“She’s driving,” Koby told him.

My father looked at me and rolled his eyes. “All the more reason for the caveat.”

15

Ileft Decker’s house,knowing that the Loo was peeved, but what could I do? He had played his part, had been gracious after the initial stiffness, even downright funny. I was thankful that however miffed he was with me, he had had the decency to keep it under wraps.

It was late by the time I pulled into Koby’s driveway. He offered a nightcap, but I declined, feeling drained and not very sexy. Plus, I still had some miles to travel before I got home. I think Koby was relieved not to play host, having worked so much overtime. We settled on a dinner date for Sunday.

I slept in Saturday morning, then met Mom for lunch. My luck was holding because she was in a great mood, and the hours passed as smoothly as oiled gliders. When I got home, I took a long bike ride west down Venice Boulevard, hitting the ocean and back in a little over an hour. After showering off the sweat and salt, I checked my phone messages and my e-mail. Koby had my phone number but hadn’t called. Instead he had e-mailed me, telling me how much he had enjoyed last night. I answered him back, then turned off the computer, along with the rest of the outside world.

Dinner was a tuna fish sandwich and a good book in bed. I turned in at midnight, determined to sleep eight hours without nightmares. Partial success. But even after being jolted awake with the usual shakes and a rapid heartbeat, I was able to calm down enough to fall back asleep.

I got up early on Sunday to prepare something warm and fuzzy for Dad, deciding on a breakfast of French toast and vegetarian breakfast links, with fresh orange juice and Ethiopian coffee. Even if no one ate anything, at the very least my place would smell good. Unlike Koby’s house, my interior decor was generic-basic furniture and a serviceable kitchen. The best part of my tiny apartment was the fireplace mantel that had once been filled with glass figurines and family photos representing better times in my life. Now it lay bare. I had meant to fix it up with homey touches, but after a maniac had trashed and violated my personal space, the energy was lacking. I needed an infusion of something.

Dad was on time, as usual, casual yet handsome in a black leather bomber jacket, a dark green polo shirt, and black jeans. He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a controlled smile.

“What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?” I said to him.

“Something smells good.” He unzipped his jacket and took it off.

“I’ll take that.” I opened the guest closet and hung it up. It was incredibly heavy and made the wire hanger sag. “Thanks again for Friday.”

“Our pleasure.”

I hesitated a fraction just to make sure he had nothing else to add. He didn’t. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am now.”

“Then… let’s eat.” I had set my small dinette table for two, complete with cloth napkins. I poured him some coffee and orange juice as he speared a piece of French toast onto his plate.

“I should wash,” he told me.

“Lucky for you, I have running water.”

He smiled and washed his hands, saying the ritual prayers before he bit into his breakfast. I drowned my French toast in maple syrup and dug in. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

“Delicious.” Dad cut the bread into neat little bites. “So… you found the baby’s mother. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Your interviews must have gone well.”

“You gave me some good advice.”

“Still, you must have executed it with aplomb.”

“I do listen when you talk to me.”

He stopped eating for a fraction of a second. “I know that.”

“You’re irritated at me.”

“Not at all.”

“Yes at all. Would you like to say what’s on your mind?”

“No, I’d like to enjoy this delicious French toast and help you with whatever you need help with.”

“I can’t concentrate if you’re mad.”

“That’s fine, because I’m not mad.”

“Did you like him?”

“Very much.”

“But…”

The Loo put down his fork and knife, then looked me squarely in the eye. “No buts, Cynthia. He’s a good guy. End of story.”

We ate in silence for a few moments. I suppose there was no purpose in pressing him until I found out how viable my relationship with Koby was. “I really did ask you here for a purpose other then getting on your nerves.”

He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “What do you need?”

“Spoken like a true parent. The baby’s mother, Sarah Sanders, I never really got a chance to interview her. Even if it had been my job, I didn’t feel capable of questioning her.”

“That’s okay, Cin. After you get your gold shield, you’ll feel much more comfortable with interviewing.”

“I talked to Russ MacGregor about it. He’s taking the case over for Greg Van Horn, who’s on vacation. I don’t know, Dad. I just want to make sure that certain questions are asked.”

“Like what?”

“Questions about the father of the baby. I think it’s important to know.”

“Russ didn’t ask about it?”

“Russ interviewed her for about fifteen minutes, mostly details of her abandonment. Where did you give birth? Why did you throw the baby away? Why didn’t you tell your sister? Like she was the felon… I mean, she is a felon, but there are circumstances, you know.”

“I’m sure a judge will take her mental capacity into consideration.” Decker sipped coffee. “Why are you concerned? Did the sister call you up with a complaint?”

I shook my head.

“It’ll be okay, Cindy. You can’t mother the world.”

“I still think someone should ask about the father.”

“Talk to Russ.”

“I did. I spoke to him on Friday before I picked up Koby for dinner. He said he danced around the topic, but she wasn’t talking. He didn’t know if she was protecting someone or didn’t understand the questions. He said he’d deal with it on Monday when he came back from Mammoth. Then I asked him ifIcould talk to her over the weekend.”

“And…”

“He was reluctant, Lieutenant. Didn’t say yes right away, but I played dumb and waited him out. In the end, he said to go ahead, but just don’t screw anything up.”

“Meaning don’t screw up the case, and don’t screw him by showing him up. He doesn’t want you to make him look bad. That’s understandable.”

“I understand about seniority. I’ll give him all the credit: I don’t care about that.” I leaned over the table. “I just want to make sure that the girl wasn’t raped-”

“Whoa! Hold on.” Decker put down his coffee cup. “The girl was raped?”

“I don’t know.”

“So why do you think she was raped? Retarded adults have sexual drives, too.”

“I know that. It’s just she didn’t have lots of opportunity. They’re watched pretty closely in the center.”

“All it takes is one time.”

“Shouldn’t it be considered as a possibility?”

Dad gave my question some thought. “If it were my case… I would consider it a possibility.” He rubbed his hands together. “Go interview her.”

“I’d like you to come with me.”

“For an independent woman, Cynthia, you are full of contradictions. Why do you want to bringDaddyinto this?”

“Because I don’t want to screw anything up.”

“Somewhere along the line, you’re going to have to learn to trust yourself.”

“How about if you do the interviewing and I watch and take notes?”

“Not a good idea.”

“Loo, I know this makes me look wussy. I don’t care. I want this done right.”

Decker shook his head. “Cin, I don’t work on cases out of my jurisdiction. That’s stepping on toes and I don’t know when and where I might need these guys.”

“All right.” I gave him a charitable smile. “More coffee?”

“Yes, it’s very good.”

“It’s Ethiopian.”

Dad caught my eyes. “I’m sure there’s more where that came from.”