Faye Kellerman: The Ritual Bath

“Find any tracks or hear anything?” Decker asked.

“There are plenty of tracks,” Hunter said. “Deer, rabbit, coyote, lots of cats. But nothing that looks human.”

“Thanks anyway.”

“We’ll file a report of what we found,” Ramirez said, then amended it. “Or rather, didn’t find. It’ll be ready by tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

After they left, Decker turned to Marge. “I’ve got to make a call to headquarters and try to arrange a deal. You’ve got to call a Dr. Phyllis Birnbaum in Sherman Oaks, explain what went on here, and ask her if she’d be willing to open up her office and do a forensic internal on Mrs. Adler now.”

Marge looked skeptical.

“I know it’s irregular, but it seems to be the only thing we’ve got.” Decker turned to Rav Schulman. “Do you think Mrs. Adler would object to a county doctor working side by side with Dr. Birnbaum?”

“If the doctor was a man she’d object. I’d try and keep it as natural as possible. Even then, Mrs. Adler still might not agree.”

Decker reached for a cigarette, but the rabbi was too quick for him, offering him one of the homemades. He took it eagerly.

“Marge, see if you can get Mrs. Adler to agree to see Dr. Birnbaum. I’ll call Morrison.” he faced the rabbi. “That’s the station’s captain. He’s a good guy, eminently reasonable.”

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.”

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.