Читать книгу Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 28

A full moon: the perfect topper to a freaky day. Decker stared out the window, half expecting to see werewolves or vampire bats. But instead, he played witness to a silvery disc drifting through diaphanous clouds, to silhouetted birch branches swaying in the summer wind. Transfixed by the spectacle, he hadn’t even realized the rabbi had come in until he felt a gentle pat on his shoulder.

Rav Schulman was well into his seventies, and for the first time, Decker noticed a slight stooping of the old man’s shoulders. The hunching had cut a couple of inches from the rav’s height, putting him at around five-ten. Most of his face was covered by a beard that was more white than gray and what skin did show was creased and mottled with liver spots. But his coffee-colored eyes were as radiant as ever. As usual, he was dressed in a starched white shirt, a black suit that hung a little too loosely on his frame, a black silk tie, and an ebony homburg. The old man leaned against the windowsill, eyes focused on nature’s snapshot.

“Beautiful, nu?”

“Yes, it is,” Decker answered.

“Peaceful.” Rabbi Schulman faced Decker. “So unlike your day from what I hear.”

Decker exhaled slowly. “I must have been more affected than I realized for Rina to call you. And here I was thinking I was maintaining perfectly …”

The rabbi smiled. “Are you all right, Akiva?”

“Physically?”

“Physically … emotionally.”

“I’m fine.”

The old man absorbed his student’s words, weighing their veracity for just a moment. Then he pointed to a chair, offering Decker a seat. Schulman eased into a leather chair, and rested his elbows on his sprawling desktop. Clasping his hands, he touched his lips to his fingers and waited.

Haltingly, Decker related the details of the morning’s ordeal. As he spoke, he began to feel lighter of weight, his emotions releasing in slow steady leaks rather than sudden bursts. He was sheepish about using the rabbi as a spiritual springboard. But the old man seemed used to it.

Afterward, Schulman said, “It was a fluke, this horse going crazy?”

“No, Rabbi, the horse was drugged.”

The old man pondered the statement. “Someone tried to kill this lady using a horse?”

“Maybe just frighten her. But who knows?”

“Terrible,” Schulman said. “Truly terrible.”

“If that’s what happened, yes, it is.”

The old man seemed a shade paler than before. Decker quickly added, “She’s fine, Rabbi. Sure she was shaken, but she’s fine.”

“Did you bench gomel?” the old man asked.

Gomel—thanks to God for delivering a person from harm. Decker had not only said it, he had said it with feeling.

“Yes, though technically, I guess she was the one who should have done the praying.” He added under his breath, “Not that I can imagine her praying.”

Schulman said, “She’s an atheist?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “She’s more like a New Ager. Do you know what that is?”

“It’s a person who worships chandeliers.”

Decker smiled. “Crystals, Rabbi. Not chandeliers.”

“There’s a difference?” Schulman waved his hands in the air. “It’s all avodah zorah—idol worship.”

Easily categorized, easily dismissed. But something was gnawing at Decker’s gut.

“Rabbi, the woman claims to have magical powers, says she can predict things by the miasma in the air. Of course, she’s strange. But something in me can’t completely disregard her. Before the horse bolted, she felt something bad was going to happen. And then the horse went crazy. I don’t know what to think.”

Schulman’s expression was grave. “And this woman. She is beautiful, Akiva?”

Decker raised his brow. “Truthfully, she is.”

“And sensual?”

“Yes.”

“And seductive?”

“Very.” Decker observed the old man’s face. “Do you know who I’m talking about?”

“In theory only. I have met her in the Bible.” Schulman adjusted his hat. “‘Mechashepha lo techaye—do not let a sorceress live.’ Not that I’m wishing harm to befall her in any way. I’m relieved that she’s fine.”

“I know you are, Rabbi.”

“Perhaps, Akiva, this woman’s feelings of power are nothing more than a wish to be special, a shout for attention.”

“Could be. Although she hasn’t called the press. And she could get press if she wanted to.” Decker drummed his finger on the desk. “Rabbi, what made you ask if she was seductive?”

Schulman threw up his hands. “I’m not in the business of personality profiles.”

“I won’t hold you to anything.”

“Just so we understand that I’m talking theoretically.”

“Understood.”

“Okay.” Schulman sat up in his seat. “When one hears of predicting the future, if one is a rabbi, he thinks of false prophets or sorceresses. Makes sense, correct?”

