“Johann Speiser didn’t tell anyone about a golem on Long Island. Who did?”

“We know it . . . by its work,” Rachel said.

“What work?” Garfield asked. “Does it serve at Seder? Build swimming pools? Golems aren’t just swords of vengeance you know.” Then it hit him and he groaned. “Clay; the black family in Laurel . . . mother and sons . . . covered with clay . . .”

Rachel said, “There were some kids in Brooklyn, too, and the guards at Belzec . . .”

Garfield held Leah against him, drank coffee, and looked out of the window. “I’m an Orthodox rabbi in Riverdale,” Garfield said. “I perform weddings and funerals, conduct Sabbath prayers, preside at High Holy Days, and supervise kashruth‡‡‡‡ should anyone ask, which they seldom do . . .” He threaded his fingers through the sparse beard and kept on clutching Leah. She didn’t mind. He paused, then went on quietly. “I’m not a cabalist, I’m not a mystic, I’m not even sure I believe in God. Still, I’m a good Jew. Which means that if I believe you I have to help you because if they’ve done what you tell me they have, they are disciples of Samael . . . that’s Satan,” he explained.

“I don’t know about Samael,” Rachel said. “But you have to help us.”

Garfield turned to Hawkins. “She does all the talking. Is that because she’s pushy or because you don’t believe any of this?”

“I don’t believe it,” Hawkins said.

“But you?” Garfield said to Rachel.

Rachel hesitated, then she said, “I think it’s true.”

“So,” Garfield said, “I might know a cabalist.”

“You studied the Cabala,” Garfield said to Wolf Tepel.

“So what?” Tepel asked.

“I need a cabalist.”

Tepel took a heavy gray cardigan out of his desk drawer and gave it to Garfield. Garfield wrapped it around his shoulders.

“Schnapps?” Tepel asked. Garfield grinned and Tepel took a bottle out of another drawer and handed it to Garfield. The liquor tasted good and Garfield took two deep swallows and handed the bottle back to Tepel.

“Nu,” said Tepel after a while. “How can a down-­at-the-­heels one-­time almost-­cabalist help the great Chaim Garfield?”

“Am I great?” Garfield asked.

Tepel shrugged. “You’re a nice man. What do I know. Just tell me what you want before I have to turn the heat on and dry up the brains in both our heads.”

“Wolf, I think someone built a golem.”

Tepel drank. “Lots of people built golems. Loew in Prague, Elijah in Chelm, Elijah in Vilna, the prophet Jeremiah—who says, by the way, that the ritual of crea­tion . . . the golem recipe . . . incites feelings of ecstasy. But you can’t trust the cabalists. They say everything incites ecstasy . . .”

Tepel raised the bottle, then pulled it away from his mouth, and stared at his friend.

“You mean now, someone built a golem? A clay man that stands and walks?”

“And kills,” Garfield said.