He said, “If that’s the case, if it’s played out like that, we’ve got a big problem, Marge.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s called evidence.”

“No, it’s called the boys,” Decker said. “What about Yalom’s sons? They made an escape. They must have known what was going on. Suppose they knew Gold was the triggerman. What do you think’s going to happen to them?”

No one spoke.

Marge said, “Well, we know the boys ran for it. Hopefully, they escaped.”

“To where?”

“Well, if I was a teenager and needed to escape, I’d find a faraway place with some relatives.”

“And for the Yalom boys, what place is that?” Decker asked.

“Israel,” Marge stated.

“And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. Gold came out and said he was going to look for the boys-”

“He was drunk.”

“Maybe not so drunk as he appeared. If Gold had anything to do with his partner’s death, we’re in trouble. Because we now have the boys in Israel on Gold’s turf. If what we’re saying is true, they’re worse off there than they are here.”

“There’s a logic to that.” Marge sighed. “We need to find the boys before Gold finds them.”

“Let’s try the sister Orit again,” Decker said. “If the boys are staying with relatives, she’ll know about it.”

“She already told us she doesn’t know where they are.”

“You know me, Marge. I don’t take no for an answer.”

Wearing a long black skirt and a glitter-splattered oversized sweater, Orit paced her living room and smoked up a nicotine fog.

“You don’t solve my brother’s murder. You don’t solve nothing. All you do is accuse. I tell you once, I tell you again. I don’t know about the boys.”

Sitting on the edge of a velvet sofa, Decker had his notebook out, but the pages were empty. Marge sat next to him.

“You’re sure they’re not staying with your parents in Israel?” Marge tapped her pen against her notebook. Her pages were also devoid of writing. “Because if they are, they could be in danger.”

“Yes, Ms. Detective, you told me that. And I tell you they’re not with my parents. Please don’t call them. They’ve gone through enough. Please. Just leave them alone.”

Decker said, “Ms. Bar Lulu, we’re trying to help-”

“You want to help, leave them alone. They are in anguish now. I go to them as soon as you people release the bodies for burial. How long does that take, for Godsakes?”

“The bodies were just discovered a few days ago-”

“Ach, you people have no feelings. I wait and wait and wait and I can’t bury my family. I have to go to Israel with the bodies for shiva-for mourning. Do you understand?”

“I know what shiva is,” Decker said.

“That’s right. You’re Jewish. So you know how important burial is.”

Decker nodded.

Orit’s voice dropped. “My brother…he and Dalia would want to be buried in Israel. All Jews should be buried in Israel.” She inhaled a mouthful of smoke and blew it out in one big gust. “I help you any way I can. Just leave my parents alone.”

No one spoke for a moment. Then Decker said, “They know something, don’t they?”

Orit shook her head. “Leave them alone.”

“Orit,” Decker said softly. “I’m trying to help. I’m trying to…” He stood, walked over to her, and put a hand on her shoulder. The gesture made her stiffen. He immediately backed off.

“You’re a tough lady, you know that?”

“You live in a country with all its life wars, you’d be tough. Lucky for you Americans, war is something that always happens on other people’s land.”

Again, the room was quiet. Orit turned and pointed to Decker. “You have the look. You were in the Gulf War?”

Decker shook his head. “Vietnam.”

“Ah, that’s right. I forgot about that. A fiasco that wasn’t ours.” She regarded Decker. “The same look as my husband. In the eyes. I trust someone with that look. You’ve been to hell and back, nachon?”

“Nachon,” Decker answered.

Orit paused. “You want to help the boys. I don’t know where they are. But I say to you this. If they are with my parents, my parents aren’t telling me.”

Decker gave Marge a sidelong glance. “You think your parents are trying to protect the boys?”

“Their son and daughter-in-law was murdered. You tell me the boys are running, afraid for their lives. So what do you think?” Orit threw her cigarette down and crushed it with a high heel. “If the boys are with them, yes, they are protective. Anyway, they don’t tell me anything. Maybe they don’t want me to know. Maybe they think I be scared, scared for my kids. But between my husband and me, we’ll be okay. I was in the army, too, you know.”

“What was your assignment?” Decker said.

“Desk job,” Orit said. “But I went through basic training. I know how to use an Uzi. Someone makes the wrong move here, I’ll blow the head off.”

Marge and Decker traded looks. Decker said, “And you’re positive you don’t know where your nephews are?”

“You give me a chumash, I put my hand on it and make a shevuah, Mr. Sergeant. You know what a shevuah is?”

“An oath,” Decker said.

Orit nodded. “Yes, an oath. I make an oath on my Bible. You don’t believe me, give me a Bible.”

“I believe you,” Decker said. “I believe you because I think you really care about your nephews.”

Orit’s lower lip quivered. “Of course I care about my nephews. I love them.” Tears streamed down her cheeks, dragging with them rills of mascara. “They are my family. I don’t have much family. I only had my brother and…”

She dropped into a chair and cried bitterly. Decker waited her out until she wiped dark streaks off her cheeks with her fingertips. Orit said, “Why don’t you go to Israel? Who knows what you’ll find?”

There was a long pause. Marge finally said, “Are you saying your nephews are there?”

“I’m saying nothing about the boys. I say everyone goes to Israel to try to find something. Maybe you go to try to find God. Everyone else tries, why not you? If you don’t find God, maybe you find my nephews. Now please leave me alone. I’d like to find some peace now.”

Hannah was a wonderful baby; she liked her playpen. The boys had never tolerated the confinement for more than five, ten minutes at most. Then they got restless. Not so with Hannah. She was content, sitting in her little space, playing with her busy box or fingering her roly-poly ball that jingled every time she gave it a shove. Once in a while, the baby looked up expectantly at Rina, waiting for Mama to give her a smile. Rina would comply and heap on the praise. Then the baby would go back to work. Hannah’s willingness to busy herself for up to an hour gave Rina a freedom she never knew existed with babies.

Needing a little more time today, Rina opened up a box filled with colorful plastic blocks. She poured them into the playpen and watched Hannah’s eyes go wide. Little fingers reached for multihued squares, cylinders, and triangles. Hannah was a child learning how to manipulate her world. Rina took advantage of her daughter’s rapt attention and ran to the bedroom closet. Standing on a footstool, she reached up and swung down a suitcase from the highest shelf.

This was something she just had to do. As long as those kids were missing, Rina couldn’t find peace.

It had been the Rebbe’s reluctance that had spurred Rina forward. His reticence had been her personal invitation to check out the village. Why else hadn’t he wanted help from Peter? If he was hiding Honey and the children, what had Honey done to need a city of refuge?

But try as she might, Rina just couldn’t believe Honey had anything to do with her husband’s death. When in doubt, do it yourself.

Peter was going to give her grief. He would argue that it would be too much work for her mother to take care of Hannah. Her mother wasn’t young anymore. Hannah needed someone with energy to watch her.