Decker shrugged. “You’re more in the loop than I am.”

Hershfield said, “You said that you and your wife had questioned Shayndie about her relationship with her uncle, your wife’s brother. Why?”

“Just to… make sure.”

“So there was no… precipitating factor that led up to the questioning?”

“No, not at all. Raisie and I discussed the relationship, and we both decided that the girl should be talked to. You know as well as I do that in that community, sex is taboo.”

“So is an uncle-niece liaison. Halachacally, it’s equivalent to incest.”

“As far as I know, he wasn’t molesting her.”

“Let’s switch gears for a moment,” Hershfield said. “You told me that Chaim works with his father in the business. What about Ephraim? What did he do other than dabble in drugs?”

“Like I said, he’d been sober for over two years,” Jonathan insisted.

“All right. Have it your way. And he worked in the family business with his father and brother.”

“Yes.”

“Alongside Chaim?”

“Chaim’s been in the business for twenty years, so he has seniority naturally. Ephraim knew that.”

“So there haven’t been any problems?”

“Not that I know of. From my perspective, Papa was thrilled that his son finally showed some interest in family affairs.”

“All right. And what about the business? Is it solvent?”

“Akiva asked the same questions. Sure, it’s been going through some rough times. Everyone’s on edge and the economy isn’t the greatest. But yes, as far as I know, the stores are solvent.”

“Any bad loans?” Decker asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Any bad investments?”

“You’d be much better off asking Chaim.”

“I will do that,” answered Decker. “And I guarantee you, so will the police.”

“Why would the murder have anything to do with the business? The stores have always run on a small profit margin. There’s nothing there to get excited about.”

“I’m sure he’s just trying to get the lay of the land,” Hershfield said. “If I can talk frankly for a moment, Rabbi, you know that the Chasidim in your brother’s area have been in trouble for embezzling public-school funds and transferring the money to the local yeshivas. Is either of your brothers-in-law active in local politics?”

“Not that I know. They’re shleppers, Mr. Hershfield. They make their money by dint of hard work.”

“Two years ago, Yosi Stern was indicted on drug-sales charges. I wasn’t his lawyer. If I had been, he wouldn’t be upstate right now. He used Chasidim to smuggle in ecstasy from Holland, then laundered the drug money through local yeshivas and businesses of the Chasidim. What would you know about that?”

“Nothing,” Jonathan said.

“And your wife’s family?”

“My father-in-law would never permit it.” Jonathan was adamant. “He’s a camp survivor. He kept his wits about him the entire time by an unwavering trust in God. He’s not only a religious man, but a good man.”

“The two don’t always go hand in hand,” Decker said.

Hershfield got up and made himself some coffee. “Let’s take a break. Bagels, anyone?”

Jonathan dropped his head into his hands, but Decker stood up. “I’m hungry.” He smeared some cream cheese over a poppy seed bagel. “Anyplace to wash?”

Hershfield popped a panel door and a wet bar appeared. He held up a becher-a traditional washing cup. “I am fully prepared.”

Decker washed and ate, cajoling Jonathan to do the same. Fifteen minutes later, after saying the grace over bread, Hershfield sat back in his desk chair. He was all business.

“I have made a decision,” he announced. “You’ll like the outcome, I think. If you need representation, I’d be happy to fit you into my busy schedule. But there’s a condition.”

“What’s that?” Jonathan asked.

“If your family hires me, they’re going to have to work with me. That means if I ask them questions, they will have to answer me truthfully.” He shook his finger at Jonathan. “This isn’t the shuk, Rabbi. This isn’t haggling until we find a story we both like. I must know what’s going on so I can perform the service to the best of my ability. Oftentimes, the subtleties of attorney/client privilege are lost on some of our black-hat brethren. They seem to consider it an insult to answer me truthfully. I will not deal with clients like that. At this point in my life, I don’t need that tsuris. Am I clear?”

Jonathan nodded. “I understand.”

Hershfield stood. “I have a couple of very important depositions this morning. In the meantime, it is in everyone’s best interest if your family refrains from talking to the police unless I am there during the questioning.” He turned to Decker. “I’m sure this isn’t the case with you, Lieutenant, but a few of your renegade comrades have played it pretty loose with Miranda.”

Decker was expressionless. “If you say so.”

Hershfield laughed. “And you’re planning to contact your fellow brothers in blue?”

“I’d like to take a look at a report or two.”

“And you’ll keep me abreast.”

“I’ll do whatever I can, Mr. Hershfield.”

“So what happens if your findings put you in conflict with your family obligations?”

“Yes, I’ve thought about that.”

“And?”

“And…” Decker looked at his watch. “And I think it’s time to go.”

It was still early, and the detectives weren’t in yet. Decker left his name and number with a desk sergeant and on the squad room’s phone machine. If no one called his cell back by nine, he’d just show up and deal with it in person. Hannah needed to settle down and so did Rina. Jonathan drove them into Brooklyn-traffic mercifully going the other way on the bridge. When the van got to Eastern Parkway-a main thoroughfare in the borough-things took on a familiar focus. It had been ten years since Decker had been here, but he had gotten to know the streets fairly well because he had been searching for someone in the area.

A missing kid, actually.

History repeating itself?

Maybe. That wasn’t all that bad. That kid had turned up alive.

As they passed the avenues-Forty-second, Forty-third, Forty-fourth-Decker was surprised by how many people were up and about. Gaggles of bearded men-most of them bespectacled-dressed in black woolen suits, white shirts, and black hats, with their side locks, called payot, bouncing off their shoulders as they moved with quick strides down the sidewalks. The boys and teens were miniversions of the men except for the absence of facial hair. There were also dozens of kerchief-headed women bundled in coats pushing prams while trying to contain the multitude of children who surrounded them. Some had as many as ten children, the older daughters assigned the role of mother’s assistant to their younger siblings. There were groups of school-age girls, toting enormous backpacks (some things were the same world over), garbed in parochial uniforms-long-sleeved white shirts, blue skirts with hemlines way below the knee. Their legs were encased in opaque tights, heavy coats on their backs.

The air was nippy now, so the thick suits and woolen coats and stockings were not only modest but also practical. But Decker knew that when summer arrived with temperatures soaring into the triple digits and 90 percent humidity, the Chasidish attire wouldn’t alter much. The exterior coats would be gone, but still they’d sweat into their long-sleeved clothing, drenched and itchy with dark circles of perspiration under their arms and around their necks, faces moist in the muggy air. Yet they’d accept their lot, endure the heat and the humidity, wearing the discomfort like ill-fitting shoes.

Regarding the girls, Decker couldn’t help but think of Shaynda. All of these preteens and teens were so fresh-faced with their hair in pigtails, ponytails, or a long braid that trailed down their backs. None wore a drop of makeup or nail polish… even the adolescent girls.