Day of Atonement (11 page)

Just as he and Ezra were about to leave, Ezra lurched forward. Shimon looped his arms around him as Jonathan grabbed a chair. Together, they eased their brother into a sitting position. His mother and sisters served him water, fanned his face. After he caught his breath, Ezra told everyone that it was simply a bad case of nerves, suddenly his knees had buckled. Decker told him he’d been under an ex
traordinary amount of stress, adding that he’d been holding up very well.

“Maybe it would be better if I went with Akiva,” Shimon said to Ezra.

“I’ll go,” Jonathan said.

“Why don’t you both go?” Frieda Levine said.

Decker forced himself to look at her. “Too many people.”

“Of course,” Frieda said. “You know best.”

Those eyes!
They begged his forgiveness, pleaded with him for help. Goddamn her eyes. They drew him under like a riptide.

Decker focused in on his watch. “I’ll take Shimon along. No offense to you, Jonathan, but Shimon is better trusted in the community.”

Jonathan clasped his hands together. “Whatever you say, boss.”

The way he said it, Decker had to smile.

When he and Shimon were out of the house, Shimon asked what his function would be other than to introduce him. Decker explained that he wanted to talk to the kids in private. Shimon was to reassure the families while he interviewed their children. Since he was a stranger, parents might feel skittish allowing him to be alone with their progeny. Shimon’s job was to tell everyone what a great guy he was.

“And if the parents want to come with you?” Shimon asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to avoid,” Decker said. “I can get kids to tell me things they won’t dare admit in front of their parents.”

“My kids tell you our deep dark secrets?” Shimon asked.

He had tried to keep his voice light, but Decker knew there was something behind it. Shimon was worried about what his children had told him yesterday, what kind of impression they had made. The truth was, they had been very nice and well-behaved.

Decker said, “Your oldest told me you do funny things with a whip and a chain.”

Shimon said, “He forgot the handcuffs.”

Decker laughed.

The day was cool, but the sun was out. Wedges of bright light shone upon the rows of townhouses, turning the red brick into metallic copper. They had waited a good hour after services were over, wanting to be sure most people had settled down for the big holiday afternoon meal. At three o’clock, they were the only ones on the street, their shoes echoing against the blinding white sidewalk.

Decker stuck his hands in his pockets and said, “Your kids are great.”

Shimon tried to stifle a smile, but couldn’t. “Thanks. I like them.”

“The boys don’t seem to be close to their cousin.”

“To Noam?” Shimon said. “No, they’re not. They get along well with Ezra’s other boys, and my second son and Ezra’s oldest learn together. But Noam? He’s a strange boy.”

“In what way?” Decker asked.

Shimon threw up his hands. “It’s terrible I should be telling you this right before Yom Kippur, but maybe it’s important.”

“Tell me.”

“He’s a sneak,” Shimon said. “My wife doesn’t like having him over because he skulks around the house, rummages through drawers. It seems harmless enough, but most children—relatives or not—just don’t behave that way.”

“Did he ever steal from you?” Decker asked.

Shimon turned red.

“What did he steal?” Decker inquired.

“Nothing big,” Shimon explained. “Nothing valuable.” He collected his thoughts. “My daughter Shuli was going through a kind of rebellious stage. She’d just turned fourteen. You have a teenage daughter, you know how they can be.”

“Moody,” Decker said.

“Very moody,” Shimon said. “Very cranky. Easily bored. Not a lot of energy. My wife tells me it’s normal. So…” He
shrugged. “Anyway, I made a deal with Shuli. She—of all my children—seems the most preoccupied by the craziness of the outside world. She likes makeup, she likes clothes, she thinks she’s a movie star…I don’t know. Anyway, I told her if she did more housework and got along better with her mother and brothers and sisters, I’d buy her
People
magazine for a year. To you, this may sound stupid—”

“I understand, Shimon.”

“The people around here just don’t read that sort of thing—”

“I understand,” Decker repeated.

“Anyway, it worked,” Shimon said. “Shuli is like a different child and doesn’t seem to be harmed by the exposure. I’m happy, she’s happy.

