Stone Kiss

5

The number left on Decker’s cell phone belonged to Detective Mick Novack of the two-eight-the 28th Precinct. The conversation consisted of a five-minute recap, Decker explaining who he was and why he was here.

Novack said, “I just got all the paperwork I needed for searchin’ the vic’s apartment. Super’s gonna meet me there with the key, along with someone from the six-three. Betcha they’ll send Stan Gindi. The apartment’s in Flatbush. Wanna meet me there?”

“Sounds good. Where’s Flatbush?”

Dead space over the phone. Then Novack said, “It’s in Brooklyn. You heard of Brooklyn?”

“We have Brooklyn Bagel Company in Los Angeles.”

“Great. I’m working with a greener. Where are you calling from?”

“Quinton.”

“Quinton? What the hell you doing in Quinton?”

“I’ve just come from a visit with the vic’s family-his brother.”

“That’s right. So you’re upstate. You’ll still probably get there faster than me. I’m all the way uptown-Amsterdam and one sixty-two. Traffic’s a killer. Freaky Friday.” He gave Decker the address. “I don’t suppose you know how to get there… to Flatbush.”

“Nope. But my brother’s driving. He knows the place. He’s the vic’s brother-in-law.”

“The rabbi. Yeah, we talked to him yesterday. Seems like a nice guy. Except I heard he just hired a mouthpiece-Hershfield of all people.”

“That was on my advice. I told my brother to hire the best defense attorney around.”

“Your advice? What? You don’t trust us out here? C’mon. All of America loves New York’s finest.”

“Indeed they do. It’s nothing like that. I don’t know what’s going on. The family needs to be protected.”

“Whose side are you on?”

“The side of truth, justice, and the American way.”

“Another one from L.A. who thinks he’s Superman. I’ll give you the address. Got pencil and paper?”

“Yep.”

“A real pencil and paper?”

Decker paused. There was hostility in the man’s voice, but that was to be expected. They weren’t exactly adversaries, but right now, they weren’t colleagues, either. “Last time I checked they weren’t figments of my imagination.”

“It’s not a stupid question even though it seems like a stupid question. All you jokers from L.A. got these PalmPilots. One day, you’re gonna be caught in a thunderstorm and all your data’s gonna be fried to a crisp.”

The first detective whom Decker met was five-ten, stick-skinny, and bald with round brown eyes and a big red mustache. He wore a gray suit with a white shirt and a black tie. That was Gindi. Novack was a bit taller-around six feet and completely square. He had a broken boxer’s nose, wide, thick cheeks, and thick lips. His shoe polish-black hair was combed straight back revealing a dune’s worth of forehead, a deep brow, and hooded midnight blue eyes. His suit was dark blue, his shirt was white, and his tie was a dizzy pattern of thin red and blue stripes.

“I’m the resident Jewish detective for uptown,” Novack explained. “Anytime one of the Chasids or Israelis or Jews gets whacked in Manhattanville or its environs, it’s either me, or Marc Greenbaum, or Alan Josephs. They like a Jew for the Jews, just like they like a black to deal with the blacks, or a Puerto Rican with Puerto Ricans. Sometimes they might assign a Cuban to the Doms uptown. We have several Koreans with Koreans, and a couple of Taiwanese. We got a separate guy for Haitians. Over in Brooklyn, if it’s a Jew, it’s Steve Gold, or Ken Geraldnick, or Stan here. Am I right about this?”

“You are right,” Gindi concurred. “Not that I think that’s bad.”

“I didn’t say it was bad.”

Gindi said, “We got quite a few Jewish cops in Brooklyn. I think more in Brooklyn than in the city. Course we got a high concentration of Jews in Brooklyn. Not so many where you are, Mick.”

“No, not so many, although all the West Side Jews keep on pushing the limits farther north. Then you go all the way north, you got the ones in Wash Heights. That’s why I was there this morning.”

“What happened this morning?” Gindi asked.

“Some discount jewelry store in my area was hit. The owner was a Chasid-took some lead in the ass of all places. Guy lives in Wash Heights. He won’t be making it to minyan tonight, but it coulda been lots worse.”

They were standing in front of a six-story flat-faced brick building that had been overlaid with soot. The sky’s cloud cover had thinned, but the air was still cold and acrid. The side street that Ephraim had called home was narrow and filled with potholes. The sidewalks were cracked with a red, gritty slush leaking from the crevices. Next to the building was a small dirt lot containing lots of garbage and several bare-branched saplings.

“What kind of area is this?” Decker asked. “Working class?”

“This particular area, yeah. Very Jewish, very religious. Not where his people live.” Novack cocked a finger in Gindi’s direction. “This guy here is Syrian. Flatbush has lots of Syrian Jews. They all got these strange names-Zolta, Dweck, Pardo, Bada, Adjini.”