Decker nodded.

Schulman said, “I asked about those specific characteristics because they’re traits of the sorceresses and false prophetesses recounted in our history. Many of them were beautiful and seductive because they were the ones able to obtain followers. They would entice the men sexually, win them over to their profane ways, and eventually the poor wives and daughters—not wishing to be deserted—would follow the men. Many men fell prey to the lures and were sucked into lives of idol worship and sexual depravity. Insanely jealous of Hashem and His true powers, these so-called prophetesses would do anything to get Jews to abandon the Torah. That is why the biblical punishment against them is so strong.”

“The Torah doesn’t advocate killing prostitutes and they’re pretty licentious,” said Decker. “Why such harsh measures for a seductress?”

“Sorceress, not seductress, Akiva. But still it’s a good question. You have a woman causing problems—who is sexually loose and is preaching false words, doing black magic—why not just exercise some other form of punishment? Perhaps a sound flogging or even banishment? Why death?”

Schulman lifted his finger in the air.

“Why? I’ll tell you why. Because sexual licentiousness wasn’t the sole moral problem of the false prophet. The pagan ritual practices were barbaric, Akiva, often full of human sacrifice and infant slaughter as offerings to their idols. If the pagans didn’t kill outright, they often mortally maimed—castration, evisceration, amputation. Not to mention hideous torture to animals. Once morality is compromised like that, ethics fall by the wayside permanently. The hedonistic rituals—all of them completely contrary not only to the Torah, but to the seven Noachide laws.” The old man got a gleam in his eyes. “Which are …”

Decker smiled.

“Always the teacher, Akiva,” Schulman said. “Name them for me.”

Decker listed the seven laws—the six prohibitions against blasphemy, idolatry, murder, adultery, theft, and eating or drinking blood from live animals as well as the one positive commandment to establish legal systems. Divinely revealed laws given to the world after the Great Flood.

Schulman said, “Very good. The commentaries teach us that it is not necessary to be Jewish to have a share of the world to come. But it is necessary to follow the Noachide laws. That is why the other religions are not an affront to Hashem—quite the contrary. There is a place for all righteous people. But not for pagans who torture.”

Decker thought a moment about the Noachide statutes.

“You know, I’m thinking to myself, Rabbi, these laws are the polar opposites of devil worship. Satanists must have formulated their rules by doing the antithesis of the Noachide laws.” He laughed. “Not exactly an earth-shattering observation.”

“But a correct one, Akiva. Satan is the polar opposite of Hashem. Is your seductive lady a Satanist by any chance?”

“I don’t have any indication of that, but I don’t really know. Maybe she does belong to some crazy cult and some lunatic is out to make her a human sacrifice. I think that’s a long shot. Still …”

“And as long as you’re considering long shots, may I suggest something else?”

“Sure. Shoot.”

“Perhaps some demented mind took the biblical words ‘Don’t let a sorceress live’ literally. Perhaps some fanatical crazy she knows is hearing voices commanding him—or her—to do a terrible deed.”

Decker thought about the suspects; none impressed him as psychotic. But who knew what they’d concocted in the secrecy of their minds.

“It wouldn’t be the first time, Rabbi. I’ll think about it.”

Schulman stroked his beard and nodded gravely. “Akiva, I know you have certain responsibilities to your cases. Not that I’m saying anything against this lady, I don’t even know her. But a false prophetess is a tricky animal. Do use caution—physically and mentally.”

“I’m always cautious in my work, Rabbi.”

Schulman patted Decker’s hand. “Good.” He paused, looking perplexed. “These shmystal-crystals, Akiva. What do people do with them? Do they talk to them and wait for an answer? Do they hold them up to the sun and tan their faces? What?”

“I’m not a crystal expert, Rav Schulman, but I think they’re used to communicate with the dead.”

The old man shook his head with disapproval. “I will never understand the fascination with the dead.”

“We all die.”

“Yes, we do, but we all live as well. People should concentrate on bettering their lives, not trying to second-guess the other side. If they live righteously, they’ll have nothing to worry about. Boruch Hashem, I’ve made it this far. Now one might even say I have one foot in the grave—”

“Rabbi—”

“Not that I’m ready to die.” The old man stood and took out two shot glasses. “But if it happens, it happens. People who fear death do not fear God. Besides, Akiva, what do the sages teach us about Torah?”