“Well, about six months ago, my wife went in to clean Shuli’s room and caught Noam there. The boy, according to her, scampered out like a little mouse. My wife didn’t think too much of it—she was annoyed—but that was typical behavior for Noam. When Shuli came home later in the day, she was all up in arms, mad at me, burst into tears. ‘What? What?’ I asked her. She was upset because it was
People
magazine day and we forgot to buy her the precious magazine. My wife insisted she had purchased the magazine, but suddenly she remembered that Noam had stuffed something in his jacket when she walked in. We figured he must have stolen the magazine.”

Decker waited for more.

“That’s the whole story,” Shimon said.

“And that’s the only thing he has taken from you as far as you know.”

“As far as we know, yes, and that was awhile ago.” Shimon paused. “You know, I almost suggested to Ezra that he buy Noam the magazine. But Ezra’s a little more strict than I am. And, I’m ashamed to admit it, I didn’t want Ezra to know that I buy the magazine for Shuli. Around here, we pay way too much attention to what others think.”

Decker patted him on the back. “Don’t we all, Shim.”

“Really?” Shimon shrugged. “I’ve lived here all my life, Akiva. Every day I carpool with men I grew up with. We go over the bridge together, I go to work, then we go home together. I have a silver business. I sell wholesale to major retailers. Most of my work is selling over the phone. I rarely see my buyers face-to-face after I’ve made my initial contacts. I don’t have a good idea what others do, what others think.”

“And that doesn’t bother you?” Decker asked.

“Not when I see what kind of world they’ve created for themselves—girls pregnant and on drugs at ten years old. Young boys murdering each other with the crazy gangs—they even murder their
teachers
.” He shook his head. “I don’t want any part of that world.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“Of course,” Shimon said, “I’m sure all of the world isn’t like that.”

“You’re talking to a cop,” Decker said. “I don’t see a very accurate picture of the world, either.”

“And that’s why you became religious,
nu?
” Shimon said.

Decker gave him a shrug.

Shimon smiled. “Maybe Rina had a little to do with it?”

“A little,” Decker said.

Shimon pointed to a small brick townhouse. The front porch was filled with toys and enclosed by storm glass. “That’s our first stop. You said you wanted to speak with Ephraim and Moshe Greitzman. I know the father very well. I’ll do the talking.”

“Great.”

Shimon opened the porch door and knocked on a locked screen. The front door was wide open, pouring out heat and loud conversation. The little girl who came to the threshold was five or six, had a round face and ketchup stains on her chin and on her new dress. Her hair was braided tightly, which made her cheeks look even chubbier.

“Malkie, is your abba home?” Shimon asked her.

The little girl shouted the word “Abba.” A man around forty unlocked the screen and stepped outside. He had a thick middle and a thick heavy beard.

“Shim,” he said and shook his hand.

“Danny,” Shimon said. “This is Rina Lazarus’s—uh—Rina’s new
chassan
, Akiva.”

“Shana tova umitukah. Mazel tov.”
Danny stuck out his hand. “We met yesterday. You were here with Yonasan.”

Decker nodded.

“So what?” Danny asked Shimon. “Anything?”

Shimon shook his head.

“Ach,” Danny said. “A rotten thing. Tell Ezra we prayed for him today.”

“I will,” Shimon said. “Danny…Akiva is a policeman—a detective. He’s been wonderful to us, to the family.”

There was an awkward pause.

Shimon said, “He wants to talk to Ephraim and Moshe about this thing.”

Danny’s eyes went from Shimon’s to Decker’s and back to Shimon’s.

“He needs to talk to them in private,” Shimon said.

“My sons had nothing to do with this terrible thing,” Danny said.

Shimon threw his arm around Danny. “Of course not. We’re just going through the motions. I’m doing it for Ezra. Please, the boy is my nephew. Ezra and Breina are worried sick. My mother and father are not well. Let him do whatever he needs to do.”

Danny exhaled, looked confused. “Why in private?”

“Just standard procedure,” Decker said. “That’s the way I’m used to talking to kids.”

“What are you going to ask them?” Danny said.

Decker said, “It’ll probably take only a few minutes.”

Shimon said, “Danny, we have four other houses to go to and as the time passes, things look worse. Please.”

Again, Danny exhaled. “Where do you want to talk to them?”

“Their rooms are fine,” Decker said. “Or I’ll just walk around the block with them if you want it out in the open—”

“No, no, no,” Danny said. “Go upstairs in the boys’ room. I don’t want the neighbors to see you interrogating my sons.”

“Believe me,” Decker said, “it’s not an interrogation. Very simple. In and out.”

