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“We don’t carry them, but we have them if we need them. You do know how to shoot a gun … or did they let you slide with that one as well?”
“If we’re playing one-upmanship, you’re going to lose.”
“You have youth and education on your side. I have real experience. That must be worth a few brownie points.”
“No one uses the term brownie points anymore and no need to be snide, especially because I’m out here in the trenches with you.”
“Trenches?”
“Stop pulling rank. I have seniority.” McAdams looked out the side window. “I’m not putting you down, Decker, but if I were actually insane enough to want to do this as a career, I’d probably be upper brass in NYPD within … say, four to six years?”
“You think so?”
“I know so. It’s not about experience or passing tests or paying your dues. It’s all about how to work the system, which is something I excel at. I learn exactly what I need to get the job done. Stuffing my brain with useless knowledge is inefficient. Like learning CPR. We get called out, I know you’re going to handle it. You or Roiters or Mann or Milkweed—”
“Nickweed.”
“Whatever. We get called out and CPR needs to be done, I’m not the go-to guy. Why should I waste my time learning something that I’ll never do?”
“Because it is possible that we won’t be around and then you’ll look like a jackass. If I were your superior, I’d insist on it.”
“But you’re not. And since I’m not asking for your opinion or advice, I suggest you stop wasting your breath. Need I remind you that a guy your age doesn’t have that much left.”
Decker stifled a smile. He was riling up the kid on purpose and enjoying it. “You have a short fuse. You should work on that as well.”
“Remind me why I volunteered to ride with you.”
“Let me guess,” Decker said. “I think you’re one of those dudes hoping to glean something from my vast repertoire of police work. I think you’re figuring that just maybe I’ll tell you something truly original and fascinating and then you can write a novel about it. Or better yet, a screenplay. I can see you living in Hollywood. You’d fit in nicely.”
“You’re being condescending. That’s fine. It must be hard to be the junior partner and intellectually inferior to someone as young as I am.”
“Nah, I’m used to that. You’ve never met my kids.”
“But you don’t work with your kids, do you?”
“Nope. I don’t. And I really don’t work with you, McAdams. We just kind of ride around together. Not much in the way of meaningful conversation going on.”
“You want to talk Proust, I’m in.”
“Sure, talk to me about Proust. I like madeleines. My wife bakes them sometimes.”
“He was boring and I hate philosophy. It’s very mathematical and that’s never been my strong suit. I mean I got a 720 on the SAT but that’s about average for Harvard.” When Decker said nothing, the kid squirmed and said, “So what was your favorite case as a detective?”
“No go, Harvard. You’re just going to have to use your own experience for movie material, although God help us both if we ever caught a real case. Not a plain homicide … a whodunit.”
“A whodunit? That’s what you call homicides?”
“Not all homicides, just whodunits. Do you have even the slightest idea how to begin an investigation?”
“Just from TV … is it that different?”
“You are joking, right?” When McAdams went quiet, Decker felt a little bad. Why was he even bothering? The kid remained blissfully silent for the rest of the ride back, sulking and moping around until he clocked out at five.
If he wasn’t such a twit, Decker might have felt sorry for him. The kid didn’t fit in at work: he really didn’t fit in anywhere. He wasn’t a student anymore and he was too young for the average resident living in Greenbury. So where did that leave his social life? Had he shown any genuine curiosity about police work, Decker would have invited him over for dinner. But Decker wasn’t in the charity business. You reap what you sow and that’s a fact.
Living in a small town had its perks, particularly when selling real estate in L.A. and buying in Greenbury. He and Rina had walked away with a nice nest egg in their pockets. Their new house on Minnow Lane was built at the turn of the twentieth century, bungalow style with three bedrooms, two and a half baths, and a wood-burning fireplace with erratic radiator heating. The selling point was the previous owner’s remodel. He had opened up the ceiling and exposed the beams. It was not only aesthetically pleasing, it allowed Decker and his six-four frame to move about the house without bumping into door headers. The yard was now brown and lifeless but they had bought the house in the fall when autumn leaves were ablaze with color and the weather had been brisk and beautiful. Spring was going to be a true spring, not an L.A. spring with fog and smog.