“Flatbush has all sorts of Jews.”

“Yeah, but the Syrians… they know how to live, right?”

“You said it, Micky!”

Novack looked at his watch. “Jeez. Twelve-thirty. Where’s the super?”

“I have a key,” Jonathan announced.

“You’ve got a key?” Novack repeated.

“Yes, I have a key.”

“You mind opening up?” Gindi asked.

“Is that okay?” he asked Decker.

Decker said, “He has all the paperwork, Jon. You’re just speeding things along.”

“Then I’ll open up.”

Jonathan brought them to the building’s elevator, which barely contained the body mass let alone the weight. It moved in jerks and jumps, as slow as a slug. Ephraim lived down a dimly lit hallway, wafting with the faint odor of garbage and urine. His unit was number four, and the doorjamb had the requisite mezuzah. As the detectives pulled out their gloves, so did Decker, his still in the protective wrapping with the official LAPD seal.

“Whaddaya doing?” Novack asked. “Lieutenant or no lieutenant, you’re still a guest here. That means you and the rabbi watch.”

“I had no intention of touching anything,” Decker lied. “I’m just a careful man. Last thing we want to do is screw something up accidentally. Let’s go.”

“I sure hope you mean that,” Novack said.

“Detective, you’re being nice to me,” Decker said. “I appreciate it.”

Novack hesitated, then took the key from Jonathan and opened the door. As Jonathan walked across the threshold, he started to bring his fingers toward the mezuzah. Decker stopped him, and Novack caught it, nodding his thanks. Score a couple of brownie points for the greener from L.A.

Ephraim lived in a tiny one-bedroom, almost devoid of furniture. The living room area had a five-foot shopworn sofa, upholstered in faded green chenille. There was a small coffee table, its top made of plastic laminate designed to look like wood. It was peeling from age. On the table was a stack of magazines: Time on top, the others obscured. A mug sat to one side, the remaining coffee inside congealed and cold. Underneath the table was a shelf. There Decker saw a Jewish prayer book, a Jewish bible, and several works by Rav Menachem Kaplan. One was entitled The Jewish Soul, and the other was Saving the Jewish Soul. Across from the couch were two mismatched chairs pushed against the back wall, a pole lamp between them.

The dining area contained a square table with the top fashioned in ruby-colored linoleum that was meant to approximate marble; the legs were made from tubular steel. Four matching tubular steel chairs were placed around the table, the seats done in oxblood Naugahyde. It was probably an original 1950s table, and probably worth more than its original sale price.

Gindi was busy looking through the kitchen cabinets. Not too many of those, since the kitchen was the size of a closet. Decker could see a tiny refrigerator and a hot plate. Jonathan stood in the center of the living room, hands in pockets, a woebegone expression in his eyes. Decker walked over to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s so sad.”

“I know.”

“He was doing better, Akiva. He really was.”

“This was doing better?”

“A couple of years ago, he was almost living on the streets.”

“What saved him?”

“We gave him money, so did his father.”

“Chaim?”

“Chaim…” Jonathan shrugged. “Chaim has seven kids. He keeps things afloat, but one can hardly be critical if he was a bit cautious with his money.”

“Of course.”

“Ephraim used to thank us profusely for not giving up on him. We took him in for more meals than I can remember. We tried to offer as much as we could while still maintaining some privacy. I know his father was always there.” He shook his head. “God only knows what happened in that hotel room.”

“How did he kick his drug habit?”

“I don’t know. He didn’t talk about that aspect of his life.” Jonathan sighed. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to step out and grab a cup of coffee. I spotted a café down the block. This is just too depressing.”

Novack stepped into the room. “Leaving, Rabbi?”

“Nothing for me to do. I feel like I’m in the way.”

“You look tired, Rabbi. I can cart this guy around.” A thumb crooked in Decker’s direction. “He’s probably gonna want to see the crime scene, right?”

“That would be helpful,” Decker said.

“Why don’t you go home and see your family-or your congregation.”

“Maybe the lieutenant needs me for something.” Jonathan’s voice was so dispirited.

“I think Detective Novack is right,” Decker said. “The only thing I’ll need you to do is take me back to Quinton. I’d like to talk to Shayndie’s mom.” He turned to Novack. “Unless you want to come with me.”

“I would except I have some pressing business in the afternoon. Besides, I’ve already talked to her-to both the parents.” A meaningful pause. “If you find out anything-”

“Absolutely. I’ll tell you right away.”

“I feel bad about leaving you, Akiva,” Jonathan said.

“Tell you the truth, Jon, I think it would be easier.”

“And we’re coming into the city anyway,” Novack said. “You know where the crime scene is? A hundred thirty-four between Broadway and Amsterdam.”

“Yes, I know.” Jonathan wiped moisture from his eyes. “It’s not too far from my shul.”

