LITMIR.BIZ

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reminder or a threat.

      Again, her eyes filled with furious tears. She was so angry, so desolate, that she wanted to scream at the world. Instead, she took out her cell phone and paged her husband.

      Decker had many thoughts rattling through his brain, most of them having to do with how Rina was coping. Still, there was some space left over for his own feelings. Anger? No. Way beyond anger, and that wasn’t good. Such blinding rage caused people to make mistakes, and Decker couldn’t afford them right now. So instead of mulling over a crime he had yet to see, he looked out the windshield and tried to get distracted by the scenery. By the rows of houses that had once been citrus orchards, by the warehouses and strip malls that lined Devonshire Boulevard. He tried not to think about his stepson in Israel or his other stepson at a Jewish high school. Or Hannah, who was currently in second grade—young and trusting and as innocent as those rows of preschoolers led out of the JCC a couple of years ago after that god-awful shooting.

      He realized he was sweating. Though it was the usual overcast May in L.A.—the air cool and a bit moldy—he turned the air conditioner on full blast. Someone had given him the address as a formality, but even if he hadn’t known the locale, the cruisers would have been a tip-off.

      He parked his car in a red zone, got out, and told himself to take a deep breath. He’d need to be calm, not to deal with the crime but to deal with Rina. A quartet of uniforms was buzzing around the space like flies. Decker hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when Mickey Shearing caught him.

      “Where is she?” Decker’s voice was a growl.

      “Inside the synagogue,” Shearing answered. “You want the details?”

      “You have details?”

      “I have …” Mickey flipped through his book. “… that the first report came in at eight-thirty in the morning from the guy who operates the dry cleaning. I arrived about ten minutes later, found the door lock broken. I called up the synagogue to find out if there was a rabbi or someone in charge. I got a machine with a phone number on it. Turned out to be your wife.”

      “And you didn’t think to call me before you called her?” Decker’s glare was harsh.

      “There was just a phone number on it, Lieutenant. I didn’t realize it was your wife until afterward.”

      Decker broke eye contact and rubbed his forehead. “S’right. Maybe it’s better coming from you. Anyone been interviewed?”

      “We’re making the rounds.”

      “Nothing?”

      “Nothing. Probably done in the wee hours of the morning.” Shearing slid his toe against the ground. “Probably by kids.”

      “Kids as in more than one?”

      “A lot of damage. I think so.”

      “Tell me about the guy in the dry cleaners.”

      “Gregory Blansk. Young kid himself. Uh … nineteen …” He flipped through more pages. “Yeah, nineteen.”

      “Any chance he did it and is sticking around to see people admire his handiwork?”

      “I think he’s Jewish, sir.”

      “You think?”

      “Uh … yeah. Here we go. He is Jewish.” Shearing looked up. “He seemed appalled and more than a little frightened. He’s a Russian import himself. Two strikes against him—Jewish and a foreigner. This has to scare him.”

      “Currently, Detective Wanda Bontemps from Juvenile is assigned to Hate Crimes. Make sure she interviews him when she comes out. Keep the area clear. I’ll be back.”

      Having worked Juvenile for a number of years, Decker was familiar with errant kids and lots of vandalism. He had worked in an area noted for biker bums, white trash, hoodlum Chicanos, and teens who just couldn’t get behind high school. But this? Too damn close to home. He was so distracted by the surroundings, he didn’t even notice Rina until she spoke. It jolted him, and he took a step backward, bumping into her, almost knocking her down.

      “I’m sorry.” He grabbed her hand, then clasped her body tightly. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

      “I’m …” She shrugged in his arms. Don’t cry! “How long before we can start cleaning this up?”

      “Not for a while. I’d like to take photographs and comb the area for prints—”

      “I can’t stand to look at this!” Rina pulled away and turned her eyes away from his. “How long?”

      “I don’t know, Rina. I’ve got to get the techs out here. It isn’t a murder scene, so it isn’t top priority.”

      “Oh. I see. We have to wait until someone gets shot.”

      Decker tried to keep his voice even. “I’m as anxious as you are to clean this up, but if we want to do this right, we can’t rush things. After the crews leave, I will personally come over here with mop and broom in hand and scrub away every inch of this abomination. Okay?”

      Rina covered her mouth, then blinked back droplets. She whispered back, “Okay.”

      “Friends?” Decker smiled.

      She smiled back with wet eyes.

      Decker’s smile faded as the horror hit him. “Good Lord!” He threw his head back. “This is … awful!”

      “They took the kiddush cup, Peter.”

      “What?”

      “The kiddush cup is gone. We kept it in the cabinet. It was silver plate with turquoise stones and just the type of item that would get stolen because it was accessible and flashy.”

      Decker thought a moment. “Kids.”

      “That’s what they’re all saying. Why not some evil hate group?”

      “Sure, it could be that. One thing I will say on record is it’s probably not a hype. If he wanted something to swap for instant drug money, the crime would have been clean theft.”

      “Maybe the cup is hidden underneath all this wreckage.” Rina shrugged. “All I know is the cup isn’t in the cabinet.”

      Decker took out his notebook. “Anything else?”

      “Fresh scratch marks on the padlock on the Aron—the Holy Ark. They tried to get into it, but weren’t successful.”

      “Thank goodness.” He folded his notebook and studied her face. “Are you going to be okay?”

      “I’m … all right. I’ll feel better once this is cleaned up. I suppose I should call Mark Gruman.”

      Decker sighed. “He and I painted the walls the first time. Looks like we’re going to paint them again.”

      Rina whispered, “Once word gets out, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of willing volunteers.”

      “Hope so.” Decker stamped his foot. An infantile gesture but he was so damn angry. “Man, I am pi … mad. I’d love to swear except I don’t want to further desecrate the place.”

      “What’s the first step in this type of investigation?”

      “To check out juveniles with past records of vandalism.”

      “Aren’t records of juveniles sealed?”

      “Of course. But that doesn’t mean the arresting officers can’t talk. A couple of names would be a good start.”

      “How about checking out real hate groups?”

      “Definitely, Rina. We’ll work this to the max. Nothing in this geographical area comes to mind. But I remember a group in Foothills—the Ethnic Preservation Society or something like that. It’s been a while.

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