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The rabbi spoke up.
“If you’ll excuse me, I must be getting back to my duties. On Thursdays I give a midnight lecture to the advanced students. Feel free to use the phone in the mikvah.”
“Thanks for your cooperation, Rabbi. And please call me if you have questions or suspicions.”
Decker held out his hand and the rabbi took it, pumping it several times with surprising strength.
“This is our home, Detective Decker. At least until we all make it to the Holy Land. We were not intimidated by vandals. We will not be intimidated by rapists, thieves, or murderers. If the police can’t adequately protect us, we will use our own means.”
“The police are on your side, Rabbi,” said Marge. “Unfortunately, with budget cuts, there’s not a whole lot of us to go around.”
“Rabbi Schulman,” Decker said, “I’ve already suggested a dead bolt on this door to Mrs. Lazarus. And I also mentioned building a safer fence and gate. But frankly, there are a few misinformed people out there who have something against you people. It mightn’t be the worst idea to obtain a security guard for the place.”
The rabbi nodded. “Especially for Mrs. Lazarus’s safety. She has to walk home from here every night. I was never worried until now.”
“Maybe her husband can pick her up,” Marge suggested.
“She’s a widow.” The rabbi thought out loud: “I could have one of the bochrim walk her, but she’s a religious woman and might object to walking home alone with a man. And I’m too old to offer much protection.”
“There are female security guards,” Marge said.
“Perhaps I am being overly optimistic, but I’m hoping that this is an isolated incident and it won’t come to that. But if something proves me wrong, rest assured that we will do whatever is necessary to protect ourselves. In the meantime, I will call up Rina Miriam and work something out individually with her.”
The rabbi patted Decker on the shoulder.
“I must go to my pupils. Find this monster, Detective.” He nodded good-bye to Marge and left.
“I don’t know about this case,” Marge said when they were alone.
Decker shrugged. “I’d better call the station.”
“You think this is going to be an isolated incident?”
He hesitated a moment, then said, “No. He got away with it once. I’ll lay odds he’ll try again.”
“That Lazarus woman is a perfect target.”
“You’d better believe it.”
“You might want to call the poor widow and tell her,” Marge said, grinning. “All in the name of civic interest, of course.”
“Of course. What kind of cop would I be if I settled for less?”
“Forget it, Pete. She won’t walk with a guy, let alone do anything you’d be interested in.”
He smiled, then his face turned serious. “If the Adler woman doesn’t open up, you know what we’ve got? Nothing. No evidence or M.O., ergo no suspect. A big, cold zilch.”
He thought a moment.
“Let me run this by you, Margie. We’re assuming she’s not talking because she’s traumatized and religious. Maybe she’s hiding something.”
“Think it’s one of the yeshiva men?”
“Or a local punk who has her terrorized. Remember a year ago when they were extorting money out of some of the students here.”
She shrugged.
“I didn’t pick up any of those vibes, Pete. She didn’t seem to be holding back.” Marge pounded her fist into an open palm. “Damn it, she seemed like a nice woman. Even though her lips were zipped, you could tell she was a nice woman.”
“We’d better get a move on. I’ll use the radio to call headquarters, and you can use the phone here to call this Dr. Birnbaum. Hope she knows what she’s doing. Then you’ll have to get it okayed with Mrs. Adler. Let’s see some of that first-rate sensitivity in action.”
“Another long night,” Marge groaned. “But aren’t they all when you’re working in muck.”
4 (#ulink_8d484eb8-d269-5000-9c00-0254e58fb8f9)
Rina gave up on sleep. She’d attempted it, but no rest had come. Only distorted holograms of the ghastly event.
Then came the phone call from the detective. Sarah Libba could be persuaded to have herself examined by Dr. Birnbaum, but only if she could reimmerse in the mikvah afterward. Being the mikvah lady, could Rina please help out?
Of course she’d help out. Even if it meant waiting up the rest of the night, trembling with fear, jumping at the slightest sound.
She got up from the couch and made herself another cup of tea in the kitchen. With no air-conditioning and all the windows closed, the house had become a furnace. Her clothes were soaked with sweat. Her tichel—the head covering she wore in the presence of outsiders—was hot and itchy against her scalp. But she couldn’t shake the chills.
She glanced at her watch. It was close to two A.M. How much longer would it take? At least she’d used most of the waiting time wisely by cooking for Shabbos. The room smelled wonderful.
The timer on the stove went off. The bell startled her, causing her heart to pump wildly. She brought her hand to her breast, then went over to the oven and took out the noodle kugel. Despite all her anxiety, the food had turned out perfectly—chicken juicy, roasted to a golden brown, six braided challahs, full and fluffy and topped generously with poppy seeds, the soup brimming with fresh vegetables. She was expecting company for the Friday evening meal. The Kriegers and their three kids, plus two of her tenth-grade students. With her two boys and herself that made ten altogether. By tomorrow, she hoped she’d be calm enough to pull off the role of gracious hostess.
The doorbell rang and she bolted up. Looking through the peephole, she saw the two detectives. She opened the door and invited them inside.
