“Can you summarize the report for me now?”

“Sure. It is my professional opinion that Moshe Feldman witnessed something traumatic and brutal that night. Whether he actually saw a murder, a rape, or a beating, I don’t know. I don’t think he knows. Whatever he saw or heard involved more than one person. Moshe remembers seeing four people. That’s about it.”

“Do you trust this guy, Doctor?”

“I don’t think he was fantasizing.”

“What is he? A psycho?”

“No. He’s not psychotic or psychopathic in any classic sense. No hallucinations, no voices telling him to kill or rape, so far as I know. He has a conscience-an overly developed one at that. The guy is crippled by guilt. If I had to put a label on him, I’d say he was schizoid with an affective disorder. He’s oriented-he knows who he is and where he is-but his emotions are inappropriate or flat.”

“Do you think he could be dangerous?”

“I can’t predict that. Any psychiatric professional who says he can predict future behavior based on past performance is full of horseshit. Do I think he would kill or rape? No. Would I stake my professional reputation on it? No.”

“So he could be violent?”

“At this time, I’ve no indication that he’s violent. But I’m not saying he could never be violent.”

“And you think he saw something brutal being carried out by at least four people.”

“Yes.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you very much, Doctor.”

“I hope I’ve been helpful. I like Moshe. I have a great deal of respect for Rabbi Schulman. I used to learn under him. The man is brilliant. I’d like to see the yeshiva free and clear of this mess.”

“So would I,” said Decker.

“Okay,” Marge said, handing Decker the report. “Some of the shoe prints matched Schmidt’s. But a lot didn’t. The report says seven different prints were lifted.”

“One of them was Feldman’s.”

Marge thought.

“Yeah, one of them was Feldman’s, one of them was Marley’s. I figure it like this: Schmidt and friends makes five; Feldman makes six; Marley makes seven.”

“You think there were five of them who attacked Florence?”

“Yeah.”

Decker skimmed the pages of the document, then said, “I just spoke to Feldman’s shrink. He says Feldman remembers seeing only four people. But his accuracy is up for grabs.”

“How many guys were involved with Rina that day at the supermarket parking lot?” Marge asked.

“Four. Cory and three of his cohorts.”

“So if it was the same guys who attacked Marley, Feldman should have seen five people-Cory and his friends and Marley.”

“Unless Marley was down by the time he witnessed the scene,” Decker said. “In either case, it still doesn’t add up to five people who attacked Marley.”

“So maybe Cory brought along an extra?”

“Could be.” Decker plopped the papers onto his desk. “It would be nice if we could round up all the shoes of every suspect we have in this case and check them for matching prints.”

“And maybe collect a couple of pairs of loafers while you’re at it.”

Decker looked down at his weather-beaten oxfords.

“No joke. Where’s Cory now?”

“In a holding pen. He’s due to be arraigned this afternoon. Hollander is going down to court. Prosecutor’s going for top bail and thinks he’ll have no trouble getting it. Schmidt’s his own worst enemy.”

“Who’s been assigned to the case?”

“George Birdwell.”

“He’s good.” Decker leaned back and rubbed his eyes. “Anything new with Rayana?”

Marge shook her head.

“Mike says same old shit. Hasn’t discovered anyone new. Rayana goes to work, comes home, and surfaces only to walk her dog. It wears a doggy sweater all the time-even in this heat. God forbid Poochy should catch cold.”

“Shit.”

Early evening. The air was still scorching, thick, and smoggy. Decker pulled the Plymouth into a red zone and put an LAPD sticker on the dashboard.

Matthew Hawthorne lived in an apartment district in Sun Valley. The area was full of multiple dwellings boasting exotic names like South Pacific and Blue Hawaii. None of them lived up to their tropical labels. The exteriors were gray stucco, and the landscaping had withered in the heat. The majority of them had pools, but the water, instead of iridescent blue, was algae green. Hawthorne lived at number 12, on the second floor of Bali Hai. Decker knocked, and the door flew open.

“I’ve got my alibi all pat.” The teacher laughed nervously.

What a weirdo, Decker thought. He stepped inside. The flat was a single. A brown tweed sofa stood against one wall, a composition board coffee table in front of it. Two brown vinyl side chairs faced the sofa. Decker could see the kitchen off to his right and a door that probably led to the john. The wall behind the chairs was covered with bookshelves.

Decker sat down on the couch and pulled out his pad.

“How long have you known Mrs. Lazarus?” he asked, skipping the small talk.

Hawthorne’s left eye twitched.

“About five years. I was already teaching when she and her husband came to the yeshiva.”

“What’d you think of her husband?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“Mr. Hawthorne?”

“Well, he seemed like a typical yeshiva man.” He stopped talking and appeared to be thinking. “I never thought she belonged there altogether.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know. I realize she’s very religious, but she also has a good sense of humor, and she isn’t afraid of men, you know? I mean some of the women are really androphobes. I try to talk to them, and they’re so nervous, they make me nervous. Rina used to be very relaxed. Now, of course, she’s a wreck. But I can’t blame her for that. I mean if I were in her position, I’d be very tense also.”

“Did you like her husband?”

“I don’t think I ever said more than hello to him. Either he was quiet, or he didn’t like me. I don’t think he was wild about Steve and me working with his wife. But he never said anything rude to me.”

“Did you ever think of asking Mrs. Lazarus out after he died?”

Again, Hawthorne paused.

“No. She only dates Jews-religious Jews-if she dates at all. Her oldest boy, Sammy, sometimes talks to me. He says she doesn’t go out.”

“Sammy volunteered that information to you?”

Again the tic.

“I asked him about her once. I was interested in her welfare.”

“But you never asked Mrs. Lazarus out?”

“No.”

“She seems to recall that you did.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Not that I remember. Hey, maybe I joked about it, but I didn’t think she took me seriously.”

“Did you ask her out jokingly?”

“Sure. All the time. I still do. I told you, I never thought she took it seriously.”

“Where were you the night of the Adler rape?”

“The Adler rape?” Twitch. “I thought you were going to ask about the Marley woman.”

“Where were you both nights?”

“The night of Mrs. Marley’s murder I was out with a friend named Jack Oates. I can give you his phone number, and he’ll verify it. We saw a movie at the Capitol in Glendale-a documentary on street life in Cleveland called Street Smarts. Very good flick.”

“What time was the movie over?”

“Around ten.”

Decker didn’t push it. He’d get the exact time from the movie theater.

“How about the night of the Adler rape?”

“I don’t remember.”

“It was on a Thursday night.”

“I don’t know. I was probably home reading. I read a lot.”

“You watch a lot of TV?”

“Not a lot. Maybe the news.”

“You don’t regularly watch any Thursday night TV?”

He thought.

“No. Nothing regular comes to mind. Maybe I did see something that Thursday, though. I’ll recheck the schedule.”

If you have to do that it won’t mean anything, Decker thought.