Book 14 in the Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus series, 2002

It was the stunned, pale look of bad news. Decker immediately thought of his parents, both in their mid-eighties, and though their health wasn’t failing, they had had some problems over the past year. Right away, Rina had the good sense to tell him that the family was fine.

Decker was holding his daughter’s hand. Looking down at the little girl, he said, “Hannah Rosie, let me fix you up with some videos and a snack. I think Eema needs to talk to me.”

“It’s okay, Daddy. I can do it myself. Eema taught me how to use the microwave.”

“Nine years old and ready for college.”

“No, Daddy, but I can use a VCR and a microwave.” She turned to her mother. “I got an A on a spelling test. I didn’t even study.”

“That’s wonderful. Not that you didn’t study, but that you got an A.” Rina kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I’ll be with you in a minute.”

“Whatever…” Hannah left, rolling her wheeled backpack into the kitchen.

“You should sit.” Decker regarded his wife. “You’re colorless.”

“I’m all right.” But she sank down into the couch, hugging a blue-and-white-checked throw pillow like a life preserver. Her cerulean eyes skittered around the living room, first landing on the lamp, then bouncing off Decker’s special leather chair, onto the white wicker rocker. Anywhere but on his face.

“My parents are fine?” he asked specifically.

“Perfect,” Rina reiterated. “Jonathan called-”

“Oh God! His mother?”

“No, she’s fine.”

Jonathan’s mother was Frieda Levine. She was also Decker’s biological mother, making Jon his half brother. Ten years ago, by accident rather than by design, Decker had met up with his maternal family, which included five half siblings. Ties had been forged: more than mere acknowledgments, but less than time-tested relationships. Decker still considered his only parents to be the two people who had adopted him in infancy. “Then what’s going on?”

They both heard the microwave beep. A moment later, Hannah came out, juggling a pizza bagel on a plate, a big glass of milk, and her backpack. Decker said, “Let me help you with that, sweetie.”

Wordlessly, she handed her father the food and her schoolbag, skipping off to her bedroom, orange ringlets flying behind her. Like the faithful valet, Decker followed several steps behind. Rina got up, went into the kitchen, and started a pot of coffee. Nervously, she pulled off her head covering and unclipped the barrette holding a ponytail, shaking out a shoulder-length sheet of iridescent black hair. Then she tied it up again, but left the head covering off. She picked imaginary dirt off her jeans skirt, then moved on to the imaginary lint on her pink sweater. She gnawed the edge of her thumb, but that only made the hangnail worse.

Decker came back in, sat down at their cherry breakfast table-a bit scarred but still rock solid. When he carved it, he had used the best-quality wood he could find, and it showed. He took off his blue suit jacket and draped it over the back of his chair. He loosened his tie, then ran a hand through rust-colored hair heavily streaked with white. “What’s with the Levines?”

“It’s not the Levines, Peter; it’s Jonathan’s in-laws, the Liebers-Raisie’s family. There’s been a terrible incident. His brother-in-law Ephraim was found dead-”

“Oh no!”

“Murdered, Peter. They found him in some seedy hotel room in upper Manhattan. To add to the confusion, he was with his fifteen-year-old niece-his brother’s daughter. Now, she’s missing. The family’s in shambles.”

“When did all this happen?”

“I just hung up with Jonathan about five minutes before you came home. I think they found the body around three hours ago.”

Decker looked at his watch. “Around 4 P.M. New York time?”

“I guess.”

“What was this guy doing in a ‘seedy hotel room’ with his fifteen-year-old niece in the middle of a school afternoon?”

A rhetorical question. Rina didn’t answer. Instead, she gave Decker a slip of paper with Jonathan’s phone number.

“It’s horrible.” Decker fingered the paper. “I feel terrible for them. But this call… Is it just a comfort call? I mean, Jon doesn’t expect me to do anything, does he?”

“I don’t know, Peter. I suppose he’d like you to work miracles. In lieu of that, maybe you should call him up and listen to what happened.”

“He can’t expect me to go out there.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. You have a pretty good track record.”

“A prisoner of my own success. I have a job, Rina. As much as my heart goes out to them-it truly is horrible-I can’t leave at a moment’s notice and run off to Boro Park.”

“Actually, Chaim Lieber and his family live in Quinton, which is upstate. His widowed father lives there as well. Jonathan’s wife, Raisie, is Chaim’s younger sister. It’s Chaim’s daughter who’s missing.”

“In upstate?” Decker thought a moment. “Is the family religious?”

“Yes. Quinton is a very religious enclave. The family’s black hat, superreligious except for Raisie. She’s Conservative like Jonathan.”

“The outcast,” Decker said.

“She and Jonathan were lucky to find each other.” Rina got up and poured two cups of coffee. “They both came from the same background and have altered their lifestyles for similar reasons.”

“And her father lives in Quinton. By himself?”

“I believe so. Raisie’s mother died around ten years ago. Don’t you remember their talking about her memory at Jonathan’s wedding?”

“No, but I wasn’t paying close attention.” Decker stared at the number. “Why don’t you tend to Hannah while I do this?”

“Don’t want me hanging over your shoulder?”

He stood up. “I don’t know what I want.” He gave Rina a kiss on the forehead. “I know what I don’t want. I don’t want to make this phone call.”

Rina took his hand and squeezed it. “Why don’t you talk from the bedroom? That way I can get dinner started.”

“Fine. I’m starved. What are we having?”

“Lamb chops or salmon?”

“I get a choice?”

“Both are fresh. Whatever you don’t want, I’ll freeze.”

“Hannah hates fish.”

“She hates lamb chops, too. I have some leftover schnitzel for her.”

“Lamb chops, then.” Decker made a face, then went inside the bedroom and closed the door. He kicked off his shoes and stretched out on his California king bed, dialing the number. It wasn’t Jonathan’s home phone in Manhattan, so Decker figured that it must be either his cell or possibly his synagogue, located near Columbia University. His half brother was a Conservative-pulpit rabbi. On the sixth ring, he answered.

“Jon!” Decker said.

“Akiva!” A loud whoosh of air. “Thank you so much for calling!”

“My God, Rina just told me. That’s terrible! You must be going through hell!”

“Not as bad as my wife’s family. At this point, we’re all shell-shocked.”

“I’m sure you are. When did this happen?”

“About three hours ago. About four o’clock here.”

“Jeez. And what do the police say?”

“Not much of anything. That’s the problem. What does that mean?”

“It means they probably don’t know much.”