Lieberman's Law by Stuart M. Kaminsky Read Free Book Online Page A

Timms can bring extra chairs.”
    â€œAnd what do we do there?” said Bloombach in asthmatic exasperation.
    â€œWe pray,” said Rabbi Wass. “We pray, talk, and wait and let the police do their jobs.” There was some grumbling but they had all heard. When giving his sermons the usually soft-spoken rabbi could project with clear enunciation.
    â€œWhen will it end for us, Abe?” Syd Levan said, as he filed past with the rest.
    â€œProbably never,” said Lieberman.
    Syd, the youngest of the Alter Cockers, had lost a son who had moved to Israel and become a soldier and the victim of a terrorist bomb. He shook his head and looked very old.
    Maish, a bulky bulldog with sad eyes, had not prayed or come to a service since the murder of his own son by a robber a year earlier. Not only that, but his pregnant daughter-in-law had been shot and lost her baby, Maish’s grandchild. He paused when the others were finally in the chapel. He and God were engaged in a bitter feud, a feud which helped to give some sense of meaning to his damaged life. He had lost his faith in God as a young man, regained it before his brother and had it still, but he no longer believed that he could understand the pain of the innocent, which God could stop. He would not quite pray at home, alone, but he would talk to God, imagining answers to his questions, debating them, pointing out God’s errors in thinking. It sustained him.
    Benishay had returned to the large chapel. Bess and Abe stood facing Maish and the Chen clan.
    â€œWhy don’t you all go back to the T & L?” Bess said, taking her brother-in-law’s hand and looking at the Chens and Yetta who, she was certain, did not wish to pray in the small chapel. “I’ll personally call as soon as the police let us clean up.”
    â€œThey took your most valuable Torah,” said Sylvie Wang, Howie’s granddaughter, a nice-looking girl in thick glasses. “I heard the rabbi tell someone.”
    â€œWe’ll get it back,” said Lieberman, thinking, “I’ll get it back if it still exists.” There was a chance the vandals, the anti-Semites, had not destroyed the blue velvet Torah. There may have been some among them, perhaps only one, who knew its value. Simply put, the missing Torah was priceless. More than four hundred years old, about a yard long, made by Spanish Jews during the reign of the Moors, when Jews were allowed not only to hold office in Spain but to worship as they chose. Each of the first five books of the Old or Jewish Testament, the Torah, had been meticulously and beautifully written out in a fine hand with the first words of each chapter in real gold.
    The small chapel was only a few feet from where they stood and the doors were not particularly thick. There was only silence and a few sobs from behind that door.
    â€œI’d better go in with them, Abe,” Bess said, touching her husband’s arm, kissing his cheek, and turning to the Chens. “You’re all welcome to join us, but I thought you might feel more comfortable at the T & L.”
    Howie nodded and said something to his family in Cantonese. They answered and began to leave the temple with Maish and Yetta.
    â€œI’ll stay,” said Howie, heading for the small chapel.
    Bess moved with him and glanced at her husband. He nodded.
    Maish, his wife, and the Chens filed out past Bill Hanrahan, who nodded at them as they left. Lieberman had seen his partner coming in moments earlier and caught the look that made it clear he knew or had discovered something.
    When the corridor was clear, Lieberman could see a pair of unmarked cars pulling up in front of the door. The FBI.
    â€œRabbi,” Hanrahan said, glancing at the cars out of which men in dark suits were emerging quickly. “I think I’ve found a witness.”
    Abe moved toward him. This was not their town, not their jurisdiction, and legally not their investigation,