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Jake returned to pick up the Torah at just past five-thirty.
The late afternoon’s light showers had now burst into a heavy downpour.
He reached back into the rear of the Nova, and fished out a blue golf umbrella from the floor. He held it outside the open car door, and extended it before stepping outside beneath it.
The rain bounced off his portable roof as he sidestepped puddles, and made his way to Muttle’s front door.
He squashed the doorbell several times with no result. He rapped on the little window in the front door. That got Muttle’s attention before.
Still, no one arrived.
Jake twirled around to see if anyone was nearby.
He caught a glimpse of the neighboring KFC through a break in the retaining wall where he spotted a middle-aged unshaven man wearing an oversized blue and white knitted yarmulke sitting on a webbed folding chair next to the garbage bin holding an umbrella. He seemed to be entertaining himself by watching the herd of cars inch their way through the drive through. He waved to each passing patron like the official KFC greeter.
Rumbling thunder followed a flash of lightning rattling the little glass pane in Muttle’s front door. That reminded him that Muttle handed him a receipt earlier before he left.
He slipped the receipt out of his pants pocket, and called Muttle’s cell. Hello. You’ve reached the voice mailbox of Muttle the Sofer. Leave a message and I’ll get right back to you.
Jake left a message saying that since no one came to the door he would be back in the morning to get the Torah.
He returned to the Nova, and slid into the driver’s seat while holding the umbrella outside the door. He collapsed it, and tossed it back onto the rear floor.
He headed north on McCormick Blvd. to his Evanston home.
Jake used his share of the lottery winnings to buy a three-bedroom, split-level, fixer upper on a quiet, tree-lined, dead-end street. It didn’t have a garage, but unlike his old apartment in the city there was plenty of open street parking, and a driveway.
The pelting rain still hadn’t let up.
He pulled up the driveway, and inched as close as he could to the tiny, covered front porch.
He grabbed the umbrella, leaped from the Nova onto the covered porch, and unlocked the front door.
Standing in the tiny entrance he opened the umbrella, held it outside the open door, and twirled it to shake off the rainwater. He partially collapsed it, and propped it up in the corner on the weatherproof mat inside the door to finish drip drying.
Jake slipped off his shoes, and sunk his feet into the blue, cozy slippers waiting for him near the door. Two additional pairs remained, each a different size and color. The small pink set was for Mindy, and the big brown ones were for Pinky. He originally thought about buying the pink set for Pinky, but then decided against it. Teasing him about his name occasionally was one thing. Rubbing it in his face every time he visited would be over the top.
He instituted the slipper mandate after refinishing the wood floors, and laying white carpeting in the living room.
He climbed a short staircase up one level, and headed to the front bedroom which he used as a home office. He tossed his wallet and keys into a brown leather tray on top of the antique desk situated next to a full-sized globe.
He checked his cell phone to see if Muttle had responded.
There were no messages.
Jake climbed back down two levels to the home’s lower level.
He stretched out on one of the two black-leather reclining sofas he used to form an L-shape, clicked the remote to watch reruns of Magnum, and plopped his cell onto the white coffee table.
It wasn’t long before the sounds of the storm lulled him into a deep sleep.
He slept late into the morning until the incessant ringtone of his cell woke him.
“Oh, hi rabbi. I haven’t made any more progress with the photo issue,” Jake said preemptively.
“Thanks for the update, but I’m calling to ask for your help with another matter entirely—a time-sensitive matter,” Rabbi Miklin replied. “Can you stop by my office right away?”
“Okay, sure.” Jake said. “But first I need to pick up a Torah that Muttle Katz is fixing for me.”
Silence.
“Rabbi? You still there?”
“Yes,” the rabbi replied. “But Muttle Katz won’t be able to help you.”
“What? Why not?” Jake asked.
“Muttle Katz is the reason I’m calling,” the rabbi explained. “He’s dead. Please come directly to my office. I’ll explain when you get here.”
Jake splashed some water on his stubbled face, and fetched his keys and wallet from the upstairs office.
As he rushed out the front door the sight of Pinky’s slippers reminded him they were meeting at Blind Faith Cafe for breakfast.
He called Pinky, and rescheduled for lunch.
Jake cranked up the Nova, and headed to Rabbi Miklin’s office.
He swung the outside door open letting in a gust of wind that threatened to scatter the stack of flyers on the receptionist’s desk. A few pages sailed before she slammed her hands down to secure the remainder of the stack.
“Hi Jake,” she said. “Pull that door shut tight so the wind doesn’t fling it open. Rabbi Miklin’s waiting for you,” she added, nodding toward the corridor.
Jake noted how little the place had changed over the years.
The old orange and chrome couch had been reupholstered with sleek black leather, and the elderly receptionist had been replaced with a younger one. The rest was exactly how he remembered it the first time he visited Rabbi Miklin’s father all those years ago.
As he made his way down the tiled hallway he swore he could hear the taps of the elder rabbi’s shoes. A chill shot up the back of Jake's neck when he saw the younger Rabbi Miklin standing in his office doorway waiting to greet him. He looked exactly like his father—the same tall stately stance, Homburg, long black coat, and stark white shirt, minus the wrinkles and white hair.
The rabbi waved Jake into his office and toward the guest chair. He gently closed the door before nestling himself into his own worn, brown, leather executive chair.
Jake was eager for details, but he knew the rabbi well enough to be patient.
