The Ritual Bath (13 page)

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 over
whelmingly 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.

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.

Get hold of yourself. Peter should be here any minute.

The door rattled. Her eyes fixed on the handle as she watched it twist and turn, fighting
against the dead bolt. Gripped with fear, her heart took off on a sprint, her body was seized with the shakes. The rattling grew violent and was followed by hard thumping against the door.

Do something!

She staggered over to the phone, picked up the receiver, but dropped it.

The pounding shook the floor like a tremor.

She retrieved the phone and placed it to her ear. No dial tone. Frantically, she clicked the switch to get a connection, but the line was dead.

Sudden silence.

Her body was too heavy for her wobbly legs. Her knees buckled, and she slid to the floor.

She lay on the cold tile, desperately sucking air into her parched throat, hearing only her own shallow breaths.

Then a crash! Something flying toward her! Sharp slivers of light raining down on her! She shielded her face, but her arms and legs were stung and began to leak droplets of red. A gush of warm air. A human arm through the window curtain, groping, dancing like a hand puppet. Then it was gone. Receding footsteps. Approaching footsteps. A loud banging at the door.

She screamed.

“Rina!” Decker boomed.

She tried to call out to him, but only a faint moan escaped from her throat.

He began to bang furiously. She heard two
quick blasts, and the door caved in.

Decker rushed over and scooped her up in his arms. He sat down on the chair and hugged her tightly.

“Thank God,” he whispered.

“I’m okay,” she whispered between rapid breaths.

“What about Florence?”

“Nothing.”

She sat nestled in his arms for a moment, then climbed off his lap.

Decker looked around. The window was shattered, the floor sprayed with broken glass. He reloaded his .38 special and picked up the phone.

“The line’s dead,” Rina said.

“Bastard must have cut it.”

He unhitched the portable radio from his belt.

“This is unit number 16-552 requesting immediate back-up at Yeshivat Ohavei Torah, 344 Deep Canyon Thoroughfare in Deep Canyon. Send units to the northeast corner in front of the mikvah.
Mikvah
—Mary-Ida-King-Victor-Adam-Henry. See the woman.”

He switched off the radio and absently kicked some shards of glass.

“I have to go look for Florence, Rina. I can’t wait here in good conscience for back-up while she’s alone out there.”

“I understand. Let’s go.”

Decker hesitated while thoughts ran at fast-forward through his brain.

“No,” he said. “It would be better if you
waited here. The guy had a gun last time and knew how to use it. I can’t adequately protect you in the dark, and you could easily get hit by cross fire. Besides, he’ll have seen my car. I doubt if he’ll come back.”

Rina was paralyzed with fright at the idea of being alone but said nothing. At this point, Florence was more important.

Decker paused, then pulled out a small gun from a belt holster and offered it to her.

“I brought an extra with me. Sometimes guns have been known to jam, and I didn’t want to take any chances. It’s all set, so be careful. You probably won’t need it, but just in case, aim for the body, Rina, not the head. You’re more likely to hit that way. If the guy comes at you,
don’t
hesitate! Pull the trigger and blow the fucker away.”

She nodded and took the gun.

“Send me up some help just as soon as it comes.” He turned on his high-power flashlight and was off.

The brush was dry and crisp under his feet, the bugs out in full force. He worked methodically, sweeping the light over an area before stepping forward, constantly checking for cover in case the bastard started to shoot. Midway up the hill, a sickeningly sweet smell wafted its way toward his nostrils. Decker scrunched up his nose, then, like a hound dog, used the stink to locate the source. Thirty feet away there was a deep pit next to an oak grove. He walked over.

The big, black woman who’d pounded his back had been left to rot like a beached whale. Her body was twisted and savaged—a leg angled perpendicular to the hipbone, her left foot dangling from a tendon at the ankle, an arm half-ripped from its socket. Her face was a death mask frozen with shock and terror. The slash across her throat was wide and deep, swarming with flies and gnats. Her bowels had emptied, and up close the stench was overpowering. Decker fought back a wave of nausea and made his way back to the mikvah.

Rina saw Peter coming out of the forest. He had been gone too short a time. She knew it had to be bad.

The back-up officers arrived. Rina recognized the patrolmen as the two who’d been there the first time—the Latino and the muscleman.

Decker waved them over.

“What’s up?” Ramirez asked.

“A one-eighty-seven about two hundred fifty feet up and over to the left. See where those oaks are?”

Ramirez shined a light into the hills and nodded.

“If you’ve got a rope, I can start to mark off the area,” Decker said.

“Got one in the trunk,” Hunter answered.

“Might as well get on with it. Lab boys should be here soon. I called them right away.”

“How did the stiff bite it?” Ramirez asked.

Rina cringed, and Decker caught it. He took Ramirez aside.

“Someone bisected her neck.”

“Jesus,” Ramirez hissed. “I hate slashers.”

“Scum of the earth,” Decker agreed.

“Looks like we’ve got company.”

A few of the yeshiva boys were ambling over to the area.

“Damn!” said Decker “There’ll be more of them—the sirens and the lights will bring them over. Keep everyone out of the woods and bathhouse, Luis. I don’t want any gawkers lousing up the evidence.”

Hunter handed Decker a rope while the two uniforms began to contain the crowd that was gathering.

Rina felt a heavy hand on her shoulder and jumped.

“How are you holding out?” Decker asked.

“I don’t know…” She gave him back his gun.

“This isn’t routine for me,” he said softly, tucking the gun into his belt. “It must be a nightmare for you.”

