Murder At The Mikvah (27 page)

“Another example of how remarkable the subconscious mind is,” Lewis said. “Yours was reacting to what was happening in your life, even if you
consciously
weren’t ready to face it.”

“I guess the rash gave me an excuse to take off the ring when I wasn’t brave enough to do it on my own,” Judith said softly.

“You were young,” Lewis said, gently. “We're all young once, and ideally we become wiser and more capable with age. You strike me as an extremely intelligent and courageous woman, Judith—especially with the challenges you faced.”

Judith felt her face flush. He was so kind, maybe
too
kind, because suddenly she felt vulnerable, exposed. It wasn't a good feeling. She stood up and walked several feet away from the bench before suddenly turning to face him.

“Do you think my son's in denial?”

“Denial?” Lewis was again surprised by her sudden shift in conversation. It was the second time tonight. Both times were when he had gotten too close.

Judith nodded. “Yehuda thinks everything will be okay, that Hannah will come home,”—she snapped her fingers—“as good as new.”

Lewis took a few seconds to regroup. “And Yehuda has expressed this belief to you directly?”

“No, not directly. But his entire demeanor is… well, I just think he’s happier than he should be. It’s
odd
.”

“Perhaps he's keeping up a brave face for the kids,” Lewis suggested, knowing it was in fact true since Yehuda had told him as much at dinner.
Just like you keep your brave face on for the world, Judith.

Judith shrugged. “Well I don't know about that, but would you believe he’s recruited people across the world to pray for her!” Judith made a
tsking
sound and shook her head. “As if
prayer
will make Hannah better! It's a bit naïve don't you think?”

“In all fairness Judith,” Lewis said gently, “there
have
been studies showing a correlation between prayer and improved physical health. A few cases are so baffling, the experts have called them
miracles
.”

“Well my son can believe in miracles all he wants… but the kids… well, things don’t always work out the way we want them too. It’s a bit deceiving to believe that if we act decently, follow the rules, that we’ll get our ‘happily ever after’,” Judith continued, throwing up her arms in disgust. “Besides, if God didn’t respond to the prayers of the Jews who died in the holocaust, how can we assume he hears us at all?”

“There's nothing I'd like better than to have some one on one time with God and find out the answers,” Lewis said. “I even have a few personal questions I'd throw in…” He paused. “But getting back to your concerns about Yehuda: Let me ask you something: Do you believe Hannah is receiving the best medical care possible?”

“Yes, she's receiving excellent care,” Judith said.

Lewis nodded. “Good. Then, in my opinion, Yehuda's method of coping is perfectly appropriate. Assuming they are doing all they can do for her medically—and you just said you believe they are—the outcome is out of our hands. And
because
it’s out of our hands, a little prayer can’t hurt, and actually may help.”

Judith cocked her head playfully. “You sound like my son. How much did he give you to say this to me?”

Lewis smiled. “You and Yehuda seem very close.”

“I’d like to think so,” Judith said, settling herself back on the bench. “Even though I can't visit too often, we do speak on the phone frequently.”

“I was wondering why you and I hadn't met before,” Lewis said. “Elise has been living in Arden Station for several years now, and I usually spend one weekend a month with them.”

“That amount of visitation isn't feasible for me,” Judith said. She sounded like one of her clients.

“Why is that?”

“Work, work and more work,” Judith said, tensing up again.

“Well you managed to make it here for
this
weekend, didn’t you?” he asked gently.

“Actually it’s been the last five weekends,” she said, “since the…”

“I see,” Lewis said, sparing her from saying the word. “Then you recognize that you
are
able to find the time in certain situations. It
is
possible to modify your work schedule—when you are motivated to do so.”

Motivated?
“Motivation has nothing to do with it! No, this situation is different,” Judith said. The conversation was beginning to sound familiar and she really didn’t feel like getting into it again.

“How so?”

“I
have
to be here—for my son and grandchildren. They
need
me.”

He sighed. “I understand Judith. The belief that
they need you here on weekends
is your motivation. So my question to you is: why not make time on a more regular basis—even without a crisis—for the people you love, for sheer personal enjoyment?”

