Rabbi Gabrielle Commits a Felony Read online




  BOOK IV:

  RABBI GABRIELLE COMMITS A FELONY

  Roger E. Herst

  The Rabbi Gabrielle Series

  Book I: Rabbi Gabrielle’s Scandal

  Book II: A Kiss for Rabbi Gabrielle

  Book III: Rabbi Gabrielle’s Defiance

  Book IV: Rabbi Gabrielle Commits a Felony

  Book V: Rabbi Gabrielle Ignites a Tempest

  See the end of this book for teasers!

  Diversion Books

  A Division of Diversion Publishing Corp.

  80 Fifth Avenue, Suite 1101

  New York, New York 10011

  www.DiversionBooks.com

  Copyright © 2011 by Roger Herst

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For more information, email [email protected].

  First Diversion Books edition June 2011.

  ISBN: 978-0-9838395-3-8 (ebook)

  1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  The Rabbi Gabrielle Series

  CHAPTER ONE

  When Rabbi Gabrielle Lewyn was single, rumors about her bedmates circulated in Washington's Jewish community. Her marriage to Kye Chung changed everything. Once gossipers knew who she was sleeping with, their speculation ceased. The moment she stepped under the marriage chupah, Mrs. Lewyn's sex life – she never took Kye's name – fell off everybody's radar screen and was no more a topic of conversation than the price of corn on last year's commodity exchange. While her marriage solved several public relations questions at Washington D. C's Congregation Ohav Shalom, it opened new questions in her mind. If as a single woman she had been puzzled by the mysteries of sex, being married did little to enlighten her.

  After a few months of marriage, the frequency of lovemaking with Kye diminished. At the beginning, sleeping with him had been a command performance. And best of all, no rumors tailed her through the congregation. Though both were dedicated workaholics, they would shuffle their respective schedules to be available for each other, coming home a bit early and getting to work a bit late, and on romantic occasions, rendezvousing in secluded places at lunch time. After six months of wild and movie-like passion, they settled back into old work habits and started postponing physical intimacies. Many evenings, they returned home too late and too exhausted for physical exertion, though at thirty-seven-years of age, she knew it was time to concentrate on getting pregnant. During her ovulation,they made formal dates like doctor appointments and then continuously reminded each other not to forget. They soon experienced what other couples trying to conceive often complain about – conception can be more work than play. What was supposed to be fun, wasn't.

  The morning of the twenty-first day of her menstrual cycle, she and Kye pledged to "make it happen" that evening. He was in the midst of merging three small Internet web sites into an on-line campaigning forum and couldn't tear himself from the office until 8:30 p.m. But he promised to be home no later than 9:30. Gabby took the opportunity to work late at Ohav Shalom on a series of Chanukah stories she had promised to publish on the synagogue's web site, providing a new episode each day of the eight-day festival. The evening's goal was to complete the second installment of The Odyssey of Mordecai Yoelson.

  A few minutes past eight, Gabby was reviewing her second episode when a vibration from the floor tickled the soles of her feet and traveled toward her ankles. Sometimes after hours, when a heavy bus or truck traveled on the boulevard outside the synagogue, the building would vibrate and trigger a Pavlovian response from her Southern California childhood. She would look for the swaying of an overhead chandelier to confirm an earthquake in progress. But this was no earth tremor or passing vehicle. An hour earlier, Harold Farb, Ohav Shalom's executive director, had popped his head into her office to announce that he was going home and it was now her responsibility to arm the burglar alarm. The danger of being alone in the synagogue after nightfall barely registered upon her for if one wasn't safe in a place of worship, where? But what if the self-locking door had failed to close properly when Harold left? She slipped off her left shoe and pressed her toes against the hardwood floor to absorb additional vibrations.

  The thought of calling the police flashed through her mind, but was immediately dismissed. She had always insisted that Ohav Shalom remain open during working hours as a place of worship, meditation and community, despite a Board of Directors increasingly worried about security. After hours was another matter. Unless synagogue activities were scheduled, doors to the street remained locked. To find out who had entered the building, she slipped her foot back into her shoe and rose from her desk.

  The secretarial work area that her secretary, Chuck Browner, ruled with the authority of a petty autocrat, looked as it always did at the end of the day – tidy and ready for business the next morning. Past a door marked Rabbi's Study, a long, familiar corridor linked the synagogue's administrative offices to the religious school classrooms. Gabby stepped into the hallway, adjusting her eyes to the darkness and attuning her ears to the silence. At the far end of the corridor near the stairwell, a 24-hour emergency light flickered off then on again. She wondered if the electric power had temporarily failed or if a body had passed between her and the light source. A faint whisper in the distant darkness stopped her progress. "Who's there?" she called out and waited for a response.

  "Who is it?" she tried a second time, with no more success.

