Stone Kiss

9

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 meet 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.”

“That is the truth,” Novack said. “Just look at how the news portrays Israel.”

“Exactly. So let’s all of us do a mitzvah and try to figure out what happened to Ephraim. Because maybe that will tell us what happened to Shaynda.”

“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what happened to either of them!” His voice was thick with depression. “I’ve told you everything I could think of.”

“I dunno,” Novack said. “Maybe you haven’t told us everything because maybe you feel like you’re breaking a confidence or something.”

“Not with a young girl missing. And besides, there are no more confidences because Ephraim is dead.”

“So you can answer me if I ask you what was Ephraim’s addiction?”

“His addiction?”

“Was it pot, booze, coke-”

“It was cocaine. Ephraim was a cocaine abuser.”

“And…”

“That’s it. Just cocaine.”

“Crack or blow?”

“Blow.”

“You’re sure that was his only chemical bad habit?” Novack said.

“Addiction, Detective.”

“Addiction, then. He ever mention experimenting with other drugs?”

“No. Only coke. But he had it bad. He was, at one point, going through several hundred dollars a day.”

Novack whistled. “Enough to get him into some pretty heavy debt.”

“He was in debt,” Schnitman said. “But, as I understand it, he was in the process of paying everyone off. He claimed to be making great progress.”

“Maybe it was great progress for him,” Novack said. “Maybe it wasn’t so great for the people he owed money to.”

“Possibly. I don’t know.”

“Could that have been what he meant by personal problems?” Decker asked. “He was in deep debt, maybe?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Sure he wasn’t taking anything else?” Novack asked. “Like ecstasy, for instance?”

Suddenly, Decker knew what Novack was doing. The pill found in the hotel room: The analytic results must have come in. Imprinted or not, it must have been ecstasy.

“Only cocaine and only through his nose,” Schnitman insisted. “How do I know this? Ephraim wouldn’t take anything into his stomach that didn’t have a hechsher on it.”

A hechsher was kosher certification. Abruptly, Decker laughed. “I didn’t know that there was rabbinically supervised cocaine.”

“No, of course there isn’t.” Schnitman was offended. “I know it sounds crazy, but some of the most religious abusers won’t take drugs orally. Instead, they shoot poison into the blood or sniff toxins up their noses. Just so the object doesn’t pass through their lips. I know it’s a ridiculous point of law, but the Bible says lo toechlu; that you can’t eat nonkosher food.”

“It also says you can’t touch it,” Decker said.

“Well, that’s why they have straws to blow the stuff up your nose!” Schnitman was angry. “You can make fun of us, Lieutenant, or you can try to understand us. Yes, we have inconsistencies. I’m sure you have them as well.”

“Indeed, I do, Mr. Schnitman. I’m sorry if I offended you.”

“Yeah, you’ve been real helpful,” Novack said. “Here. Try a sausage. Real spicy, so watch out.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Schnitman pushed away his plate. “I should be getting back. I have to bentsh.”

“That makes two of us,” Decker said.

After they were done saying the Grace after Meals, Novack handed Schnitman his card. “And if you hear anything-”

“I’ll call you, yes.” Schnitman took out his wallet, placed the card inside, then took out a ten-dollar bill.

Decker held him back. “I’ll take care of it.”

Schnitman said, “One of the things we learn to do when we face our problems head on is to pay our own way. So I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Decker said. “We asked you out. It’s our treat.”

Novack took the check. “This is a Homicide investigation. You’re a witness. As far as I’m concerned, let the City of New York pay for my heartburn.”

Decker buttoned his coat and rubbed his gloved hands together. He had forgotten a scarf, and his face felt the bite of the wind as he walked down Broadway. “The pill was ecstasy.”

“Yes, it was.”

“So if Schnitman is to be believed, it couldn’t have come from Ephraim.”

“Do you honestly believe that a blowhead would stop himself because the high wasn’t blessed by the rabbis?”

“As strange as it may seem, Micky, I can see that.”

“Well, you’re a step closer to it than I am, Pete.”

They walked a few moments in silence. Then Decker said, “Where would a kid like Shayndie hide in this town?”

“You kidding?” Novack said. “I wouldn’t even begin to guess. Look around. A million cracks in the naked city for kids to fall through.” He walked a few more steps. “I’ll ask Vice. And Juvie. Don’t expect too much.”

“It would probably be too soon for her to hit the streets,” Decker said.

“Nah, a pimp wouldn’t turn her out just yet.” Novack shrugged. “If she don’t show up back at home or if she don’t show up under a rock, maybe she’ll show up on the streets. All we can do is wait. Time to call it an evening. Where are you going?”

“Back to Brooklyn. How about yourself?”

“Queens, but I got someone waiting for me back at the two-eight.” They stopped walking. “We don’t get half a chance with the young ones, Pete. The locations are always changing. By the time we figure out where the kids might be hiding, the bad boys got ’em stashed away.”

“If you have a snitch, maybe we can talk to him.”

“Nobody’s gonna admit to having a fifteen-year-old. The jail time for that kind of shit is very bad. The young ones need someone with real clout who can hide them from the cops and protect them from the johns. Not a lot of pimps want to be bothered with the hassle with so many eighteen-year-olds willing to do the job. Plus, you add that the kid may be running from a murder… who wants that kinda heat?”

Decker nodded.

“It must be the same in L.A.”

“Yeah, although I’m not a Vice cop. Never have been. Did Juvenile for six years. Lots of sad cases.”

“Then you probably know more about it than me. Where’d you find the kids?”

“The patrol officers were the ones who usually found them. Lots of times the kids were starving and diseased. Sometimes they came into the police station on their own, asking for protection or asking us to act as an agent between their parents and them. You know, help them get rid of the abusive boyfriend or stepfather.”

“Yeah, it’s the same all over.”

“I know some spots in L.A. And if I don’t know the spots directly, I have people I can talk to. Here, in Manhattan, I’m in the dark.”

It was close to eleven with the mercury dropping by the moment. Still, the sidewalks held hives of people marching at a clipped pace, the mist of warm breath producing as much cloud cover as the skies. About half the shops were still open, and those that were closed stood locked but not caged in by metal bars and grates-a change from the last time Decker was here. In the street, headlights and taillights were haloed circles of red and white.

Novack said, “I don’t know much about the pimp scene here. But I do know someone who does. If you really think that maybe Shayndie went that route, lemme call him up.”

“I don’t know what route she took,” Decker said. “I’m grasping at straws because I’m running out of time.”

“When are you leaving?”

“Monday… or maybe even Tuesday.” Rina was going to make fun of him. He could hear her in his head. Should I change the tickets now, Peter? “But only if we’re getting somewhere.”

“We’re getting somewhere?”

Decker smiled. “Only if I think I might be able to help you, Detective Novack.”

“Ah, much better.” Novack smiled. “All right. Since you’re under a time crunch, I’ll see if we can meet with him tomorrow morning.”

“That would be great. Because otherwise…” Decker threw up his hands. “It could be she left the city… that she’s in Quinton. Cops over there said they’d look again, but the chief of the Quinton Police didn’t sound too hopeful. Actually, he wasn’t at all helpful.”

“Who’d you talk to?”

“Virgil Merrin.”

Novack shrugged. “Don’t know him. We’re our own country out here.”

“I’m beginning to realize that. Do you think we can meet with your guy early tomorrow morning?”

“Early? Like how early?”

“Eight, nine.”

“Now, that I don’t know. He’s Irish. Saturday night is pub night.”

“Tell him if he meets me at eight, I’ll buy him a case of his favorite beer.”

Novack nodded. “Lieutenant Decker, that just may be the right incentive.”