The Forgotten. Faye Kellerman

Decker asked.

      “Yes, you’re glaring at me.”

      “You’re glaring at me!”

      “I know,” Rina said. “That’s why I said we were glaring at each other!”

      Decker paused, then started laughing. It broke the strain, allowing Rina to laugh with him. She reached out and took his hand and squeezed it. “I’d hug you except I’d get paint all over your suit.”

      “Hug me anyway.” Decker took her into his arms.

      They hugged—a long and romantic one. And she did get paint on his suit. He didn’t care. That’s why God invented dry cleaning.

       10

      It was past eight and the Goldings still hadn’t made it home. Decker would try them in the morning. Still, he wasn’t ready to call it a working day. Six months ago, Ernesto Golding had a girlfriend named Lisa Halloway. Golding had mentioned her, and so had Yonkie. His stepson had stated that she had been devastated by the breakup. Decker wondered if she had picked up any telltale signs of Ernesto’s antisocial behavior before the actual vandalism.

      The problem was getting past the parents. But that turned out to be the easy part: the parents weren’t home.

      At least she didn’t slam the door in his face.

      Under the illumination of a porch lamp, he noticed the winking of metal—multiple studs in her ears and a small stone in the side of her nose. Who knew what was in her belly button? Decker realized he shouldn’t judge by externals—if Yonkie had liked her, she must be a girl of some substance—but he was a middle-aged guy with old-guy prejudices. Trying to be objective, if he looked beyond the holes, he saw a pretty, dark-eyed girl with a clear complexion, an oval face, and dimples in the cheeks. Lots of long curls framed her face. She had her shoulders hunched over as if she was cold, and her arms were folded across her chest. She was unhappy and not afraid to express it.

      “I don’t know anything about the vandalism.” Her voice was raspy and low. “But even if I did know anything about the vandalism, I wouldn’t rat on Ernesto.”

      “All I want to do is talk for a few minutes,” Decker said.

      “Why should I let you in? You could be a rapist!”

      Decker smoothed his ginger mustache, aware of Lisa as an angry, young girl wearing a clingy, white tank top and jeans and no underclothes. He could see her nipples even in the poor light. Being alone with her—in private—was not a good idea. He said, “So we’ll talk out here.”

      “For all the neighbors to see?”

      “Yeah.” Decker smiled. “That’s the point. You’ll feel more comfortable that way.”

      “You can come in,” Lisa sneered. “I don’t seriously believe you’re a rapist.”

      “Thank you, but I’m fine out here.” Decker kept his face flat. “Can I talk to you on a conceptual level for a moment, Lisa? Let’s say we are given competing attributes—loyalty and justice. Both are admirable traits, agreed?”

      “I don’t see the point of all this!” She rubbed her arms. “Also, I’m cold.”

      “I’ll wait while you get a sweater.”

      “Never mind!”

      She was thoroughly sullen, but Decker continued anyway. “If the party in question is accused of doing something criminal, but there is no definitive guilt or innocence, maybe the party deserves the benefit of the doubt, ergo loyalty. But if you know for sure that he did it—because he himself has admitted it—doesn’t his criminal act abnegate his right to expect loyalty, and isn’t loyalty moot because he already admitted the act?”

      She swished her curls. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

      “Why be loyal when you know he did it?”

      “Lieutenant Lazarus, it’s all moot. I don’t know anything about the vandalism. Can I go now?”

      Lieutenant Lazarus—using Yonkie’s surname. “It’s Lieutenant Decker,” he corrected. “And it’s a free country. You can leave anytime you want.”

      But she didn’t leave.

      Decker said, “You went with Ernesto for a while, didn’t you?”

      “You know I did. Otherwise, why would you talk to me? What’s the point?”

      “Any of his friends twang your antenna?”

      “You mean did he hang out with Brown Shirts?” She rolled her eyes. “And if he did, do you think he would have told me about it? I’m Jewish.” She gave a snort. “Not the right kind of Jewish for you.”

      Decker’s eyes bored into hers. “What did you say?”

      The intensity in his voice threw her off-balance. She blushed, then pressed her lips together and turned away, the implicit message being she blew it with her mouth. The other implicit message was that it probably hadn’t been the first time.

      “Who have you been talking to, Lisa?” Decker pressed.

      He knew damn well whom she’d been talking to. Now Decker had the advantage. She knew she had gotten Jacob in trouble. She’d have to call him and explain. But first she’d have to deal with Decker. If she remained snotty, she would add to Jacob’s woes.

      Now she was scared, didn’t make eye contact. “Can I go now?”

      Decker was relentless. “Have you been talking to my son?”

      “Stepson—”

      “I stand corrected. Where do you know him from?”

      “Just around—”

       “Where?”

      “I met him at a party. What’s the big deal? Jesus! Now I know why—” Again she stopped herself.

      “Go on!”

      Lisa rubbed her hands together. “Look! I met Jake at a party. Ernesto was there. Maybe Jake mentioned Ernesto or me to you in passing.”

      “Maybe he didn’t.”

      “Well, then, okay. Maybe he didn’t. I’m just saying that parents don’t need an excuse to rag on their children. Even my parents … who are pretty cool … they still snoop. All parents snoop. Jake told me you snooped. Maybe it was true, maybe it wasn’t. But let me tell you something about your son—”

      “Stepson.”

      “He feels brainwashed by your stifling way of life. He struggles with it. But in the end you must have succeeded because he hasn’t answered my phone calls for the last four months. Congratulations.”

      So she had made a play for Jake, and it had failed. So not only was it his fault that Jake was conflicted, but it was also his fault that she didn’t succeed in getting him. “You know what, Lisa? I’m going to do you a big favor. I’m going to forget what you just said and how you just insulted two thousand years of my stepson’s heritage. Let’s go back to talking about Ernesto—”

      “It’s my heritage, too, you know,” she defended herself.

      “Then if it is, you should be even more offended by what your ex-boyfriend did. I’m going to ask you straight out. Did Ernesto have any friends that made you nervous?”

      She paused for a long time. So many emotions walked past on her face—defiance, shame, insecurity, embarrassment, anger, hate—the whole gamut. Finally, she settled