  She asked herself, why wouldn't someone with a legitimate purpose respond? Or, for that matter, throw on the electric switch at the top of the stairwell? A host of bleak possibilities presented themselves, the most compelling to retreat immediately to her study and call the police. But the corridor behind her was an abyss of darkness. The light switch near the stairwell became her new goal. A set of doors to the administrative center had been left open in response to her desire that Ohav Shalom should always promote a feeling of openness. She had passed the first when she was suddenly aware of air swishing behind her. An instant later, an unseen body struck her shoulder. The thrust sent her against a row of confirmation class photographs hanging on the wall, shattering glass and unhooking at least one. Her feet were staggering for footing when a second blow drove into her hip, sending her again against the wall. Next, her arms were roughly wrenched behind her back. While her elbows thrashed in defense and her legs kicked against her attacker, a set of unusually heavy hands denied her feet traction by lifting her from the floor. In the mayhem, her directional compass went haywire. Thoughts of abduction were quickly replaced by fear of rape. In those terrible moments, she asked herself in a moment of unexpected lucidity why she had forgotten to scream. Perhaps because there was no one to hear, or perhaps she was diabolically mimicking the silence of her attacker.

  The outline of familiar furniture in Chuck's secretarial station restored her sense of location. She thought she had left lights on in the study, but they were off when she was carried inside and forcefully deposited into her desk chair. It was now clear there were two assailants, one who held her down while another lashed her hands behind the chair with nylon cord. In the dithering speed of the attack, her thoughts expanded in all directions, nothing making sense. "What do you want?" she finally squealed with little expectation of an answer.

  A gag wedged between her lips denied her the opportunity to repeat the question. Several lashings of duct tape secured it to her cheeks and around the back of her head. While the second attack
er slapped a blindfold over her eyes and secured it with multiple knots, his bushy whiskers brushed against her neck and she became aware of a garlicky odor. Small slivers of faint light crept under the bottom of the blindfold, but beyond that, she could see nothing. Only her legs were still free to resist. But as soon as her assailants finished securing her torso, they bound her legs to the chair with more duct tape, starting at her ankles and working their way toward the knees, all with extra circles for insurance against being forced loose.

  Once she was restrained, they seemed to backtrack from her desk. She heard the click of the light switch near the door, first on, then off, perhaps for a final check or a signal to someone outside. A faint suggestion of light snuck under the lower rim of the blindfold, but soon disappeared. She knew her study was now dark, making it appear from the boulevard that she had left for the day. Her door clicked shut. The whole rotten affair hadn't taken more than two or three minutes.

  Despite every instinct to explode with rage, she knew that for the moment there was no alternative but to evaluate her predicament. Working herself free was going to be difficult, if not impossible. Getting help? From whom? She tested the bonds one at a time, wishing to be in a movie where the good guy frees himself with the help of broken bottles or sharp metal objects carelessly left behind by the bad guy. Her tongue forced a small pocket in the cloth gag, separating her lips, but the duct tape refused to give more. Tugging and pulling her arms proved fruitless. She could squirm a bit and perhaps create enough imbalance to tumble onto the floor, but what would that accomplish other than to make her more miserable? Besides, if she couldn't control the fall, she might hit her head or break a limb.

  It was then that she remembered her date with Kye, asking herself how he would know where to look for her. If he drove by and failed to search the synagogue's executive carport for her Lexus convertible, he would assume she had left for the evening. The telephone on her desk was only an arm's-length away, but might have been a mile. Then an even more alarming thought took possession of her. When she worked late, she had a habit of stopping in the ladies room to relieve herself before driving home, following her own facetious advice to friends, "Never commute without a full tank of gas and an empty bladder." Thought of a pot of green jasmine tea, brewed a half-hour before the attack, plagued her. Had she known what was in store, she would have visited the lavatory earlier, or refrained drinking the contents of two full-sized mugs. Was the physical discomfort she anticipated going to be worse than the humiliation of being discovered sitting in a pool of urine?

  She expected a call on her private line from Kye about 9:15 and was not disappointed. The phone rang and rang, perhaps twelve times, but there was nothing to do but listen and cry inside. It wasn't like her not to inform him if she were going to be late and he would undoubtedly worry. At some point, he'd call the police, but perhaps not until the wee hours of the morning. And what would they do?

  About an hour after his call, her bladder sent a message of urgency. She ground her teeth behind the gag, determined not to soil herself. Somehow, she would learn how to endure, though it became necessary to concede that under the circumstance such resolve was hollow. The men who tied her up didn't give a hoot whether or not she peed in her pants.

  Who the intruders were and what they hoped to accomplish remained a mystery. If burglars, what could they steal other than the silver breast plates and crowns from the Torahs, a half-dozen silver-plated Kiddush chalices from the synagogue museum or the petty cash locked up in the gift shop – most of which was stored behind lock and key? And why attack her? Because they had said nothing there was no hope of identifying their speech. Darkness hid distinguishing features of their faces or their clothing. Other than a blush of bushy whiskers and the smell of garlic, she knew absolutely nothing about them.

  Her bonds prevented her from moving to ease pressure in her pelvis. She originally believed that her bladder would expand until the pain became unbearable. But that didn't happen. Instead, the discomfort rose to painful summit, then leveled into a dull, persistent ache. The phone on her desk rang again – this time only for six rings before the caller hung up. Sometime after midnight, sleep took possession of her. She awoke often, each time relieved to find herself sitting on a dry cushion.