“Personal enjoyment?” she repeated. “Work is what gives me personal enjoyment.”

“What about yoga and hiking?”

“I'm not into those things anymore.”

“I thought you said you don’t have the time for those things.”

“What I meant was I don’t have the time or the
interest
.”

“Oh, I see.”

Judith detected a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Honestly, I don’t see how this is any of your business anyway.”

He held up his hands, palms out. “Judith, there’s no need to get defensive.”

“Defensive?” She pointed at herself. “Let me get this straight. You think
I'm
getting defensive?”

He sighed. “If you take an honest look at your actions, I think you'll agree that you’re employing typical avoidance strategies as a way of denying your own fears and guilt…”

Judith thrust her hands on her hips. She glared at him. Her lips were pursed tightly together, as if holding back a spew of insults just raring to break free.

“Look,” Lewis said, “all I’m suggesting is that there is a reason you work as much as you do.”

Judith’s mouth flew open. “Just who the HELL do you think you are psychoanalyzing me?” she barked. “Let me tell you something,
Doctor
—I bill $300.00 an hour! If I had any interest whatsoever in any of this psycho-
bullshit
, I would hire someone who actually had something useful to say to me!”

A nearby porch light went on; a man opened his front door and craned his neck in their direction. Lewis took a few steps forward. “Excuse us… sorry for the noise!” he shouted.

The door closed. Lewis stared silently at Judith, not sure if she was finished ranting. Her eyes were fixed on him with such rage that he could see the veins in her neck. Her fists were clenched tightly, and for a second he thought she might sock him. But she didn’t do or say anything more, so he nodded and looked at his watch. “Maybe we should head back.”

“Now, that's the most intelligent thing you've said all night!” Judith said through clenched teeth. She tilted her arm dramatically—almost hitting him in the chest with her elbow—to get a good look at her
Rolex.

 Thirty-four

“He’s
what
?” Lewis bellowed into the speakerphone of his Boston office.

“
Possessed
, Dad… they think Peter Stem is possessed by evil spirits.”

Lewis picked up the receiver, not trusting his own ears. “Possessed? Like in
The Exorcist
?”

“I guess so,” Elise said, “although there was no mention of Peter's head spinning around.”

“Why didn’t I hear about this last weekend during my visit?”

“Peter wasn’t vocal then.”

Right
. Lewis remembered now. During dinner at the Orenstein's and before the walk with Judith that had ended so badly, Yehuda had given him a brief overview of the situation. The perpetrator wasn’t talking, Yehuda said, though at the time, it was assumed to be by choice, a kind of defense strategy.

“But he’s talking now?” Lewis asked.

“Not really
talking
. It’s more like rambling incoherently.”

“Rambling incoherently doesn’t mean he’s possessed, Elise. How did you hear about this anyway? Yehuda told you?”

“No, actually it was the priest from St. Agassi—Father McCormick—who told me.”

“Father McCormick told
you?”

“Yes.”

“That’s odd. How do you know the priest?”

“We met last month.” Elise laughed. “It's not often that you see a priest and seeing eye dog walking around a police station.”

It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.
What do you get when you put a priest and a seeing eye dog in a holding cell?

“No, I suppose not,” Lewis agreed. “I had no idea he was blind.”

“He wasn’t always. He told me he has some sort of degenerative condition that worsens with age.”

“Macular degeneration?”

“Could be, Dad. Anyway, after I introduced myself, we began talking… Nice man; he spoke a lot about Peter, about how much he had come to rely on his help around the rectory. Apparently, Peter was more than just a custodian. Besides taking care of the church property, he handled a good deal of Father McCormick’s correspondence and personal affairs. I have to admit, the way he raved about the guy, it’s hard to believe he’s the same person who…”

“Elise?” Lewis cut her off suddenly.

“What is it, Dad?” she asked, somewhat startled.

“What were you doing at the police station?”

“Oh… I had to give a statement. It was all routine—not a big deal.”

“Elise?”

“Hmm?”

“
Why
did you have to give a statement to the police?”

There was no way around it. She had to tell him.

