She changed the subject.

“Do you want something else to eat?”

“No, I’m stuffed, thank you.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Rina broke it.

“How’s the Foothill rapist-”

“Please! Don’t bring up sore spots!”

“Sorry.”

“I caught hell for not bringing in that Moshe character. There are mutterings that I’m partial.” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I am.”

“I’m sorry if it got you in trouble. But, believe me, Peter, he’s not the man you want.”

“Who is he?”

She sighed. “His name is Moshe Feldman.”

“What is he? Some stray that the rabbi took pity on?”

“No. A long time ago-actually not too long ago-he was a brilliant student. He was best friends with Yitzchak, my husband; they were chavrusas-learning partners. Moshe met his wife about the same time I met Yitzchak, and the four of us were inseparable. We even got married within a month of each other.

“Two months after Moshe’s marriage, his wife announced that she didn’t want to be religious and she didn’t want to be married. I don’t know what happened. No one would talk about it. She wrote to me a couple of times saying she had to find herself, but didn’t go into specifics. Last I heard she was living with this rock and roll guitarist…”

Rina threw up her hands.

“Anyway, Moshe withdrew from people after that. Even Yitzchak. They no longer talked as friends, but they still learned together. Yitzy used to say that Moshe’s mind was as sharp as ever, but he was blocked emotionally. When my husband died two years ago Moshe stopped learning formally. A month later he asked me to marry him. I refused, and a week later he snapped. He’s been like that ever since.”

Her eyes moistened.

“I know, intellectually, that he was over the border before he proposed to me. He hadn’t been in his right mind since his wife left him. But I couldn’t help it. I felt it was my fault.”

She looked at Decker.

“It was very important to me that you didn’t arrest him. First, because he’s not a rapist. Second, I called you down there. His arrest would have been my responsibility-”

“That’s absurd, Rina-”

“I would have felt that I nailed his coffin. He was a wonderful person, Peter. A sweet man with a brilliant mind. In some ways he was much more attentive to me than Yitzchak. He would never do anything criminal, Peter. Just as you wouldn’t. It’s not in his makeup.”

Decker said nothing.

“You’re not convinced, are you?”

“No, not at all,” he said. “If anything, you’ve given me more reason to suspect him. Rapists usually hold huge grudges against women. Nasty feelings that suddenly explode. Your friend sounds like a prime candidate for an explosion.”

“He’s not, Peter. You’ll just have to trust me.”

“I gave him his one break. Next time, I play by the book.”

“I appreciate what you did.” She started to pat his hand, but stopped herself.

“I don’t bite,” he said softly.

“I wish you did. It would make it a lot easier on me if you were crude and unappealing.”

“Then it’s a good thing you can’t read my mind. A whole lot of crude thoughts are swimming around there.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Did I offend you?”

“Peter, I’m not some naive little Pollyanna who believes the whole world is cotton candy. Or an inhibited prude who thinks people should only make love in the dark with their clothes on. I’m religious. I realize that’s a foreign concept to most people, especially in California, but that’s what I am. I don’t do certain things, not because I don’t want to, but because I have religious values.

“I think it’s wrong to have sex if you’re not married. I don’t think fire and brimstone will come pouring down if you do, but I think it’s wrong. Why? Not on moral grounds-though a case could be made for that, too-but because it’s immodest. Tsnios-bodily modesty-is important to us. That’s why we dress the way we do, that’s why married women cover their hair. Not to look unattractive-we like dressing up as much as the next person-but because we believe that the body is private and not some cheesy piece of artwork that’s put on public display. We know our way of thinking is considered antiquated, as dated as an Edsel. But to me, it has meaning.”

Decker was amazed at her intensity. “Well, it’s a bit old-fashioned-”

“You know what a mikvah really symbolizes, Peter?” She became animated. “Spiritual cleansing. A renewal of the soul. For twelve days, starting from the first day of a woman’s menses, she and her husband are forbidden to have sex. When the twelve days are up, if she hasn’t bled for the last seven days, she immerses herself in the mikvah, and then they can resume marital relations, renew their physical bond. That means for at least twelve days every month a husband and wife are off-limits to each other. I bet that seems nuts to you, doesn’t it?”

He smiled. “In a word, yes.”

“And yet it seems so normal to me.”

“Everybody’s standard of normalcy differs, I guess.” He looked at her. “But all Jews don’t do this. I know my wife never did.”

“Well, Torah Jews do. I did!” She paused, then said, “Now do you see why it’s impossible for you and me to go out?”

“I’m starting to get the picture.”

He laughed, and so did she.

“I can’t believe that people actually…For twelve days, huh?”

She tucked ebony strands of loose hair back into her tam.

“You know, Peter, when you stop and think about it, the world’s become perverse. You’re an intelligent man and a good person. You have no problem in accepting that there are men who rape, men who have no impulse control. They see a woman, objectify her, and tear into her flesh as if she were a piece of meat. Yet, it’s hard for you to fathom men who are the exact opposite, men who can control themselves and their drives. In fact, men who follow Taharat Hamishpacha-family purity-are the exact opposite of rapists. Yet, they’re viewed as weirdos.”

“You’re talking about two extremes,” said Decker. “There’s plenty in between-lots of normal men, like myself, who’d find your customs very hard to deal with.”

“That’s exactly why we stick to our own kind.”

He had no comeback, so he lit another cigarette and looked at the sky.

He still wanted her. The discussion had added hot blue fire to her eyes which only made her more appealing. She was passionate. He knew she’d be passionate in bed. But there was no choice other than to give up. Just concede defeat and forget about her. It would take a keg of dynamite to blast through her armor.

“I like you,” he said sincerely. “I find you incredibly attractive and very nice to talk to. But I can see where a relationship between the two of us might run into some difficulty.”

“I’m glad you understand,” she smiled. “I hope this doesn’t mean I can’t call you if I hear something strange-”

“Of course not. One thing has nothing to do with the other. I’m still the cop assigned to the case. I could find you personally repulsive, and I’d still do my job.”

“You’re a good guy, Detective Decker.”

“That’s what they tell me.” He stood up and watched her kids at play. They were waging a battle, using dried twigs and branches for guns and swords. For a brief instant he was transported back to his childhood-he and his friends playing cops, running through the glades during the hot, muggy summers, shooting at the bad guys. His friends had outgrown the games.

Decker thought of his own daughter. She was sixteen now, and a good kid. Neither Jan nor he had ever had an ounce of trouble with her, even during the worst parts of their divorce. He’d never felt he’d missed out by not having a son. But now as he observed her boys, and with forty less than two years away, he began to wonder.