by Stone Kiss
“Hello?”
“Okay, Jon, listen up. First thing you need to do is hire a lawyer.”
“Hire a lawyer?” Surprise in his voice. “Why?”
“Because you don’t like the way the police are questioning you. You need protection.”
“But won’t that make us look bad?”
“It will raise a couple of eyebrows, sure. But weighing the pros and the cons, it’s no debate. Go out and find the best criminal defense attorney in town, and see if you can get an appointment with him ASAP. See if he’ll take you on if things get… complicated. You’ve got to entertain the real possibility that someone in your family knows more about this than he or she is letting on.”
“I can’t accept that.”
“Fine. Don’t accept that. Just listen to me, okay? And don’t talk to the police without an attorney present. Just as a precaution.”
No response.
Decker tried to hide his irritation. “Are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here. Sorry. I’m writing this down. Go on.”
Decker slowed it down. “Jon, I don’t mean to snap at you. I’m used to barking orders.”
“It’s fine, Akiva. Believe me, it’s wonderful to talk to you… to someone who knows what he’s doing.”
“That remains to be seen. After you’ve talked to a lawyer, have him call me. I’ll talk to him directly.”
“That’s it?”
“For the time being.”
“What about the police, Akiva?”
“Let me talk to the lawyer first. New York law is different than L.A. law, and it would help all of you if I didn’t act precipitously.”
There was a long silence. Decker knew what was coming.
Jonathan said, “I know this is dreadfully wrong to ask, Akiva. But it would really help us out if you could maybe…”
“Come out for the weekend?” Decker completed the sentence.
“I’ll understand if you say no.”
Decker said, “Let me call you back in five, all right?”
“Akiva, thank you so much—”
“Wait until you get my answer before you thank me.” Decker hung up. Rina was standing at the doorway. “You’ve been listening?”
“Just for a minute. I think you gave him good advice—about the lawyer.”
“I’m glad you approve. He wants me to come out there. What do you think?”
“I can’t make that decision for you, Peter.”
“I know that. But I still want to know what you think.”
“How do you feel about flying?”
Decker shrugged. “It’s a big hassle now, but I’m not nervous if that’s what you’re asking.”
“If you don’t go,” Rina said, “you’ll feel guilty.”
He cursed under his breath, soft enough that it wasn’t offensive, but loud enough so Rina could hear. “It isn’t fair to get me involved.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“It’s a family member. If I uncover muck or deliver bad news, I’m going to get blamed.”
“Probably.”
“Definitely.” Decker smoothed his mustache, chewing on the ends. It was the one part of his body where his hair was still predominantly red as opposed to gray. “On the other hand, it’s not just a murder. There’s a missing girl.” Decker filled in some of the blanks to the story, watching his wife grow paler by the moment. “The girl might have been a hidden witness to the murder. Or maybe she escaped before the whole thing happened. That would be the most favorable outcome.”
No one spoke. Decker rubbed his forehead.
“Dinner’s ready,” Rina said softly. “Can you eat?”
“Not a problem. What do I tell Jonathan?”
“It’s up to you, sweetheart.” She sat down next to him. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.” He looked at the ceiling. “I suppose I could hunt around for a few days. By then maybe she’ll turn up… one way or the other.” He faced his wife and kissed her cheek. “How many miles do we have?”
“Actually, I have enough for you to fly free. Interestingly enough, I also have a companion ticket for Hannah and me if we do a Saturday-night stayover.” She patted his hand. “And we do have two sons back East—”
“Just hold on!” Decker interrupted. “My flying is one thing. You and Hannah are quite another thing.”
“I haven’t seen the boys in a while,” Rina told him. “I’d much rather fly with you than by myself.” She patted his cheek. “You’re a tough guy.”
“Real tough.” It had been a while since they had seen the boys. “You’d like to come with me?”
“Yes, I would love to come with you.”
Decker thought a moment. “I have a condition. Promise me you won’t get involved.”
