Faye Kellerman - The Ritual Bath

“Fuck you, dick.”

Decker resisted a very strong urge to kick him and went back to Walsh.

“I have an appointment with the phone company right now,” he said. “Some girl out there knows something about the Foothill rapes, and I’m going to catch her if she calls me again. Have Marge Dunn do the first relay without a lawyer and without the parents. See if we can wear the kid down. Break his confidence. Just delay the whole thing for an hour at the most. I don’t want to trample on Miranda, just lightly step on its toes.”

He took out a pocket-sized notebook and began to scribble furiously.

“I should be back around one. Make sure he has counsel by then, and try to get a parent down there. His parents are both unemployed alkies, so it may be hard to get them off their butts, but at least make an attempt to contact one of them. Don’t let the little prick slip out of out hands until I’ve talked with him.”

“Think he’s involved with the rape at Jewtown, Pete?” Walsh asked.

“I’m sure he’s one of the vandals. Don’t know about the rape.” He folded the top cover over his note pad and looked up. “But I’m going to find out.”

Lionel Richie was crooning on the portable cassette deck. Last night it had been the Pointer sisters, the week before, Smokey Robinson. It was nice to hear popular songs, Rina thought, mopping the mikvah floor. She liked the woman’s taste in music, but not as much as she liked the woman. The six-foot, two-hundred-pound security guard not only made her feel well protected, but provided interesting company.

Florence Marley was thirty, with coffee-colored skin, a wide smile, a friendly disposition, and a slew of recipes. Good ones. Rina had tried out a few herself, making the appropriate substitutions to keep the dishes kosher. Food-the universal language. It nicely bridged the gap between the big black woman from Watts and the ladies of the yeshiva.

She finished the floors, glad that she’d made herself stick to her routines despite the shock of this morning’s assault. Dragging a sloshing bucket, she went outside to the reception area.

“Let me help you with that, Rina,” Florence offered.

The guard hefted the bucket as if it were a tin can, tossed the dirty water down the sink, and handed the pail back to Rina.

“There’s really no need for you to stick around for me tonight, Florence,” Rina said, checking the time. “Detective Decker should be here any minute.”

“I’ll wait,” said the guard. “I’m not going to leave you alone in this place.”

Rina knew it was useless to argue.

Florence twirled her nightstick and hiked-up her beige uniform pants.

“I’m gonna have a look around outside,” she said, patting her gun. “Be back in five minutes, Rina. You hear anything, remember I’m right outside.”

Rina nodded. She bolted the door shut and gathered up the dirty linens. She was still jittery from this morning’s incident, but at least things here had settled down. The security woman was a godsend. The noises had stopped the day of her arrival, the women had loosened up, and a sense of security had been restored. Florence was well worth her salary for the peace of mind she’d brought.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud shout. Rina’s heart began to pound furiously. Muffled speech, footsteps, then banging at the door.

“Open up, honey. It’s Florence.”

Quickly, Rina unbolted the door.

The black woman was standing in back of Decker.

“This woman almost took off my head,” he said wryly.

“I was just doing my job, sir.”

“I’m not faulting you, ma’am, just making a statement of fact.” Decker entered the room and turned to face the guard. “I see a bright future for you with the LAPD.”

Florence sputtered into laughter. “Just as soon as I drop fifty pounds.” She smacked her stomach and thumped Decker on the back. “Can I trust you alone with this little thing?”

“Ask the little thing,” he answered.

Florence looked at Rina.

“He’s all right, Flo.”

“Okay, then I’m going to be taking off.” She clicked off the tape deck, stowed it in an empty cabinet, and pounded Decker on the shoulder blades. “Nice meeting you.”

“Same,” he answered.

She left, chuckling to herself.

“The woman packs a mean wallop,” Decker said massaging his back. “I’d pit her against any man in the precinct.”

He stopped talking and appeared to be thinking.

“Maybe Fordebrand could give her a run for the money.”

“Who’s Fordebrand?”

“Homicide detective. He’s shorter than I am by a couple of inches, but must outweigh me by at least sixty pounds of pure muscle. Naturally, his wife is this tiny little bird. Fordebrand also has phenomenally bad breath.”

“He’s sounds lovely, Peter.”

“It was a kick working with him.”

“You worked Homicide?”

“Seven years.”

“Why’d you transfer?”

“I thought it might be nice to work with the kids.” He felt his shirt pocket for cigarettes and grimaced when he came up empty. “The kids I’ve worked with have been worse than the adults. Somehow, I’ve never had the wonderful experience you see on the boob tube. You know, cop befriends down-and-out kid. Conflict. Tough talk. Kid keeps messing up, but cop persists. The final scene shows the kid giving the valedictory at Harvard. His life has been rough, and he wouldn’t have pulled through except for the one man who believed in him-the cop.”

Decker shook his head.

“In real life, the kid who’s as tough as nails on the outside is chromium-plated steel on the inside.”

“You sound cynical.”

“Not cynical. Realistic. I had my shot at parenting with my own kid. And she turned out terrific. But there are Cynthia Deckers and there are Cory Schmidts. Fact of life.”

He smiled at her.

“You want to hear more, I can go on for hours.”

“It’s a little late.”

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Peter.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Let’s get the statement over with. You look like you could use some sleep.”

Rina threw the towels in the dryer and started it. She’d fold them tomorrow. They headed for the door, but Decker stopped abruptly, suddenly alert.

“What’s wrong?” Rina asked, alarmed.

Decker put his fingers to his lips and listened intently for a minute. Then noticing the frightened look on Rina’s face, he felt like a jerk.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I’m listening to the dryer.”

“The dryer ?”

“For another case I’m working on.”

“What case?”

“I’ll tell you all about it after I make a collar.”

“So don’t worry my pretty little head about it,” she answered dryly. But she was greatly relieved.

Decker smiled, placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked her in the eye.

“Do I look like a chauvinist pig?”

She nodded.

He burst into laughter. He wanted to do something impulsive and lighthearted-tickle her or throw her over his shoulder. And she’d show mock outrage and pummel his back. Then they’d wrestle to the floor, and finally, exhausted by their joust, they’d curl up and make love.

Fantasy.

He let his hands drop to his sides and walked over to the dryer. Big industrial type-a Speed Queen. He listened to its whir for another moment, then said, “Okay, we can go now.”

“Learn anything?”

He shrugged.

As they left, he gently slipped his arm over her shoulder, letting his fingers rest at the tip of her collarbone. She turned around, smiled, and pulled away.

As he’d thought-fantasy.

“What happened with Cory?” Rina asked as they walked across the grounds.