The Ritual Bath

Schulman sucked hard on the cigarette, causing the tip to glow bright orange.

“So if I were you, instead of wasting my time trying to talk her into something, I’d call up my captain and see if the Department can’t work something out—an exception—allowing Dr. Birnbaum to act as a medical examiner this once. No doubt there will be bureaucratic problems. But if you want it to get done, it will get done, my boy. Correct?”

Decker smiled and nodded assent.

“After Dr. Birnbaum has been approved by the officials, I’d call her up and request her help. She’s a conscientious woman, and I’m sure she’ll cooperate. Then, I’d have your female partner approach Sarah Libba and say the exam will be with Dr. Birnbaum, the same one who delivered two of your four lovely children. And if you feel it’s necessary, you may say that Rav Schulman says it’s permissible halachically—according to the rules of Judaism—to be examined.”

The old man was a sharpie. Decker liked him. But not as much as the Lazarus girl.

Marge and the two uniforms walked in.

“Nada, Pete,” she said. “I came up dry.”

“Didn’t expect anything really.” Decker made introductions, then turned to the patrolmen—two linebackers. The one named Hunter seemed to be in his middle twenties. The senior partner, Ramirez, was shorter and looked ten years older.

“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.”

4

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.

Though she didn’t have to, Rina went through all the rituals, just like the first time. She checked the nails on Sarah’s small fingers and toes to make sure they’d been recently clipped and were spotlessly clean, and examined the soles of her feet for specks of dirt. Examining the soft arms gently, she found them gouged and raked.

“You know,” Sarah said, her voice breaking, “I don’t even know if I can use the mikvah with all these fresh scrapes.”

Rina softly moved her fingers over the damaged flesh. “They didn’t soak off the half hour you were in the bath. They don’t come off easily. I think you can go in with them.”

She knew that the brief halachic debate was symbolic, as was the redunking itself. Despite the fact that she’d been raped, Sarah Libba was permitted to have sex with her husband. Her first dip had purified her.

But that wasn’t the relevant issue at all. Sarah wanted to start over; she needed to undo what had been done.

Rina scrutinized Sarah Libba’s back, chest, and arms for loose hairs that might have adhered accidentally to the skin. There were none. She moved on to the routine questions. Had Sarah brushed her teeth? Had she gone to the bathroom? Removed all foreign objects from her body including rings, earrings, dentures, and contact lenses? Sarah answered yes mechanically, and Rina gave her permission to immerse herself.

Sarah walked down the eight steps until the water covered her breasts. At Rina’s nod, she dunked into the water with her eyes and mouth open. When the water covered the top of her head, she popped out and Rina announced that the dip was kosher. Sarah repeated the dunking two more times, then looked up.

Rina handed her a washcloth that Sarah placed on her head. After reciting the prayer out loud, Sarah uttered a few more words to herself and gave the cloth back. She dunked four more times, each one affirmed as kosher, then began her ascent out of the pool. Rina extended her arms and held the sheet open, completely concealing herself from Sarah’s field of vision. When emerging from the mikvah, a woman was honored with complete privacy.

After Sarah reentered the dressing room, Rina cleaned up and shut off the mikvah heater and the lights. Then she had no choice but to wait with Decker in the reception room.

“All done?” he asked.

“We’re just waiting for her to dress.”

“How’s she doing?”

“I’m not sure. Compared to what?”

“Well, is she talking at all?”

“She’s talking. But not about the … the incident, if that’s what you mean.”

“Do you think she might be willing to talk to us sometime later?”

“That’s up to her,” Rina answered.

Decker didn’t pursue the conversation.

“I’m not being deliberately evasive, Detective. I just don’t know.”

“I understand. And I don’t want to put you on the spot. But frankly, without something more concrete, there’s no way we’re going to catch this guy.”

Rina stood up, walked over to the linen closet, and busied herself with rearranging the already neatly folded towels and sheets. A minute later Sarah Libba appeared. Her head was covered with a kerchief—her new shaytel had been confiscated for evidence along with her torn clothing.

Decker rose and held the door open for the women. Rina turned off the waiting room lights, and the three of them walked in silence across the grounds to the residential area, the women in front, he following.

When they reached Sarah’s house, Decker knocked on the door and Zvi answered. He was still dressed in street clothes—white shirt, black slacks, black oxfords and yarmulke. His long, thin face was grim and stoic behind a thick pelt of light brown beard. After helping his wife in, he stepped outside.

“Thank you,” he said politely to Rina.

“If she needs anything, Zvi, call.”

“I will,” he said softly, then focused on Decker. “Are you the detective in charge?”

