LITMIR.BIZ

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the last eighteen years, you’ve heard me piss and moan about the sorry state of the justice system. How could you possibly be objective?”

      Rina smiled behind her coffee cup. “You’re assuming I believe everything you tell me.”

      “Thank you very much.”

      “Being a detective lieutenant’s wife has not leeched all rationality from my brain. I can think for myself and be just as rational as the next person.”

      “It sounds to me like you want to serve.” Decker took a sip of his coffee—strong and sweet. “More power to you, darlin’. That’s what our jury system needs, smart people doing their civic duties.” He gave her a sly smile. “Or it could be that Mr. P.D. enjoys looking at you.”

      “It’s a she and maybe she does.”

      Decker laughed. Anyone would enjoy staring at Rina. Over the past years, her face had grown a few laugh lines, but she still cut a regal pose: an alabaster complexion tinged with pink at the cheekbones, silken black hair, and cornflower-colored eyes.

      “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get out of it,” Rina explained. “It’s just that past a certain point, if you want to be excused, you have to start lying. Saying things like ‘no, I can’t ever be objective,’ and that makes you sound like a doofus.”

      “What’s the case?”

      “You know I can’t talk about it.”

      “Ah, c’mon!” Decker bit into a sugar cookie, home baked courtesy of his sixteen-year-old daughter. Crumbs nested in his mustache. “Who am I going to tell?”

      “An entire squad room perhaps?” Rina replied. “Do you have any court appearances in L.A. coming up?”

      “Not that I know of. Why?”

      “I thought maybe we could meet for lunch.”

      “Yeah, let’s get crazy and spend those fifteen dollars a day the courts give you.”

      “Plus gas, but only one way. Indeed, serving on a jury is not the pathway to riches. Even selling blood pays more. But I am doing my public duty and as one employed to protect and serve, you should be grateful.”

      Decker kissed her forehead. “I’m very proud of you. You’re doing the right thing. And I won’t ask you about the case anymore. Just please tell me it isn’t a murder case.”

      “I can’t tell you yes or no, but because you have seen the worst of humanity and have a very active imagination, I will tell you not to worry.”

      “Thank you.” Decker checked his watch. It was past nine in the evening. “Didn’t Hannah say she’d be back home by now?”

      “She did, but you know your daughter. Time is a fluid concept with her. Want me to call her?”

      “Will she answer her cell?”

      “Probably not, especially if she’s driving…Wait. That’s her pulling up.”

      A moment later, their daughter came barreling through the front door, lugging a two-ton knapsack on her back and carrying two paper bags filled with groceries. Decker relieved her of the backpack, and Rina took the food.

      “What’s all this for?” Rina asked.

      “I’m having a few girlfriends over for Shabbos. Other than what I bake, we don’t have anything good in the house anymore. Do you want me to put the groceries away?”

      “I’ll do it,” Rina said. “Say hello to your father. He’s been worried about you.”

      Hannah checked her watch. “It’s ten after nine.”

      “I know I’m overprotective, I don’t care. I’ll never change. And we don’t have junk in the house, because if it’s there, I eat it.”

      “I know, Abba. And being as you pay all the bills, I respect your wishes. But I’m only sixteen and this is probably one of the few times in my life that I’ll be able to eat junk without gaining massive amounts of weight. I look at you and I look at Cindy and I know I’m not always going to be this thin.”

      “What’s wrong with Cindy? She’s perfectly normal.”

      “She’s a big girl like I am, and she watches her weight like a hawk. I’m not at that point yet, but it’s only a matter of time before my metabolism catches up with me.”

      Decker patted his belly. “Well, what’s wrong with me?”

      “Nothing’s wrong with you, Abba. You look great for…” Hannah stopped herself. For your age were the unspoken words. She kissed his cheek. “I hope my husband will be as handsome as you.”

      Decker smiled despite himself. “Thank you, but I’m sure your husband will be much handsomer.”

      “That would be impossible. No one is as handsome as you are and with the exception of pro athletes, hardly anyone is as tall as you. It gets a tall girl down sometimes. We either have to wear flats or tower over most of the class.”

      “You’re not that tall.”

      “That’s only because to you everyone is short. I’m already taller than Cindy and she’s five nine.”

      “If you’re taller, it’s not by much. And there are many boys over five nine.”

      “Not Jewish boys.”

      “I’m a Jewish boy.”

      “Not Jewish boys who are still in high school.”

      Decker liked that. It meant she’d have to wait until college to find a boyfriend. Hannah noticed the subtle smile. “You’re not being very sympathetic.”

      “I’m sorry I gave you the Big T gene.”

      “That’s okay,” Hannah said. “It comes with its benefits but also its detriments. When you’re tall and thin and dress nicely, people think you’re trying to be a model and that you don’t have a brain in your head.”

      “I’m sure you get lots of sympathy from your friends about that.”

      “I don’t tell my friends that, I’m telling you.” She looked at the dining room table. “Did you like the cookies?”

      “Too much. That’s precisely why I don’t want junk in the house.”

      “Enjoy the cookies, Abba,” Hannah told him. “Life is short even if you’re not.”

      IT STARTED AS a soft tinkling in the background of her dream until Rina realized it was the phone. Marge Dunn was on the line and her voice was a monotone.

      “I need to speak to the boss.”

      Rina regarded her husband. He hadn’t changed positions since falling asleep four hours ago. The nightstand clock said it was almost three in the morning. Because Peter was a lieutenant, he didn’t get many middle-of-the-night calls. The West Valley didn’t teem with crime, and his elite squad of homicide investigators usually fielded whatever mayhem happened in the wee hours. Murders were rare, but when they occurred, they were usually nasty. But even nasty did not necessitate waking up the Loo at three in the morning.

      A sensational story was another animal altogether.

      Rina rubbed goose bumps on her arm, then gently shook him awake. “It’s Marge.”

      Decker bolted up in bed and took the phone from Rina. His voice was still heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”

      “Multiple homicide.”

      “Dear God—”

      “At last count, there were four murdered and one attempted homicide. The survivor—a son of the couple murdered—is on his way to St. Joe’s; he was shot but he’ll probably live.”

      Decker

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