Another Three Dogs in a Row Read online

  The waitress came over and we ordered cheeseburgers and fries. “I spoke to her this morning,” he said. “She confirmed what the rabbi said, that she’d locked up at seven. The boy’s mom dropped him off at six, and they spent an hour in the sanctuary going over the prayers. When the mom came back at seven, the three of them walked out together. She didn’t see anyone around the property, but she admitted that all she did was lock the front door and set the alarm.”

  He sipped at his beer. “I called the mom, and she confirmed the story. She said she and her son walked out with the cantor, and that theirs were the last cars in the parking lot.”

  “You had a busy day.”

  He nodded. “I also interviewed the receptionist and Walter Johnson, the property manager. Johnson didn’t know anything about the rabbi having a brother, but the receptionist said she overheard the synagogue president complaining to the rabbi about what happened on Sunday. That was the first she heard of the brother.”

  “They’re the only staff?”

  Rick nodded. “You said the rabbi asked you to figure out where his brother had been in Trenton.” He poured another round for both of us. “How are you going to that?”

  “On Sunday, Joel was pretty agitated, and it sounded like he had some kind of problem he wanted to talk to his brother about. I asked the rabbi, and he said he didn’t know. His computer was on when he got back, and from the search history he realized that Joel had spent some time on the computer looking up the names and addresses of members of the congregation’s board of directors.”

  “Interesting.” He pulled out his small spiral-bound notebook and wrote something down. “Any idea why?”

  “The rabbi thought perhaps he disappeared without saying anything more was because he was upset at the way a couple of the members tried to strong arm him off the property on Sunday. Maybe he wanted to know their names.”

  The waitress brought our cheeseburgers, and I resolved to give Rochester an extra-long walk that night to work off a few of those calories.

  “I wonder why Joel Goldberg came to the temple last night,” I said, after a couple of minutes. “Did he know that his brother wouldn’t be there? Maybe he intended to vandalize the place? Leave some message for the men who tried to kick him out on Sunday?”

  “You don’t need a reason to do things when your brain doesn’t work right.”

  “Did you ask the rabbi what kind of drugs his brother was supposed to be taking?”

  He opened his notebook again and flipped back a couple of pages. “Thorazine, which lots of doctors prescribe to treat symptoms like hallucinations and delusions. But if he was homeless, then there was a solid chance he’d didn’t have a way to refill his prescriptions and he went off his meds. I asked the coroner to run screens for common anti-psychotic drugs.”

  “The rabbi he said he didn’t know that his brother was in the area,” I said. “So what brought him here unannounced?”

  “That’s a big question,” Rick said. “I pulled up Joel’s police record. Last arrest was for vagrancy in Trenton, three weeks ago.”

  “So he’s been in the area at least that long. But no contact with his brother. Where was he picked up?”

  “Why does that matter?”

  “Dunno. Just curious.”

  “I think it was somewhere on Market Street. Mill Hill neighborhood?”

  “My mother lived near there for a while when she was a child,” I said. “Once as we were passing she pointed out this house with two red doors. Her father broke his leg when she was in elementary school, and they had to live somewhere on the first floor so he didn’t have to climb steps.”

  “Is there a point to that stroll down memory lane?”

  “Just that it was a Jewish neighborhood, back in the day. Maybe Joel was drawn there for some reason.”

  “More likely because there’s a homeless shelter not far away,” Rick said. “And that Mill Hill neighborhood is getting gentrified, bit by bit. Government workers buying houses there and renovating them.”

  “Panhandling targets?”

  He nodded. “And there’s still some crime of opportunity there. I have a friend who works over in Trenton. We get together and compare notes now and then.”

  We finished up, and Rick insisted on paying the tab. “Thanks for the conversation. I don’t like to talk about this stuff with Tamsen. She has enough on her plate already.”

  I thought Rick was probably sheltering Tamsen too much, but didn’t say anything. She had survived her soldier husband’s death in Iraq, created a successful business, and raised her son by herself. She was strong enough, and smart enough, for Rick to confide in her. And this wasn’t as upsetting a case as some he’d handled; Joel was a stranger, and the crime hadn’t been overly gruesome. I wondered if he’d be able to open up more once they were committed and living together.

  When I got home, Lili was pacing around the living room, which I assumed meant that the conversation with her brother had gone about as well as she expected. Fedi and Sara were reaching the end of their rope in dealing with Senora Weinstock and decisions would have to be made soon.

  I went upstairs and climbed into bed with a book. Rochester followed me, sprawled sideways with one foot resting on my leg. Lili joined us a half hour later.

  “Do you think our parents are ever happy with us?” she asked, as she sat on the bed beside me.

  “You’re asking me? The convicted felon? That was something my father bragged about, for sure.”

  “But he loved you. I can feel it in the stories you tell.”

  “He did, and my mother, too. I was very lucky that way. I only wish they were still here. They’d love you, and my dad would get a kick out of playing with Rochester.”

  “You miss them,” Lili said.

  “Of course. Not on a daily basis, you know, but when I hear something they said coming out of my mouth, or something triggers a memory. You miss your dad, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. He used to call me mi nena bonita, my pretty girl. He spoiled me, and my mother was the same way with Fedi. The sun shone on her little papito.”