“Yes, I am.” He gave the young man his card.

Zvi looked at it and placed it in his breast pocket.

“Detective Decker, you find this thing,” he spat out. “You look high and low, and you find this thing. And when you do, you don’t arrest him or put him in jail. You just bring him here and leave me alone with him for an hour. That way justice will be done.”

Decker let the words hang in the air for a moment.

“I’m going to need your wife’s help, Mr. Adler, if I’m going to find him.”

Zvi didn’t seem to hear. He stared into space, finally looked back at Decker. “Just find him and bring him here.” He turned abruptly and walked inside.

Rina knew Sarah wouldn’t talk. The case wasn’t going to go anywhere. She looked at the detective. He knew it too, and she sensed his frustration. They began to walk.

“It’s been a long night,” Rina said.

“Yes, it has.”

“Do you get a lot of long nights?”

“Lately.”

“You’re the detective on the Foothill rapist, aren’t you.”

Decker nodded.

“It didn’t dawn on me before, but now I recall seeing your name in the newspaper.” Rina started to shake. “That nurse who was beaten up, how’s she doing?”

“She’s on the mend.”

“That’s good.” Rina swallowed a dry gulp. “Do you think there’s any connection between this and the other Foothill rapes?”

“Mrs. Lazarus, at this point I honestly don’t know.”

There was so much she now wanted to ask him, but knew she couldn’t. They continued walking, and he stopped suddenly, a few feet from her door.

“You want to help? This is how you can help,” Decker said. “First, get a good, solid dead bolt on the mikvah door in the morning. Second, be very careful, even a little paranoid, for the next couple of weeks. Third, you might try to talk Mrs. Adler into giving us a statement of some kind. If she can’t talk to me, maybe you can convince her to talk to Detective Dunn.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Thanks.” Decker brought out his pad and a pencil. He scribbled a number on it and gave the slip of paper to Rina. “This is my home number. I don’t want you walking alone at night unless there’s some sort of security patrol on the premises. If you can’t get anyone to walk with you, call me. I’m only fifteen minutes away. I’d much rather take a few minutes of my personal time to assure your safety, than to have to come on official business. All right?”

“I’ll be careful,” she said.

“Look, I’m not telling you how to worship. The rabbi said you’re a widow, that you don’t like to walk alone with a man. But in my book, religion comes second to personal safety. I’m sure he can give you dispensation.”

Rina said nothing.

Decker knew he was wasting his breath. She wasn’t listening. Goddam Hollander and his fucking ball game! Decker didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this case. It was going to dead end, and he’d have another unsolved rape on his hands.

But that was just part of it. Some force was sucking him into this place. He knew he’d be returning here in a professional capacity. And that worried him.

5

Rina sat at her desk in the stuffy basement classroom and looked out at a sea of bobbing yarmulkes. Heads down, her students were busy scratching away at the test. She’d thought the exam would be challenging, but the kids seemed to be whipping through the pages in record time. It was getting harder and harder to challenge them, she realized with delight. It was a pleasure to teach such a bright group of kids. Her only major complaint about the job was the poor facilities. In the summer the room became a sauna, and the two large floor fans did little to mitigate the heat.

Her eyes returned to the open pages of the Chumash. She’d finished studying parsha—the biblical portion of the week—and was on the haftorah. Sunday was the new moon, so the reading would be the story of the friendship between David and Jonathan. It was one of Rina’s favorites—a tale of unswerving love and trust. She’d never had a relationship like that with anyone, including Yitzchak. Theirs had contained some of those elements, but Yitzchak’s first and true love had been the Torah.

The rabbis had regarded his brilliant mind as a gift from God. He was their prize pupil, one of the few young men who was a real talmid chacham. They’d showered him with attention, but it had never gone to his head. He wasn’t interested in adulation, just in the acquisition of knowledge.

Rina had been astonished by Yitzchak’s intellect when they first met. He was a living, breathing genius, and she was willing to put up with his idiosyncracies for the privilege of being around him. He’d turned out to be a warmhearted man and a good father, but their relationship had always been a bit distant.

It was cruelly ironic that his brilliant brain cells eventually led to his demise.

Rina felt melancholia nibbling at her gut. She looked up from the text, and her eyes landed on the sandy-haired boy in the corner. His expression hadn’t changed since he’d entered the room. Usually one of the quickest thinkers, today he gazed at the chalkboard as if it contained some magic words of comfort. Yossie looked just like his father, Zvi, and his face bore the painful, numb expression that his father’s had last night. Rina was sure they hadn’t told him, but he knew. Oldest children always knew when something wasn’t right.