“Okay.”

“In Moshe’s closet was a beautiful white robe that was protected by a cleaners’ bag, completely out of character with the rest of his wardrobe. Does it have any religious significance?”

“Yes. It’s a kittel. A man wears it when he marries, when he prays on the High Holy Days, and when he’s buried.” She paused. “Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity. My box contained a similar garment. I took it out and had it wrapped in plastic to prevent it from yellowing.”

Rina became pensive.

“God knows why Moshe kept his,” she said. “It must be a painful remembrance for a man whose marriage went sour.”

Decker smiled sadly.

“True enough,” he said.

20

Decker walked down a flight of steps and into the basement chemistry lab. He was surprised at how modern it was. The room was spacious, bright, and well ventilated. There were thirty hooded stations, each equipped with standard lab paraphernalia-bunsen burners, beakers, titrating cylinders and hoses, stirring rods, and an assortment of measuring devices. At the back wall sat Gilbert at a long bench table that held ten personal computers. He was busy typing on a keyboard and didn’t turn around until Decker was halfway across the room. Then he stood up and offered the detective a chair.

“Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” Decker glanced at the computers-six IBM PCs, four Apple MacIntoshes. “Looks like some money has been spent here.”

“The parents are getting more particular. They want their sons graduating with something more marketable than theology.”

“Does that cause any problems with the rabbis?”

“A few, like Rabbi Marcus, seem to find the twentieth century objectionable. However, Rabbi Schulman is a very practical man. He knows on which side his proverbial bread is buttered.”

Gilbert took off his glasses, pulled a tissue out of his shirt pocket, and began to wipe his glasses. He continued:

“The computers were donated by a couple of rich families. The lab was built at cost three years ago. The construction company’s president had a boy who was going here. Schulman is a great fund-raiser.”

“Do you like teaching here?”

“It’s a job. I need the extra income.”

“Rina says the boys here are really bright.”

“Very bright, very spoiled.”

“Are they a challenge to teach?”

He put his glasses back on.

“At times. Most of the challenge is appeasing the parents when their precious babies aren’t performing up to snuff.” Gilbert stared at Decker. “What’s on your mind, Detective?”

“Just a few questions.” Decker took out a note pad.

“I didn’t rape anyone.”

Decker said nothing. An odd reaction. It was unusual for anyone to start off with a flat denial of guilt.

“Anything else?” Gilbert asked in a bored tone of voice.

“You were in Nam,” Decker stated.

“Yes.”

“What unit?”

“I’m sure you know.”

“You tell me.”

“I was a clerk in Saigon,” Gilbert said. “I was never in heavy action.”

“Records say you were a sniper.”

“For a week.”

“What happened?”

“I was transferred. Maybe they were impressed with my typing.”

“Weren’t you frustrated? All that skill-”

“I came home with my balls intact. That’s more than I can say for a lot of others. Were you over there?”

“Yes,” Decker answered.

“Doing?”

“I was a medic.”

“Oooh.” Gilbert gave a half smile. “Very messy.”

“How long have you known Mrs. Lazarus?”

“I’ve known Rina about five years.”

“Did you know her husband?”

“I’d met him. I didn’t know him.”

“Did he and Rina seem well matched?”

“I think she could have done better, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Ever think of asking her out after her husband passed away?”

“She’s inaccessible to me. I’m not Jewish.” The half smile reappeared on his lips. “She’s inaccessible to you too, Detective.”

Decker ignored him and continued.

“Where were you the night of Florence Marley’s murder?”

“With my fiancée’s parents. Phone number 675-6638. I’m there every Wednesday night. Check it out.”

“What’s their name?”

“MacLaughlin.”

“Where were you the night of the Adler rape?”

“What day of the week was the rape?”

“Thursday.”

“Teaching the computer club.”

“What time is the club over?”

“Around ten.”

“The rape was around ten.”

“So?”

“That puts you in the area at the time of the rape.”

“You know, Detective, Rina’s sons are in the computer club. It was my idea to bring them in; I thought they’d have a good time fooling around with the machines. Rina would pick them up at the club after her mikvah job, and I’d walk them all home. But they haven’t come around lately, and when I asked Rina why, she was evasive. You have her distrusting everyone in pants except you and maybe Zvi Adler and Rabbi Schulman. I don’t like being held up to scrutiny because I know her and have a dick.”

“Why are you wearing long sleeves? It’s hot as hell outside.”

“Dress code.”

“I’ve seen many students with their sleeves rolled up.”

“I’m not a student. I’m a teacher.”

“Do you mind if I see your arms?”

Gilbert paused.

“Yes.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t like you.”

“I’d like to see your forearms, Mr. Gilbert.”

He hesitated, then rolled up his sleeves. They were both free of scratches.

“Satisfied?” Gilbert said, rebuttoning the cuffs.

Decker stuck the note pad in his pocket and stood up.

“Thank you for your time.”

“He was Joe Cool,” Decker told Marge. “Unflappable.”

“No scratches?” Marge asked.

“No. But he hesitated before showing me. Maybe he wasn’t so sure if there were or weren’t.”

“When do you talk to the other one?”

“Six-thirty. After work, at his apartment.”

“Then what?”

Decker shrugged.

“Do you suspect Gilbert?”

“I suspect everyone I’ve talked to. Unfortunately, I don’t have any evidence.”

“Except Cory Schmidt,” Marge corrected.

“Yeah, Cory is tied to the murder. I don’t know about the rape.” Decker sipped coffee, then put the cup on his desk. “What about Professor Fred Dooley?”

“He’s been on sabbatical in Greece for the last six months.”

The phone rang.

“Decker.”

“It’s Mike.”

“How’re you doing with Rayana?”

“Diddlysquat,” said Hollander. “But I got some good news for you.”

“What?”

“I found Cory Schmidt.”

“Where?”

“At a head shop in Sun Valley. I nosed around and found out one of his friends used to work there. Sure enough, the little shit was in the back room toking on some homegrown weed dipped in dust. Sucker’s as high as a kite. I’ve got him cuffed. Right now I’m waiting for transport.”

“Good going, Mike. Bring him in.”

The kid was full of spit and fire and had to be physically restrained by an officer. Decker closed the door to the interview room and stood across from him with his hands folded across his chest. Schmidt was wearing a Black Sabbath midriff T-shirt and a pair of black leather pants. His hair was dirty and hung limply to his shoulders.

“I wanna lawyer, pig,” he spat.

“You’ll get one,” Decker said. “It’ll be by the book, Cory. It’s too big to lose on a technicality. But let me tell you this, son. You’re fucked.”

“I ain’t your son.”

“We’ve got evidence. We’ve got lots and lots of evidence.”

“Bullshit!”

“Do you want to confess?”

“Fuck you.”

“Sure, now?”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Get him out of here.”

Moshe Feldman’s shrink, Dr. Marder, had phoned while he was with Cory. Decker returned the call and thanked him for being so prompt.

“No problem, Detective. I’ve just dropped the report in the mail. If you have any questions about it, feel free to call me. I can’t disclose any of our other previous therapy sessions because, of course, those were confidential. This evaluation is different because it was court ordered.”