Stone Kiss

28

If there were any answers, they’d lie in Quinton. Decker knew the Jewish sector of the town was a lost cause-he’d be as welcome as ham and Swiss on rye-but he held faint hopes that maybe he could salvage something with Virgil Merrin, ascribing his rude behavior to his own embarrassment at being seen at Tattlers. Then maybe he’d play out some of the good-ol’-boy routine, knowing he could make it work if he could just get the sneer out of his voice. With Merrin as an ally, he could possibly get names of some Quinton teens Shayndie might have known.

But he’d have to tread lightly.

Because there was this possible worst-case, politics-and-money-corrupts, trust-no-one scenario: Merrin was involved in ecstasy distribution, using erotic dancers as couriers for the Israeli Mafia members. There was also the unholy missing trio of Weiss, Harabi, and Ibn Dod. They could be back in Israel, camped out in a Jewish community incognito, or they could even be dead.

And even if this product of Decker’s overactive imagination were somehow borne out, if the loose bits of facts that Randy had given him did weave into a fanciful but cohesive story, how, if at all, would it relate to the Lieber murders?

Which brought him back to the original dilemma.

He needed to penetrate Quinton’s Jewish side and that meant he needed someone trusted by the locals. More important, he needed someone he could trust. Decker required a mole with a firsthand knowledge of Jewish traditions, mores, and rituals-an insider who could point out the outsiders, but who would be loyal to him.

Since Rina was gone, there was only one person who could possibly pull that off.

How well did Decker know his half brother?

He supposed that he was about to find out.

It was a small but growing synagogue in the Morningside Heights district, within walking distance of Columbia University. The daily morning minyan, held at eight o’clock, often included college students, and because it was Conservative in denomination, the service included men and women in equal proportions doing equal duty. By the time Decker drove uptown and found a parking space, it was almost eleven, well past Sha’chris, and he figured maybe his brother could use a coffee break.

Jonathan’s secretary, a twenty-something African American named Arista, informed him that Rabbi Levine was in conference with several members of his congregation and wouldn’t be available until twelve-thirty. If it was a true emergency, she could intercom him, but short of that, he had asked not to be disturbed.

It wasn’t a true emergency.

In that case, he was welcome to wait in the library if he wanted or perhaps he should go grab an early lunch. She’d tell the rabbi that he had come by. He thanked her and told her he’d be back at half past twelve and could she please ask the rabbi to wait for him.

He went out of the shul and began walking down Broadway, a whiff of garlic hitting his face because the shul was next door to Tito’s Pizza Joint. He turned up the collar of his overcoat and stuck his hands in his pockets. He should have called before he came. Cursing under his breath, Decker found a ubiquitous Starbucks and bought himself a large cup of black coffee. There wasn’t anywhere to sit, so he leaned against a wall, looking like a dealer waiting to score. He thought about his options, mentally thumbing through his notepad, which, by now, was thick with his chicken scratches.

There were ways he could fill the time; people he could interview again. There were Luisa and Marta, the ladies he had met at the funeral. They worked inventory with Ephraim, maybe they had thought of something important since he had last seen them. And Luisa still had his gloves-a perfect excuse to call on her.

Except by now, she was at work at one of the Liebers’ stores, and Decker’s presence would be noticed. Maybe he’d try her tonight, in the privacy of her own residence.

There was Leon Hershfield. If anyone would know anything about hanky-panky within the religious Jewish community, it would be him. The attorney was aware of lots of things, but asking him questions wouldn’t help because of confidentiality. Usually, Decker could gauge reactions from his interviewees even as they pleaded the Fifth. A lot was conveyed through facial expressions and eye contact. But Hershfield was way too savvy to give anything away, even through nonverbal methods. Talking to him would not only be futile, but detrimental as well. It would give him Decker’s insights with nothing in return.

Scratch the lawyer.

Finally, there was Ari Schnitman, the recovering addict who knew Ephraim from Emek Refa’im. Since Luisa and Leon weren’t going to help, it was almost by default that the Chasid was elected. Schnitman dealt in wholesale diamonds on the East Side. Since Decker didn’t want to lose his parking space or battle traffic jams, he elected to catch a cab instead of driving on his own.

Twenty minutes later he was dropped off in the heart of the diamond district, at the 580 building on Fifth between Forty-seventh and Forty-eighth, the exchange floor located between a blue awning OshKosh B’Gosh clothing store and another blue awning retail jewelry store. It was a grand old building-about fifty stories at its high point-holding arched windows with panes segmented by bronze metal in a pattern reminiscent of a child’s drawing of a sunrise. American flags hung above gingerbread and plaster molding that included the heads of Roman soldiers complete with helmets. Across the street was Bank Leumi, one of the official banks of Israel.

