Now You See Me... (7 page)

Chapter 12

They were sitting at an oak table at the end of the large room, underneath bright fluorescent light that caught the frozen expressions on their faces.

“He phoned,” Rabbi Bailor said. “The guy Dassie’s with.”

“Chaim, you don’t—” Jastrow began.

A look from his brother-in-law silenced him. “Gavriel, please excuse us.”

“I’m not a kid,
Abba.”

“Gavriel.”

There was a flicker of defiance in the young man’s eyes. He stood. A few angry strides took him to the door. He shoved it hard and exited the room. The door swung back and forth several times.

“Tell her, Nechama,” Rabbi Bailor said.

I didn’t envy Nechama, caught between her brother and her husband.

“He phoned me on my cell not long after you left,” she said. “I saw Dassie’s number on the display, and I thought, thank God.” Nechama shut her eyes briefly. “But it was him. He was using her phone.”

Clever, I thought. And so cruel.

“I asked to talk to her. He said Dassie didn’t want to talk. She’d asked him to talk for her. So I said, how do I know she’s all right, that she’s not. . . . ?” Nechama gripped the table edge so hard her knuckles turned white.

My heart pounded.

“So he called her. ‘Dassie, come here, honey.’ I
hated
that he called her ‘honey.’ I know he did it to upset me. But then I didn’t care, because she was on the phone.
‘Ima,
I’m okay.’ ” Nechama shut her eyes again for a second. “I was so happy to hear her voice, I started crying. ‘Come home,’ I said. She said she was fine. She felt terrible about causing us worry and pain. That was the only thing keeping her from being completely happy. ‘Come home,’ I told her. ‘Please, come home.’ ”

Dassie hadn’t been raped.
Relief coursed through me. A second later I shot a reproachful look at Rabbi Bailor. He’d had knowledge—not “just a feeling”—and had let me worry.

“He took the phone again,” Nechama said. “I heard him tell her he’d be right back, and I heard a door closing. ‘Mrs. Bailor,’ he said, ‘I think you and the rabbi should know Dassie is in love with me. She’s committed to me and wants to spend the rest of her life with me.’ ”

Not, “We’re in love with each other, committed to each other. We want to spend our lives together.” My relief was short-lived. I felt a chill snaking up my spine and avoided looking at the rabbi, who had stood and was pacing the length of the kitchen.

“I wanted to scream.” Nechama moved her hands from the table and tightened them into fists. “I said wonderful, tell Dassie to come home, tell her we love her, we want her to be happy, and if you make her happy, that’s what counts.’ I almost choked on the words. He said Dassie needed to know that we were ready to accept him. I said, ‘We’re ready. Bring her home, you’ll see.’

“He laughed. He said how could we be okay with our little girl running off with some man she met in a chat room? He said he didn’t care what we thought, and soon Dassie wouldn’t, either, because every day she was coming closer to needing only him. Not her parents, not her sisters or brothers, or her friends. ‘We’re like Romeo and Juliet,’ he said. ‘If I wanted to, I could tell her not to talk to you ever again, and she wouldn’t, because she trusts me that much. And didn’t the Torah say that when you marry, you should leave your parents and cleave to your spouse? Well, tell the rabbi that in God’s eyes, his daughter and I are married.’ ” Nechama wiped the tears that had pooled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

“In God’s eyes?” I said.

“They had a ceremony. He gave her a ring.” She looked down at her own gold wedding band.

“Is that binding?” I asked Rabbi Bailor.

He stood still. “It can be. If she wasn’t coerced, if the ring belonged to him, if there were two valid witnesses.”

I didn’t know how to phrase the next question. “Did they . . .”

“They’re waiting until she goes to the
mikvah,”
Nechama said. “ ‘Your husband should be proud of his daughter,’ he told me. ‘She wants everything to be kosher, although we’re both eager. Monday seems so far away.’
Monster.”
Hate twisted her face.