She nodded weakly.

“I’d better cordon off the area.”

“Was it bad?”

He looked at her, hating what he had to say.

“Yeah. It was bad.”

“Oh my God,” Rina muttered, tears rolling down her cheek. “She was a wonderful person, Peter. You met her.”

“It’s a shitty deal, Rina.”

“My God, why her?” Her voice cracked. “Why us?”

“I don’t know, honey. But I swear to you, I’ll find out.” He loosened his tie. “Can you stand being alone while I’m up there, or do you want me to wait with you? There’s certainly no emergency.”

“I’m okay,” she said in a cracked voice. “Go do your job.”

“Sure?”

She nodded.

“All right. I’ll be back in a minute. When the others come, direct them to the flares.”

They descended in droves. Marge, Hollander, a dozen policemen, techs from the crime lab, an ambulance, a detective who looked like a linebacker. The place was crawling with humanity, figures buzzing over the hillside like drones around a hive. Rina’s eyes blurred, her throat tightened, and she began to sob helplessly.

She felt arms around her waist, a chest to lean on, heard a familiar heartbeat. She clung to Peter tightly, fearful of letting go lest she fall off her psychic precipice.

She was brought out of her trance by a firm tug on her shirt sleeve. Chana Marcus took her arm and pulled her out of the embrace. Embarrassed, Rina took a step backward and wiped her tears on a tissue the unsmiling woman offered her.

“I’ll walk you home, Rina,” Chana said, making it sound like an order.

Rina looked at Peter. He was impassive.

“Do I have to stick around?” she asked him.

“Absolutely. I’ll need you to clarify a few things.”

“I’ll wait over there, then.”

“Suit yourself.”

Rina walked away with Chana.

Meddling bitch, thought Decker.

Ed Fordebrand wiped the sweat off his forehead and bull neck, and began to itch. It was a peculiar psychosomatic reaction. Every time he saw a stiff, his skin felt afire. His enormous biceps began to swell with red hives, and the bulbous nose turned red and puffy. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.

“I can’t understand it,” he said to Decker, scratching the newly formed lumps. “The fuckin’ doctors say it’s all in the head. I ask you, Deck, if it’s in the head, why the hell does it show up on the body?”

“Ever think of switching out of Homicide to Vice, Ed?” Decker offered him a cigarette then took one for himself. “Think how that would swell your body.”

“I’d miss out on all the beautiful scenery,” Fordebrand answered, pointing to the corpse. “Ah, I’ve been doing this too long, Deck. I’m a stubborn old shit and refuse to admit it’s getting to me.”

“Well, it’s gotten to me.” Decker grimaced. “It’s goddam ugly. Let’s talk down below.”

He led the beefy man away from the corpse, walking toward the foot of the mountains.

“You’ve gone soft since you left Homicide, Deck.”

“I met the woman once, Ed. I liked her. To see her ripped apart, left out like carrion by some demented animal…”

“The pits, buddy. No question about it.” Fordebrand rubbed his crimson bumps. “What’s your impression? Think it’s related to the rape?”

“Yup.”

“I’ll take the case as a formality if you need a dick from Homicide, but if you want this stiff, it’s yours, Deck.”

Decker shook his head.

“I don’t know. I’m getting a little over-involved in this one, Ed.”

“The pretty lady with the black hair?”

“You’ve got it.”

“Darling little thing—and young. Nice way to ward off a mid-life crisis.”

“Hell, she’s bringing one on. Anyway, I don’t want to fuck up this case by getting tunnel vision. That’s why I called you down here.”

“So what do we got?” Fordebrand asked.

“We’ve got a rape that happened six weeks ago—”

“The Foothill asshole?”

“Don’t know. Inconsistencies in the M.O., but I never really got a good fix on how the woman was actually raped. Main thing that doesn’t jibe is the shoes. The lady was wearing sandals, not sexy little pumps. My gut feeling is no.”

“Okay, one rape.” Fordebrand grimaced, clawing at his neck. “Now a one-eighty-seven at the same locale—a weird locale. Pretty big coincidence. What else connects the two?”

“The mikvah—the vandalized building. It’s a Jewish ritual bathhouse. Someone tried to break in tonight, smashed the window. Luckily, I showed up and scared him away. But if he’s brazen enough to break in after ripping off the guard, he’s going to try again.”

“You think he’s after
her
?”

“Yes.” His voice was serious. “I think he is. So far, he’s attempted to get her here. Hasn’t tried her house. That could mean he’s fixated on the place and not her, or maybe he just hasn’t gotten up the gumption. She’s got two small boys, Ed. He breaks into her place, she’s finished.”

“Where are the kids now?”

“At a neighbor’s. The guard used to walk her there, she’d pick them up, and then they’d all walk home together. But that still leaves the rest of the night for them to be alone. It’s fucking scary.”

“You like the little babe. This must be giving you some sleepless nights.”

“A few.” Decker inhaled his smoke.

“Can she get away for a while?”

“I’m sure as hell going to suggest it.”

“Any candidates for the perp?”

“Couple of weirdos. I’m going to check them both out.”

“Spurned lovers?”

Decker smiled. “I wouldn’t call them lovers.
Maybe would-be’s that never made it past the first date.”

Fordebrand slapped him on the shoulder.

“I got a heavy case load, Deck. Biker warfare going down. Five d.b.’s that look like ground round. You don’t need me. You’re thinking straight, and you’re motivated. It’ll be your collar. If your head gets muddy, give me a call.”