C.D. don’t talk.

But back then-eight years ago-Chris did talk, having told Decker lots of things in his time of need. In some perverse way, Decker had been a kind of father figure to Donatti as well as Terry. While Chris was serving time, Decker had been his link to Terry. More important, Decker had been C.D.’s passkey out of prison. Yes, it was Decker who had put him in the hole, but when certain forensic irregularities came to light, it had been Decker who had bought Donatti his freedom. If anything were to work with the kid, it would be the old roles, not the new ones.

There was no way Decker could convince Chris that he had his interest at heart. But he could convince Donatti that he cared about Terry-because that was true. Decker had given the girl money when she had been desperate-abandoned by everyone, including her parents. One thousand dollars that Decker could ill afford went to support Donatti’s son when Chris wouldn’t have anything to do with her. Now that they had resumed a relationship, Terry had probably told him about it: Chris was no doubt resentful. Still, Decker had come through for Terry, and Donatti placed a huge premium on loyalty.

Decker sat back down on the wooden crate and rested his elbows on his knees. If he were to get anywhere with this homicide, he needed an insider and who better than Donatti?

Provided that Donatti had nothing to do with the murder.

Sure it was a risk, but what was life without that occasional adrenaline rush?

Decker waited patiently, happy to just sit and do nothing. When Donatti finally emerged, he stopped in his tracks, seeing Decker. “You’re still here.”

“Yep.”

“Why?”

As Decker stood, Donatti tensed up every muscle, every sinew as if expecting Decker to pounce. Instead, Decker dropped his voice to a soothing whisper. “You have a beautiful son, Donatti, because you chose his mother well. That much we agree on. As far as Terry goes, I die with your secret, guy. You know me well enough to realize that my word is not only gold but also noncontingent. If you can help me out, fine. If not, it’s no hard feelings. I walk away and you never hear from me again.”

With that, Decker turned and left.

If Donatti had something to do with the hit, he didn’t give off any telltale vibes. But then again Chris had always been good at hiding things, so Decker didn’t dare rule him out. Clearly, Donatti favored youth-teenagers he could control and manipulate. He had to recruit his girls from somewhere, and as long as Shaynda was still missing, any predator of young girls was suspect. Decker had stirred up the muck. Now it remained to be seen what would surface.

Walking along Riverside Drive, he bundled up in his coat and stuck his hands in his pockets. The sky was all pewter and charcoals, enclosing the Hudson River like dented armor. A pungent wind was roughing up the water’s surface. Decker felt the sting in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. Brisk in step, he spotted a taxi and flagged it down. As soon as he did it, he realized he didn’t know where he wanted to go.

With the case stalling and no new leads, there wasn’t any reason to stay in Manhattan. Yet, just as Rina had predicted, he was reluctant to let go. Why had the Liebers turned hostile? Stress manifesting itself or the sinking realization that Decker would not be able to work miracles? A true professional would have returned to Quinton and bullied the family into cooperation. But that was the problem: The Liebers were family. His relationship with his half brother Jonathan wasn’t fixed in concrete, and Decker didn’t want to jeopardize a tenuous bond that took ten years to build.

His options were dwindling, but he still had some recourse left. Since he was in Manhattan anyway, he could pay a visit to Leon Hershfield. The attorney was working on a high-profile case, and because Hershfield wouldn’t work on Saturday, logic dictated that the lawyer was probably in his office on Sunday.

He gave the driver the Fifth Avenue address, calling Hershfield on his cell phone. The lawyer didn’t sound thrilled to hear from him, but he was smart enough to invite Decker over. Twenty minutes later, Hershfield met him at the door to his office. He was impeccably dressed in sporty attire-a camel-hair jacket over gray slacks, a white shirt, and red tie. Not the usual Brioni or Kiton suit, but still appropriate for a seven-figure, high-powered attorney. Hershfield’s shoes looked to be boots-elephant hide.

“No rest for the weary,” he told Decker as he closed the door behind him. “Sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, I’m all right.”

A glance at his wrist revealed a thick gold watchband. Hershfield said, “It’s noon. How about some lunch? I was going to order in. The Broughder case has been incredibly time-consuming. Who has time to go out? But I’d be happy to order you a sandwich or bagel.”

Decker smiled. Hershfield had just related a page’s worth of hidden messages: I’m a busy man, I’ve got commitments, and I’ve got time restraints. You’re imposing on them. I’ve looked at my watch. I’m clocking you.

“No, thank you, Counselor. I shouldn’t be here more than a few minutes. Thank you for your time.”

Message received loud and clear.

Hershfield sat back in his desk chair. “So how are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Jet lag.”

“I’m sure that’s part of it.”

Silence.

“Are you making progress to your satisfaction?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Part of it is I’m working blind.” Decker licked his lips. “I’m getting this strange feeling that I’m not wanted.”

“Cops are territorial.”

“Not the cops, Counselor, the clients. I have this notion that certain people are sorry they got me involved. Lord only knows why they called me.”

“Initial panic, maybe?”

“Probably.”

“Then maybe it’s time to say good-bye.”

The speed with which Hershfield answered gave Decker second thoughts. It seemed likely that the Liebers had contacted Hershfield, maybe even asked him how to get Decker off their backs. “Although, I’ve got to tell you,” Decker answered, “I’m having a hard time letting go. I have this thing… my daughter says it’s called the zygarnic effect. It’s this pathological need for closure. At least, that’s what my daughter says.”

“Children love to categorize their parents.”

“My wife says the same thing about me. Must be a kernel of truth in there.”

“I’m sure you’re right. But if the need is pathological, maybe such doggedness is not such a good thing.”

“It works well in my field.”

“I suppose it does.” Hershfield smiled. “And what about the cops? When we last spoke, you said you were going to contact them, ask them questions.”

“They’ve been very cooperative.”

“That’s good to hear. Do you think that they’re competent?”

“They’re fine. Good actually. Motivated.”

“So why not leave the case to them? Unlike you, they’re not working blind. They have the resources and the connections. Why visit trouble? The family won’t appreciate it anyway.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because that’s the way we Jews are, nu?”

Now he was being folksy as well as conspiratorial.

“Maybe it’s time to close up shop before you get in over your head.”

Decker eyed him. “Over my head?”

“It’s just like you said, Lieutenant, if I may be blunt. New York is a behemoth. If you’re not a local, you don’t stand a chance. Even if you were a local, you’d be in thick gravy. Plus, you’ve got this subset called Chasidim. If you think the cops are doing a good job, I would strongly suggest that you bow out before you get sucked into something you can’t handle.”

Decker stared at him. “I’m not wanted.”

“Don’t take it personally.”