Faye Kellerman - The Ritual Bath

“I’ve got my alibi all pat.” The teacher laughed nervously.

What a weirdo, Decker thought. He stepped inside. The flat was a single. A brown tweed sofa stood against one wall, a composition board coffee table in front of it. Two brown vinyl side chairs faced the sofa. Decker could see the kitchen off to his right and a door that probably led to the john. The wall behind the chairs was covered with bookshelves.

Decker sat down on the couch and pulled out his pad.

“How long have you known Mrs. Lazarus?” he asked, skipping the small talk.

Hawthorne’s left eye twitched.

“About five years. I was already teaching when she and her husband came to the yeshiva.”

“What’d you think of her husband?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Mr. Hawthorne?”

“Well, he seemed like a typical yeshiva man.” He stopped talking and appeared to be thinking. “I never thought she belonged there altogether.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I realize she’s very religious, but she also has a good sense of humor, and she isn’t afraid of men, you know? I mean some of the women are really androphobes. I try to talk to them, and they’re so nervous, they make me nervous. Rina used to be very relaxed. Now, of course, she’s a wreck. But I can’t blame her for that. I mean if I were in her position, I’d be very tense also.”

“Did you like her husband?”

“I don’t think I ever said more than hello to him. Either he was quiet, or he didn’t like me. I don’t think he was wild about Steve and me working with his wife. But he never said anything rude to me.”

“Did you ever think of asking Mrs. Lazarus out after he died?”

Again, Hawthorne paused.

“No. She only dates Jews-religious Jews-if she dates at all. Her oldest boy, Sammy, sometimes talks to me. He says she doesn’t go out.”

“Sammy volunteered that information to you?”

Again the tic.

“I asked him about her once. I was interested in her welfare.”

“But you never asked Mrs. Lazarus out?”

“No.”

“She seems to recall that you did.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Not that I remember. Hey, maybe I joked about it, but I didn’t think she took me seriously.”

“Did you ask her out jokingly?”

“Sure. All the time. I still do. I told you, I never thought she took it seriously.”

“Where were you the night of the Adler rape?”

“The Adler rape?” Twitch. “I thought you were going to ask about the Marley woman.”

“Where were you both nights?”

“The night of Mrs. Marley’s murder I was out with a friend named Jack Oates. I can give you his phone number, and he’ll verify it. We saw a movie at the Capitol in Glendale-a documentary on street life in Cleveland called Street Smarts . Very good flick.”

“What time was the movie over?”

“Around ten.”

Decker didn’t push it. He’d get the exact time from the movie theater.

“How about the night of the Adler rape?”

“I don’t remember.”

“It was on a Thursday night.”

“I don’t know. I was probably home reading. I read a lot.”

“You watch a lot of TV?”

“Not a lot. Maybe the news.”

“You don’t regularly watch any Thursday night TV?”

He thought.

“No. Nothing regular comes to mind. Maybe I did see something that Thursday, though. I’ll recheck the schedule.”

If you have to do that it won’t mean anything , Decker thought.

“What time do you get off work?” Decker asked.

“Usually around six, sometimes six-thirty.”

“Ever have any extracurricular activities with the boys?”

“Not in a formal sense, like the computer club. The boys aren’t as interested in literature as they are in science and religion. Sometimes I shoot the shit with the kids about sports. But I’m usually gone by seven. I don’t like to hang around more than I have to. ’Course, for Rina, I’m happy to help out by patrolling.”

“You like her?”

“Sure. Don’t you?”

Decker didn’t answer. Instead he looked at Hawthorne’s forearms. They, too, were clear.

“I think that about does it.”

“Well, that was painless. I expected a lot worse.”

“Such as?”

“I don’t know…Maybe tarring and feathering.”

Decker didn’t smile.

“I’ll need the phone number of your friend Mr. Oates.”

“Certainly.” He wrote it on a piece of paper. “Take care of Rina. I care about that little gal.”

He sounded earnest, as if he meant it.

Marge Dunn showed up as a green blip dancing on the grid of the Plymouth’s computer screen. The dot moved slowly to the left, stopped, then reversed back to the right. Decker stared at the monitor while sipping black coffee from a large styrofoam cup, and readjusted his legs. His muscles were beginning to cramp. Three hours and nothing.

Hollander had his nose buried in a New York Times Book of Crossword Puzzles . Occasionally his eyes would glance at the screen, but why bother watching if Decker was there? It was hot as blazes in the car, and he couldn’t understand how Pete could drink that swill. Hollander slurped the last of his Coke and tossed the paper cup onto the backseat.

“Anything?” he asked Decker.

“Same old shit.”

“Maybe we should check in with her?” Hollander suggested.

“No,” Decker replied. “I don’t want to catch her at the wrong time. If she’s with a suspect, he’ll get scared away as soon as he hears us buzz in. If it’s anything, she’ll check in with us.”

“What’s a five letter word for a raccoon?” Hollander asked.

“C-o-a-t-i.”

“Yeah, it fits. Thanks.”

Decker’s expression soured. He hated crosswords because they reminded him of loneliness. He’d gone through a slew of them after his divorce. A few minutes later Hollander asked:

“How long are we going to keep this up?”

“Let’s wait until we hear from Marge.”

“How reliable do you think this Rayana is?”

“Well,” Decker said, eyes still fixed on the screen, “from what she described, Macko sounds like our man. Now, whether she had second thoughts and warned him off is another story.”

“She was pretty pissed at him.”

“Goddam fucking people,” Decker muttered. “Stupid bitch. She looks the other way while he’s out raping and beating up other women, but he kicks her precious poodle, and all of a sudden she decides he’s a menace to society.”

“No way to get her as an accomplice?”

“Nah, she really didn’t do anything.”

“She withheld evidence,” said Hollander.

“We gave her complete immunity to get her to talk,” Decker reminded him. “All part of the game. But at least she talked. Man, did she talk. You couldn’t shut her up once she got going.”

“She was worried we’d pin something on her. She wanted to clear the air.”

“I think so. I think that was the main reason for her coming forward. She thought we were close to finding Macko and didn’t want to drown in his shit. The dog was just the catalyst.”

The radio buzzed, and Marge’s voice came through the speaker.

“Nothing,” she said.

“Getting plenty of fresh air?” Hollander asked.

“My arches are killing me,” she said.

“Hang in there, sweetheart.”

He passed the microphone to Decker.

“Hey, Margie.”

“You know where I’m located?”

“Right in the back alley of Sid’s Pizza and Beer Stop. This new gadget is wonderful.”

“I’ll never eat pepperoni again. The smell has permeated my clothes.”