The living room was tiny. Most of the floor space was taken up by the sofa, coffee table, an armchair, and bookcases overflowing with volumes of Hebrew books. The walls were covered with artwork on Jewish themes and family photographs. Though the place was neat, Decker felt cramped and claustrophobic—Gulliver in the land of Lilliput. He loosened his tie and stood at the threshold of the open door.
“Something smells great,” Marge commented.
“Thank you,” answered Rina, nervously. “I had to do something with myself.”
“We appreciate your cooperation, Mrs. Lazarus,” said Decker. He noticed that she’d covered her hair.
“If Sarah Libba was willing to help, how could I say no?”
“It’s late. We’d better get on with it,” he said. “One of us will stay here to watch your kids. The other will walk you over.”
She knew he was giving her the choice, and it wasn’t an easy one. According to the halacha, Decker should be the one to stay and the woman should walk with her. But Rina knew that should her kids wake up they’d be more terrified by a strange man than a strange woman.
She made her decision and felt it necessary to explain why.
“Do you mind if I open up a window?” Marge asked.
“No, no. I’m sorry about the heat. But after what happened, I was afraid to keep them open.”
“It’s probably a good idea for the time being to keep them closed at night.” Decker held the door open for her. “Let’s get going.”
Rina stepped outside and basked in the fresh air. The night had cooled a bit. No moon was out, but starlight filtered through the thick branches of the eucalyptus and pines. A lone nightingale sang its aria to the spangled heavens, the crickets provided the chorus. She tried not to look at the detective, but her eyes kept drifting toward his face. He finally caught her glance and smiled. She quickly lowered her gaze and kept it fixed on the ground. Their footsteps seemed abnormally loud. Finally, she spoke just to ease her anxiety.
“I take it Rav Schulman was helpful?”
“Invaluable.” Decker noticed she was walking a good ten feet away from him.
“He’s a brilliant man,” she said.
“I can believe that.”
“He’s a lawyer as well as a rabbi, you know.”
“No, I didn’t.” Decker slowed his pace slightly. “Where’d he go to law school?”
“First in Europe. Then he graduated from Columbia. That’s in New York.”
Decker smiled. “Yes, I know.”
Rina felt embarrassed. “Yes, I’m sure you do know. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I—I’m very upset.”
“You have good reason to be.”
She didn’t answer, feeling she’d talked too much.
They walked a few more steps, then Decker spoke: “Well, the rabbi and I have something in common. I was a lawyer once. I even practiced for a whole six months.”
“That’s interesting,” she said politely.
She doesn’t give a damn about you, asshole, so cut the bullshit and do your job.
Decker said nothing.
The silence became tangible.
“Why did you give it up?” she asked to break it, and immediately added, “I don’t mean to get personal.”
“No problem. I became a cop.”
“Isn’t it usually the other way around?”
Now she was sounding intrusive—as big a yenta as Chana. Why was she running off like this with a total stranger …
He let out a small laugh. “Yes, it usually is.”
They walked the rest of the way without speaking.
Sarah Libba was with a policewoman in the backseat of a patrol car. In the front sat the partner—a beefy man with a pencil-line mustache. In the background was radio noise: clipped calls and static. The female officer helped Sarah Libba out of the car, then Rina took her arm and led her inside the mikvah. Decker dismissed the uniforms, saying he’d take it from here.
Rina flicked on the lights.
“It will take about forty-five minutes, Detective,” she said.
“Do what’s necessary.”
Rina took her into the bathroom, went to the tub, and turned the hot water spigot full blast. They waited together and watched the steaming water pour into the bath. Rina felt awkward. She suddenly realized how people must have felt during the shiva, her mourning period for Yitzchak. She’d talked a lot during those seven days, possessed with an overpowering sensation to speak about him and his death. Some people had been extremely uncomfortable as she rambled on about a dead man. But others were relieved that the burden of conversation had been lifted from their shoulders. What would Sarah Libba want now?
She felt she must say something.
“I’m sorry, Sarah.”
The other woman looked at her with tears in her eyes.
“I’m truly lucky,” she said softly. “I thank Hashem that I’m alive. I would be a fool to think otherwise.”
The two of them embraced, then sobbed.
“Of all the people who could have found me, I was glad it was you,” she whispered, still hugging Rina desperately. “You understand pain and know how to deal with it. I don’t think someone else would have been as calm.”
“I’m glad I was helpful to you.”
Sarah Libba broke away. “You were.”
“Was the exam bad?”
“No, it was like a regular exam.”
“That’s good.”
Sarah tried a smile, but her face crumpled. Rina took her in her arms again.
“You’re safe now,” she cooed and rocked her. “It’s all over.”
“It will never be over,” the other woman wailed.
“You’re safe.”
Sarah cried for a while, then reluctantly broke away. “I’m all right, Rina. I’d like to be left alone. I’ll call you when I’m done.”
“I’ll go heat the mikvah and wait for you. Just come out when you’re ready.”
Forty minutes later, Sarah came out of the adjoining door, wrapped in a white sheet. Her hair was dripping wet but free of tangles, and on her feet were paper sandals. She took off the slippers, stepped onto the bathmat, and dropped the sheet to reveal her naked body.
Rina immediately saw the ugly bruises on her chest, buttocks, and left thigh—deep red and raised, as if the milky skin had erupted in anger. She was seized with sadness.