“Good heavens, why would I do that! I wouldn’t dare take any chances as long as Hannah’s with me.” She gave him a swat on his backside. “Go call back Jonathan. I’ll make the reservations on the other line.”
With great reluctance, Decker called back his half brother. After working out a few more details, he walked into the kitchen, where Rina had just hung up on the land phone.
“Jonathan wants to know when we think we’ll be arriving.”
“I’ve booked us on the red-eye.”
“When?”
“Tonight—”
“Tonight?”
“It’s Thursday, Peter. If we don’t take the red-eye, we won’t be able to leave until Saturday night, because I won’t fly on Friday in case of delays. Too close to Shabbos. Besides, I figured you’d want maximum time out there.”
“Well, then, I’m going to have to start making phone calls.”
Rina could overhear Jonathan telling him to forget it if it was too hard. Decker interrupted him. “We’ll be there around six in the morning.”
“Give me the flight number,” Jonathan said. “I’ll be there. Even though it’s been eight years, you won’t have any trouble recognizing me. I’ll be the one with the sheepish look on my face.”
Decker pushed his seat tray up in the locked position. “Why do I have to use up my vacation time doing this?”
“Because you’re a caring person?” Rina tried out.
“No, it’s because I’m an idiot,” he snarled as he moved about in his seat, trying to get his long legs comfortable. Flying under the best of circumstances was now an ordeal. And this certainly wasn’t the best of circumstances. “I despise molestation cases—”
“Can you keep your voice down?”
Decker glanced around. People were staring at him.
Rina whispered, “You don’t know it’s that.”
“Yes, I do know. The uncle was a sleazeball—”
“Peter, please!” Rina pointed to Hannah.
“She’s sleeping.”
“She still hears things.”
“I’m resentful.”
“I know that. I am, too.”
Decker looked at her. “You are?”
“Yes, I am. People take advantage of me because I’m such a softy. I’d like to say no, but then I’d feel bad about it. What can I do? It’s the way I am. I was born with a ‘sucker’ gene.”
“You and me both, darling.” Decker made a face. “We’ll give it a few days. In the meantime, we’ll see the boys. That’s not so bad.”
“No, that’s the good part. Sammy’s no problem because he’s in the city. Yonkie has a bit more arranging to do, but he swears he’ll be with us for the weekend.”
“You’re excited.”
“Of course. So are their grandparents. They’re beside themselves with joy.”
Rina’s late husband’s parents. Not his family. What the heck? They were nice people who had endured a horrible loss. “At least I’m making someone happy.”
Rina patted his hand. “Being with you, Peter. That’s the good part, too.”
“You have this way of dissipating my anger.”
“Then why do you look so sour?”
; “But sometimes I like being angry. You’re robbing me of one of my few pleasures.”
“Don’t worry,” Rina told him. “After dealing with New York City traffic, Jonathan’s family, my family, and Jews in general, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to be angry about.”
2
They arrived at JFK on time, and ghastly tired, trudging out of a terminal now armed with men and women in camouflage, holding M16 rifles—standard army issue. Not only was Decker bug-eyed from lack of sleep, but also he had gone back to the station house to finish up paperwork before he left for the airport. After rearranging schedules and appointments, he had managed to take off four days from work, coming back late Wednesday night. The most pressing business—a recent string of convenience-store robberies—was now under control with two perps in custody. Mike Masters and Elwin Boyd were handling that one. Dunn and Oliver could take care of the scheduled meeting with the D.A. in the Harrigan carjacking. As they were the lead detectives, they knew more about the case than Decker did. The Beltran arraignment for the GTAs wasn’t scheduled until he got back. While Decker was gone, his pickup could be handled by Bert Martinez—now Detective Sergeant Bert Martinez—who had been promoted just three months ago.
Rina had planned the trip’s itinerary. The trio would leave New York Monday night, then spend two days with Decker’s aging parents in Florida. Visiting them was something he should have done a while ago. Perhaps this unplanned trek was a wake-up call in disguise.
