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-mil- lion-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 onionskin 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-in-law 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 happened. 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.

He sat back and looked out the window, thinking about Jon’s words: “My mother is your mother, too.”

“You know, it’s funny, Jon. I think of you as my half brother. And the others-your brothers and sisters-I feel related to them as well. But your mother… who is as much my mother as yours… I haven’t made the connection yet. I probably never will.”

Jonathan nodded. “I can understand that. There is this small issue called my father.”