“Peter, I’m not leaving without you. We all leave tomorrow morning. One more day won’t hurt. As a matter of fact, why don’t you call up the station house and just take the whole week off. We can spend more time with your parents. We won’t have to rush things. Rush, rush, rush. And what is the hurry? To solve one more case that’s going to be processed through the overloaded justice system? We’re not getting younger.”

“You mean I’m not getting younger. You’re still young.”

“I’m almost forty-”

“Oh please!” Decker glared at her. “You’re thirty-eight and you look twenty-two. I’m fifty and look every inch of it.”

“Well, I think you’re very handsome.”

Decker smiled. “That was sweet. Thank you.”

Rina said, “There are loads of things to do in this city. I can take Hannah to the zoo or the Botanical Garden or the Met. I can go over to YU and bug Sammy. I can shop. Things are much cheaper here. Just tell me for what time should I rebook the flight. Tuesday morning? How about Tuesday night-just in case?”

“Tuesday night is fine. And you’re right. I’ll call up the station and take the entire week off. It’ll make my parents happy, and we’ll be able to relax. We’ll fly back from the Gold Coast on Sunday.”

“Wonderful!”

“I’m glad you’re happy.” Decker picked up the paper.

Rina said, “I can’t believe you’re actually listening to me.”

“I throw you a bone every once in a while. Keeps you grateful.”

Decker had learned that many Jews held their funerals in two stages. First there was the hespid, or memorial, where the closed casket was brought into a hall or synagogue and eulogies were given. Then the coffin was transferred to the grave site and buried by friends and family. Since there was no synagogue in Quinton big enough to hold all the mourners, the hespid was done in the Community Hall in Liberty Park. But even that building couldn’t contain the thick black swarm of people that spilled out the door and onto the parkway lawns.

Rina had gone into Quinton earlier with Jonathan and Raisie. They had asked Decker to come along, but he had declined because of obligations: He was still trying to locate the address that Donatti had given him. He had told his wife and his brother that he’d meet up with them later. He’d drive to Quinton in his own car. (Sora Lazarus’s car, but who’s counting?) Decker hadn’t figured in “heavy, heavy traffic and getting lost” time. He was a half hour late, and not only couldn’t he find a seat, he couldn’t even get into the structure. Because he was technically “family,” he could have muscled his way inside, but he decided not to bother. He and the Liebers weren’t on solid territory. He’d stay in the background.

The outside air held imminent frost, the ground beneath Decker’s feet cold and hard. The skies were a lighter gray than yesterday, the tufts of clay-colored cotton drifting through the ether, muting glare from the sun. All day, blue was on the verge of breaking through but never made it past the cloudy barrier. He rocked on his toes, trying to get circulation into his bones. His shoes had worn soles, and his dress socks were California thin. Hands crammed into his pockets, he gave a quick glimpse to his surroundings.

In the distance was a playground with toddlers climbing on gym equipment or running in bulky sweaters and coats, frantic nannies and housekeepers jogging to keep pace with the rambunctious youngsters. There were more nannies and housekeepers pushing strollers along the undulating paths that cut through the park. Children were trekking through the park on their way home from school. The baseball field was empty. The basketball courts held a couple of lively games.

Idyllic in a way, except Decker knew teenagers: For them, peace and quiet were code names for mind-numbingly boring. Adolescents needed action, excitement, and stimulation. When the hometown didn’t provide it, kids went elsewhere. Even a parochial kid like Shayndie found herself sneaking out at night to attend “forbidden” parties.

Not that it was relevant now. From the closed religious community of Quinton to the predatory claws of Donatti, it had been one hell of a downhill ride for the young girl.

Decker’s chest was still tight from last night’s confrontation with the Young Turk. But even the gun to the head was easier to deal with than Jacob on a bad day. His stepson, several months shy of eighteen, had given him excellent training in self-control. All Decker wanted was to bring the girl back and get the hell out of here. What started out as excitement had quickly turned to a gladiator fight of wits and wiles with a psycho. It would be round three tonight… another round or two before he could secure the girl.

What would he have to give Donatti to get Shaynda?

Standing fifty feet to his left was a trio of Hispanics. There were two somber, dark-eyed women, their faces slathered with makeup, their hair coiffed with lots of air and teasing. Both of them were garbed in black pantsuits and overcoats. With the two ladies was a mustachioed man with slicked-back hair. The gent was about fifty and had donned an out-of-date black suit, a white shirt, and a narrow black tie. Clearly, they had come for Ephraim’s funeral, but who were they?

Decker went over to find out. As he approached, the buzz of undertone Spanish disappeared until he was left with intruded-upon silence. He thought about speaking in their native tongue, but nixed the idea. He didn’t want to appear like the know-it-all, condescending Anglo.

“I’m from out of town,” Decker tried out. “Are you friends of Mr. Lieber?”

“I work for him,” answered the older man. He was heavyset, his black hair streaked with gray. His accent was thick.

“Ah,” Decker said. “You work for Mr. Lieber. The older man? Or the son?”

An indeterminate shrug. “For the family.”

“You all work at the stores?” Decker said.

“Why you ask so many questions?” one of the women wanted to know. She appeared middle-aged with thick hips, a broad behind, and a generous bosom-all stuffed into a package less than five feet tall. And that was with heels.

“Just trying to make conversation.” Decker smiled. “I’m from out of town.”

“So what you doing here?” the miniature woman asked.

“I’m a relative of a relative,” Decker explained. “Mi hermano es el esposo de la hija de Señor Lieber.”

They looked at him with suspicious eyes. “¿Que hija?” the older man asked him.

“Raisie,” Decker said. “Jonathan… the rabbi. He’s my brother. My half brother, actually. It’s a long story.”

Silence.

“So why you out here?” the short woman demanded. “Why you not with your brother?”

“Good question.” Decker appeared to give it some thought. “I don’t know the Liebers really. I don’t want to violate their privacy, even though my brother asked me to come. Heck, you all probably know way more about the family than I do. You work with them every day, right?”

No argument there.

“Darn shame,” Decker said. “Que dolor. To lose your son so terribly. I heard that they were very close-father and son.”

Silence.

Decker shrugged. “Maybe not.” He looked away.

The short woman said, “Mr. Lieber loves all his children.”

“Of course.” Decker smiled at her. “He was very happy when Ephraim came to work for him at the stores.”

No response.

Decker said, “Well, that’s what my brother said.”

“He was a good man, Mr. Ephraim,” the short woman answered. “Always feliz… happy, happy, happy. Big smile on his face.”

“Big smile,” echoed the second female. She was younger, thinner, and taller, but not by much. “He likes to joke-Mr. Ephraim. Always with the jokes.”

“Different from his brother, no?” Decker added.

“Psss…” Munchkin woman wrinkled her nose. “He’s good man, Mr. Jaime, but not with the jokes. Muy grave. And he watch you like you’re a bandida, he es so afraid you steal. I don’ steal nothing. It es estúpido to have big TV set in my apartment. If the others on the street find out I have big TV set, they break into my apartment and steal it. Then they steal other things because they es there. I only have lee-tle TV set in my bedroom. Mr. Lieber, he give it to me for Christmas two years ago. It has remote control and cable. I happy.”