The house had only a one-car garage where Decker parked the Porsche, leaving Rina’s old Volvo in the driveway. Every morning, Decker cleared the windshield and moved the car to the street so he could get out. It was the least he could do for schlepping her to pursue his dream.
The advantage of the new location was driving distance to their four biological children—two were hers, one was his, and one was shared—as well as their foster son, Gabe Whitman, who was busy touring as a classical pianist. Two of the five were married so there were spouses and grandchildren in the mix. Decker’s daughter, Cindy, who had been a GTA detective in L.A., was working patrol in Philadelphia. But it was just a matter of time before she was promoted back up to being a gumshoe.
The house was warm with wafting cooking aromas, immediately putting Decker in a good mood. Inside the compact but modernized kitchen, Rina was working, her hair tucked into a knitted tam that she wore for religious reasons. She was garbed in a thin blue cotton sweater and a knee-length denim skirt, stirring a soup for tomorrow night’s Shabbat dinner. She was using a big cauldron, which meant guests.
“How many are we expecting?” Decker kissed her cheek.
Rina kissed him back on the lips. “Six to eight. But lunch will be just the two of us, so don’t fret.”
“I like company.”
“Liar. But you’re a good sport. Go change. Dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”
Decker sat on a chair at the breakfast bar. “I’d rather talk to you and get some pleasant company for a change.”
“The kid is still getting on your nerves.”
“He gets on everyone’s nerves.”
“Why don’t you invite him over for tomor—”
“No.”
“Take the high road, Peter.”
“I’m taking no road. He’s nasty and condescending. It’s bad enough that I have to deal with him at work. Why should I let him ruin my weekend or, even worse, inflict him on you? He’d only wind up needling me for being observant, narrow-minded, and provincial.”
“Or maybe he’d see another side of you.”
“If I invited him over, it would only feed his delusions that he really is my superior.”
“The kid might be a snot, but I guarantee you he knows who the real cop is. He probably feels like an imposter.”
“He is an imposter.”
“Give him a chance.”
“He won’t accept the invitation from me.”
“So maybe he’ll accept it from me.” Rina picked up the phone. “What’s his cell?”
After Decker gave her the number, she punched it in and waited. “Hi. I’m looking for Tyler McAdams?”
Over the line, the kid said, “You called my cell so you found me. Who is this?”
Decker heard his response and mouthed, I told you so.
Rina blithely continued. “This is Rina Decker. My husband and I wanted to invite you over for dinner tomorrow night.” There was a long pause over the line. She went on. “I don’t know if Peter told you but we’re Jewish and we’re observant. I’m having six to eight students here from the colleges and I thought they might be interested in what people do postgraduation, even if it’s a temporary job.”
McAdams still didn’t speak. Finally, he said, “Uh, thank you.”
“You’re welcome. If it’s an inconvenient time, we’ll take a rain check. We usually have people over Friday night, so it’s open-ended. But I’d love to meet you. I always check out my husband’s partners.”
“No, you don’t,” Decker whispered.
She gave him a playful slap. “Please come.”
“Sure … great. What time?”
Decker was making a face. Rina wagged her finger. “Six-thirty. It’s pretty informal. And I’m a great cook.”
“Sounds like a win-win situation because I like to eat. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We look forward to seeing you. Bye.” She hung up. “Done.”
“It’s not enough that he’s a leech at work. Once he’s tasted your food, I’ll never get him off my back.”
Rina took the casserole out of the oven. “Lots of people have ridden on your back and you’re none the worse for wear. You’ve got a strong set of shoulders. One more kid certainly won’t break your spine.”
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_33e57d11-6ce9-5dcd-9416-4fc40db957a8)
The kid was on time, which would have been fine except that the students were on Jewish Standard Time. Rina answered the door and proceeded to charm while Decker elected to sulk. It seemed like a lifetime until the other guests arrived. The group—four guys and two girls—brought flowers and wine, leaving the empty-handed McAdams feeling a little sheepish. “I thought this was informal. I would have brought something.”
Decker said, “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worried, but I just don’t want to look like a clod.”
