It’s a story I’ve heard before. The story that got me nearly killed in January was about a dead Hasidic woman whose body was never autopsied. Ultra-Orthodox Jews adhere, well, religiously, to a law that states the dead are to be buried within twenty-four hours of their death. Their bodies are not to be disturbed, and female bodies are definitely not to be disturbed by non-Jewish men like whoever this Roseville officer was. Women prepare the bodies of other women for burial in this world; men do the same for men. Their bodies are cleaned and prayed over and watched until their coffin is covered in dirt in a Jewish cemetery. Meaning, in some cases, no autopsy. No collection of DNA from fingernails or mouths or vaginas; no forensic examination of wounds or internal organs; no toxicology report. The last case I covered was an obvious murder: a woman found dumped in a scrap pile. The fact that her body wasn’t autopsied was completely outrageous. But her husband had enough money and power to pull strings most people couldn’t-or wouldn’t. I imagine that circumventing an autopsy is easier in a town like Roseville where the police department is probably small and poorly funded. And it occurs me that this practice is more insidious when a death like Pessie’s occurs. A body in a scrap pile is obviously a murder. No one gets like that without help. But a woman in her own bathtub? That’s when you really need someone asking questions.
“Why was her mother so insistent?” I ask.
“Fraidy is a very… conservative woman,” says Levi. It seems like he wanted to use a harsher word to describe his mother-in-law, but demurred. “They seem to believe that Pessie… well, I think they are afraid she committed suicide.”
The waiter comes and sets down Levi’s tea. He pushes it aside.
“What do you think made them think that?” I ask once the waiter is out of earshot.
“Pessie had a very hard time after Chaim was born. She felt very overwhelmed. Chaim did not take to her easily, and I believe she was ashamed, which drove her into despair. She went to the rebbe, of course, but I suggested she see a psychologist when speaking with the rebbe didn’t seem to help. I came to this country from Israel. We do not have so much of a stigma about these sorts of issues. Pessie was hesitant, but after a few weeks taking the medication, she felt much, much better. She insisted we keep the fact that she was taking antidepressants from her family. She said they would not understand.”
“But Pessie would never have taken her own life. I suppose you hear that a lot. But I have never been more certain of anything. She was very religious and she would never have sinned against Hashem in such a way. And she would not have left Chaim without his mother. I am certain.”
I look at Saul, who is looking at his coffee. His only son committed suicide last year. But Levi probably doesn’t know that.
“Truthfully, I do not believe her parents actually think Pessie… did this. But they are so afraid of the shame-the speculation and the gossip about their family, and how difficult it would make shidduch for her younger sisters and brothers-that they would rather not know what happened to her than risk the possibility of confirming it was suicide. Or related to drugs they would not want people knowing she had been taking. Now, they can say it was a tragic accident. That she fell in the shower.”
“What do you think happened?” I ask.
“I have no way of knowing that.”
“Right,” I say, “but you suspect… what?”
“I suspect someone killed her.”
“Have you been in touch with the Roseville police?”
“I gave a statement to the first officer. I told him that Pessie always folded her clothing and put on a robe before taking a shower. She did not drop her clothes in a pile on the floor. I told him nothing appeared to be stolen. I told him she would never have left Chaim in his car seat in the living room while she bathed. And I told him that the front door was unlocked when I came home.”
“What did the officer say?”
“He took notes.”
“Have you heard from him since?”
“No,” says Levi.
“Did you reach out again? Like, to follow up?”
“I called once but did not receive a call back. I assumed that if they had information, or needed information, they would contact me. It is their job, after all.” Levi sighs. “It has been a very difficult time. I did not wish to remain in the house where she died, and Chaim and I have had to move in with Pessie’s brother.”
“Have you shared your suspicions with anyone else?”
Levi shakes his head. “I do not wish to contribute to the rumors.”
“There are rumors?”
“Of course. Everyone is always talking. Pessie was engaged to another young man, a neighbor from Brooklyn, before she and I met. Her parents would not let her tell me. They were afraid I would not marry her if I knew.”
“Would you have?”
“I am not an unreasonable man,” he says. “But it was wrong to keep Samuel a secret from me.”
“Samuel?”
“That was his name. Pessie finally told me about him after she became pregnant. She said they were engaged very young, when she was just seventeen.”
“Did she say what happened?”
“She said that he was a nice boy, but that he wanted to live a more modern life. He left the community, and talking about it seemed to embarrass her, so I did not probe further. I felt happy she trusted me enough to tell me. I thought perhaps it meant our marriage was growing stronger.”
“Did you ever meet him?”
Levi shakes his head. “We did not speak of him often.”
“Do you know his last name?”
“No,” he says. “I know it probably seems strange to you, but I did not feel I needed to know so much about him. He was not a part of her life anymore. I do not believe it is healthy to dwell on the past. Which is why I am taking Chaim home to Israel. I do not want my son to grow up around people who believe his mother did something so sinful as take her own life.” I look at Saul. We’ve never talked about his son’s suicide-I learned from someone else-but I can’t imagine it feels good to have someone else proclaim your dead child a sinner. Saul doesn’t flinch, though, and Levi continues. “But before I leave I want to make an effort to clear my wife’s name. I do not know why the Roseville police are uninterested in Pessie’s death. And I do not know why her community seems to have already forgotten her.”
I nod and scribble I do not know why r police uninterested p’s death; her comm seems already forgot her into my notebook.
“Will you write about this?” he asks.
“I’d like to,” I say. “I have to talk to my editor.”
“I know a lot of people think that your stories about what happened to Rivka Mendelssohn were bad for the community, but I disagree. I believe in justice. If a Jew commits a crime he must pay for it, like anyone else.”
“Do you think a Jew did this?” I ask.
“I have no idea. I hope not. But that is not a concern for me. Pessie’s family and the rest of the community in Roseville are afraid of any negative publicity. They believe the goyim will use it to destroy us. I am more concerned with what causes this publicity. If we are the cause because our actions are unjust, we have brought that pain onto ourselves.”
I look at Saul and see that he is nodding. I know that he agrees; he’s said as much to me before. It’s why he joined the police department, and it’s part of why he had to leave. But Saul no longer wears the black hat. I wonder, looking at Levi’s thick beard, what else about the world he lives in does he disagree with? How much does he have to believe to remain in the fold? Is the costume just a habit? What will he teach his son?