Stone Kiss (11 page)

“I just thought you washed your hands of the entire thing.”

“Only if he gets a lead, Rina.”

“But you’re not obsessed.”

“No, I’m not. Obsessed would be if I went out to the meetings without a lead and started asking questions myself. That would
be obsessed. Do you see the difference?”

“Yes.”

“Are you just agreeing with me to shut me up?”

“Yes… I mean, no.” Rina lifted her head and kissed her husband’s lips. “Good night, Peter.”

She pulled the cover over her face. She fell asleep to the background noise of his muted grumbling.

A
teeny, tiny off-chance call, huh?

Not that Rina had actually
said
anything. She hadn’t needed to
say
anything. She had simply given him one of
those
looks. The actual verbalized question had been: “Do I change the airline tickets?” Decker answered with an offended “No,
of course not,” and left before she could see him blush.

They were walking on Broadway—Novack and he—passing the upper Seventies. The street was wide, but even so, cars were backed
up from traffic light to traffic light, the area teeming with life and all the young people who frequented what the Upper
West Side had to offer. There were scores of cafés and restaurants, lots of bars, and lots of stores—not the outrageously
priced boutiques on Fifth or Madison, but drugstores and bookstores and liquor stores and grocery markets. The night was cold
and damp, but Decker had brought along gloves and an overcoat—an old heavy wool thing that he had purchased twenty-five years
ago when he and his first wife went to London on vacation in the wintertime: Off-season prices were all he could afford. The
trip had been miserable, but he had been warm.

Novack was wearing a black ski parka. “While you were praising God at
Shabbat
services, I was working. Course that’s my job. I just wanted to assure you that we’re not all
yutzes
out here.”

Decker’s expression was surprised. “Why would I think that?”

“The toilet-bowl thing,” Novack said. “I had it checked out. There was recent splatter on the rim. I shoulda thought of it
myself. Course it’s a lot easier to be smart when you’re working on one case as opposed to twenty, and your city ain’t under
siege.”

“Absolutely,” Decker said.

“Still, it made me feel bad, you know. Got my ass in gear, and that’s not a bad thing. So I started calling some of the phone
numbers on the pamphlet on the dead guy’s coffee table. The Emek Refa’im handout. Except no one was answering the phone. And
then it dawns on me…” He knocked his head with his fist. “It’s
Shabbos
. They’re not using the phone. So I tried the good old-fashioned phone book… looked up the names.”

“That’s a lot of legwork.”

“Damn right! But the Knicks are playing again Sunday, so what the hell. I’ll watch tomorrow’s game. Now, it was very confusing
because the chapters meet in the city, but none of the names have city listings. Then it hits me. They’re Chasids, probably
live in Brooklyn like Ephraim did, but they
mee
t in the city, because they don’t want anyone from home base knowing that they have a problem. Anonymity, you know. So I start
looking them up in the Brooklyn directory, and I got lucky. Since they’re not answering the phones, I figured I’d take a drive
south.”

Decker nodded. “What happened when you showed up at their doors?”

“They weren’t pleased, but I was discreet. I musta visited three, four men…one woman also. When this guy Ari told me he knew
Ephraim, you coulda knocked me over with a spoon.”

“Did he know that Ephraim had been murdered?”

“Yeah, he knew. He was agitated about it. I don’t know who was asking more questions, him or me. Anyway, he was talking to
me on the sly—can’t let the nice little Jewish wife know what’s going on— so he asked if I could meet him at some kosher restaurant
around here.”

“He’s not afraid of being recognized at a kosher restaurant?”

“He says it’s not a problem. Nobody’ll know him because he’ll be wearing civilian garb. I take that to mean not Chasidic dress.”

“Civilian garb?” Decker asked. “He said that?”

“He did indeed. This whole thing about them being in the army of
Hashem
…I guess these guys take it literally.”

Marvad Haksamim
meant Magic Carpet in Hebrew. The place had carpets all over the walls, carpets on the floor, and a big carpet tacked onto
the ceiling, draping the eatery like a tent. Tivoli lights twinkled from the windows, and a couple of pictures of Jerusalem
framed the doorway. But the restaurant did have linen napkins and tablecloths, and candles and a vase with a fresh flower
decorated every tabletop. There was also a pretty decent wine list. Decker treated himself to a glass of Cabernet. Novack
opted for a beer.

Ari Schnitman—whose civilian dress consisted of a black polo shirt, jeans, and sneakers—played with a glass of soda water.
On his head was a knitted
kippah
instead of the usual velvet yarmulke or black hat. But because his hair was so short, the
kippah
could not be bobby-pinned on. It kept threatening to topple over any moment. Schnitman was in his early thirties, with a
well-trimmed beard, an ashen pallor, and pale green eyes hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. His features were small, as were
his hands. Decker had met him while he was seated. He knew he was going to tower over Schnitman when they both stood up to
say good-bye.

In the middle of the table sat a plate filled with appetizers—spiced carrots, potatoes with scallions and vinegar, olives,
pickles, hummus, eggplant salad, and merguez—a spicy sausage that was dripping with oil.

Nobody was eating.

Schnitman was nervous. His voice was barely above a whisper. Decker had to strain to hear him over the background noise. “It’s
not that I think this tragedy has anything to do with Emek Refa’im. I know it doesn’t. It’s just that this kind of thing…
on top of it being horrible. I liked Ephraim; I really did. It’s just so devastating to morale.”

“Devastating how?” Novack asked.

“You know… to think that he might have slipped up. Ephraim
had just celebrated two years of being sober. It’s terrible to think that a relapse not only ruined two years of hard work,
but cost him his life.”

“You think it was a drug thing gone bad?” Novack asked.

“That’s what it sounded like. I heard that the police found him naked in a hotel room, shot execution style.”