“If only you could remedy that with a bottle of wine.” Decker smiled and put his arm around the kid as he led him to the table. “C’mon, Harvard. Just relax.” Introductions were made all around. Decker whispered, “There are a couple of ritual blessings we need to make. The first one is over the wine—”
“I know what Kiddush is,” McAdams said. “There are one or two Jews in the Ivies. I had a Jewish girlfriend at one point.”
“What happened?”
“She’s not my girlfriend anymore, that’s what happened.”
“She dumped you.” When McAdams shot him a dirty look, Decker said, “It happens.” He seated himself at the head of the table.
Rina said, “Tyler, why don’t you sit here between Adam and Jennifer. Both of them are interested in law and I know you’ve gotten into Harvard Law.”
“Adam and McAdams,” Decker said. “Already sounds like a law firm.”
Rina smiled. “It does.” She placed the other four students at the table and then Decker made Kiddush. There once was a time where he stumbled over the Hebrew words. But after twenty-five years of embracing her culture and his genetics, he recited the blessing fluently. After drinking wine, the group washed their hands and said the ritual blessing, and then Decker made the HaMotzi, the prayer over the bread.
Finally, the meal could begin in earnest: soup, salad, rib roast, lentils with red peppers and onions, green beans with hazelnuts, and mixed berry cobbler for dessert. It was enough to break the zippers and pop buttons on any waistline. There was lively conversation between the students and Rina as they discussed the parashat hashavua: the weekly chapter of bible. The kids were intelligent and opinionated. McAdams, on the other hand, was quiet. Like a lot of secular, upper-crust kids of his generation, he was probably scripture impaired. But he was polite and spoke when he was spoken to.
By nine o’clock, things were starting to wrap up and that’s when Decker’s landline rang. Rina and he exchanged glances. Decker’s father had died a year ago, but his mother was still alive and in her nineties. Rina’s parents were both in their nineties. Whenever they got a phone call on Shabbat, it was a reason to worry. Decker held up his finger and went to the answering machine, which identified phone numbers. “It’s local.”
“Thank God,” Rina said. “Probably a robocall.”
The voice kicked in. It was Mike Radar and Decker picked up the phone. “It’s Decker. What’s up, Captain?” He listened intently over the phone. “When? … Okay … okay.” He checked his watch. “Does he know when the lock was broken? No idea? All right, I’ll look into it. Do you know how far it is from my house? … no, I’ll handle it. Just tell me how to get there on foot … no, I don’t mind walking if it’s not too far. A mile away is no problem, Mike … no, really, you stay put. I just ate the equivalent of half a cow and it would be good for me to get a little exercise. Unless it’s something more, I’ll call you on Sunday.”
Decker hung up the phone. “There was a break-in at the local cemetery and the watchman is all up in arms. The other detectives are ice fishing in Canada for the weekend so the captain wondered if I wouldn’t mind handling it.”
Rina feigned mock outrage. “You mean your colleagues didn’t invite you with them?”
Decker grinned. “Actually, I made the cut, but I declined. Maybe next time.”
McAdams said, “I would have gone. Nobody asked me.”
“They probably thought your blue blood couldn’t handle the cold.” Decker sighed inwardly. He had to make the offer to look like a good guy. “Come if you want.”
“Of course, I’ll come.”
“Take the car. I’ll meet you there in about a half hour.”
“I’ll walk with you, Old Man.”
“Harvard, it’s really cold outside. I’m doing it for religious reasons. No reason for you to suffer.”
“I’m not gonna let you outmacho me.”
“Suit yourself. Let me grab a few things and we’ll be on our way.”
“I’ll get your jacket, Tyler,” Rina said.
“Thanks.” McAdams jammed his hands into his pants pockets. His eyes were darting back and forth and he walked in itty-bitty circles. When Rina brought over his outerwear, he bundled up and then forced a smile. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you want some package warmers for your feet and hands?” Decker asked. “I’m taking some with me. No sense getting frostbite.”
“Yeah, sure.”
Decker gave a wave and he and the kid were off. The night was moonless with thousands of stars sprinkling the dark sky like salt on black velvet. Without the cloud cover, the temperature had dropped to the teens. No wind … just cold air and the mist of warm breath wafting through darkness.
McAdams said, “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. It was my wife’s idea.”
“Yeah, I intuited that. She is a good cook. She’s also lovely … I mean personality.”