“Help us out,” Shimon said.

“Of course.” Danny stepped aside, let them cross the threshold.

The household was full of guests, full of kids. Danny took his wife aside and told her what they wanted. She didn’t seem pleased by the request, but Danny had made up his mind and that was that. He told his wife to lead Decker and the boys upstairs. As Decker was climbing the steps, he noticed how easily Shimon had integrated himself into the table conversation. Smiling, talking—he seemed to know everyone. The man was so at home, Decker half expected him to take his shoes off.

Outgoing. So unlike himself. Would he have ended up this friendly had he lived here all his life?

Probably not, because he, like Jonathan, wouldn’t have lasted in this insular environment. He was a big man—demanded open spaces, unspoiled land. The first thing he’d done after his divorce was buy ranch land out in Tujunga.

They reached the top of the stairs. Danny’s wife was petite and blond, her head stopping at the middle of Decker’s bicep. The boys were small as well, but had some of their father’s bulk. They looked alike, both with sandy-colored hair, fair cheeks, full lips, and cleft chins. But one had light eyes, the other, irises as dark as coal. They reminded Decker of Chip and Dale.

The wife said, “Can I wait outside the doorway?”

“It’s better if you wait downstairs,” Decker said. He put on his professional smile. “Your guests might need you.”

“Yes, you’re right,” the woman said. She hurried downstairs.

Decker gently ushered the boys inside their room and closed the door behind him.

In this community, pinups of bikinied models and rock stars were taboo. But the local mores hadn’t banned professional sports. The walls were plastered with posters of the Mets, the Yankees, the Knicks, and the Giants. Larger-than-life figures leaping into the air for impossible catches, soaring through the sky to make a slam dunk, ramming through piles of meat to make a touchdown. The room was small and, with the posters as an audience, the floor space seemed like a tiny stage. The beds abutted one another, the desk was a pyramid of papers. A computer had been stuffed into a closet, resting on cinder blocks. Clothes were all over the place. A square grated window was open, airing out a stale, unwashed smell.

Decker motioned the boys to sit on their beds. He leaned against the wall, sandwiched between Don Mattingly and Steve Sax. He pointed to Sax and said, “He was one of ours.”

The boys smiled.

“We were sorry to see him go,” Decker said.

The light-eyed boy said, “We were sorry to let the Dodgers go.”

Decker smiled. “You guys didn’t deserve the Dodgers. You treated them like bums.”

“From their stats,” the dark-eyed boy said, “they played like bums.”

“They’ve earned their keep in L.A.,” Decker said.

The dark-eyed boy said, “That’s for sure.”

It came out:
Datsfohshua
.

Decker said, “Which one’s Moshe?”

The light-eyed boy raised his hand. He looked to be around fourteen. The dark-eyed one, Ephraim, was maybe a year or two younger. Decker said, “You know who I am?”

“Sure,” Moshe said. “You’re Shmuli and Yonkie’s stepdad. The cop.”

Decker smiled.

“Mrs. Lazarus’s husband,” Ephraim said. He looked at Decker. “I guess she isn’t Mrs. Lazarus anymore.”

Decker laughed.

“She’s very nice,” Moshe said.

“Thank you.”

“Yes, she’s very nice,” Ephraim agreed.

There was a pregnant pause, the obvious not being said.

She’s very pretty
.

He wondered how many boys had a crush on her?

Moshe said, “Shmuli’s in my
shiur
.”

Sammy was twelve; how could he be in this kid’s class? Then Decker remembered that the
shiurim
—lessons in Jewish studies—weren’t based on age but on ability.

Decker said, “Is Noam in your
shiur
too?”

The boys laughed nervously. Moshe said, “Noam sits with us, but in learning he’s behind Yonkie.”

“He’s real dumb,” Ephraim said.

“He’s not dumb,” Moshe said.

“He’s dumb,” Ephraim repeated.

“He’s not dumb,” Moshe insisted. “He’s just a cut-up. When he had to learn his bar mitzvah
parashá
, he put it off until the last minute. Then he memorized the whole thing in three months. He pulled it off and did
Musaf
, too. And he did a decent job. He’s not dumb.”

“Well, he acts dumb,” Ephraim said.

“
That
is true,” Moshe said. He turned to Decker and said, “You haven’t found him, huh?”