LITMIR.BIZ

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said, “Are you still there?”

      “Yes, I’m still here.”

      “Rina, I’m expecting a united front on this one!”

      “Peter, as his mother, I agree with you one hundred percent. Except we’re not just two parents, we’re three. He told me that if Gush was good enough for his father, then it’s good enough for him. Now what do I say to that?”

      Decker felt his head throb.

      His father. Of course that meant Rina’s late husband, Yitzchak. Decker had been Sammy’s father for over seven years, almost two years longer than Yitzchak had been with the boy. Still, the word father was reserved for this ghost.

      Rina said, “Are you still there?”

      “Yeah, yeah.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “All right. At least I see what the problem is. Not that I’m agreeing to anything. But I understand … we’ll talk about this later.”

      Rina said, “It was wrong of me to bring it up.”

      “No, it wasn’t,” Decker answered. “I know it’s easier dealing with me on the phone than it is in person. I’ll try to behave civilly about this. But no promises.”

      “Fair enough.”

      “I love you,” Decker said.

      “Love you, too.”

      Decker said, “No, I really mean that. I love you.”

      “And I really mean I love you, too. We’ll talk later. Finish your sandwich in peace … and hopefully without indigestion.”

      Fat chance of that! Decker said good-bye, then cut the line and leaned back in the driver’s seat. As always, after these types of issues, he debated his efficacy as a husband and father. Would his children—unlike Ganz’s—mourn for him when he was dead? Would it make a difference if they did? To him, life wasn’t about memories, it was rooted in the here and now. Yet there was his stepson, Sammy, desperately trying to communicate with the departed. What was the point of telling him it couldn’t be done? It would only build resentment.

      But better resentment than to risk his son’s welfare. Youth had no concept of danger. Decker knew that because once he had been young. He waited a few moments, then started the engine. When the lane was clear, he pulled out into the void and joined up with the smooth flow of oncoming cars.

      Southwest University of Technology had set its roots in Pasadena, a quiet, staid town northeast of Los Angeles. A small place compared to its overcrowded sister, it harked back to gentler times—less traffic, street parking and even some small cafés without a franchise logo. Once a year, Pasadena still grabbed the spotlight with its annual Rose Parade. But the day after January 1, the city seemed to fade like the flowers on the floats.

      The Tech’s campus hosted an amalgamation of low-profile structures nestled among ancient pines and majestic oaks. Some Ivy League architecture had crept into a few of the buildings—the administration house and the student union—but most of it was postmodern and utilitarian. The air was cool, and Decker enjoyed walking around. The backpack-toting students were a diverse lot of ethnicities, and seemed younger every year. Since the weather was inviting, many of the kids studied outdoors, sprawled out on the lawns or sitting at a café table drinking lattes, poring over texts of particle physics or nonlinear topology. Jeans and T-shirts appeared to be the corporate dress, and no one gave Decker or his typical cop-suit a second glance. Judgments here were made on the basis of what was inside the package rather than the wrapping.

      Dr. Europa Ganz was stationed in a triangular-shaped corner office on the fourth floor of the astrophysics building. She had the requisite institutional desk, metal chairs and file cabinets and bracket bookshelves. It was fluorescently lit, but it did have a window that showed a patch of steel sky and the quad area below. Hanging on the walls were two black-and-white photographs of some planetary surface, excellent in their clarity and resolution. Decker took a moment to study them, both chalky white, pockmarked and completely barren.

      “The moon?”

      “This one’s the Mohave Desert at night,” Ganz answered. “The other one’s the moon. Hard to tell the forest from the trees, eh?”

      “You fooled me.”

      “We were all one once—the moon, Earth and planets, the sun, the entire universe. And when you’re young—like babies—you all look alike. Later on comes the process of differentiation. Look at me. Forty years old and still trying to pull away from my father’s ghost.”

      Decker nodded while studying the scientist. Her hair was light brown and had been clipped short across the back. Feathered bangs softened her wide forehead. Her face was square-shaped with a strong jawline. Pale, white skin and intense blue eyes. Her gentlest features were her lips—lush and red. No makeup, but there were gold studs in her ears. She wore jeans, a white T-shirt and a black jacket, the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. She pointed to a chair.

      “Have a seat. Is it Lieutenant Decker?”

      “Yes.”

      “My father must rate.”

      Decker smiled. “Only you can answer that.”

      Europa’s lip gave a half-smile. “Snappy retort. I hope you’re not intending to delve into my family’s psychodrama. I don’t have time.”

      Decker sat down. “Why would I do that?”

      “Now you’re really sounding like a shrink.”

      He took out his notepad. “Actually, Doctor, I came here to find out who told you about your father’s death. No one at the Order of the Rings of God seems to know who called you.”

      “Can’t answer that because I don’t know who called.” Europa sat down at her desk. “I hope you didn’t drag yourself all the way out here just to ask me that.”

      “No idea?”

      “No idea.”

      “Male or female?”

      “That I can answer. Female. She was probably making the call on the sly.”

      “Why do you say that?”

      “Because she spoke quickly and in hushed tones.” Europa stood. “Coffee?”

      “Sure.”

      “How do you take it?”

      “Black.”

      “Caffeinated?”

      “The more drug-laden, the better,” Decker answered.

      Europa laughed. “You’d do well here.” She brought out a bottle of water and poured it into the coffeemaker. “She also told me to alert the police.”

      “The police?” Decker wrote as he talked. “Did that make you suspicious?”

      “Of course it did.”

      “You made the call around seven?”

      “I suppose. You’d know better than I would. Don’t you tape incoming phone calls?”

      “Just trying to get your recollection.”

      She paused, heaved her shoulders as if they held granite epaulettes. “It’s been a long day.”

      “I’m sure it has. Thanks for seeing me.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Recall as best as you can the exact words this female caller used.”

      “Something like … ‘I thought you should know. Your father just died. I’m not sure how it happened. It’s suspicious. Call the police.’” Europa measured out coffee. “Then the woman hung up. I knew it was useless to call the Order back. They wouldn’t tell me anything. So I found out the number of the closest police station and reported it as a suspicious death. The news is saying it’s an apparent

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