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“She’s a good cop,” Oliver said flatly.
“She’s got a rotten disposition.” Nova imitated her. “‘Meaning you checked his feet for corns?’ She hasn’t the foggiest notion of what a podiatrist is or what he does. We’re extremely well trained.”
“I’m sure you are,” Oliver said. “But we are bothered by your not calling the police right away.”
“What difference does it make?” Nova said. “The police were obviously called in.”
Oliver said, “So you called them?”
Nova fidgeted. “No, I didn’t.”
“But someone did. Any idea who?”
“I was told it was Ganz’s daughter—Europa.”
“Any idea who called her?”
“None.”
But he squirmed as he uttered the word. Oliver didn’t press him on it … not yet. “Who called you into the room?”
“Brother Pluto. He asked me to make some kind of assessment as to why he died … to tell the people something. I had to make a split-second decision as to the cause of death. Remember I was stunned myself. Shocked! Although Father Jupiter wasn’t feeble, he was in his seventies. A coronary didn’t seem out of line. I knew that if there was more, it would come out later on.”
Oliver scratched his nose. “Sir, what do you mean by more?”
Nova stuttered. “Well, if the death was something other than a heart attack.”
“The empty liquor bottle didn’t make you a bit curious?”
Again, Nova faltered. “Alcohol can bring on a heart attack, especially in an older man.”
“Did Father Jupiter drink?”
“An occasional sacramental glass of wine.”
“But not usually an entire bottle of vodka.”
“Of course not … at least, not that I’m aware of.”
“Meaning he might have, but you didn’t know about it?”
The podiatrist grew flustered. “I’ve never known Father Jupiter to be immoderate. Besides, you have no way of knowing how much alcohol he imbibed. That bottle could have been drunk over a year’s time.”
“The pathology report will tell us his blood alcohol level,” Oliver said.
“Then I suggest you save your questions until then.”
Oliver said, “We like to ask our questions right away. Memories are fresher.”
“There’s nothing to tell. I signed a certificate because he was dead.”
Oliver stared at him. “How’d you get hold of an official death certificate? They are the property of the coroner’s office. Why would you even have them here?”
“I have no idea why we have them. But we do.”
Oliver noticed Nova was looking over his shoulder, not making eye contact.
The podiatrist said, “Perhaps I shouldn’t have put down natural causes. But if it’s something more, I simply made an honest mistake.”
Marge returned. “An honest mistake as opposed to a dishonest mistake?”
Nova said nothing, a sour expression stamped on his face.
Marge said, “By the way, you signed the time of death as five thirty-two A.M. You said you were called in around five. What were you doing for a half hour?”
Nova’s face held a triumphant look. “A good examination takes time, Detective.” He looked at Oliver. “Anything else? I really do have other obligations.”
Marge tossed out, “Any idea who called Europa about Jupiter’s death?”
“The detective and I have already crossed that territory.”
“Please answer the question.”
“No, I don’t know who called Europa.”
But Marge noticed that Brother Nova had blushed.
10 (#ulink_84dca77f-49e5-536e-9eab-3af3a666a4f0)
Timing was everything. As Decker debated the wisdom of bringing up a hot issue around the dinner table, Sammy jumped the gun by saying, “Did Eema tell you my decision about Israel?”
Decker’s fork stopped midair. “Yep.”
“So what do you think?”
Laying it on the line. Decker emptied the fork and chewed slowly, his elbows resting on the cherrywood tabletop—one of his carpentry projects from his bachelor days. He had finished the set right before he met Rina, and it gleamed thanks to her assiduous polishing. Not all of his woodworking got such attention. She just had a thing for this set. His eyes drifted around the table—first to his daughter, then his stepsons. Nearly sixteen, Jacob would be taking his driver’s license test in a couple of months. Fun and games that was going to be. The boy caught his gaze and smiled at him with twinkling baby blues inherited from his mother. Decker managed to smile back.
Then there was Sam—sullen and serious. At seventeen, he had recently topped six feet. Lanky kid. Still, Decker could spot an underlayer of muscle. Dark eyes and thick, sandy-colored hair—a good-looking boy and brilliant. In one sense, he was almost an adult. The key word was almost.
Decker laid down the fork and wiped his mouth. He chose his words carefully. “Are you open for other opinions or is it a closed matter?”
“Well, I’d like to know what you think.”
“Know what Sarah did today, Daddy?” Hannah interrupted.