Rabbi Miklin leaned forward resting his elbows on his old wooden desk causing the wood to creak. He slowly pressed his fingertips together forming a steeple, and then repeatedly separated and pressed them together as if trying to think of the right words to say.
Despite his urge to prod the rabbi along, Jake held his tongue.
Finally, the rabbi said, “As I said, Muttle is dead. His body was found in the mikvah. It looks like he drowned himself—like suicide. His wife, Rose, knows the shame and embarrassment suicide will bring on her. She insists Muttle was not suicidal. She called the Sopoynik Rebbetzin asking her for help who immediately had her husband call me to see if I could get you to investigate. I’m hoping you’ll take this on right away so Rose can at least tell the community the matter is being investigated before everyone assumes it was suicide.”
“Did he leave a note or tell someone he intended to kill himself?” Jake asked.
“No,” the rabbi replied.
“Well, then it’s not technically suicide according to Halachah,” Jake said.
“That’s true,” the rabbi replied. “But even though the circumstances don’t fit the Jewish legal definition of suicide, that won’t stop the community rumor mill.”
The rabbi pressed his palms flat onto the desk and leaned forward. “Please say yes so I can tell the Sopoynik Rebbe you’re taking the case. He’ll spread the word quickly to quash the rumors before they get out of hand.”
Jake knew exactly how quickly the yenta machine fired up, and the damage it could do.
“Of course,” Jake assured him. “I’ll start today.”
“Excellent!” the rabbi responded. “You should get to the mikvah right away to get a look at things before the police seal it off. That’s where Rose found him—drowned in the mikvah. She hasn’t called the police yet—she’s waiting for your help.”
Jake was miffed the rabbi assumed he would take the case before speaking with him, but he knew he had to step up.
Jake arrived to see Rose just before noon. He rang the bell, and knocked on the little window in the door.
After a few rounds of ringing and window rattling he rounded the building, and tapped on the mikvah door.
The door flew open almost immediately revealing a woman dressed sexier than Jake expected.
“Jake Cooper?” she asked.
“Ya,” he replied. “Rose?”
She nodded.
She let Jake in, and locked the door behind her.
“Rabbi Miklin asked me to rush over,” Jake said. “I’m so sorry to hear about Muttle. I was just here yesterday dropping off a Torah. He seemed fine. What happened?”
“I really don’t know, but I know he wouldn’t do this on purpose. He’s over here,” she said while motioning Jake to follow her.
They entered the locker room, and passed a large laundry cart overflowing with wet towels.
The moment they entered the mikvah chamber the hot steam sent salty sweat running down Jake's forehead, and into his eyes.
The first thing he noticed was the worn leather soles of Muttle’s black shoes starkly offset by his white socks.
Jake peered into the tiny, tiled rainwater pool, and saw the same scraggly beard and pockmarked face he met yesterday. Muttle’s gold wireframe glasses were still perched on his nose.
One of the lenses was shattered.
Rose collapsed, and let out a long cry of grief as if she had stumbled upon the body for the first time.
Ultra-Orthodox Jewish rules forbid men from touching women they aren’t married to, so Jake comforted her with words rather than a hug. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
Rose continued weeping.
Jake couldn’t help but notice her full chest squeezed into a body-tight sweater heaving as she gasped for air between sobs.
Suddenly, it occurred to him that she locked the door after letting him in. The two of them were alone—also a big Ultra-Orthodox no-no. He assumed she wasn’t thinking straight, given the shock she was dealing with.
He waited for her cries to subside into soft whimpers before asking, “What makes you think this looks like suicide? If he was trying to drown himself, he’d probably be face down in the water—not on his back.”
“He was,” Rose explained. “I turned him over to see who it was. It took a moment to sink in when I saw. I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it.”
Jake the investigator wanted to say she shouldn’t have touched the body. But Jake the man knew that’s not something she needed to hear now.
“Tell me exactly what happened,” Jake instructed, "from the time you last saw Muttle until you found him.”
Rose took a moment, then replied, “I’d already gone to bed. Muttle came to bed later after he finished his projects for the day. I slept in—”
Jake interrupted her, “Just to confirm, we’re talking about last night, right?”
“Yes,” she said, “last night. I slept in late this morning. Muttle wasn’t home when I got up. I assumed he went to open the mikvah for the men. I got busy getting breakfast ready. When he still hadn’t returned, I called his cell. His voicemail picked up, which was weird. He always answers when he knows it’s me calling.”
Rose seemed to drift into a trance. Her head tilted. Her eyes wandered as if searching for something.
“What did you do after that?” Jake prodded.
After a long pause Rose took a deep breath, and slowly exhaled.
“I went to the mikvah parking lot. I couldn’t go inside during the men’s hours, but I hoped to catch one of them entering or leaving the mikvah. Eventually, a man arrived, and I asked him to go inside to tell Muttle to come out to meet me. But when he tried to pull the door open it was locked. After he left, I used my key to open the door and—well, you know the rest.”
“I know this is hard for you, and it doesn’t seem like much now,” Jake said, “but it will help me figure out what really happened.”
Jake called retired Detective Roberts, and explained the situation. After chewing out Jake for trampling the scene Roberts assured him that someone from the Rogers Park District would be there within the hour.
It was already time to meet Pinky.
Jake knew how Pinky got when he wasn’t fed on time, and didn’t want to push it to a late lunch. He instructed Rose to wait for the police to arrive, and told her not to touch anything more.
“Just tell them exactly what you told me, and let them do their thing. Meanwhile, I’ll start my own investigation.”