Jonathan was waiting for them at the baggage counter. He was thinner than Decker had remembered, his brother’s beard now equal portions of brown and gray. Bleary red-rimmed eyes tried to focus under small wire-rimmed glasses. But his dress was sharp—a blue tone-on-tone, windowpane suit, white shirt, and a bright gold tie woven in a chevron pattern. After a round of genuine hugs and kisses—the appropriate cooing at Hannah, who was grumpy and groggy—Decker commented on his sartorial splendor.
“That’s because we have an appointment in forty-five minutes,” Jonathan replied. “You said get a great criminal defense lawyer, and that’s what I did. He also happens to be a frum Yid. Early morning was the only time he could work us in. He’s noted for discounting his time for Jews in trouble. But, as I talked to him, I could tell that he was intrigued by the case. I think he’s curious to meet you.”
Decker grabbed a big black valise off the conveyor belt. Thank goodness for frames with wheels. “One more bag. Why is he curious to meet me?”
“Because you’re a cop… on the other side, so to speak.”
“That’s our other bag, Peter,” Rina said.
Decker grabbed the second suitcase. They loaded up Jonathan’s dented silver 1993 Chrysler minivan, Rina insisting that Peter sit in the front. Within a few minutes, they were on their way.
The air was cold and biting—typical March weather, Jonathan told him. Dark rain clouds hung above, heavy and gray like soiled laundry. Whatever foliage there was had yet to bloom and the naked branches swayed like cobwebs in a brisk wind. The highway was moving—one less thing to be concerned about—but because of the speed, the van took the potholes with spine-numbing jolts. To Decker’s eyes, the surrounding area looked worn and depressed—a mixture of old factory buildings, some commercial retail shops, and unadorned redbrick apartment houses. Graffiti littered the concrete walls of the roadway.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Queens,” Rina said. “Is this Astoria?”
“Not yet.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Decker said. “It all looks the same to me. Tell me more about the Orthodox lawyer.”
“He made time for us, Akiva. Time that he could ill afford considering he’s representing Anna Broughder.”
Anna Broughder. The woman dubbed by the papers as Lizzie Borden II. She had been arrested for killing both of her parents by hacking them to death with a cleaver. She had claimed it had been done by a group of crazed druggies. Somehow she had escaped through the bathroom window, sustaining only a few minor scratches to the forearms and one rather large gash to her palm. A 200-million-dollar inheritance was at stake.
“Leon Hershfield,” Decker stated.
“That’s the one. The case has had coverage in L.A.?”
“Front-page articles.” Decker tried to shake fatigue from his sleep-deprived brain. “I didn’t know Hershfield was religious.”
“He doesn’t wear a kippah in court, but he’s self-identified as modern Orthodox.” Jonathan tapped the wheel. “He’s defended all the biggies. He’s well connected.”
Decker glanced at Rina. “Connected, as in Joseph Donatti.”
“Among others,” Jonathan countered.
“But Donatti was his biggest triumph.” The mobster had been indicted on three counts of murder along with lesser charges of fraud and racketeering. After the third hung jury, the state declined to try the case again. Evidence kept getting lost. The Donatti name always piqued Decker’s interest, although his curiosity wasn’t at all limited to the old man. “When was the trial? About six years ago?”
“About.” Jonathan gripped the wheel. “Hershfield got him off.”
“That he did.”
“You said to hire the best, Akiva.”
“Yes, I did.” Decker raised his eyebrows.
No one spoke.
“Has Hershfield given you any advice?” Decker asked.
“He wants to talk to us before we talk to the cops. By us, I think he means my brother-in-law.”
“Is your brother-in-law going to meet us there?”
“Chaim’s not in any state to talk to anyone. I told him I’d talk to Hershfield first.”
