couldn’t have shot him in the shoulder or arm?”
“I was aiming for his leg,” I said to him from my chair.
“Jesus, Gidon…”
I stood up and held out my hand. Nate D’Allesandro took it and we pulled each other into a quick one armed hug.
“And on Shabbat, too,” he continued. “No one has respect for anything anymore.”
The younger man, the well dressed thirty-something, stepped closer.
Nate asked: “Remember Matthew…Detective Medrano?”
The younger detective stepped in and we shook hands. I nodded to him. “We met in my dojo.”
Medrano nodded, then asked simply, “What happened?”
I told them, and since I now had plenty of practice, the flow of events sounded even more straightforward than before. When I finished, Nate said to his junior, “Matthew, why don’t you take Mrs. Mandel into the dining room and talk to her. We’ll take the rabbi.”
Medrano went over to the staircase where the Mandels were sitting and led them this way. He asked Shelley to go with him, leaving Josh with us.
I did the introductions. “Josh, this is Captain D’Allesandro. He’s a friend.”
They shook hands.
Nate asked, “Is there a place where we can talk?”
“My study?” He led us to a room off to the right of the main hallway. The study was about the size of the girls’ bedroom upstairs. Two walls had floor-to-ceiling bookcases, filled with Hebrew texts and reference books. I recognized several of the oversized volumes as a collection from a Talmud series. There was a desktop populated with papers, a laptop, and several framed pictures. Along the right wall was a small couch, and an armchair. I sat next to Josh on the couch and Nate took the armchair.
“So,” Nate began, “question number one, do you have any idea who these guys are?”
Josh shook his head. “No, never saw them before.”
“They just came to the door, rang the bell,” I said, “and…”
“You’d have to ask Shelley what specifically happened at the front door. I was in the dining room with the girls, setting the table. After a few seconds, Shelley comes in and there are two men with guns in their hands behind her. They told us to go into the kitchen.”
“And you have no idea who they are,” Nate said again.
“Not a clue.”
“What did they say?” Nate followed up.
“Nothing. They just looked at us, moved us together into the kitchen, and then Gidon came to the door,” he looked at me. “Do you think it was a robbery?”
Nate responded: “Don’t know. They didn’t have time to ask for anything,” he looked at me.
“Josh,” I said, “everything okay at the synagogue? No pissed off members or anything?”
“No.”
“Congregation have any money trouble?” from Nate.
“No. Not that I’ve been told.”
“What about you?”
“No.”
“Witness any crimes or serve on a jury lately?”
“No.”
Before we could ask another question, Officer Williams, one of the two officers first on the scene, poked his head in the room. “Captain, the EMT’s are taking the unconscious man to Sinai.”
I thought he probably could’ve used Shock Trauma, but it wasn’t my call.
“Thanks, Officer.”
He left and we turned back to Josh.
“Gidon told me he saw these two men drive past the synagogue earlier today when the three of you were speaking outside. Ever notice them before, hanging around?”
“No. Not that I noticed.”
Nate stood up and Josh and I followed suit. “We’ll figure this out. Let’s see how your wife is doing.”
With that, the three of us headed into the dining room. As we passed the hallway, we caught sight of a stretcher being rolled to the front door. Mazhar, the man who had wielded the Czech pistol, was on his back beneath a white sheet on the stretcher. He had been strapped in and an intravenous line was running to his right arm. The EMT’s lifted the stretcher and carried him through the door.
We walked into the dining room to join Shelley and Detective Medrano at the table.
“How are you doing?” I asked Shelley.
“Better.” A moment passed. “What’s this all about?”
“Don’t know yet,” Nate said. “But we will.”
As I looked at Shelley and Josh, I’m sure they felt all this was surreal. The Shabbat table set beautifully in front of us, white tablecloth, gleaming plates and silverware, the flowers, two loaves of braided challah set on a tray beneath an embroidered cover, two police detectives, me, uniformed officers moving about. Forensics taking photos everywhere and making notations. There was also, perhaps, the body on the floor in the kitchen. Maybe it was still there; maybe not.
Medrano asked, “Do you folks have a place to stay tonight?”
“Here,” Shelley responded.
“This place is a mess,” Nate said. “You don’t need to stay here tonight.” What Nate meant was there was blood on the floor and on the wall in the kitchen and they didn’t need to see that.
“Sleep out tonight,” I suggested, “and let the clean up crew straighten up.” Nate looked at me knowing there was no cleanup crew. He didn’t say anything. “I know it’s Shabbat and you don’t want anyone working here, but it’s extenuating circumstances. Come back tomorrow.”
“Besides,” Medrano said, “your kids are next door.”
Shelley and Josh both nodded.
A young Asian woman in a Baltimore Police Forensics windbreaker came out of the kitchen. She was carrying a small device not much bigger than a large cell phone. She looked at the group, “Major Aronson?”
At then mention of my rank I looked at Nate who just smiled at me, and then turned to the woman, “Over here.”
She turned to me: “I need to get your fingerprints so I can isolate any others on the gun.” The tech must have been processing the Czech pistol I left on the counter. She came over and I held out my right hand. She had me press each finger in turn onto her handheld device. After each digit she tapped an icon on the screen to enter the