“Where’s your shul?”

“One hundred seventeen between Morningside and St. Nick. Just across the park from Columbia.”

“You’re a hop, skip, and a jump from the two-eight. I’ll drop him off at your synagogue. It’s not a problem.”

“You’re being very kind.” Jonathan sounded so tired.

“Go rest, Rabbi,” Novack said. “I’m sure a lot of people depend on you.”

“You’re very right, Detective.”

Decker walked his brother to the door and let him out. “I’ll call you in a couple of hours.”

As soon as he left, Novack said, “Poor guy. First he’s got a fuck-up brother-in-law. Then the relatives talked him into draggin’ you into it. Now he’s feelin’ pretty bad about that.”

That about summed it up.

Novack said, “The parents… they weren’t too helpful. For now, I’m saying it’s because they were overwrought. But I’m keeping my opinions open, know what I’m saying?”

“I hear you.”

“These kind of things. You always look to the family. I guess I don’t have to tell you that.”

“That’s why I told them to hire a lawyer.”

“Yeah, it was good advice.” He turned his head to the kitchen. “Yo, Stan the Man! Wanna see what I found in the bedroom?”

The bald man closed the last of the kitchen cupboards. “I hope it’s more interesting than roaches. Cause I already seen a lot of those.”

“What did you find?” Decker asked.

“Magazines. And not the coffee-table kind.”

“Bad?”

“Legitimate stuff, at least. No kids or animals from what I could tell.”

“Male?” Gindi asked.

“No, female.”

Decker looked at Ephraim’s coffee table. “I’m going to move Time off the pile of magazines. All right?”

“Sure.”

Decker scooted the weekly periodical onto the tabletop, exposing a copy of The New Yorker and a stapled set of loose-leaf papers with EMEK REFA’IM on the blue cover page. He turned to Novack. “Can I pick this up?”

Novack shrugged. “You’re gloved.”

Decker thumbed through the stapled papers.

“What is it?” Novack asked. “Some homemade porno job?”

“Not with the words ‘Emek Refa’im’ on it,” Gindi said.

Decker perused the printed words. “What does it mean?”

“Emek Refa’im? ‘Emek’ is a valley. I think ‘refa’im’ is from ‘refuah’-”

“To heal,” Decker said.

“Yeah,” Gindi said. “Valley of healing.”

“That would make sense,” Decker said. “This looks like a handout for Jewish drug addicts.”

“Let me see that,” Novack said.

Decker gave him the packet. “Looks to me like the organization has several chapters with their own kind of twelve-step programs. There are addresses in the back.”

Novack thumbed through the pages. “I should pay these guys a visit. Wonder when they meet?”

“Today’s Friday, so it’s a safe bet they’re not meeting tonight,” Decker said.

“That is true,” Novack said.

“How about tomorrow night?” Gindi said. “Motzei Shabbos? Everyone filled with spirituality from the holy day.”

“Or stress,” Decker said. “When you’re an addict and forced to interact with family, I bet you’re pretty tense.”

“Now, that’s a very good point.” Novack placed the magazine in an evidence bag. “I’ll give these jokers a call, see if Ephraim was associated with any of these chapters. If they meet tomorrow night, you want to come with me and pay them a visit?”

“That would be great,” Decker answered.

“Wanna see the X-rated stuff?” Novack called out.

“Twist my arm,” Gindi answered.

Decker’s toolshed was bigger than the bedroom. The trio could barely fit without bodily contact. There was an unmade twin bed crammed against the wall and a single nightstand on which rested a phone, an alarm clock, and one framed picture-a Chasidic man standing next to, but not touching, a young girl of about fourteen. Decker stared at the picture.

“May I?”

Novack shrugged.

Decker picked up the framed picture, studying the faces. The girl was far from beautiful. Her nose was large and drooping, her cheeks still holding some baby fat. But her eyes-dark and round-shone with a mischievous gleam. She wore a long-sleeved pink shirt and a long denim skirt. Her hair was pulled back, probably braided. Her lips were shaped in a small, mysterious smile. The man seemed to be around forty, dressed in typical black-suited Chasidic garb. He was bearded with side locks, his head covered with the ubiquitous black hat. His smile was wide, the folds at the corners of his eyes crinkling with happiness. He showed the picture to Novack. “Is that Shayndie?”

“Hard to tell from such a small image, but I think so.”

“They gave you a bigger image?”

“Yeah, a bat mitzvah photo. I had it photocopied yesterday evening, and this morning we’ve been passing it around the crime-scene area. That’s what I was doing when you called. She was wearing this pink fluffy dress. She looked like a tuft of cotton candy. She also looked way younger than thirteen.”

“She was probably twelve,” Decker said. “Orthodox girls have their bat mitzvah ceremony at twelve, not thirteen.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Novack nodded.

