manner,” Rina explained.
Bernadette said, “She just appears to be flitting because she’s so graceful.”
“Uh-huh,” Decker said. “Whatever you say, ma’am.”
Rina yelled out, “Moishe, we could use some fresh coffee.”
Moishe Miller—a big bear of a man—was standing in front of several folding tables piled high with shredded paper and abused books. At the moment, the bearded dentist was painstakingly piecing together torn bits from prayer books. “Reg or decaf?”
The women looked about the room, then at each other. “Full strength,” Rina ordered. To Decker, she said, “Are you going to help out? We took down all the bookshelves. We need someone to paint them and put them back up.”
“Yes, I’m going to help out. Jacob’s bringing over some junk clothes. I have a little more work to do, and then I’m all yours.”
“Good to have someone who knows what he’s doing. House painting is a lot harder than it looks. It’s not just slopping paint over the walls.”
“So you’ve discovered.”
“It actually takes some practice.”
“Does this mean you appreciate me more?”
“I’ve always admired your manual skills. You just don’t work fast enough.”
“But I do a good job. And the cost is cheap. You get what you pay for.”
Rina nodded, then smiled at the women. But the expression was a taut one.
Bernadette caught the tension. “Well, nice meeting you … Lieutenant.”
“Peter is fine,” Decker said.
“Peter then.” Again, Bernadette shook his hand, then nodded to Letitia. The two of them went back to their artwork. Rina used the moment to take Peter aside. She said, “Yonkie called me—”
“I can’t talk about it,” Decker said. “The party is a minor.”
“The party is a kid named Ernesto Golding,” Rina whispered. “You didn’t tell me, Yonkie did.”
“Do you know this kid?” Decker asked Rina.
“Never heard of him until Yonkie told me. There must be someone else involved. This isn’t the work of just one person.”
Decker shrugged.
“C’mon. Yes or no? Is there someone else?”
“No comment.”
“Now you’re sounding like a politician.”
“If you’re trying to get me angry, I’ve had worse insults.”
Rina grew impatient. “Peter, this is your shul, too.”
“I’m painfully aware of that, Rina.” Then he said, “Please tell me that you haven’t mentioned Golding’s name to anyone else.”
“Do I look like an idiot?”
Now she was glaring at him. He said, “Don’t we have enough on our minds without fighting?”
“This isn’t a fight,” Rina announced.
“It isn’t?”
“No. It isn’t. This is … both of us glaring at each other because we’re both under a lot of stress.”
“I’m glaring at you?” Decker asked.
“Yes, you’re glaring at me.”
“You’re glaring at me!”
“I know,” Rina said. “That’s why I said we were glaring at each other!”
Decker paused, then started laughing. It broke the strain, allowing Rina to laugh with him. She reached out and took his hand and squeezed it. “I’d hug you except I’d get paint all over your suit.”
“Hug me anyway.” Decker took her into his arms.
They hugged—a long and romantic one. And she did get paint on his suit. He didn’t care. That’s why God invented dry cleaning.
It was past eight and the Goldings still hadn’t made it home. Decker would try them in the morning. Still, he wasn’t ready to call it a working day. Six months ago, Ernesto Golding had a girlfriend named Lisa Halloway. Golding had mentioned her, and so had Yonkie. His stepson had stated that she had been devastated by the breakup. Decker wondered if she had picked up any telltale signs of Ernesto’s antisocial behavior before the actual vandalism.
The problem was getting past the parents. But that turned out to be the easy part: the parents weren’t home.
At least she didn’t slam the door in his face.
Under the illumination of a porch lamp, he noticed the winking of metal—multiple studs in her ears and a small stone in the side of her nose. Who knew what was in her belly button? Decker realized he shouldn’t judge by externals—if Yonkie had liked her, she must be a girl of some substance—but he was a middle-aged guy with old-guy prejudices. Trying to be objective, if he looked beyond the holes, he saw a pretty, dark-eyed girl with a clear complexion, an oval face, and dimples in the cheeks. Lots of long curls framed her face. She had her shoulders hunched over as if she was cold, and her arms were folded across her chest. She was unhappy and not afraid to express it.
“I don’t know anything about the vandalism.” Her voice was raspy and low. “But even if I did know anything about the vandalism, I wouldn’t rat on Ernesto.”
“All I want to do is talk for a few minutes,” Decker said.
“Why should I let you in? You could be a rapist!”
Decker smoothed his ginger mustache, aware of Lisa as an angry, young girl wearing a clingy, white tank top and jeans and no underclothes. He could see her nipples even in the poor light. Being alone with her—in private—was not a good idea. He said, “So we’ll talk out here.”
“For all the neighbors to see?”
“Yeah.” Decker smiled. “That’s the point. You’ll feel more comfortable that way.”
“You can come in,” Lisa sneered. “I don’t seriously believe you’re a rapist.”
“Thank you, but I’m fine out here.” Decker kept his face flat. “Can I talk to you on a conceptual level for a moment, Lisa? Let’s say we are given competing attributes—loyalty and justice. Both are admirable traits, agreed?”
“I
