[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
rainwater pool was the symbolic essence of Taharat
Hamishpacha family purity. Its waters were used to
cleanse the dead spiritually, and immersion in it was
essential before a non-Jew could be converted. Even
cooking and eating utensils made of metal were dunked
to render them clean. Mikvah was a mainstay of Jewish
life as much a part of Orthodoxy as dietary laws,
circumcision, or the Sabbath.
She didn t try to educate Peter. She was much too
weary, and he probably wouldn t understand. No one
would except another of her own kind.
She shrugged.
Is there anything I can do for you now? he asked.
No. Nothing. But thanks for offering.
Okay, Decker said, finishing the last bite of peach.
Rina, we ve pretty much ruled out Moshe, but it
wouldn t hurt to let people think he s still under suspi-
cion. Might make the real killer get careless and do
something stupid.
She nodded and patted his hand maternally. Take
care, Peter. Get some sleep.
Later, he said.
After I do my laundry, he thought.
18
Dry cleaner number one was owned by a Korean
couple surnamed Park. They barely spoke English and
didn t seem to understand a word Decker was saying.
The only other person who worked for them was a
black woman of fifty named Lilly. Decker spoke to her.
The voice didn t match. He scratched the place off his
list.
Number two was owned jointly by two white couples
in their mid-thirties. They worked alone, and neither
of the women s voices matched the anonymous girl
on the phone. Onward.
At the Ti-Dee-Rite Launderette he got lucky.
The place was in a small, shabby shopping center
with a 7-Eleven on one side and a donut shop on the
other. He parked the unmarked between a souped up
58 Chevy and a Ford flatbed, and took out a sack of
dirty laundry. If nothing else panned out, at least he d
have clean undershirts.
The laundromat was large. The central floor space
was taken up by sixty Speed Queen ma-
227
228 / Faye Kellerman
chines. On the rear wall were a coin-operated soap
dispenser, a laundry bag dispenser, and a bill changer.
Directly in front of the machines were three free-
standing tables for sorting and folding. The left wall
had twenty built-in industrial dryers; the right held ten
more dryers, four extra-large washers for bedspreads
and rugs, and a pay phone. A couple of women sat on
orange plastic chairs and waited for the wash cycle to
finish, biding their time by thumbing through out-of-
date magazines. A young man with a harelip loaded
wet clothes into a dryer. A few other people were busy
at the machines. In a corner sat a woman in her mid-
twenties. Her face was round, almost pleasant, but
marred by tight, thin lips. Her arms looked abnormally
short, almost dwarf-like. She was wearing a name tag.
Decker couldn t read the name but could make out the
word MANAGER written underneath in bold black let-
ters.
He walked over to an empty washer and loaded the
clothes. Closing the lid, he placed some coins into a
slot and fed them into the machine. When the washer
didn t kick in, he started banging it furiously. Immedi-
ately, the manager got up and came over.
Take it easy, mister! she scolded.
Decker grinned inside.
Stop hammering the thing to death. What s the
problem?
Her name tag said Rayana Beth Mathers. Hello,
Rayana.
The thing s broken. It ate my money.
THE RITUAL BATH / 229
Slowly, Rayana eased back the slot.
You put in two quarters and a nickel. You need two
quarters and a dime.
She pronounced quarters as quarters.
You re from Boston? Decker asked, smiling.
She smiled back.
You got a good ear for accents, huh?
He nodded and stared at her. She lowered her head
coquettishly, then looked up at him. Her face suddenly
blanched, and she tried to take off. Decker grabbed
her arm.
What s wrong? he asked.
Leave me alone. I want a lawyer.
Why on earth do you need a lawyer, Rayana? I just
want to talk to you.
I ve got nothing to say.
Well, then just listen.
Take your hands off me!
A few patrons turned around, curious looks on their
faces.
You re attracting attention, Decker whispered.
She stopped struggling in his grip.
That s better, Decker said, not releasing her arm.
Now, how d you know I was a cop?
You look like one.
Then how come you didn t make me for one right
away? What was it? Did you suddenly recognize my
face? My voice?
Maybe.
Let s sit down, Rayana.
Just let go of my arm, okay?
230 / Faye Kellerman
He complied, and again she tried to run off. He
latched onto her other arm.
What the hell are you trying to do? he said softly.
I don t know anything.
Know anything about what?
Know anything about anything. Leave me alone.