“Chaim must be beside himself.” Rina reached over and smoothed Hannah’s curls. She had fallen back asleep, her eyes moving behind onion-skin lids, her head upward, her mouth agape. She was snoring softly.
“The whole family’s crazed,” Jonathan answered.
“How is the mother holding up?”
“Minda? She’s… we had to tranquilize her. Normally, I would never suggest medication at a time like this, but she was out of her mind with hysteria.” Jonathan hedged. “She and Shayndie had been at odds for a couple of years. ”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Rina said. “All parents and kids fight.”
“Their arguments were… vitriolic,” Jonathan said. “I’m sure Minda feels as if this is all her fault. Of course, it isn’t.”
Unless she had something to do with the disappearance, Decker thought. “So Chaim and his father own some electronic stores.”
“Yes.”
“Equal partners?”
“I don’t know. It’s not my business.”
“Just asking questions. Do they do all right financially?”
“The stores have been around for over thirty years. I know that the last year has been tough—the strain of living in New York topped off by the economic slowdown. But I haven’t heard about any major financial problems. Of course, they wouldn’t tell me if there were problems.”
“Ever hear of any improprieties in the business?”
“No.” He bit his lip. “I really feel for my father-in-law. He lost his son. Everyone is so focused on Shaynda—and rightly so—it’s almost as if they’ve forgotten about Ephraim. Not only does my father-inlaw have to deal with the pain of his son, but he’s also worried about his granddaughter.”
“When’s the funeral for Ephraim?” Rina asked. “We’re hoping that they’ll release the body today so that we can do the levaya on Sunday. But I have a feeling it’s going to take longer. Shabbos is going to be hell, everyone in a suspended state of animation. Unless they find Shayndie today…” Jonathan glanced at Decker. “That’s a possibility, right?”
“Of course,” Decker answered. It was still too early to predict the outcome. “They haven’t any idea of where she might be?”
“We’ve tried everyone—all her friends, all the public-school kids, teachers, rabbi, homeless shelters near the area where the crime happe
ned. The Quinton Police have done a door-to-door search.” He blew out air. “When I talk about it like this, it just seems so… so bad.”
“It hasn’t been that long, Jon. She may turn up on her own.”
“I certainly pray that’s the case.”
“Anything that I can do?” Rina offered.
“No, Rina, thanks so much.” He tapped the steering wheel again. Decker realized it was his brother’s nervous habit. They drove without speaking until the crenellated Manhattan skyline popped into distant view.
Rina was staring out the window.
Jonathan said, “You haven’t been here since September eleventh?”
“No.”
“I know,” Jonathan said. “Even now I find it strange. Every once in a while, I’ll look up, expecting to see the towers.”
Rina shook her head. “It’ll be so good to see my boys.”
“My mother told me you’re staying with the Lazaruses for Shabbat,” Jonathan said. “They’re deliriously happy about seeing everyone. It’s wonderful that you’ve remained in contact with them.”
“They’re my sons’ grandparents,” Decker said.
“You’d be surprised at the pettiness I see, Akiva. Pastoral counseling is sometimes a misnomer for refereeing.”
“I can believe that,” Decker said. “The Lazaruses are nice people. I’m sure they get a lump in their throat every time they see me with Rina.”
“Actually, they adore you,” Jonathan said. “I think they’ve co-opted you as one of their own. At least that’s what my mother tells me.” He tapped the wheel and cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t be so possessive. My mother is your mother, too.”
They exited the highway somewhere in the middle part of town. The main avenues were still clear, so traveling was doable. But Decker knew that within an hour, the streets would be clogged with mean-looking vehicular metal that would make him wish he were battling rush-hour traffic in L.A. At least back home, the city was car friendly. New York streets had been built for buggies, not for delivery trucks and their drivers who felt it was their God-given right to double-park even if it meant jamming up the roadways. And the street addresses never corresponded to anything. It was impossible to find a location unless you knew it was there to begin with. To Decker, an excursion through Manhattan was akin to one big scavenger hunt.