  “And now your dad is gone, and you’re stuck with your mom, knowing you weren’t her favorite.”

  “It’s not like that,” Lili protested, though it was clear to me it was just like that. “She had different aspirations for each of us. She wanted me to get married, settle down and have babies. And that wasn’t in the cards for me.”

  She sighed. “She’s my mother. I love her. And she’s always been huge on the subject of taking care of your parents. None of my grandparents wanted to leave Cuba, but after my mother’s father died, my mother forced my abuela to come to Kansas City and live with us. She hated it, and she died only a few years later, but my mother always bragged that she had done what was right.”

  It sounded like a move Mary would have made, forcing an elderly woman to bend to her will. Lili was the opposite – she would do whatever made her mother happy. And that attitude was why I loved her.

  We spent the rest of the evening lying beside each other, both of us reading but comforted by the proximity. Rochester repositioned himself at the end of the bed, keeping an eye on both of us.

  Eventually we readied for bed, and as I turned out the lights, I said, “Tomorrow night I want to go to services at Shomrei Torah. I think the rabbi could use someone to talk about his brother with.”

  “I’ve been thinking about him, too, and how sad he must be about the loss of his brother,” Lili said. “I liked the way he spoke at the blessing of the animals. And I could use a little spirituality myself. I think I’ll join you.”

  We curled into each other. I may not have had much family left, I thought, but I had Lili and Rochester, and they were all I needed.

  10 – Days of Awe

  I spent most of the day Thursday with an Eastern faculty member who wanted to rent Friar Lake on behalf of an organization he was involved with, the National Council of Professors of Religion and Religious Tho
ught. Felton Backus was in his fifties, with a mane of white hair and a matching beard. He could have doubled for Moses in one of those paintings of the parting of the Red Sea – just give him a staff he could raise up to summon God.

  “We’re organizing a retreat we’re calling Religious Study and the New World Economy,” he said. “And as you can imagine, the economy doesn’t look favorably on small academic groups without a lot of money. I’m hoping we can get some kind of staff discount on the facilities.”

  “Let’s figure out what you need and then I’ll see what I can do on the price.” Rochester accompanied us as I showed him around the property. “Religion is certainly a hot topic today,” I said as we walked. “So much prejudice everywhere.”

  “It’s one of the things we study in Introduction to World Religions,” he said. “How people pervert religious doctrine to serve their own needs.”

  “I’m teaching a course in the English department on Jewish-American literature this term.” I told him about the section in the Cahan book about David Levinsky’s study of the Torah. “That’s the only truly religions element in what we’ve read so far, though. Most of the material we’ve read has more to do with assimilation.”

  “You can’t ignore the connection, though,” he said. “One of the complaints people have about Muslims these days is the visible way they connect with their religion, through the use of the head scarf or the burka. The argument is that they need to assimilate and adopt American customs. And that feeling often leads to cruelty and crime.”

  I remembered Joel Goldberg, and his assertion that the criminals of the Holocaust were still among us. Would we ever learn to get along with each other?

  Professor Backus and I had a lively discussion as we looked at the rooms his group needed, and then we returned to my office and went over the rental agreement and discussed catering options.

  “Can we bring in our own food to save money?” he asked.

  “Absolutely.” He negotiated me down on everything he could, from audio visual equipment to promising they’d set up and take down all their own chairs. By mid-afternoon we had hammered out an agreement and I was delighted to see his Volvo, adorned with liberal bumper stickers, head out of the parking lot.

  I checked my voice mail as I walked Rochester around the property, and saw a message from Rick. He’d received the toxicology results on Joel Goldberg, and it appeared that there was no trace of any of the anti-psychotic drugs in his blood. That didn’t mean he was experiencing an episode, but it increased the possibility.

  By that afternoon, I was glad to be able to close Friar Lake up and head for home. I felt a vague sense of unease and I wasn’t sure what to attribute it to. Was it the situation with Lili’s mother? Or the death of Rabbi Goldberg’s brother? Or something else entirely that had yet to percolate its way to the surface?

  That evening, Lili spoke to her brother briefly, but then we shared the sofa, both of us reading until it was time for Rochester’s late walk, and then bed. The next day at Friar Lake, I went through the discussion posts my lit students had made online, responding to a question I’d posed about ethnic literature in general. Was it a window into another culture? Or a way of ghettoizing the “other,” those who were out of the mainstream, not yet assimilated?

  The responses were very politically correct, to be expected of young people with a liberal education. How was I going to break through that veneer to get to what they really thought? I considered my conversation with Professor Backus and came up with a couple of new questions based on what he’d said about the connection between religion and assimilation.

  Friday was a sluggish day and I was glad to shut down Friar Lake and head for home. After a quick dinner, Lili and I drove to the modern stone and glass temple building. I couldn’t help looking toward the place where Joel Goldberg’s body had been found. The police cones were long gone, as was any evidence that a murder had happened there. I shivered at how easily the evidence had disappeared.