Years ago, Decker had led a homicide investigation revolving around the murders of a Los Angeles gems dealer and his wife. The case found its conclusion in Israel, specifically on the trading floor of the Diamond Bursa in Ramat Gan, Tel Aviv, so Decker had some familiarity with the industry, giving him context for comparison. Art Deco in style, the 580 building had an anteroom that was smaller than Israel’s but larger than the diamond center in downtown L.A. The lobby was more of a hallway, a feast in gray granite, and it was teeming with watchful-eyed people carrying briefcases. Metal sconces lined the dark rock walls, giving the space dots of light, but it was still dim inside. Straight ahead were clocks showing various time zones around the world. Security was tight. To the left was the ever-present metal detector, followed by a turnstile, and then a team of four gray-jacketed guards who checked personal belongings as harried people passed into the bowels of the building. To the right was a touch-screen computer directory. According to the listings, the multistoried structure seemed primarily occupied by Jews, but there were names indicating other nationalities as well-Indian, Armenian, South American, and Russian.

The private offices and exchange floor were for the trade only, so Decker knew he’d have to check in with the front desk. After a bit of a grilling, one of the gray guards consented to call up Schnitman. A minute later, Decker held a temporary pass to the eleventh floor only, with the name Classic Gems and the suite number handwritten in the spot where the badge had asked for Place of Business. He stepped into an elevator and was taken up to the eleventh floor by an operator with a gun.

Schnitman was waiting for him, a few doors away from the Classic Gems entrance, leaning against one of the walls that made up a narrow hallway. Guards were posted on either side of the foyer, in front of the emergency stairwell exits. In traditional Chasidic garb of a black coat, white shirt, and black hat, he looked older but even smaller. He was stroking his beard, eyes small behind the windows of his glasses. His expression was grave, bordering on hostile. It seemed that Decker made friends wherever he went.

“What are you doing here?” he whispered.

“Thanks for seeing me,” Decker tried out. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a couple more-”

“I do mind!” he spat out. “I cooperated with the police. I told you all I know. Now you come and bother me at my place of business. Do you know what would happen to me if my problems got back to my boss?”

Decker’s expression was flat. “Why would he assume that I was anyone other than a customer? Calm down and let’s go find a place to talk.”

Schnitman checked his watch. “I have a lunch meeting in twenty minutes. I was about to leave.”

“No problem. We can talk while we walk.”

He exhaled loudly. “Wait here. Let me get my coat.”

It took less than a minute for Schnitman to return. They rode the elevator down in silence, Decker following the young Chasid as he speed-walked out of the building, turning left, hands clasped behind his back, his coat and payot flapping in the wind. Schnitman continued to race-walk until he got to Forty-eighth; then he hooked a right.

Decker said, “If you don’t slow down, we can’t talk. Then you can’t get rid of me.”

Schnitman stopped at the green-lettered Fleet building, leaning against the glass, his eyes on his polished black shoes. In front of him was a table overloaded with baubles and clothing festooned with the American flag. The vendor was sitting next to the trinkets, his face hidden by dreadlocks and a copy of yesterday’s Post. The air rapped out horn honks and engine rumbles.

“Where are you meeting this client?” Decker asked.

“Clients. Fifty-third and Second. They’re from Japan, so my brilliant boss figured that I should take them to this Japanese kosher restaurant. It’s a good place, but it’s kind of like bringing coals to Newcastle. I’m sure they would have preferred a deli.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Decker said.

“What do you want, Lieutenant?”

“You said that Ephraim was edgy right before he was murdered. Any ideas?”

“No.”

“Tell me that again, Schnitman. This time, do it with eye contact.”

The Chasid looked away.

Decker took his arm and held him in place. “Look, Ari, I can understand your not wanting to say too much in front of the police, that maybe it’ll bring attention to your secret organization-”

“It’s not a secret organization,” he answered testily. “We’d just like to assure as much anonymity as possible. Otherwise, people don’t come and get the help they need. Believe me, it’s hard enough reaching out without cops butting into internal affairs.”

“Which is why you should help me. Right now, it’s one-on-one, and maybe I can help you. Turn me away, city police are bound to come back.”

He rubbed his hand over his face and beard. “Okay. Here’s the deal. Ephraim didn’t talk to me, but he did talk to someone in the group-his sponsor. I didn’t tell you this initially, because I just found out about it last night-at our weekly meeting. Don’t ask me for the name, I won’t give it to you. You can threaten me with exposure, embarrassment, jail time, the works, but I will not, under any circumstances, break a confidentiality by giving you a name.”

“You’re not a lawyer, doctor, or pastor-”

“I have smicha, so technically I am a rabbi. If I have to use it, I will do that.”