The ritual bath and the laws of family purity are central to Orthodox Judaism, and many non-Orthodox women have also embraced this monthly rite that marks the end of a cycle in which life wasn’t created, and prepares for the possibility of life in the coming month. You count seven days after the completion of your menses. Then, before you resume intimacy with your husband, you cleanse yourself and submerge yourself in the rainwaters of the ritual bath, just as Sarah did and Rebecca and Rachel and Leah.

Today was Thursday. Monday was in four days. “Did you recognize his voice?” I asked Nechama.

She shook her head.

“Could you tell how old he is?”

“No. He was whispering, I guess because he didn’t want Dassie to hear him. He sounded intense, almost angry one minute, pleasant the next. I asked him what he wanted. Whatever it takes to bring Dassie home, I said, we’ll do it. Just tell us what you
want.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he wanted a hundred thousand dollars. Then he laughed again and said he was kidding, he didn’t want money. He said Dassie was free to leave, that she didn’t want to come home, which should tell us something. And even if she
did
come home, she was a married woman, forbidden to others. ‘Ask your husband; he’ll know.’ Then he said, ‘Isn’t love grand?’ And something like, ‘It’s a consummation Dassie and I both devoutly wish, so tell your husband I won’t be paying the fifty shekels after all.’ He said Chaim would know what that meant.”

Nechama turned to her husband. “I asked you before, Chaim. What fifty shekels is he talking about?”

Jastrow was looking at his brother-in-law. If I could have backed out of the room, I would have, but Rabbi Bailor was standing in front of the kitchen door.

“He sent me a note.” Rabbi Bailor told his wife about the coin and its reference, but said nothing about the song. “I didn’t want to upset you, Nechama. And I’m glad I
didn’t
tell you, because it was all talk.”

She had been staring at her husband. When he finished speaking, she was still staring. I could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the dead silence.

“How could you keep that from me?” Her voice was quiet, hard as stone. “Who gave you the right?”

“I was protecting you, Nechama.”

“Like you protected Dassie by letting her go to that school? Like you protected her by letting her have her own computer and keeping it in her room?”

Rabbi Bailor flinched. “You’re right.”

“What good does that do, Chaim? Will being right bring Dassie back? What else are you keeping from me?”

“Nothing. We’ll find her, Nechama.”

“And then what?”

Nechama buried her face in her hands. Rabbi Bailor moved toward her, but Jastrow had drawn his sister’s head onto his shoulder.

Rabbi Bailor walked me to my car. I think he was anxious to get out of the house, away from a wife he couldn’t console and a brother-in-law who could. His head was lowered, his shoulders hunched. I tried to think of something to say, but came up blank. Sometimes silence is best.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the phone call right away,” he said. “My brother-in-law was pressuring me, and Gavriel. . . .”

I didn’t answer. We continued walking.

“The other day Dassie told me she’d heard about a boy and girl at a coed camp who had a mock wedding ceremony,” he said when we reached the car. “She wanted to know if they were married if there was no rabbi. I told her the ceremony could be binding, and they might need a divorce. I thought she was just curious,” he said. “What goes around, comes around.”

I assumed he hadn’t told his wife about that conversation. “You mentioned that for the marriage to be binding, you need a ring and valid witnesses. Where would he get witnesses?”

“I have no idea. To be honest, I’d be surprised if he
did
have two witnesses.”

“So they’re
not
married. Isn’t that good news?”

“Not if Dassie doesn’t know that. If she thinks she
is
married . . .”

“If,” I have learned, is a huge word, filled with promise or foreboding. “Why didn’t your brother-in-law want me to know about the call?”

“Reuben worried that you’d decide to bow out, that you’d insist on bringing in the police. Because the man joked about wanting money, and he sounds so . . .”

“Controlling, manipulative? Reuben was right, Rabbi Bailor. I think you
should
tell the police everything.”

“You’re going to give your detective friend the note and the coins, right? Maybe he’ll find out something. Did anything strike you about the call, Molly?”

“The fact that this man mentioned Monday,” I said. “It’s as though he’s giving you a deadline. Maybe he
wants
you to find him.”