Let s just talk about the phone calls. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl freetocraft.keep.pl
rainwater pool was the symbolic essence of Taharat
Hamishpacha family purity. Its waters were used to
cleanse the dead spiritually, and immersion in it was
essential before a non-Jew could be converted. Even
cooking and eating utensils made of metal were dunked
to render them clean. Mikvah was a mainstay of Jewish
life as much a part of Orthodoxy as dietary laws,
circumcision, or the Sabbath.
She didn t try to educate Peter. She was much too
weary, and he probably wouldn t understand. No one
would except another of her own kind.
She shrugged.
Is there anything I can do for you now? he asked.
No. Nothing. But thanks for offering.
Okay, Decker said, finishing the last bite of peach.
Rina, we ve pretty much ruled out Moshe, but it
wouldn t hurt to let people think he s still under suspi-
cion. Might make the real killer get careless and do
something stupid.
She nodded and patted his hand maternally. Take
care, Peter. Get some sleep.
Later, he said.
After I do my laundry, he thought.
18
Dry cleaner number one was owned by a Korean
couple surnamed Park. They barely spoke English and
didn t seem to understand a word Decker was saying.
The only other person who worked for them was a
black woman of fifty named Lilly. Decker spoke to her.
The voice didn t match. He scratched the place off his
list.
Number two was owned jointly by two white couples
in their mid-thirties. They worked alone, and neither
of the women s voices matched the anonymous girl
on the phone. Onward.
At the Ti-Dee-Rite Launderette he got lucky.
The place was in a small, shabby shopping center
with a 7-Eleven on one side and a donut shop on the
other. He parked the unmarked between a souped up
58 Chevy and a Ford flatbed, and took out a sack of
dirty laundry. If nothing else panned out, at least he d
have clean undershirts.
The laundromat was large. The central floor space
was taken up by sixty Speed Queen ma-
227
228 / Faye Kellerman
chines. On the rear wall were a coin-operated soap
dispenser, a laundry bag dispenser, and a bill changer.
Directly in front of the machines were three free-
standing tables for sorting and folding. The left wall
had twenty built-in industrial dryers; the right held ten
more dryers, four extra-large washers for bedspreads
and rugs, and a pay phone. A couple of women sat on
orange plastic chairs and waited for the wash cycle to
finish, biding their time by thumbing through out-of-
date magazines. A young man with a harelip loaded
wet clothes into a dryer. A few other people were busy
at the machines. In a corner sat a woman in her mid-
twenties. Her face was round, almost pleasant, but
marred by tight, thin lips. Her arms looked abnormally
short, almost dwarf-like. She was wearing a name tag.
Decker couldn t read the name but could make out the
word MANAGER written underneath in bold black let-
ters.
He walked over to an empty washer and loaded the
clothes. Closing the lid, he placed some coins into a
slot and fed them into the machine. When the washer
didn t kick in, he started banging it furiously. Immedi-
ately, the manager got up and came over.
Take it easy, mister! she scolded.
Decker grinned inside.
Stop hammering the thing to death. What s the
problem?
Her name tag said Rayana Beth Mathers. Hello,
Rayana.
The thing s broken. It ate my money.
THE RITUAL BATH / 229
Slowly, Rayana eased back the slot.
You put in two quarters and a nickel. You need two
quarters and a dime.
She pronounced quarters as quarters.
You re from Boston? Decker asked, smiling.
She smiled back.
You got a good ear for accents, huh?
He nodded and stared at her. She lowered her head
coquettishly, then looked up at him. Her face suddenly
blanched, and she tried to take off. Decker grabbed
her arm.
What s wrong? he asked.
Leave me alone. I want a lawyer.
Why on earth do you need a lawyer, Rayana? I just
want to talk to you.
I ve got nothing to say.
Well, then just listen.
Take your hands off me!
A few patrons turned around, curious looks on their
faces.
You re attracting attention, Decker whispered.
She stopped struggling in his grip.
That s better, Decker said, not releasing her arm.
Now, how d you know I was a cop?
You look like one.
Then how come you didn t make me for one right
away? What was it? Did you suddenly recognize my
face? My voice?
Maybe.
Let s sit down, Rayana.
Just let go of my arm, okay?
230 / Faye Kellerman
He complied, and again she tried to run off. He
latched onto her other arm.
What the hell are you trying to do? he said softly.
I don t know anything.
Know anything about what?
Know anything about anything. Leave me alone.
Let s just talk about the phone calls. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]