Holt knows Moke. Supposedly Moke has dropped by their office. Supposedly Moke is an ardent racist.”
“That’s an awful lot of supposedly,” Decker said. “Does this bad guy have a sheet?”
“Nothing I could find,” Martinez said. “But I’ve only checked locally.”
“If he’s implicated with bombs, the FBI would have information on him. Make a couple of calls tomorrow.” Decker sat back. “What about Darrell Holt? Does he have a sheet?”
Webster shook his head.
“Any information on him?” Decker asked.
“The Preservers have a Web site,” Webster said. “But that’s all fluff.”
“Find out what you can about him.” Decker scanned through the leaflets. “Are these the only papers you found? I’m wondering if Golding ever wrote anything for them.”
“I’ll check it out tomorrow.”
Decker thought about what Golding had told him, about his German grandfather and his dubious past. “While you’re looking up people in the computer, find out what you can about Jill and Carter Golding. I want to know everything I can about Ernesto, and it doesn’t hurt to start with the parents. Since they’re well known, it should be easy to find information about them. Also do a search with Golding and Holt and/or Golding and Ricky Moke as a common subject and see if the computer throws out any association.”
Webster said, “The Preservers also have a girl working there. She looks about twelve.”
“Name?”
“Erin Kershan.”
“Look her up.”
Wanda said, “Should we put a watch on them, Lieutenant?”
Decker considered the idea. “Are they local?”
“Yes, they are,” Martinez told him. “Matter of fact, they live in the same building although different apartments. I’ll do it.”
“I’ll do it, Bert,” Webster volunteered. “I got the two A.M. feeding anyway.” He looked at Decker. “Could I leave at about one?”
“Sounds fine, Tom. You can put in for overtime.”
“I can use the money, sir. Thank you.”
Decker started writing down a schedule. “While you’re doing stakeout, I’ll drop by the Goldings and run Holt, Moke, and the Preservers of Ethnic Integrity by Ernesto. The boy isn’t going to admit to anything, but a good nuance is worth a thousand words.”
The Goldings weren’t home, leaving Decker to wonder if they were hiding out somewhere. Just as likely, they were out to dinner. It was only a little past eight. Decker called Jacob and was apprehensive when no one picked up the phone. He tried Jacob’s car phone. The boy answered after two rings. “Yo.”
“Are you two all right?”
“Oh, hi, Dad. We went out for ice cream.”
In the background, he heard Hannah scream, “Hi, Daddy!”
“Hi, Hannah Rosie.” To Jacob, Decker said, “Is she in the backseat?”
“Backseat with her seat belt on,” Jacob replied. “We’re on our way home.”
“I was thinking about stopping by the shul to see Eema.”
“That’s fine. Don’t worry about us. I can put Hannah to bed.”
“Could you do me another favor?”
“What?”
“Before you put her to bed, can you two come down and bring me some junk clothes and my sneakers from home in case I want to help paint later tonight.”
“No problem.”
“Or maybe I should just go home, so Hannah won’t be subjected to—”
But the line had already gone dead. He thought about calling Jacob back. He didn’t want Hannah reading all that hate-filled graffiti or seeing those dreadful pictures. Then again, Rina had been there for a while: the shul was probably somewhat sanitized by now.
He arrived at the shul by seven and parked on the street because the tiny lot was full. A few broken windows had been boarded up, but light shone through the translucent curtains covering the intact glass doors. When he went in, he entered a construction site. Tarps and drop cloths had been laid down everywhere. More than a dozen people were working, brushes and rollers in hand. The walls had been primed, and open paint cans were everywhere. Rina was wearing overalls and a big red bandana over her head. Her face was dotted with Navaho white. She gave him an air kiss.
“How’s it going?” Decker asked.
“Baruch Hashem!” She was smiling and it was genuine. “Let me introduce you to some of our volunteers that you don’t know.” She walked over to two African-American women. One was tall and skinny, the other was short and fat. Mutt and Jeff. “This is Letitia and this is Bernadette. They’re friends of Wanda Bontemps from her church. As soon as she called them, they came right down to help.” She patted Decker’s shoulder with a paint-splattered hand. “This is my husband, Peter.”
“Your husband.” It was the one named Bernadette. She had a smooth, round face and a stern look. She rocked from side to side. She was as tall as she was wide. “The police lieutenant.”
It sounded as if she was holding his title against him; in light of the past allegations of his department, that could very well be the case. He held out his hand to her and she took it.
Decker said, “Nice of you to help out.”
“It was nice of Wanda to call them down,” Rina said.
“Our church has an outreach program to help,” Bernadette said. “No one should be able to get away with defaming a house of God.”
“I agree,” Decker said.
“We need to start something like that in our community.” Rina turned to her new friends. “It’s not that we’re so provincial, although that’s part of it. It’s just that we’ve been so busy trying to make this congregation work. We barely have enough time and money to get our own services in order. But that’s going to change. We have to get more involved.”
“This was an eye-opener to me,” Letitia said. Her face was long and she had a wide, horsey smile. “I always thought the Jews had the big synagogues.”
“Some do,” Rina said. “We sure don’t. We’re lucky to pay the rent.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s my own prejudice talking,” Letitia said. “I’d better stop yakking and get back to painting.” She smiled again. “Go with my strengths.”
“How about some more coffee?” Rina asked. “I need more coffee.”
Decker