Decker stared at the photo. “She was older than twelve in this picture. Still fresh-faced. God, what a terrible thing! Can I keep this?”

“I’m bending rules.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Decker pocketed the picture. Again he scanned the room. A fourteen-inch TV sat on several cinder blocks at the foot of the bed. Novack told them that he had found the two boxes underneath the bed-one held dog-eared paperback fiction, the other held standard porno magazines.

Decker bent down and sniffed the sheets.

Novack said, “I didn’t smell any jizz, if that’s what you’re doing. But I don’t need to bag the sheets. If we find the girl and she’s”-he made circles with his hand-“if she’s got stuff in her, I got plenty of tubes of humors from the stiff to do DNA testing.”

Gindi was scanning the adult magazines. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Except that this guy was supposedly a holy roller. But even them having stuff like this isn’t out of the ordinary. You go talk to anyone in the nine-oh. Right as the Chasids cross the bridge from the city into Williamsburg, they’ve got these hookers lined up, waiting to ream out their pipes. Okay, so no one’s perfect. But if that ain’t bad enough, they have a real elitist attitude. If you’re not one of them, you don’t count. That’s why it’s okay to skirt the law, because anything but their laws don’t apply to them.”

Novack held up his hands and dropped them to his sides. “It’s hard to believe that these are my people. Grandpa sacrificed everything just to make it over here, and these yutzes are too blind to notice what real freedom is.”

“Did you find anything to suggest that the vic was molesting the girl?” Decker asked.

“Not so far,” Novack said. “No dirty pictures of the kid, if that’s what you mean.”

Decker nodded. “Any camera equipment or videos?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you have a look in her room yesterday?”

“No, I haven’t been out to the house,” Novack said. “I only talked to the parents at the precinct. Like I told you before, I’m not saying they’re hiding something. Maybe they just find it hard to relate to anyone outside their chevrah.”

Decker knew that chevrah meant their circle of friends. “Could be.”

“That’s why, you being here, it’s a good thing for me if you’re legit. You probably could get insider’s info.”

“I’m probably closer than you are, but I’m far from one of them.” Again Decker regarded the picture. Just an uncle trying to do a good deed for a niece? Or a man obsessed with a young girl? “Do you think he brought her here?”

Gindi broke in. “You gotta know where you are, Lieutenant. This is a very religious neighborhood. People talk. How long before it would get around that a religious man is bringing a girl up to his apartment-let alone a girl child. Besides statutory rape being illegal, it’s not tzneosdik.”

Tzneos meant modesty. Decker said, “Maybe it did get back to the brother.”

“Nah.” Gindi shook his head. “If he was doing something bad to her, it wouldn’t be here in home territory.”

Novack came back from a closet holding a box. “Lookie here.”

“Whaddaya got, Micky?”

“Looks like work-related stuff.” Novack plopped the box on the floor and picked up some random pages. “Lists of items, prices, and bar codes from Lieber’s Electronics.”

Decker said, “Ephraim worked in the family business.”

“That’s what they told me.” Novack shuffled through the pages. “The old man told me Ephraim did whatever they needed him to do. And when he wasn’t doing that, he worked inventory. And from the looks of it, he had a pretty good idea of what was going in and out of the stores.”

Gindi tapped his toe. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that they’d put a man with a drug problem in charge of inventory? You know in business, there’s always a certain amount of theft. It’s like dangling a carrot.”

Novack said, “Help yourself as long as you don’t take too much?”

“Exactly.”

Decker broke in. “If they thought he was really a risk, would they have trusted him in any facet of the business? Maybe the old man would, but a brother?” He shook his head. “Betcha Chaim was watching him like a hawk.”

“Well, to me, it’s still an angle,” Gindi said.

“Hey, this is what I do with my people in La-La Land. We throw out ideas and see what sticks.”

“Here too, and you made a good point.” Novack rummaged through the papers. “Just more of the same. I’m gonna bag all this and go through this at my desk, slowly and methodically. Maybe there’re other things that I’m missing.”

“Like what?” Gindi asked.

“Like a bankbook for starters. Guy musta had a checking account.”

Decker said, “It could be that if he was part of one of those twelve-step programs, he didn’t have a checkbook or credit cards. He might have dealt only with cash.”

“Yeah, that’s a point,” Gindi stated. “Lots of addicts have had credit problems and have been caught bouncing or kiting checks.”

“Then that would make our life a little harder,” Novack said. “No paper trail.”

“Maybe he had some credit cards in the past,” Decker said.

Novack folded the ends of the box and began to tape the edges. “I still think we should think about theft within the family business. Maybe Ephraim was paying off old drug debts. Maybe he didn’t pay them off fast enough.”

“And the girl?” Gindi said.

Novack sighed. “She’s a big problem.”

“Poor parents,” Gindi said.

“Poor girl,” Decker said.