He nodded. “I noticed that, too. But I don’t understand his game. Do you?”

I hesitated, then shook my head.

Several other things had struck me. Some that I wanted to think about, others that I didn’t want to share with Rabbi Bailor because they were so worrisome.

Chapter 13

“Don’t be disappointed if you don’t learn anything,” Zack said after he handed his car keys to the young valet.

“Liora said Yamashiro. Or the Grove, but that’s in the middle of the Orthodox community, so Dassie wouldn’t have risked being seen there. And Dassie mentioned Yamashiro to her sister, and to her best friend.”

After leaving the Bailors, I had phoned Sara, then my sister Liora. Then Zack. He’d been happy to accompany me, but had insisted on driving. He claims I have a lead foot, and it’s a steep uphill drive to Sycamore near Franklin and Yamashiro, which is 250 feet above Hollywood Boulevard.

We walked toward the pagoda-style Mountain Palace (that’s what “yamashiro” means) and climbed the steps to the entrance—ten or twelve steps; I wasn’t counting. Definitely fewer than the original 300 that led up the hillside through magnificent Japanese gardens to the cedar and teak mansion, an exact replica of a palace near Kyoto, that the Bernheimer brothers completed in 1914 to house their Asian treasures. The treasures were auctioned off a decade later when one of the brothers died.

“It
is
beautiful, isn’t it?” I said.

From where we were standing, we could look up and see the 600-year-old pagoda the brothers had imported from Japan. The oldest structure in California, I’d read.

“Disappointed that I didn’t propose here?” Zack asked.

“Definitely not.” Relieved, to be honest. That was where Ron had asked me to marry him. In the Sunset Room, to be specific. “And chocolate is always romantic.”

Last Chanukah Zack had presented me with a huge
dreidel
filled with Godiva chocolates and a princess-cut diamond ring.

It was 9:50, too late to be seated in the dining room, we were informed with polite regret by the maître d’ standing behind the tall, intricately carved hexagonal red desk in the lobby.

“I was hoping you could help me.” I showed him Hadassah’s photo. “My cousin was here Sunday night with a young man. Her parents haven’t heard from her since, and they’re beginning to become concerned, but they don’t want to report her missing, because she’s probably fine, and that would be embarrassing, if you know what I mean.”

“Quite.”

“The thing is, the young man probably knows where she is, but we don’t know his name. My cousin may be with him right now, which is why we’d like to contact him. I really, really hope you can help us.”

The maître d’ frowned. “I’m not sure how.”

“Could you show her photo to the staff? She was wearing a black skirt and long-sleeved black top, kind of clingy? Maybe someone can recall her, and the man she was with, maybe his first name? And then you could look through your receipts and find his last name.”

The man sighed. “I don’t have Sunday’s receipts. Even if I did, it would take hours to go through all of them. And you’re assuming that someone will remember this man’s first name. That’s highly unlikely, madam.”

It was. Ridiculous, really. “Right. Sorry.”

“Could you at least verify that my wife’s cousin was here?” Zack said. “We’d appreciate your help.”

The maître d’ hesitated. Zack slipped him a twenty.

“I’ll see what I can do.” The maître d’ palmed the bill. “You may want to wait in the lounge. The bar is open until one during the week, and the view is quite spectacular.”

“I hope it won’t take him till one to learn something,” I whispered to Zack as we left the lobby.

Zack had never been here, so we walked to the heated, open-air garden court and strolled around, admiring the koi and silk tapestries and exotic plants.

“I wonder if those tapestries are the original ones,” Zack said. “Yamashiro was restored, you know.”

“Since when are you an expert on Yamashiro?”

“I read up on it. I always wanted to come here.”

The lounge was crowded, but we nabbed a small table near the windows and ordered drinks that arrived almost immediately. A piña colada for me; a diet lemon Coke for Zack, who would be driving home—soon, he figured. He was certain the maître d’ would strike out.

Gazing through the windows at the panoramic view of Hollywood and all of Los Angeles, I wondered which tiny dot of light signaled the room where Hadassah was. I sighed.

