty stories at its high point—holding arched windows with panes segmented by bronze metal in a pattern reminiscent of a child’s drawing of a sunrise. American flags hung above gingerbread and plaster molding that included the heads of Roman soldiers complete with helmets. Across the street was Bank Leumi, one of the official banks of Israel.
Years ago, Decker had led a homicide investigation revolving around the murders of a Los Angeles gems dealer and his wife. The case found its conclusion in Israel, specifically on the trading floor of the Diamond Bursa in Ramat Gan, Tel Aviv, so Decker had some familiarity with the industry, giving him context for comparison. Art Deco in style, the 580 building had an anteroom that was smaller than Israel’s but larger than the diamond center in downtown L.A. The lobby was more of a hallway, a feast in gray granite, and it was teeming with watchful-eyed people carrying briefcases. Metal sconces lined the dark rock walls, giving the space dots of light, but it was still dim inside. Straight ahead were clocks showing various time zones around the world. Security was tight. To the left was the ever-present metal detector, followed by a turnstile, and then a team of four gray-jacketed guards who checked personal belongings as harried people passed into the bowels of the building. To the right was a touch-screen computer directory. According to the listings, the multistoried structure seemed primarily occupied by Jews, but there were names indicating other nationalities as well—Indian, Armenian, South American, and Russian.
The private offices and exchange floor were for the trade only, so Decker knew he’d have to check in with the front desk. After a bit of a grilling, one of the gray guards consented to call up Schnitman. A minute later, Decker held a temporary pass to the eleventh floor only, with the name Classic Gems and the suite number handwritten in the spot where the badge had asked for Place of Business. He stepped into an elevator and was taken up to the eleventh floor by an operator with a gun.
Schnitman was waiting for him, a few doors away from the Classic Gems entrance, leaning against one of the walls that made up a narrow hallway. Guards were posted on either side of the foyer, in front of the emergency stairwell exits. In traditional Chasidic garb of a black coat, white shirt, and black hat, he looked older but even smaller. He was stroking his beard, eyes small behind the windows of his glasses. His expression was grave, bordering on hostile. It seemed that Decker made friends wherever he went.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered.
“Thanks for seeing me,” Decker tried out. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a couple more—”
“I do mind!” he spat out. “I cooperated with the police. I told you all I know. Now you come and bother me at my place of business. Do you know what would happen to me if my problems got back to my boss?”
Decker’s expression was flat. “Why would he assume that I was anyone other than a customer? Calm down and let’s go find a place to talk.”
Schnitman checked his watch. “I have a lunch meeting in twenty minutes. I was about to leave.”
“No problem. We can talk while we walk.”
He exhaled loudly. “Wait here. Let me get my coat.”
It took less than a minute for Schnitman to return. They rode the elevator down in silence, Decker following the young Chasid as he speed-walked out of the building, turning left, hands clasped behind his back, his coat and payot flapping in the wind. Schnitman continued to race-walk until he got to Forty-eighth; then he hooked a right.
Decker said, “If you don’t slow down, we can’t talk. Then you can’t get rid of me.”
Schnitman stopped at the green-lettered Fleet building, leaning against the glass, his eyes on his polished black shoes. In front of him was a table overloaded with baubles and clothing festooned with the American flag. The vendor was sitting next to the trinkets, his face hidden by dreadlocks and a copy of yesterday’s Post. The air rapped out horn honks and engine rumbles.
“Where are you meeting this client?” Decker asked.
“Clients. Fifty-third and Second. They’re from Japan, so my brilliant boss figured that I should take them to this Japanese kosher restaurant. It’s a good place, but it’s kind of like bringing coals to Newcastle. I’m sure they would have preferred a deli.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Decker said.
“What do you want, Lieutenant?”
“You said that Ephraim was edgy right before he was murdered. Any ideas?”
“No.”
“Tell me that again, Schnitman. This time, do it with eye contact.”
The Chasid looked away.
Decker took his arm and held him in place. “Look, Ari, I can understand your not wanting to say too much in front of the police, that maybe it’ll bring attention to your secret organization—”
“It’s not a secret organization,” he answered testily. “We’d just like to assure as much anonymity as possible. Otherwise, people don’t come and get the help they need. Believe me, it’s hard enough reaching out without cops butting into internal affairs.”
“Which is why you should help me. Right now, it’s one-on-one, and maybe I can help you. Turn me away, city police are bound to come back.”
He rubbed his hand over his face and beard. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Ephraim didn’t talk to me, but he did talk to someone in the group—his sponsor. I didn’t tell you this initially, because I just found out about it last night—at our weekly meeting. Don’t ask me for the name, I won’t give it to you. You can threaten me with exposure, embarrassment, jail time, the works, but I will not, under any circumstances, break a confidentiality by giving you a name.”
“You’re not a lawyer, doctor, or pastor—”
“I have smicha, so technically I am a rabbi. If I have to use it, I will do that.”