  I was on edge as we parked and walked inside, worried that she wouldn’t enjoy the service, that she’d feel out of place because she didn’t have the same roots I had there.

  Daniel Epstein, one of the elderly men from Talmud study, was in the foyer outside the sanctuary, and I greeted him and introduced him to Lili. I was impressed that he was able to multi-task so well at his advanced age—handing out prayer books, wishing everyone Shabbat Shalom, while balancing on his silver-topped cane.

  “What a beautiful space,” Lili said, as we walked in. Early evening light streamed through the tall glass windows looking out at the nature preserve. A clerestory of stained glass cast multicolored shards on the wooden pews with their burgundy cushions. “It feels so warm and welcoming. I keep seeing angles I’d like to shoot it from.”

  I squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you like it.”

  The rabbi and cantor were already at the bema, preparing for the service, and Lili and I sat in a pew a few rows back. When the service started, she joined in whenever we recited from the prayer book, knew the words to some of the Hebrew and seemed to be enjoying herself.

  As the cantor sang, I looked around the room. Was it possible that a member of the congregation, someone in the sanctuary, had killed Joel Goldberg? But what connection could he have to Shomrei Torah, other than that his brother led the worship there?

  When the rabbi stepped up to the lectern for his sermon, he looked older than he had the previous Sunday, with a sadness in his face and a slight hunch to his shoulders.

  He said some of the same things he’d spoken about at the Talmud study group – the way the old year was winding down, and we had to prepare to welcome the new one, and with it the introspection that came during the Days of Awe between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

  “This is a time to consider the sins of the previous year and repent before Yom Kippur. One of the common greetings at the time will be ‘May you be inscribed in the Book of Life and sealed for a good year.’"

  He looked out at the congregation. “We believe that God writes our names in this book on Rosh Hashanah, deciding who will have a good life in the new year, who will live and who will die. However, we have the ten days until Yom Kippur to change that decree, through acts of teshuvah, tefilah and tzedakah -- repentance, prayer, and good deeds. Then the books are sealed and our fate determined until the following Rosh Hashanah.”

  He took a deep breath. “Some of you may know that I lost my brother Joel this week. He suffered from mental illness, which made him difficult to love sometimes, and he will be in my thoughts during the Days of Awe. I hope that all of you will take this opportunity to let those you love know how you feel, to repair any old breaches and resolve to spend the next year in a state of joy with each other.”

  I reached over and squeezed Lili’s hand once again. I could see in her face that she had been touched by the rabbi’s words, and perhaps was thinking of her mother and her brother. I continued to hold her hand until we stood for the final prayers.

  “What do you think of Shomrei Torah?” I asked, after we had sung the Adon Olam hymn together with the congregation, Lili’s mezzo soprano joining with my tenor.

  “It reminds me a lot of the synagogue we joined when it was time for Fedi’s bar mitzvah. And I was moved by the rabbi’s sermon.”

  At the Oneg Shabbat, the gathering for food and drink after the service, I introduced her to Rabbi Goldberg. She shook his hand and repeated how moved she had been by his sermon. “I have a brother myself,” she said. “You’ve inspired me to be kinder in my dealings with him.”

  “It’s music to a rabbi’s ears to know that I’ve reached a congregant,” he said. “I hope you’ll continue to join us for worship now and then.”

  Then he turned to me and shook my hand. “Good to see you, Steve.”

  “How are you doing?” I asked him.

  “Still very troubled. I’ve been praying for guidance. I keep looking at that photo the police found in Joel’s shoe and wondering w
hat it means.”

  I moved in closer to the rabbi so no one could overhear us. “Detective Stemper said your brother might have stayed at a homeless shelter in Trenton near where he was arrested for vagrancy a couple of weeks ago. You could go over there and see if anyone remembers him. If he said anything that indicated why he was looking for you, or some reason why he was holding onto that photo.”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m afraid of what I could find out,” he said. “I don’t know that I could face people who knew Joel, and the possibility that they’d judge me for abandoning him. I never felt that I had, you know. I just had to love him the best I could, and do what he’d let me do for him.”

  “I could go for you,” I said, and I saw Lili shoot a glance at me. “Maybe as a disinterested party I could find out something that might help you feel better. And as you said, it’s good to perform acts of kindness for others.”

  “I’d appreciate that very much,” he said, and then someone wanted his attention.

  “You just can’t keep from sticking your nose into things, can you?” Lili said, as she laced her arm in mine. “But in this case I think you’re doing a mitzvah. The poor man is hurting, and maybe you’ll be able to find something to comfort him.”

  She stepped back from me then. “Just be careful.”

  11 – Rescue Mission

  When we got home from services that evening, I was thinking about the conversation between Lili and the rabbi, how both of them had brothers. Growing up, I’d always wanted an older brother to show me the way, and I was envious of the relationship as boys that Rob and Joel Goldberg had shared, before Joel’s illness manifested itself.

  But the Bible reminded us that relationships with brothers weren’t always smooth, didn’t it? I realized that though I knew that Cain had killed his brother I didn’t remember why. I got up and searched my bookcase until I found the embossed Bible I’d been given at my bar mitzvah, and looked up the section in Genesis.