“Thinking about Hadassah?” Zack said.

“So much for romantic ambience. Sorry.” I tasted my drink. The pineapple and rum mixture was sweetly tart, delicious. “I can understand why the Bailors are frantic. I would be, too, if my child ran away with a stranger. But it’s sad that Hadassah’s actions will taint her reputation forever, and her family’s.”

“That’s the reality, Molly.”

“Well, I don’t have to like it.” I sipped my drink.

“Not all the Yamashiro history is romantic, you know,” Zack said. “Rumor has it that during the Depression, starving actresses hung out here hoping to be hired for the evening by men who could afford their company.”

“Hooray for Hollywood,” I said.

“After Pearl Harbor, a false rumor circulated that Yamashiro was a signal tower for the Japanese. The place was vandalized, and because of the anti-Japanese paranoia, the owners camouflaged the Asian architecture and used black paint to cover the carved woods.”

“Is this supposed to cheer me up?”

“Rumors are powerful, Molly, even if they’re not true. When the war ended, Yamashiro was converted into apartment units. A few years later, a new buyer planned to demolish the entire property and build a hotel and apartment building. But as the demolition was about to begin, he discovered all that beauty underneath the black paint.”

“What’s your point?”

“Sometimes we can’t see behind the black paint, Molly. But the truth often emerges, eventually.”

“I don’t think that’s a consolation for the Bailors.” I stared into the darkness. “From what we know, this guy hasn’t harmed Hadassah— yet. And he hasn’t asked for money. Well, he joked about wanting a hundred grand, but then he said it wasn’t about money. So what’s in it for him?”

“Power, control. There are hundreds of predators like him lurking in chat rooms, pedophiles who prey on children, men who lure young girls and women to meet them.”

And sometimes rape them, or kill them. I knew that’s what Zack was thinking. The possibility made me shudder.

“A real estate agent from Anchorage had seventeen screen names,” Zack said. “He’d pretend to be a girl and strike up a friendship with lonely girls. Then he’d try to set them up on a date with a teenage boy—himself. I’m sure Hadassah’s guy made her feel safe, Molly. And he must have sensed her vulnerability. That’s why he chose her.”

I stirred my drink. “I don’t think he
happened
to meet Hadassah in the chat room. I think he knew her.”

Zack frowned. “What makes you think that?”

“Sara, the best friend, told me he knew things about Hadassah. That her favorite color was green, for example.”

“Green is a favorite color for many people, Molly.”

“He knew she was going to be a lawyer, Zack. He knew her favorite music. He’s like a magician who sets up his cards, or a fortune teller who gets information on the client before the reading. The whole thing is rigged.”

“What’s this guy’s motive?”

“Revenge? Rabbi Bailor wanted to expel a senior. He didn’t, but there’s still friction. Maybe this guy is trying to get back at the rabbi through Dassie.”

“He’s too young to fit with what Sara told you.”

“Dassie could’ve given Sara misleading information. Or it could be someone else in the family. Like the brother.”

“You’re reaching, Molly.”

“Maybe.” I took another sip. “There’s something personal about this. The note to Rabbi Bailor, the phone call. This guy has Dassie under his control. If he’s not after money, why is he taunting them? And I’m bothered by what he said. About consummating the marriage?”

“From
Hamlet.”
Zack nodded. “ ‘ ’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.’ ”

“Hamlet’s not talking about having sex with Ophelia. He’s contemplating suicide. This guy also made a reference to Romeo and Juliet.”

“Because Dassie ran away to be with him, because her parents wouldn’t approve of him,” Zack said, but he was frowning. “Did you mention this to the Bailors?”

“No. If I’m wrong, I didn’t want to add to their worries.”

The maître d’ appeared. Behind him was a tall, leggy waitress, her platinum blond hair practically white against the black of her uniform shirt, on which “Yamashiro” was stitched in gold.

“This is Irene Jakaitis,” he told us. “She remembers serving your cousin and the gentleman on Sunday night.”