  Rafael “Doc“ Veracruz, Ohav Shalom's Salvadoran-born custodian, found Gabby a few minutes after 6 a.m. when he normally arrived to prepare the synagogue for the day's business. He immediately noticed that the building alarm was not set and concluded that someone had entered before him. Since the only person who occasionally beat him to work was Rabbi Lewyn, he went directly to her study. His knock on the door failed to wake her and he was about to satisfy his curiosity elsewhere, but decided to see if her study required last minute cleaning. After switching on the lights, he saw Gabby bound in her chair and exclaimed, "Me Dio! Ma rabbina, Que este?"

  A few seconds later, he was working on the duct tape securing her gag. Gentle as he tried to be, the tape on her cheeks ripped like miniature rapiers. Her eyes needed to adjust to the blinding fluorescent lights. Before explaining what had happened, she instructed him to remove scissors from her desk drawer and cut the chord and tape holding her arms and legs. Once free to stand, her first reaction was to gaze down at the dry cushion. Had she really beaten her abductors?

  "Doc," she pleaded while massaging her cheeks and neck muscles, "please help me to the bathroom. I'm not sure my legs are steady enough to walk."

  "What happened, ma Rabbina?" he asked, putting an arm under hers for support.

  "Just get me to the ladies room before I explode. I'll tell you the details later."

  After relieving herself, she stepped toward the washbasin mirror and inspected her image. A set of exhausted eyes peered back, wanting nothing more than to go home, shower, and collapse in bed. But she knew that was not likely to happen. Though there were only a few facts to relate, it was bound to be a long day debriefing the police.

  Doc was dutifully waiting in the corridor to escort her. His support was accepted though by now not required. Once past a pair of steel fire doors, she halted to read an unfamiliar paper banner taped onto the opposite wall. Printed in bold black letters with a felt marker were the words:

  The earth lies polluted under its inhabitants

  For they have transgressed the laws, violated the statutes,

  Broken the everlasting covenant…

  Its transgression lies heavy upon it,

  It falls and will not rise again…

  "What this?" Doc asked.

  Gabby was never sure how much English, or Spanish for that matter, Doc could read. "It's from the Flood Story in the Book of Genesis," she replied proud of her ability to identify a relatively obscure biblical passage. "And I don't know why it's here. I want to call my husband. Please, stay with me until I'm back in my study, then see if anything is missing or damaged."

  Still in the corridor, the pair stopped to gaze upon a confirmation picture that lay among shards of broken glass on the floor. Gabby stooped to retrieve it, but paused, thinking that nothing should be touched until after the police arrived. For the time being, it was enough to note this was a picture of the Class of 1982 – kids who by now had entered into adulthood.

  Kye answered her call with a sigh of relief. "Where are you, Gabrielle? I was worried stiff. I couldn't figure where you might have gone. Your office was dark when I drove by."

  "I was sitting at my desk all night. But the lights were switched off. Two men broke in about eight last night. They tied and gagged me. I couldn't move until Doc found me a few minutes ago. If you had looked in the carport you would have seen my car. I presume it's still there. I've got to call the police."

  "Did they hurt you?"

  "A few bruises. I'm tired but okay. I can tell you it wasn't pleasant not being able to use the lavatory. I'm afraid it's going to be a long day."

  "I'm coming over," he declared.

  "I appreciate it, Love, but that's not necessary. I
promise I'm all right."

  "I'm coming," he insisted.

  "I know you're up to your eyeballs with the merger. Do what you have to, then let's meet at home this afternoon. We've missed a crucial day, you know. I can't guarantee my physical condition, but we must try."

  "I'm on my way to Ohav "

  "I'd love to go home, take a shower and cuddle up with you, but somehow I fear the worst isn't over."

  "See you as soon as I can get there, Lovey."

  Her next call was to the police and after being shuffled between several receptionists eventually spoke with a precinct sergeant who listened sympathetically, taking notes. He asked several times if the intruders were still in the building and if she wanted medical attention, then cautioned about touching anything that might bear fingerprints.

  "This sounds like a hate crime to me, Rabbi. That means we've got to inform the FBI. I'll dispatch officers patrolling in the neighborhood and send a team of detectives just as soon as they're free," the sergeant said. "It's still early, so be sure they can get into your church… sorry, I mean your temple… or whatever you call your church."

  By now her hand was trembling and her fingers could barely punch the right telephone keys to reach Harold Farb, the synagogue's executive director. Under stress, her limbs often trembled, but the phenomenon seldom plagued her during the actual moments of crisis. The onset usually happened afterward.

  Harold Farb joked how he could not possibly function without several cups of black coffee to wake him up in the morning. When his wife, Felicia, handed him the phone about 6:34 a.m, he growled with characteristic moodiness that on bad days it might remain with him into mid-morning. Gabby bypassed his coarseness and described what had happened, then in the middle of the conversation exclaimed, "…Harold, I just thought of something terrible! I forgot about the Seferei Torah!"