“It was meant for the living not the dead.”

“Correct!” Schulman filled the glasses with whiskey and handed one to Decker. “So, my friend, let us live and learn and do mitzvot as Hashem commanded us.” He held his drinking glass aloft. “To life—l’chaim.”

“L’chaim,” Decker said.

The rabbi downed his whiskey in one gulp. Decker marveled at the way Schulman could drink rotgut without emitting fire from his nostrils. He sneaked a sidelong glance at the rav, watched him lick his lips with pleasure. What a kick to know this man—this septuagenarian chock-full of energy and spirit and humor. A relief to know the good didn’t always die young.

The sharp knock woke Decker first, but Rina sat up a moment later, hand slapping onto her chest.

“Who’s that?” she asked, breathlessly.

Decker swore under his breath and slipped on a robe. “Stay here, Rina.”

The knocking became louder. Then the dog started barking.

“Do you want your gun?” Rina whispered.

Decker pushed hair out of his eyes. “No.”

By the time he reached the living room, the banging was shaking the front door. Ginger had posted guard at the front door. Decker called out a “hold on,” quieted the setter, and peeked through the peephole. But he needn’t have bothered. His gut had already told him who it was. He tightened his robe, unlocked the deadbolt, and swung open the door.

Lilah was flushed and contorted with anger and fear, wet tracks streaming down her cheeks. Her arms were swinging wildly, trying to hit him and hold him at the same time—hysterical but she had taken time to dress. She wore rhinestone-studded jeans and a white T-shirt under a black blazer, the jacket collar trimmed with sequins. On her feet were black ostrich cowboy boots complete with spurs. Decker kept a careful eye on them.

“How dare you change your number on me especially after yesterday! How dare you! How could you!”

Ginger started growling, baring her teeth. Decker managed to shush her, but was less successful with Lilah.

“How could you, Peter! You know how much I depend on you, how much I need you!” She hit his chest. “How could you! How could you!”

Decker took another step backward. Ginger growled again. Decker held the animal by the collar and said, “Lilah, calm dow—”

She lashed out at his face with sharpened fingernails. Decker managed to get her wrist before she raked his cheek and somehow settled the dog before Ginger took a chunk out of Lilah’s leg. She struggled against his grip, wriggling and hissing like a trapped cobra.

“I hate you!” Lilah screamed. “I hate you, you son of a bitch! I hate you, I hate you!”

The woman was skinny, but she could put up a fight. Decker was working up a sweat trying to hold her at bay without hurting her. It would have felt great to haul off and slug her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Rina, her hands wrapped around her chest, stroking her arms. Dressed in white, her face pale, she might have been a phantom—or an angel—except that her eyes were alert and ready for action.

“Call the station house,” he said.

“You bastard!” Lilah shouted.

“Call the police,” Decker repeated.

“How could you—”

“Call the police, Rina,” Decker commanded.

It was as if Lilah finally comprehended his words. “Wait!” She stopped wrestling and let her arms relax. “Wait, don’t do that!”

A moment passed. A small voice called out a “Mommy?”

“It’s all right,” Rina yelled out. “Everything’s fine, I’ll be there in a minute.” Her eyes were on Peter. “What should I do?”

Lilah wheeled in on her. “Well, as long as you’re standing there, you can make us some coffee!”

Decker dropped Lilah’s wrists, his eyes, suddenly blurred with fury. “Don’t speak to her like that.”

Rina said, “Peter—”

“She is not one of your little gofers, Lilah, don’t you dare speak to her like that!”

This time it was Lilah who backed away.

“She lives here, understand, Miss Brecht?” Decker fumed as he advanced upon her. “This is her house, her living room, and you woke her up at three o’clock in the morning from her goddamn sleep!”

“Peter—”

“You want coffee, girlie, you go home and goddamn make it yourself!”

“Peter!” Rina was holding his arm. “Peter, why don’t you call Marge from the bedroom, okay?”

Panting, Decker suddenly became aware that he’d sandwiched Lilah into a corner. He took a step backward and unclenched his fists. It took him a moment to focus. Then, he turned to Rina.

“I’m sorry.”

Rina smiled weakly and kissed his cheek. “Go call Marge.”

