“I’m sure you do. But what kind of experiences—that’s the question, isn’t it? My daughter says you’ve been touching her, saying things to her that I won’t repeat. Threatening her. Just like that poor little girl I just saw with my own eyes!”

Grub shot up. “I don’t have to talk to you. What right do you have to stand outside my door and spy on me and my patients? That girl you saw is very troubled. She has a right to privacy! From this minute, you can tell Rabbi Halpern I refuse to accept your daughter. She’s too far gone even for my help. A wayward, stubborn girl who has no business being in the company of other religious girls. She’ll infect them with her disgraceful behavior. You wouldn’t believe the kind of things your daughter told me she’s done with this boy! Even I, who thought I’d heard everything, was shocked. I’ll be writing all this to her principal. So it’s good you came by, saves me a phone call.”

Yaakov leaned back, fighting down the almost irresistible urge to smash his arrogant, sneering face to a pulp.

“Is that so, Mr. Grub? I want you to know, I had a chance to talk to your last patient. She’s younger than Shaindele. Barely thirteen. That’s a criminal offense. Child molestation. Remember Nechemya Weberman? How many years behind bars did he get for what he did to that poor girl? One hundred and three? But I’m sure he’ll appeal. And with mazal and time off for good behavior, he’ll be out in no time, only fifty or sixty years!”

Grub sat down at his desk, playing with a pencil.

“You see, Yoel, can I call you that, since you are on such intimate terms with my daughter? You see, it’s not like it used to be, when the whole community elected the Brooklyn DA and then all the judges and all the machers here had to do was complain to get charges dropped and sentences thrown out. Today, it’s not like that. Ask Nechemya Weberman during visiting hours in the penitentiary.”

“I suggest you don’t start fires you won’t know how to put out, because your own house could burn down, Yaakov Lehman. After all, it’s her word against mine. And who do you think they’ll believe? The respected friend of the Bobelger Rebbe himself, or some wayward Bais Yaakov girl, with a mother who committed suicide and a father who married a baalas teshuva who dances around in her underwear in front of open windows? You see, I do my homework.”

Yaakov jumped to his feet, his fists clenched and murder in his eyes.