Decker looked around. Scores of people in dark overcoats whistling down the streets, scarves streaming behind them, waving in the breeze like banners. Harsh pewter clouds clotted on the sky’s surface like chrome plating peeling from dross metal. The atmosphere was saturated with dirt and the smell of noontime frying oil. Traffic was fierce. A sudden gust of wind whipped up under Decker’s coat. He tightened his scarf, suddenly realizing he was hungry. “What did he or she tell you?”

The Chasid stuck his gloved hands in his pockets. “That Ephraim was clearly troubled, wrestling with issues.”

“Go on.”

Schnitman said, “He couched the specifics in Halachic terms-what was the Jewish obligation of brother toward brother?”

“Interesting.” Decker nodded. “Are we talking metaphorical?”

“Exactly, Lieutenant. Usually, Jewish brotherhood isn’t blood brotherhood. It’s the larger family of klal Yisra’el-Jew to Jew. But this time, it was literal. Ephraim was having conflicts with his brother.”

“Business conflicts?”

“Yes, it was business.” Schnitman nodded. “Ephraim told his sponsor that he had talked several times to his brother about what was bothering him. But the problem didn’t stop.”

“And?”

“Ephraim was at a crossroads. Either he had to turn a blind eye or jump to the next step… telling his father about it. His soul was in turmoil.”

“Did Ephraim mention what the troubling practices were?”

“No,” Schnitman admitted. “But it doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. At the stores, Ephraim was in charge of inventory. Ephraim had told us that Chaim had taken some rather sizable loans for expansion-”

“Wait, wait, wait… what was this?”

“About two years ago. Ephraim was very excited. He felt that more stores would mean more responsibility, more chances for him to prove his mettle.” Schnitman blinked several times. “Don’t you people do your homework?”

“I just got out here last Friday. I’m not with the NYPD. Talking to you is doing my homework. Now go on.”

“That was rude. I’m sorry.”

Decker looked at his watch. “You have around six minutes. I don’t want to make you late.”

“It’s all right. It’s an old story, Lieutenant Decker. Old man works up the stores from nothing; then the son gets in with grandiose ideas to make it bigger and better. It appears that Chaim took out loans for expansion; then the recession hit. If that wasn’t bad enough, the city was hit with the terrorist attacks. Business fell drastically. So not only was the expansion put on hold, but now Chaim was facing the more pressing question-how to pay back the bank?”

“Chaim stole from the coffers,” Decker said.

The Chasid shook his head. “Chaim was in charge of the coffers. Stealing from your own store’s inventory would be like stealing from your own wallet. You need a third party to rip off.”

“Insurance fraud.”

“Exactly. You put in claims for stolen items that you’ve never owned. Or you steal your own items out of warehousing, put in claims for them, then resell them on the black market-double-dipping. The problem is that it’s all penny-ante stuff-pocket change. Plus, you do too much of it, red flags go up. When you’re in real trouble-and I don’t know if Chaim was or was not in real trouble-then it’s time to hire the professional fire starter.”

Decker regarded the Chasid. “You seem to know a lot about this kind of thing.”

“Emek Refa’im is a haven for those of us addicted to drugs. Many of us had big problems that led to drug addiction.”

“Things like guilty consciences.”

“Precisely,” Schnitman said. “Ephraim appears to be no exception. Maybe that’s what he was conflicted about, wondering if the store was going to burn down-”

“No,” Decker interrupted. “I think if Ephraim knew that Chaim was planning to burn the store down, he would have definitely gone to the old man.”

“Yes, you’re probably right about that.”

“It had to have been something else,” Decker said. “You’re sure it was business practices that were troubling him?”

“I’m not sure of anything. I’m just repeating what someone told me.” He looked upward. “I probably shouldn’t have even done that.”

“I’d like to talk to the sponsor.”

“The truth is, I don’t know where the person lives. I don’t even know the last name. Some people are like that, I’m a little more progressive, but even I play it really close to the bone. It’s not for my sake-I’m not ashamed of what I’m doing-but if it got out-my problems-my children would suffer greatly, especially in the future. It would be hard for them to find a shiddach.”

A shiddach-a proper mate set up by a matchmaker. “Sins of the father,” Decker said.

“Correct.” Schnitman held on to his hat as the wind kicked up. “But I do want to help. If you come next Tuesday, maybe the person will show up at the meeting. I’ll give you an introduction, but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“Next Tuesday, I’m back at work in Los Angeles.” He remembered what he told Donatti-sixty hours, now down to less than forty-eight hours. “But thanks. You helped confirm what I suspected.”

Schnitman regarded Decker. “You’re a good man to come all the way out here to help your fellow Jews. You’ve probably gotten nothing but grief for your efforts.”

“You’re right.”

“Moshe Rabainu got nothing but grief for his efforts as well.” Schnitman smiled. “You’re in very good company, Lieutenant.”