Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection. Faye Kellerman
his head instead.
“You are not satisfied,” Schulman said.
“That would be little comfort to the parents of a murdered child, Rabbi,” Decker said.
“Ach, a child!” Schulman said with pain in his voice.
“A teenager. A girl my daughter’s age.”
“And you talked with the girl’s parents today?”
“Her mother.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I didn’t say much. I mostly listened.”
“Sometimes least is best.”
“What would you tell the parents of a murdered child, Rabbi?”
The Rosh Yeshiva became lost in thought, his posture stooped as if the discussion had added weight onto his shoulders. Several moments passed before he spoke. Then he whispered to himself, “Hashem natan, Hashem lakach. Yehi shem Hashem mevorach.” To Decker, he said calmly, “We borrow our children from Hashem. If God in His infinite wisdom took the life of my young child, I’d bless the fact that he was now in the hands of the perfect father.”
Decker walked into the cool night air and tried to relax. His discussion with the Rosh Yeshiva, combined with the day’s events, had flipped the on-switch, and he was overflowing with nervous energy. He jogged past the dorm building and through the postage-stamp lots of single-family dwellings, heading toward the parking lot, but stopped when he reached Rina’s house. It was a quarter to eleven but the lights were still on. Deliberating a moment, he made a sharp left, walked up to her door, and knocked softly.
“Who is it?” he heard her say.
“It’s Peter, Rina.”
She unhooked the chain and opened the door.
“Hello there,” she said, letting him in. “You’re just the person I wanted to see.”
“Why’s that?”
“Someone has been having nightmares.”
Decker’s eyes fixed on Jacob in his Spiderman pajamas. It always amazed him how much more vulnerable kids looked in their sleepwear.
“Hey, Jakey,” he said, sitting next to him. The boy’s blue eyes were open and alert. “What’s on your mind, big fellah?”
Jacob shrugged.
“He wanted to know whether you’ve captured the bad man who dumped the bones in the woods,” Rina said.
Shit, Decker thought. To love a kid is to live with guilt.
“No, not yet,” he said. “Jacob, that man isn’t going to hurt you. He lives far, far away and isn’t going to come here.”
“How do you know?” the child asked.
“Because I know. He’s not interested in hurting you or your eema or anybody here at the yeshiva. Jakey, you’re safe.”
The kid looked skeptical.
“No one is going to come in here,” Decker tried again. “The windows and doors are all locked. They can’t come in here.”
“Suppose a burglar breaks a window?”
“What did I tell you I’d do?” Rina said.
The boy gave a hint of a smile.
“You’d spray his eyes with poison,” he answered.
“And then what?”
“While he was rubbing his eyes and going YOW, you’d hit him over the head with a frying pan.”
“And then what?” Rina prompted.
“You’d break a lamp over his head,” he giggled.
“And?”
“After he was all knocked out, you’d tie him up with your leather belts and call the police.”
“And who always makes sure you’re safe?”
“Hashem!”
“And who always looks after you wherever you are?”
“Hashem!”
“And who takes care of you twenty-four hours a day, every single day of the year?”
“HASHEM!” Jacob shouted.
“It sounds like you’re in good hands, Jake,” said Decker.
The little boy turned to him.
“Are you gonna catch that bad man?” he asked, still worried.
“Of course, Jake.”
“C’mon, sweetie,” Rina said. “Try and get some sleep.”
“Can you walk me to my room, Peter?”
“Sure.”
Jacob kissed his mother good night and led Decker into the bedroom.
“All’s well,” Decker said, reentering a moment later. “Have you had any problems with Sammy?”
“Fine. Sleeps like a log, eats great, plays and studies.”
“And I thought it was the little one who didn’t take things to heart.”
“Go figure.” She looked up at him. “Do you want something to eat, Peter?”
“A cup of coffee.”
“At this time of night?”
“I’m restless. I’m not planning on sleeping too much tonight.”
“Oh?”
“I think I’ll take advantage of my wide-awake mood and do some—research.”
“I’m not going to ask.”
“Good idea.”
He sat down at the kitchen table and watched her put the tea-kettle on the burner. She wore no makeup, her hair was braided back, and she was barefoot. She could pass for seventeen.
“How’d the lesson with Rav Schulman go?”
“Fine,” he said. “How long has Jake been having nightmares?”
“This is the first time.” She took his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Peter. It wasn’t your fault. Okay?”
“Sure.”
She cupped his chin in her hands and looked into his eyes.
“Okay?”
“Yes, okay, whatever you say.” He smiled. “You’re a potentially violent woman, Rina Lazarus. I’m not messing with you.”
“Just don’t break into my house.” She smiled, then turned serious. “I just wanted him to know that I could take care of him. And I can. I want to show you something.”
She left the room, and when she came back, she was carrying a box.
“Take a look inside.”
The shape. The weight. He knew what it was without even opening it. Damn, he thought. She really did it. He pulled out the gun, hefted it, then flipped open the barrel.
“Where are the bullets?”
She reached inside her skirt pocket and handed him a smaller box.
“The guy who sold it to me said to keep the gun and bullets separate since I have small kids in the house.”
“He’s right.”
“But that doesn’t really make any sense. If someone breaks into your house, do you want to have to think about where the bullets are and how to load them?”
“It’s