Decker looked around. Scores of people in dark overcoats whistling down the streets, scarves streaming behind them, waving in the breeze like banners. Harsh pewter clouds clotted on the sky’s surface like chrome plating peeling from dross metal. The atmosphere was saturated with dirt and the smell of noontime frying oil. Traffic was fierce. A sudden gust of wind whipped up under Decker’s coat. He tightened his scarf, suddenly realizing he was hungry. “What did he or she tell you?”
The Chasid stuck his gloved hands in his pockets. “That Ephraim was clearly troubled, wrestling with issues.”
“Go on.”
Schnitman said, “He couched the specifics in Halachic terms— what was the Jewish obligation of brother toward brother?”
“Interesting.” Decker nodded. “Are we talking metaphorical?”
“Exactly, Lieutenant. Usually, Jewish brotherhood isn’t blood brotherhood. It’s the larger family of klal Yisra’el—Jew to Jew. But this time, it was literal. Ephraim was having conflicts with his brother.”
“Business conflicts?”
“Yes, it was business.” Schnitman nodded. “Ephraim told his sponsor that he had talked several times to his brother about what was bothering him. But the problem didn’t stop.”
“And?”
“Ephraim was at a crossroads. Either he had to turn a blind eye or jump to the next step… telling his father about it. His soul was in turmoil.”
“Did Ephraim mention what the troubling practices were?”
“No,” Schnitman admitted. “But it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. At the stores, Ephraim was in charge of inventory. Ephraim had told us that Chaim had taken some rather sizable loans for expansion—”
“Wait, wait, wait… what was this?”
“About two years ago. Ephraim was very excited. He felt that more stores would mean more responsibility, more chances for him to prove his mettle.” Schnitman blinked several times. “Don’t you people
do your homework?”
“I just got out here last Friday. I’m not with the NYPD. Talking to you is doing my homework. Now go on.”
“That was rude. I’m sorry.”
Decker looked as his watch. “You have around six minutes. I don’t want to make you late.”
“It’s all right. It’s an old story, Lieutenant Decker. Old man works up the stores from nothing; then the son gets in with grandiose ideas to make it bigger and better. It appears that Chaim took out loans for expansion; then the recession hit. If that wasn’t bad enough, the city was hit with the terrorist attacks. Business fell drastically. So not only was the expansion put on hold, but now Chaim was facing the more pressing question—how to pay back the bank?”
“Chaim stole from the coffers,” Decker said.
The Chasid shook his head. “Chaim was in charge of the coffers. Stealing from your own store’s inventory would be like stealing from your own wallet. You need a third party to rip off.”
“Insurance fraud.”
“Exactly. You put in claims for stolen items that you’ve never owned. Or you steal your own items out of warehousing, put in claims for them, then resell them on the black market—double-dipping. The problem is that it’s all penny-ante stuff—pocket change. Plus, you do too much of it, red flags go up. When you’re in real trouble—and I don’t know if Chaim was or was not in real trouble— then it’s time to hire the professional fire starter.”
Decker regarded the Chasid. “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.”
“Emek Refa’im is a haven for those of us addicted to drugs. Many of us had big problems that led to drug addiction.”
“Things like guilty consciences.”
“Precisely,” Schnitman said. “Ephraim appears to be no exception. Maybe that’s what he was conflicted about, wondering if the store was going to burn down—”
“No,” Decker interrupted. “I think if Ephraim knew that Chaim was planning to burn the store down, he would have definitely gone to the old man.”
“Yes, you’re probably right about that.”
“It had to have been something else,” Decker said. “You’re sure it was business practices that were troubling him?”
“I’m not sure of anything. I’m just repeating what someone told me.” He looked upward. “I probably shouldn’t have even done that.”
“I’d like to talk to the sponsor.”
“The truth is, I don’t know where the person lives. I don’t even know the last name. Some people are like that, I’m a little more progressive, but even I play it really close to the bone. It’s not for my sake—I’m not ashamed of what I’m doing—but if it got out—my problems—my children would suffer greatly, especially in the future. It would be hard for them to find a shiddach.”
A shiddach—a proper mate set up by a matchmaker. “Sins of the father,” Decker said.
“Correct.” Schnitman held on to his hat as the wind kicked up. “But I do want to help. If you come next Tuesday, maybe the person will show up at the meeting. I’ll give you an introduction, but that’s as far as I’ll go.”
“Next Tuesday, I’m back at work in Los Angeles.” He remembered what he told Donatti—sixty hours, now down to less than forty-eight hours. “But thanks. You helped confirm what I suspected.”
Schnitman regarded Decker. “You’re a good man to come all the way out here to help your fellow Jews. You’ve probably gotten nothing but grief for your efforts.”
“You’re right.”
“Moshe Rabainu got nothing but grief for his efforts as well.” Schnitman smiled. “You’re in very good company, Lieutenant.”
