Faye Kellerman - The Ritual Bath

Shit. She’d brought her kids.

Decker glanced at his watch. It was two past twelve. At least Rina was punctual. She was trudging toward him, weighted down by shopping bags while her two boys ran ahead and chased each other across the grass. He met her halfway, relieved her of the sacks, and escorted her to an empty bench.

She was goddam beautiful. No doubt about that. Even the long-sleeved shirt and dowdy skirt couldn’t hide a curvaceous body that brushed against the material as she walked. But it was her face-the combination of innocence and sensuality-that got to him. The yeshiva had her well hidden, isolated from the outside world. Otherwise there’d be no way she’d be walking around without ten guys following her, tongues lolling out like panting dogs. If she only knew…Then again, if she knew, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

“You brought company,” he said, making an attempt to hide his disappointment.

“My older boy came down with a scratchy throat last night that turned into croup. I took them both to the pediatrician for throat cultures, and we just got out. I didn’t think you would mind.”

“Not at all.”

She called her kids, and they came plowing toward her full speed, managing, somehow, to stop short an inch from impact.

“Is this the policeman, Eema?” the smaller one asked.

“Yes. This is Detective Decker.” She looked at Peter. “This is Sammy and this is Jake.”

Decker extended an arm. “Pleased to meet you, boys.”

They each took a turn at shaking his hand. At least she dressed the boys like normal kids, he thought. Baseball caps, shorts, T-shirts, and sneakers. Even if strings were sticking out from under the shirts.

“Do you have a gun?” Sammy asked.

“Shmuel, that isn’t-”

“It’s all right,” Decker said with a smile. “Every boy I’ve ever met has asked me the same question.” He turned to Sammy and tousled the black hair that stuck out from under the skullcap.

“Yes, I have a gun.” He unsnapped the holster and lifted out the butt of the service revolver. After the boys had a peek, he nudged it back in and closed the flap.

“Is it real?” Jake asked.

“You bet.”

“Did you ever shoot anyone?” asked Sammy with growing excitement.

“Did you ever kill anyone?” asked Jake with a gleam in his eye.

“Boys, I think that’s enough with the questions. Why don’t we eat lunch?”

“I’m not hungry,” Sammy croaked.

“Throat’s still sore, huh?” Rina asked.

“A little. I’ll just take some juice.”

“I’m not hungry, either,” Jake said.

“Don’t eat if you’re not hungry.” Rina took out a carton of cranberry juice.

“Well, I’m starved,” Decker announced.

“Can I hold your gun?” Sammy asked.

“No,” Decker said firmly. “But I’ll tell you what. How about you boys giving me a few minutes to eat and talk to your mom in private? Then, I’ll take you for a ride in my car.”

“I don’t see a police car,” Jake said, dubiously.

“I drive that beat-up old brown thing parked over there.” Decker pointed to the Plymouth. “Doesn’t look like much on the outside, does it?”

“Sure doesn’t,” the little boy agreed.

“If I was a criminal, I wouldn’t be impressed,” Sammy added.

Decker let go with a full laugh.

“I’ll pass the information on to my watch commander. Anyway, it’s stocked with a police radio and a gun rack.”

“Does it have a siren?” Jake asked.

“Yes.”

“How fast does it go?” inquired Sammy.

“Fast.”

“Can you race it for us?”

Rina interrupted the interrogation.

“Boys, let the man eat.”

“What d’you got, Eema?” Sammy asked.

“I thought you weren’t hungry,” said Rina.

Sammy parked himself next to Decker. “I changed my mind.”

“Me, too,” added Jake, taking the other side.

No matter how hard Rina tried, the boys couldn’t contain themselves from asking questions. Decker finally told her to give it up. He didn’t mind.

He related well to kids, she thought. In a short period of time he’d managed to get a good rapport with the boys. Too good…

After lunch, she instructed the kids to play by themselves. At first they protested their exile, but Decker reminded them of the excursion that awaited if they behaved, and they left without a fuss.

“Nice boys,” he said.

“They are. They’re usually not so nosy.”

“They’re inquisitive. It’s healthy.”

“They’re excited at meeting a detective,” she said, smiling.

He looked at her.

“Nice to know I can excite somebody .”

She turned away.

He chuckled self-consciously. “That was a ridiculous thing to say.”

She changed the subject.

“Do you want something else to eat?”

“No, I’m stuffed, thank you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Rina broke it.

“How’s the Foothill rapist-”

“Please! Don’t bring up sore spots!”

“Sorry.”

“I caught hell for not bringing in that Moshe character. There are mutterings that I’m partial.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I am.”

“I’m sorry if it got you in trouble. But, believe me, Peter, he’s not the man you want.”

“Who is he?”

She sighed. “His name is Moshe Feldman.”

“What is he? Some stray that the rabbi took pity on?”

“No. A long time ago-actually not too long ago-he was a brilliant student. He was best friends with Yitzchak, my husband; they were chavrusas -learning partners. Moshe met his wife about the same time I met Yitzchak, and the four of us were inseparable. We even got married within a month of each other.

“Two months after Moshe’s marriage, his wife announced that she didn’t want to be religious and she didn’t want to be married. I don’t know what happened. No one would talk about it. She wrote to me a couple of times saying she had to find herself, but didn’t go into specifics. Last I heard she was living with this rock and roll guitarist…”

Rina threw up her hands.

“Anyway, Moshe withdrew from people after that. Even Yitzchak. They no longer talked as friends, but they still learned together. Yitzy used to say that Moshe’s mind was as sharp as ever, but he was blocked emotionally. When my husband died two years ago Moshe stopped learning formally. A month later he asked me to marry him. I refused, and a week later he snapped. He’s been like that ever since.”

Her eyes moistened.

“I know, intellectually, that he was over the border before he proposed to me. He hadn’t been in his right mind since his wife left him. But I couldn’t help it. I felt it was my fault.”

She looked at Decker.

“It was very important to me that you didn’t arrest him. First, because he’s not a rapist. Second, I called you down there. His arrest would have been my responsibility-”

“That’s absurd, Rina-”

“I would have felt that I nailed his coffin. He was a wonderful person, Peter. A sweet man with a brilliant mind. In some ways he was much more attentive to me than Yitzchak. He would never do anything criminal, Peter. Just as you wouldn’t. It’s not in his makeup.”

Decker said nothing.

“You’re not convinced, are you?”

“No, not at all,” he said. “If anything, you’ve given me more reason to suspect him. Rapists usually hold huge grudges against women. Nasty feelings that suddenly explode. Your friend sounds like a prime candidate for an explosion.”

“He’s not, Peter. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I gave him his one break. Next time, I play by the book.”