“I had to give a statement to the police because… because I was
there
… at the mikvah… the night of the attack… a couple of hours before it happened.”

He was silent for a moment. This was another thing she failed to mention during his visit.

“
You
were at the
mikvah
?”

“Yes.”

“I see.”

Elise knew what he sounded like when he was hurt and this was it. She also had a fairly good idea what he was thinking.
You could have been killed. You moved here, became more religious, and almost got yourself killed.
Exactly the sentiments she hoped to avoid by not bringing it up. She listened to the sound of her father taking deep breaths through his nose. It was something he did when he was trying to remain calm.

“So, what is Peter saying—or
rambling
?” Lewis asked after what seemed an eternity.

Elise relaxed. He was dropping the subject altogether.
“I don’t know, Dad, but I assume it’s demonic sounding.”

“It’s astonishing what a difference a few days makes,” Lewis said. “I can only imagine what Yehuda Orenstein thinks of all this craziness.”

“Well Dad, this may come as a surprise, but he’s not ruling it out.”

“What? You’re kidding.”

“No I’m not. He says it’s a possibility—a remote one, but still a possibility. Believe it or not, Judaism believes in possession too.”

“I had no idea,” Lewis said.

“I was surprised too.”

“And?” Lewis asked eagerly, “What did Yehuda say about the matter exactly?”

“He said it’s called
dibbuk,
”
Elise said
,
“same general concept as the Catholic Church—basically it’s that negative spiritual forces attach themselves to the human soul. You’ve heard of the Ba’al Shem Tov, right?”

“He was a Jewish sage, I believe.”

“Right. He lived during the 17
^th
century,” Elise said. “Anyway, he believed that when there was some sort of spiritual vacuum, it left a person open to this kind of thing—to these forces taking hold.”

“Did he believe in performing exorcisms too?” Lewis asked wryly. He was not so impressed with this sage.

“No, actually he believed in simply redirecting the possessed person’s behavior to more constructive activities. He thought this would ward off the evil spirits.”

Lewis laughed. “Sounds familiar—a bit like behavior modification.”

“You’re the expert, Dad.”

“And they say Freud was the father of psychotherapy,” Lewis said, still amused. “It looks like the
Bal Shem Tov
had him beat by more than a hundred years!”

“They’re going to do one,” Elise said suddenly. She hated to dampen her father's spirits. He was certainly getting a kick out of this conversation, and she was relieved that his mind was on something other than her brush with death.

Lewis stopped laughing. “They're going to do
what
?”

“An exorcism. A colleague of Father McCormick’s wants it done.”

“Dad, are you still there?”

“Yes, I’m here. Tell me Elise, has Peter been evaluated?” Lewis had regrouped and was back in professional mode.

“Yes, well, that's what I was getting at; Peter
was
evaluated, but only to determine his competence to stand trial,” Elise said. “By the way, the court appointed doctor said he was
not
—
competent
, that is. But beyond that, there has never been a formal psychiatric evaluation, and that's the main reason Father McCormick called me. He wants to see that it happens. In fact, he wants
you
to be the one to evaluate Peter.”

“But Elise…”

“He knows your reputation, Dad. He even mentioned your work with the Boston Diocese.”

“That was over six years ago, Elise,” Lewis said. “Besides I wasn’t really working
with
the church, it was more of an
association
. An association by default, I might add. The court ordered them to pay the costs of my counseling services.”

“Well, apparently, Father McCormick doesn't have a problem with it,” Elise continued. “He's also familiar with your work involving dissociative states. Bottom line, Dad, is he thinks you're the best person to look at Peter. He has some concerns.”

“As well he should!” Lewis said, with more than a hint of agitation in his voice. “Performing an exorcism on a mentally unstable individual is likely to do irreparable damage; that I am certain of.”

“I wanted to give you a heads up before he called. I wasn’t sure if you would be uncomfortable…”

“Uncomfortable?” Lewis repeated. “Let me be clear, Elise; notwithstanding the horrendous events that led to his incarceration, I am fully capable,
as always
, of putting aside my personal feelings in order to be of professional service.”