Decker took another step backward and ran his hand over his face. “Okay.” He felt his breath returning to normal. “Okay.” He kissed Rina on the forehead and headed for the bedroom, taking the dog with him.

“Peter?” Rina called.

Decker turned around.

“Check in on the boys, please.”

Decker nodded and left. Rina’s eyes went from him to Lilah who was still huddled in the corner, her arms strapped across her chest protectively. But she had a strange look on her face. Like a frightened little girl who’d done something naughty—scared but nonetheless pleased with herself. Slowly, Lilah’s lips formed a half smile.

“He was really angry, wasn’t he?”

Rina caught the sex-hungry timbre in Lilah’s voice. Or maybe she was overreacting because the woman was so beautiful. She said, “Have a seat at the dining-room table. I’ll make you some coffee.”

Silence.

“Come.” Rina extended her arm in the direction of the table. “Sit.”

“You must think I’m crazy.”

There were tears in the woman’s eyes. Rina said, “Not at all. Come.”

Lilah extricated herself from the corner and made baby steps over to the table. Rina made a beeline for the kitchen. She took the coffee from the refrigerator and poured water into the glass carafe. Sensing another body behind her, she knew Lilah had followed her in.

“Does he get angry like that all the time?”

Rina poured the water into the coffeemaker. “Why don’t you sit at the kitchen table.”

“I’m very sorry,” Lilah whispered. “It’s just …” She sat down at the kitchen table. “Black coffee’s fine. I’m sorry.”

Rina suddenly remembered what had happened to her and softened her attitude. “It’s okay. I’m very sorry about yesterday. I’m glad you’re all right.”

“I wouldn’t have been if your husband hadn’t been there.”

Rina nodded.

“He’s a marvelous rider.”

“Yes, he is.” Rina answered.

“I wouldn’t mind riding with him again.” Lilah brought her fingers to her lips. “I mean …” Lilah laughed. “I don’t know what I’m saying. Please forgive me.”

“Don’t worry about it. Coffee’ll be ready in a moment.”

“Thank you.”

Rina noticed Lilah’s voice had turned low and sexy. Against the still of the night, it was as beckoning as an aromatic whiff from the kitchen.

“I didn’t just come to wake Peter up,” Lilah said. “I really do need to talk to him. Normally, I handle stress very well, but …” Her eyes became wet. “But how much …”

She was leaking tears, but it seemed to Rina that she had a smile on her face.

“How much can one person take?” Rina said.

“Exactly!” Lilah wiped her eyes.

Rina picked up the carafe and said, “I made decaf. Just in case anyone’s contemplating sleep.”

Lilah looked up, her eyes squinting. “You’re pregnant!”

Rina nodded and poured two cups of coffee. The telephone rang. Peter got to the line before she did. Lilah looked at the mug in front of her.

“Is this water-processed decaf?”

“Yes.”

Lilah sipped, her eyes suddenly hardening. “So, is it your first—no, it can’t be if you asked Peter to check on the boys. How many kids do you have anyway?” Again she squinted. “You’re much younger than he is. How old are you?”

“Excuse me for a moment,” Rina said.

She walked into the bedroom as Peter was walking out.

“I’m really sorry about this,” he whispered.

“Boys are okay?”

“Yeah, they’re waiting for you to kiss them good night. Rina, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it, Peter. She’s calmer now. Claims she needs to talk to you. Let her get it off her chest, then get her out of here.” She paused. “Don’t be too harsh. She’s gone through a lot.”

Decker thought about what Lilah had gone through. Could be her extreme rage was a delayed reaction from the rape. She was angry at men and taking it out on him. If that was the case, she had the worst case of transference he’d ever seen. But Lilah didn’t seem to act in moderation. Or it could be the woman was bonkers before and the rape drove her over the edge. Whatever the reason, no way was he going to let this broad take it out on Rina.

“You’re wonderful, Rina. The best!”

She shook her head knowingly. “This is true.”

“I’ve called Marge,” Decker said. “I’ve also called Lilah’s brother. He’s coming down and picking her up.” He stuck his hands in his pants pockets. “Kiss the boys and go back to sleep.”

“Go back to sleep?” Rina laughed.

“Well, rest, okay?”

Rina smiled, noticing that Peter had dressed. She held him by the arms and looked over his attire—a pair of loose-fitting jeans, a work shirt, and sneakers. Comfortable but not the least bit provocative. She approved.