Neither Novack nor Decker said anything.

Schnitman dropped his head in his hands. Then he looked up. “If you’ve never been chemically addicted, you don’t know how
hard it is for those of us who are. I say are, because even though we are no longer addicted physically, we will always be
addicted mentally. It’s a personality type. It really is a disease. It’s like AIDS in a way. It’s always there. But you learn
how to live with it. And if you don’t treat it respectfully, it will kill you.”

“How long has Ephraim been coming to your chapter meetings?” Decker asked.

“Three and a half years. The last two, like I said, he has been sober.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“At the last meeting—Tuesday night.”

“And everything was fine?” Novack asked.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

But Schnitman had become defensive.

“Are you sure about that?” Decker pressed. “Nothing on his mind?”

“Something is always on your mind when you’re an addict—”

“Nothing out of the ordinary?”

“He was… antsy.” The young man sighed. “But that’s not unusual. The first couple of years being drug-free… you’re always antsy.”

“Nobody is saying you were negligent or did anything wrong,” Decker assured him. “We’re asking you questions only because
we need information. You tell us he was antsy. We’re going to ask you what was bothering him.”

“I don’t know. But I did ask him about it… if he was nervous about something. Did he need help? He said it wasn’t about drugs
at all. It was personal. I asked if he wanted to talk about it, and he said no, everything would be okay. He had it under
control.” Schnitman’s
eyes watered. “I guess he didn’t have it under control. But how was I to know?”

Decker said, “No way for you to know except in retrospect.”

Novack said, “No idea what these personal problems were?”

“No.”

“Money, possibly?”

“I don’t know. One of the things we teach is not to push confession too early. It can have serious consequences. This is a
stepped program. People go at their own speed and their own pace. And there was nothing to suggest that his problems were
anything unusual.”

No one spoke.

“Well, obviously, they had to have been unusual for this to happen.” Schnitman wiped his eyes. “I’m going to go wash.”

“I’ll come with you,” Decker said.

“Anybody know where the facilities are?” Novack asked.

“In the back.”

Schnitman and Decker got up to go to the sink. As expected, Decker did tower over him, and Schnitman seemed to shrink even
further, noticing the size difference. They ritually washed their hands, then said the blessing while eating warm pita bread.
In silence, they went back to the table and sat back down. Novack excused himself.

Taking pita from a basket, Schnitman dipped a piece in the hummus and snagged a thick glob of the paste. “I had no idea that
he had real problems, Lieutenant. He just wasn’t…that open. More than that he seemed to be doing okay. I just didn’t know!”

“You couldn’t have known.”

“This is terrible.”

“Yes, it is,” Decker said. “Did Ephraim ever talk about his niece?”

“Shayndie? Yes, all the time.” Schnitman went in for second helpings, then thirds. His appetite seemed to pick up. He spooned
carrots, olives, and eggplant salad onto his plate. “She was a good point in his life, someone to be a role model to. He even
brought her to a meeting once because he wanted her to see where drugs would lead her. I think it had a profound effect on
her—some of the stories that we told her. She was very quiet, but you could tell that she was taking it all in.”

Novack sat down. “What’d I miss?”

“Ephraim brought Shayndie to an Emek Refa’im meeting once,” Decker said.

“He did?” Novack took a couple of pieces of sausage. “Wow, this is good! Hot!” He fanned his mouth. “What was the girl’s reaction
at the meeting?”

“I just told the lieutenant here.” More carrots onto the plate, followed by several spoons of potatoes. “She was quiet but
affected by it all.”

“Did she talk to any of the members?” Decker asked.

“Not that I can recall. Like I said, she was quiet.”

“Maybe one of the women?” Decker tried again.

“I don’t remember.”

“Can you ask?” Novack said.

“Sure, of course.” Schnitman broke off another piece of pita and smothered it with eggplant salad. “Ephraim…” He chewed his
food. “The way he explained it… he was taking her under his wing because nobody else in the family wanted to address her problems.”
He popped an olive into his mouth. “My people…I love them. But there is a certain tunnel vision that the
Haredi
have. To some of them—the very, very narrow-minded—listening to a woman sing—
kol esha
—is as bad as shooting smack because both are sins. Of course, we know that you can’t compare the two acts either physically
or morally, but unless you’re familiar with that environment, you can’t possibly understand it.”

Decker said, “My wife covers her hair.”

Schnitman looked surprised. “Oh. But you’re not
Haredi,
though.”

“No, and neither is my wife. But I know what you’re talking about.”

A waiter came to the table. “Anything else?”

All three men shook their heads.

He placed the bill on the table and left.

Schnitman looked at the carpet on the ceiling. “You’re modern Orthodox.”

“That’s what my wife says,” Decker answered. “To me, it’s still pretty fanatical. I’m a recent convert—a
baal teshuvah
.”

“How recent is recent?”

“Ten years. Believe me, that’s still recent.”

Schnitman bit his fingernail. “The modern Orthodox don’t like us.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because they don’t. They think we’re loafers and freeloaders and lazy bums. But it’s not true! Some people are raised to
be doctors, others lawyers. Most of the
Haredi
have been raised to be scholars. That is what we consider worthwhile—the study of Torah. Nothing else matters.”

Decker nodded.

Schnitman looked away. “You’re probably thinking that it’s working people like you who support people who learn all day. But
that’s how you get your
schar
mitzvah—your place in heaven.”

“No, Mr. Schnitman, I get my own place in heaven—if it exists— by doing my own good deeds. I don’t depend on people to do
it for me.” Decker focused in on the man’s green eyes. “Look, Ari, let’s try to forget about the minuscule differences right
now. Because compared to the world out there, all of us—you, me, Detective Novack— we’re all lumped together as those pesky
Jews who are always causing problems.”