29
It was quarter to one when Decker made it back to the synagogue, but Jonathan was still in conference. Five minutes later, Decker saw his brother walking out of his office with a forty-plus black-suited woman and a teenage boy. The woman held a balled-up tissue to her eyes, and the kid wore a sullen moue, his eyes focused on the exit door. Problems, problems, problems. Jonathan accompanied them outside, returning a minute later, trotting back toward his office.
“Jon,” Decker called out.
The rabbi spun around. “Akiva. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He did a little jog to catch up with him. “You were in there for a while. How about some lunch?”
Jonathan said, “If it’s a social thing—and I suspect not—I can’t afford the time. If you need me, I’m here for you.”
“Where are you off to?”
“I have to go back to Quinton.”
“Perfect! You can drive and we’ll talk in the van.”
Instant hesitancy registered on the rabbi’s face. Decker came to his rescue. “I have no intention of visiting your in-laws. I have other business there—on the north side.”
Now his eyes were curious. “What kind of business?”
“I’ll tell you about it later. How about if I grab a cup of coffee and meet you at the van? It’s parked down the street.”
Jonathan said, “You found a parking space?”
“After a half hour of circling. Go get your things. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
It took more like fifteen minutes. And even when Jonathan did pull out, he couldn’t get very far. Traffic was solid steel, distance measured in inches as the van crept over to the Henry Hudson Parkway, horns blaring in protest and frustration.
Jonathan remained stoic. “There must be some dignitary in town.”
“I read something about a conference—National African Resource Agenda—over at a church.”
“That’s right. The Riverside Cathedral is only blocks from the shul. I’ve been through this before. It’s going to take time to get out of here.”
“It’s fine with me.” Decker finished his coffee, placed it in a cup holder, then regarded his brother in his heavy wool three-piece suit and tie. Heat was blasting from the vents. “Why don’t you take off your jacket, Jon, while you have the chance?”
“Good idea.” The cars were at a standstill anyway. “You suggested lunch. Are you hungry?”
“I can wait.”
“I have a couple of sandwiches in my briefcase.”
“In a few minutes, thanks.” Silence. “Have you talked to Raisie at all?”
“Not since this morning.”
“I won’t ask.”
“It’s probably best that you don’t.”
Decker ran a finger across his mustache. “I need some confidentiality right now. I have to know that whatever I say won’t go beyond the two of us.”
“I understand,” Jonathan answered. “Go on.”
“I talked to some people this morning, Jon. It seems that there was conflict between your brothers-in-law. I don’t know the details, but it was over business. In a sentence, I think Ephraim was having some difficulties accepting some of Chaim’s marginal business practices.” He recounted the conversation. “Ephraim was thinking about going to your father-in-law, but then he was murdered. Anything you can add to help me with this?”
“Who’d you talk to?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Is this person reliable?”
“No reason to lie.”
“I have no problem keeping your words confidential, Akiva. I’m a rabbi; I have privileges. But the confidentiality only goes one way. I’m not as free to talk as you are.”
Decker thought a moment. “Attorneys have confidentiality. I’m a lawyer. I passed the bar. I even practiced a long time ago.”
“In California. We’re in New York.”
Decker grinned. “It would make an interesting test case, no?”
Jonathan paused, then took out a dollar. “You’re hired.”
Decker turned the bill over in his hands. “And it looks like I’m reasonable, too.”
“It’s no reflection on your legal aptitude.” Jonathan measured his words. “I don’t know much, but I’ll tell you what I do know. Chaim was in debt. He actually borro
wed some money from me—which I gave him. Five thousand dollars.”
“Not exactly pocket change.”
“No, it wasn’t. When he asked for more, I gave him five, six hundred dollars. I told him that was all I could do. And in the future, to please remember that his sister wasn’t working and I had three kids in private school.”
“You did your bit.”
“I thought so. He wasn’t pleased, but he understood. A few weeks later, he came back to me. He said he knew I couldn’t afford any more loans, but what about the shul? Could he borrow from the shul’s gemach fund?”
“That’s the charity fund, right?”
“Yes, gemach is the charity fund. However, I didn’t consider him a charity case. Also, it was a terrible conflict of interest—bailing my brother-in-law out of debt. I told him it wasn’t an option. He got huffy. For a while, he and I weren’t speaking. Then about six months ago, we settled our differences. In the main, he apologized. He told me that at the time he was being squeezed by his creditors, that business had been terrible. He’d been desperate. But things had turned around. Business was slowly getting better. It was during Elul, so I figured he was taking stock in what lay ahead for him.”
Elul is the month before Rosh Hashanah. The thirty days served as a wake-up call for those in need to atone for the past year’s sins. In Jewish law, everyone fell into the repentant category. Elul usually came around the beginning of September in the secular calendar— around six months ago.
“And?” Decker prodded.
“And that’s it. We reconciled. Especially after September eleventh, our differences seemed absolutely silly. He had us over for dinner; we had them over for dinner. We took Shayndie for a couple of weekends. Everything seemed all right… until this exploded in our faces.”
“What did Chaim do to turn the business around?”
