“He had to. The case warranted it.”

“That’s for damn sure.” Decker started filling out the paperwork and handed forms over to Marge. “I’ll start a file on each of the boys; you do the parents. We’ll Xerox all our papers and notes so we’ll each have copies at our fingertips.”

“Rabbi Organized. How do you feel about your fellow countrymen disappearing?”

“You mean the Yaloms?”

Marge said, “The little, wily, shrewd Israelis.”

Decker said, “Why do I feel Old Tug has some preconceived notions about Jews and money.”

Marge said, “Probably has notions about women and blacks and Hispanics-”

“Oh, don’t start getting all pissy PC on me. I don’t think Davidson’s a racist. He probably hates everyone. Anyway, the Yaloms aren’t my countrymen. I’m American, remember?”

“You don’t feel any special twinge because they’re Jewish?”

“Nah.” Decker smoothed his mustache and went back to writing. “The only twinge I feel is for the boys.”

“If they’re victims.”

“If they’re victims,” Decker repeated.

Marge started filling out a Missing Persons form. “I think you scored a notch on Davidson’s belt.”

“By giving up law?” Decker continued to write. “Yeah, I saw that, too.”

“Why did you give up law?”

“’Cause I’m a gun-toting macho man and not a pussy wimp-ass in a designer suit.”

Marge laughed. “The real reason?”

“I gave it up because Jan had forced me into it. She wanted me to take over Daddy’s firm. Daddy did wills and trusts. It bored me to tears. I should have joined the District Attorney’s Office.”

Marge smiled. “Who knows? But for a slip of fate, you might even have been attorney general today.”

“I wouldn’t have been nominated,” Decker said. “I have balls.”

“Oh, don’t start becoming a pig on me.”

“It’s not a pig, it’s sour grapes.” Decker smiled. “S’right. I’ll keep my balls and let your sex take on the Attorney General’s Office.”

Marge lowered her voice artificially. “See what a broad can do.”

Decker laughed without looking up from his desk.

Marge pulled out a sheet and started doing paper on Arik Yalom. She thought of the photos in the family room. A dark, muscular, handsome man with money. He had a lot going for him. What the hell happened?

She said, “The case is getting…complicated.”

“Messy is the operative word,” Decker said.

“So many different angles of approach,” Marge said.

“So here’s a chance for you to prove yourself. Just don’t get bogged down with Davidson and his archaic attitudes. And let’s try not to overdo it with the overtime. Sure, it’s okay in the beginning for us to go the extra mile. But take it from me, Marge. Homicide detail will suck all the air from you if you let it. Don’t get obsessed with your cases.”

“Why not? You get obsessed with your cases all the time.”

“No, I don’t.” Decker went over the list of Yalom’s friends one by one. Nine of them. It was going to take a while. He’d better call Rina, tell her to hold his supper. “I don’t get obsessed, Marge, I just do my job.”

“Peter’s going to be late,” Rina said to her parents. “He said to eat without him. You want to get the boys, Mama? I’ll start serving supper.”

Magda Elias turned to her husband. Though she had lived in America for almost thirty years, she still spoke in an off-the-boat Hungarian accent. “You get the boys, Stefan. I’ll help Ginny with supper.”

The old man didn’t answer.

“Stefan, do you hear me?”

“What? What?”

“Peter isn’t going to make it for dinner, Papa,” Rina said. “Can you call the boys to the table?”

Stefan slapped the paper down on the armrest and hoisted himself out of the living-room rocker. “Everything’s okay?”

“Everything’s fine. He’s just working on a new case.”

“What kind of a case?”

“A family disappeared. An Israeli diamond dealer.”

Her parents waited for more.

“That’s all I know,” Rina said.

“Akiva’s looking for a family?” Magda asked. “I thought he was in murder now.”

“Maybe he thinks they were murdered, Mama.”

“Will he be home tonight, Ginny?” her father asked.

Rina smiled to herself. Her parents called her Regina-Ginny-which was her English name. And for some reason, they called Peter by his Hebrew name, Akiva. Maybe Peter sounded just too goyishe for them.

“Of course.” Rina turned to her mother. “Do you want an apron? I don’t think grease does well on silk.”

“This old thing?” Magda pinched the fabric of her blouse and let it drop.

Again, Rina held back a smile. It was a game with Mama. A way to amass compliments without looking needy. The woman was always dressed perfectly. Yet Mama had always been approachable even when Rina was a sticky-fingered child.

“Come into the kitchen,” Rina said. “Let me get you an apron.”

“If you insist,” Magda said. “Stefan, get the boys. Let’s eat before the baby wakes up.”

Rina came back to the dining room, holding a baking dish filled with spinach lasagne. She placed it on a tile trivet, and a moment later, her sons shuffled into the dining room. They plopped themselves down on the chairs after ritually washing their hands and breaking bread. Their long legs sprawled under the table. Rina looked at their pants cuffs-short again. Each must have grown another inch in the past month. The boys were generally good-natured except when they were tired.

Which was all the time.

Between the pounds of homework the school loaded on and the hormones of burgeoning adolescence, they were a cranky lot. Thank God for Peter-a stolid island of refuge in a sea of emotional turmoil.

Sammy adjusted his yarmulke and poured himself a glass of lemonade. “Wow. Lasagne. Is it dairy, I hope? I don’t want to be fleshig.”

“It’s dairy,” Rina answered. “Why don’t you want to be fleshig?”

“I want to eat a milk-chocolate candy bar.”

That’s a reason? Rina thought.

Magda brushed sandy-colored hair away from the boy’s brown eyes. “Think you would like to say hello to your omah?”

Sammy scooped up a double portion of lasagne and looked up at his grandmother. Her sentence came out “Tink you vould like to say hello to your omah?”

“Hi, Omah.” He stuffed a forkful of lasagne in his mouth. “Hi, Opah.”

“Hello, Shmuel,” Stefan said. “How are you today?”

Sammy smiled through a mouthful of noodles. “Okay.”

Stefan spooned a portion onto his younger grandson’s plate. “And how’re you doing, Yonkie?”

The younger boy smiled, pushing black hair off his forehead. “I’m doing okay. Thanks for the lasagne, Opah. Take some for yourself.”

“I will,” Stefan announced. “I love lasagne.”

“He eats my lasagne like candy,” Magda said.

Rina brought in a salad. “You make delicious lasagne, Mama.”

Magda blushed. “I’m sure yours is twice as good.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Rina said, smiling.

“Where’s Dad?” Sammy poured salad dressing over a mound of lettuce. “He’s never home anymore.”

“Yes, he is, Sammy,” Rina said. “He’s on a new case. Whenever he starts a new case, he has to put in extra hours.”

“He works too hard,” Magda stated.

“He’s on Homicide, Mama. It demands long hours.”

“How can he work with so many dead people?” Magda said.

Stefan said, “He doesn’t work with the dead people, Magda. Only the live ones.”

Rina laughed softly. Her father was serious. “Have some green beans, Mama. They’re Italian cut.”

“I’ll take some green beans,” Jake said.

“Certainly,” Magda said. “They’re good for you.”

“Who was whacked?” Sammy asked.

“Whacked?” Rina said. “Is that how they teach you to talk in yeshiva?”

“That’s how Dad talks.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yes, he does,” Sammy insisted. “He talks like that to Marge all the time. Just not to you.”

It was true. Rina said, “No one was murdered. A family has disappeared.”