Decker swore under his breath.

“I’m not going,” he said.

“You fucked up.”

“Fuck this noise.” Decker took out his shield and gun and threw them on the table.

“Cut the dramatics, Pete. You know you fucked up. You’re damn lucky your ass is still in one piece.” Morrison pushed the rewind button on the tape recorder. “Yeah, we knew Arlington was holding back, but you can’t harass him. You can’t threaten him. Damn it, Pete. You know that!”

“Sometimes you’ve got to bend the rules a little. Goddam it, I saw…you saw what happened to that poor kid, and goddam it, I don’t want it to happen again if I can help it.”

“Let me ask you this, Sergeant. What the hell would you have done if he’d called your bluff and slapped you and the Department with a multimillion dollar harassment or defamation of character suit? You’d be ruined as a career cop, and you’d probably also get disbarred. What would you have done?”

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t you think you should have thought about that?”

“You’ve got to follow your own dictates once in a while.”

“What would you have done?” Morrison pressed.

“I don’t know, for Chrissakes! But I know one thing, Captain. If I didn’t do anything, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. No job is worth that.”

“I’ve got no room in this department for puffed-up crusaders, Decker.”

You’ve got the ball, Decker thought. You goddam serve. He stayed silent.

“Why didn’t you let me know what the hell you were doing?” Morrison asked.

“You already told me that Arlington was off-limits. If I get fucked over, why bring you down with me?”

“Let’s hear it for loyalty,” Morrison said sardonically. “Why didn’t you tell me you were looking for a connection between Arlington and the Loving Grandpas?”

“I should have.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Decker threw up his hands. “I was wrong. For what it’s worth, I haven’t gotten past first base with it.”

Neither one spoke for a moment.

“I’m not going back to East L.A.,” Decker said. “Especially not under these circumstances.”

“So you’ll quit the force and then what? Law? You hate law. What are you going to do?”

“You could keep me here if you wanted to,” Decker said. “My Spanish is needed here as much as there.”

“Why should I? You’ve been a bad team player lately.”

“Look, Captain. You’re the one who put me in Homicide.”

Morrison reflected on that.

“Take your badge and piece and get back to work,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do about the transfer. Maybe you’ll quit acting like a schmuck once you’re back with Juvey.”

“Kids bring out the best in me.”

“Snotnose remarks are unbecoming in a veteran like you, Pete.”

Decker suddenly felt old. His mind flashed to Rina’s smooth, naked, young body. He wondered if he looked the way he felt.

He flipped through the stacks of 1040s and 540s on his desk. Cecil Pode had earned about the same amount of money each year of his life, with no sudden windfalls. The last couple of years, the photo business had experienced a slight decline in income. If Pode was making side money in the porno business, he was either stuffing it in a bank in the Cayman Islands or pissing it away. The man had admitted a gambling problem. Might be how he got involved in the first place. But one thing was certain; he wasn’t reporting the dirty income.

Pode’s army record gave no further insights into his personality. He’d spent a hitch in Korea and had been discharged honorably.

Decker pushed away the papers just as Marge bounced in.

“You hit a winner!” she announced, pulling up a chair. “Ida Pode’s remains were not found in bed. She was found inside the room at the threshold of her bedroom door.”

“And no arson was suspected?” Decker asked.

“Nope. The Fire Department figured she fell asleep while smoking.”

“Then why didn’t she die in bed?” Decker wondered out loud.

“Maybe she was awakened by the smoke, tried to get out, and before she could, she was overcome by fumes,” said Marge.

“Or?” Decker said.

“Somebody set her bed on fire and prevented her from leaving the room,” she answered. “What would be the motive for murder?”

“My intuition says insurance money,” he replied. “But we’re only talking ten g’s here.”

“Ten thousand dollars bought a lot more back then,” she said. “And desperate gamblers have been known to do it for a lot less.”

“I’ve got another motive, Margie,” he said. “Hatred.”

The phone rang.

“Decker.”

“Detective? This is Dr. Bachman, family dentist for the Podes.”

“How are you, Doctor?”

“Fine. It took me a while to find the X rays. Earl hadn’t come in for quite a while. Must be ten years since his last appointment. Dustin was in here three years ago. If you want me to, I’ll send copies to Dr. Hennon, but you might want to run the originals over to her place and then give them back to me-save us all a little time and inconvenience.”

“I’ll be right over.” He hung up the phone.

Mike Hollander strolled up to the desk and handed Decker a manila envelope stamped: Dr. Meisner-Confidential Records.

“Earl’s pediatric records,” he said. “Can this man get the lead out or what?”

“Amazing what you can do when you work, Mike,” Marge said.

“Thanks,” Decker said, ripping them open. He flipped over the cover sheet and began to read.

“Anything new?” inquired Marge.

Decker didn’t answer.

“Pete?” asked Marge.

“Huh?”

“Anything new?”

“Decker, the woman’s talking to you,” Mike said, slapping his back.

“Uh…sorry. At least now I know why L.A. County had no record of Earl’s birth. He was born in Fresno.”

“A scenic spot to dump your load,” Hollander said.

“If you like armpits,” Marge said. “Weren’t the Podes married in Fresno?”

“Yep,” Decker answered. “Ten to one old Ida went home to Mama to foal.”

He read further, then said, “Earl broke his arm when he was eighteen months and was treated for burns at ages two and three. Jaw fracture at three also. Contusions and head injuries from a so-called fall at four, broken rib at four and a half…”

“Goddam, that stuff makes me sick,” Hollander exclaimed. “I’ve seen it over and over, and I never get used to it.”

Marge placed her hand on his shoulder. “You may be a horny old slob, but you’ve got a heart, Mike.”

Hollander threw her a dirty look.

“Burnt hands at seven,” Decker said. “Aha! Enuresis at nine. That’s bed-wetting. The doctor prescribed To…Tofin…I can’t read this.”

“Tofranil,” Marge said.

“Yeah, that’s it. Okay, okay. Here we go. He upped the dosage at age eleven.” Decker looked up. “The kid was still pissing in his pants at age eleven. The first time the Fire Department was called over to the Podes’ house was a year before. I think little Earl was a pyrophile. Let’s hear it for the headshrinkers.”

He read on, frowned, then began flipping back to the beginning pages.

“What’s wrong,” Marge wanted to know.

“Hmmm.”

“What is it?”

“You know, the burnt hands at seven were the last recorded abuses,” Decker noted. “Dustin’s chart had physical abuse into his teens.”

“You’re talking about the old lady like she was rational or something,” Mike said.

Decker smiled. “You’re right.” He folded up the chart and tucked it under his arm. “I’ll double-check the records over lunch.”

Hennon stood in front of the viewing monitor, compared the sets of radiographs, and shook her head in amazement.

“I want you to promise me one thing, Pete.”

“What’s that, Annie?”

“If I’m ever found dead under mysterious circumstances, you’ll be the detective on the case.”

“A promise I hope I never have to keep,” he chuckled. “Which one belongs to the bones?”

“Earl…” She stared at the screen. “His teeth had shifted and changed a bit over time-a few new amalgams-but there’s enough similarity to some of the older restorations and a very distinctive old hairline fracture of the mid-mandible for me to say a definite match.”