“Of course, David. How are you holding up?”
“Okay. I mean we expected this, but … still …”
David leads Dr. Bronstein into the dining room.
“He was your father,” says the rabbi, a gentle-looking man in a dark suit and yarmulke. “Your grief is understandable. But grief is an ancient and universal power that helps us humans mend our broken hearts. Hello, Judith. Michael. My condolences on your loss.”
“Thank you, Rabbi,” says Judith, brushing at her blonde hair. “I wonder if you could help us with an unfortunate situation …”
She gestures toward Ceepak and me.
We’re her unfortunate situation.
“Hello, Rabbi Bronstein,” says Ceepak.
“John. Always good to see you.”
“These police officers want to do an autopsy,” says Judith, jutting out her plus-size hip and resting a hand on it.
“Is this true, John?”
“Yes, sir. We’d like to eliminate any doubt as to the cause of Dr. Rosen’s death. However, to do so, we will need access to his corpse.”
“Of course. Have you alerted the morticians at Grossman amp; Mehringer? They may have already begun their embalming procedures.”
“Rabbi?” Judith sounds, well, mortified.
The Rabbi shrugs. “What Detective Ceepak and the police are asking is reasonable, Judith. And I, of course, harbor no religious objection to the procedure. Go, John. Do this thing.”
“Thank you, Rabbi.”
“Shalom. Might I call you later?”
“Of course. Do you still have my cell number?”
“Yes.” Bronstein taps his suit coat pocket. “It’s in my phone. From February.”
“I look forward to talking to you.” Ceepak turns to face the Rosen family. “Again our condolences on your loss. And rest assured, the medical examiner will treat your father’s remains with the utmost respect and dignity.”
I take that as our cue to hurry out the front door.
So we do.