I jumped up so quickly that I rattled the table. Zack stood, too. The maître d’ gave me a disapproving look as he handed me Hadassah’s photo. Then he bowed and left.

“Irene, I
really
appreciate this,” I said. “You’re sure this is the young woman you saw?”

“Uh-huh. Her name was really different. Not Daisy, but close to it.”

“Dassie?”

“That’s it.” Irene beamed. “She was a toothpick, even in this winter white outfit she was wearing. I mean, who can wear white, right?”

“I thought she was wearing a black outfit.”

“She was when they arrived. She changed in the restroom. I kidded her date. ‘Sweetie,’ I said, ‘you’d better feed your girlfriend or she’s gonna disappear.’ But your cousin said she keeps kosher and there wasn’t anything she could order. So I’m thinking, wow, that must be hard, right?” She studied us, her eyes lingering on Zack’s yarmulke. “You two keep kosher, too?”

I nodded. “Do you remember the man’s name, Irene?”

The waitress shook her head. “Like I said, your cousin’s name was unusual. But I hear so many names, I hardly remember any of them. Well, unless Brad Pitt walked in. His name I’d remember.” She winked.

“What does this guy look like?” Zack asked.

She eyed Zack. “You’re over six feet, right? He’s a couple of inches shorter. Nice looking, but not drop-dead gorgeous. Brown hair, I think. He was wearing a beanie like yours. And they were into each other, you know? But without touching. Like, not even holding hands or anything.” Irene placed a hand on her hip. “So kosher, huh. No bacon, right? What about wine? Does that have to be kosher, too?”

“Yes. How old do you think he is, Irene?” I asked.

“Midtwenties? Definitely older than your cousin.” A frown clouded the waitress’s amiable expression. “Are you cops or something? Is she under age?”

“We’re not cops,” Zack said. “We just want to find her, Irene. Honest.”

“So how old
is
she? Twenty?”

“Almost,” I lied, taking pity on Irene.

“I think it was all that makeup.” The waitress sighed. “She definitely looked older.”

“They had drinks?”

Irene nodded.
“He
did, a few. When she went to the restroom, he told me he was planning to pop the question, and he needed to get up the nerve to do the deed. Your cousin ordered a diet Coke, but she was getting mellow, if you know what I mean, so she probably had more than a sip or two of his. No wine, though. I brought over champagne after he proposed, on the house. Your cousin said no thanks. That’s why I asked you about the wine.”

“You heard him propose?” I asked.

Irene shook her head. “He did that outside. A lot of people get married at Yamashiro, because the view is so romantic. Anyway, when they came back in, your cousin had a ring. A plain silver band, but she didn’t seem to care. And she had it on the index finger of her right hand. But then she moved it to her ring finger.”

Eight months earlier, Zack had slipped a wedding band on the index finger of my right hand.

“They looked so happy,” Irene said. “It was a perfect night. Well, it would’ve been, if not for his car. He came back in after they left and told the manager the valet dinged the driver door. I felt so bad for him. He was trying not to lose his cool, but he was really upset.”

“So what happened?” I hoped a report had happened. A report would have a name and address, a phone number.

“The valet insisted the ding was there when he received the car. He’d written that on the parking ticket. My manager said your cousin’s boyfriend could fill out a report, but he didn’t want to. So they left.”

So much for a report. I repressed a sigh.

“The truth is, it wasn’t a big deal,” Irene said. “You could hardly see the ding unless you were looking for it.”

“You saw the car?” Excitement fluttered in my chest.

“A silver Altima. It looked brand-new. I felt like I was the maid of honor, you know? So I went to take a look, see if I could help.”

“Did you happen to notice the license plate?”

“As a matter of fact, I did. It was one of those personalized plates, you know? R-C-K-Y-R-D. Rocky Road. That’s my favorite ice cream, too.”

Right now it was mine, too. I grinned so hard my cheeks ached. “I love you, Irene.”

Irene laughed. “Hey, when you see your cousin, wish her
Mazal to f.
That’s what you say when someone Jewish gets married, right?”