“Believe it or not, I am interested in your opinion,” Sammy went on.
Hannah spoke louder. “She ate up all my snack. Isn’t that silly!”
“Great, Hannah,” Sammy muttered. “So what do you think?”
“Isn’t that silly, Daddy?”
Decker answered. “I’m concerned about you being in the disputed territory—”
Hannah shouted, “Isn’t that silly, Daddy?”
“Hannah, quiet!” Sammy said.
The little girl’s face fell.
“Yes, it’s very silly,” Decker answered. “Sam, maybe this isn’t the right time—”
“Why do her needs always come before mine!” Sammy argued. “This is important to me! Don’t you think she can learn to wait a minute before interrupting?”
“It’s not a matter of her needs before yours.” Decker held his sulking daughter’s hand. “But she is only five—”
“Fine!” Sammy dismissed him. “Forget it. I’ll write you a postcard from Gush—”
“Shmuel—” Rina tried.
“I said forget it!”
“Don’t yell at your mom,” Decker said. “For one thing, she’s on your side.”
“I’m not on any side,” Rina stated.
Jacob got up from the table. “Hey, Hannah. Wanna go play draw-a-face on the computer?”
The child still had tears in her eyes. She looked at Jacob, then looked at her mother expectantly. Rina said, “For a few minutes only, Hannah. Your brother needs to eat.”
Jacob extended his hand to his little sister. “C’mon, peanut. You want to draw the girl with a mustache again?”
Hannah giggled and leaped up, knocking down her chair.
“Thank you, Yonkeleh,” Rina said, righting the seat.
“Yeah, Jake’s the good son,” Sammy muttered.
“He’s trying to help you out, Shmuel,” Rina said.
“I know, I know …” He looked at Decker. “I’m nervous. I’m afraid you’re going to say no without even listening to me. And even if you do listen—which I don’t think you’ll do—you’ll still say no.”
Decker tried to stifle his frustration. “So basically, you’ve got me programmed before I’ve said a word.”
“I just know you.”
“Then what’s the point in talking?”
“I’m still interested in your opinion.”
“As worthless as it is—”
“I didn’t say that—” Sammy interrupted.
“All right,” Decker answered. “Just calm down—”
“I’m very calm,” Sammy snapped back. “You’re the one who isn’t calm.”
Cool it, Deck, you can’t win. Take a breather. Decker took a long drink of water. “Sam, I wasn’t wild about you going to Israel period. But going to a yeshiva that’s beyond the green line makes me very nervous. I have legitimate concerns about your safety.”
Sammy said, “Dad, I’ve talked to tons of people who have been there. They say it’s very safe. Much safer than Jerusalem. You know, the biggest problem in Israel is the crazy drivers—a much bigger problem than terrorism. And Gush is out in the country so it’s real quiet—”
“When they’re not sniping at you—”
“Dad, the Arab villages are down below. Gush is up on a hill.”
“So you’re going to stay in this very small vicinity for an entire year and never travel in or out of Israel proper?”
“No, of course not.” Sam played with his food. “It’s twenty minutes from Jerusalem on this new kfeesh which bypasses—”
“What’s a kfeesh?” Decker asked.
“Roadway,” Rina said. “Around three years ago they built the tunnel road, which bypasses some of the Arabs—”
“The tunnel road?” Decker asked.
Rina nodded. “They dug a couple of tunnels underneath the mountainside.”
“Why a tunnel?”
“I guess it was easier to dig under the mountain than to build on top of it. The road bypasses Bethlehem—”
“That’s the main trouble spot, Dad,” Sammy said.
“Sam, the entire area is one big trouble spot.” All Decker could think about was how easy it was to blow up a tunnel. “You’re sitting in the middle of Arab territory—”
“Gush isn’t in the middle of anything,” Sammy retorted. “It’s its own place. It’s been around for … how many years, Eema?”
“Around thirty,” Rina said.
“Dad, it’s not this camp settlement with tents and sleeping bags that the papers make it out to be. It has markets and schools and houses—”
“How many Jews are out there versus how many Arabs?”
“Dad—”
“Sammy, I’m not debating politics. I’m talking bodies. There are many, many more of them than of us. And every time some president has trouble here at home, he starts poking around for foreign countries to dominate. Which usually brings him to the Mideast and a peace plan. And every time America starts hawking a peace plan, someone over there gets riled. And I don’t feel good about planting you—my son whom I love very much—in the middle of danger.”
