“What’s screwed up?”
“Me. I’ll tell you my part in the mess, but that’s as far as I’ll take it. I’m not a rat, I don’t name names.”
“So there are others?”
“I didn’t say that. For your purposes, I was the sole perpetrator.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“That’s my story. Should I go on?”
“I’m still here,” Decker said. The boy didn’t seem to know how to start. Decker helped him out. “Why did you vandalize the synagogue?”
“That’s a good question. I have nothing against Jews.” He looked away. “It has more to do with my personal problems. I’ve always been obsessive-compulsive, and I’m not just throwing out psych terms. I’ve always had weird rituals. Some of them I’ve outgrown. But some … I can’t help it. We don’t have to go into specifics, but my obsessions are relevant because once I get a thought into my head, I can’t let go. And that’s the problem. I have these dreams … more like fantasies because I’m awake when I think about them. It has to do with my Jewish grandfather—Isaac Golding. Well, it turns out that he wasn’t Jewish. Matter of fact, I think he was a Nazi.”
Decker kept his face flat. “Isaac’s a strange name for a Nazi.”
“That’s because it wasn’t a real name. I found this all out about six months ago. Remember I told you the honors civics assignment?”
“The family tree. Dr. Ramparts.”
“Yeah. Exactly. It’s a semester project. Dr. Ramparts wants it done in detail and correctly. So I’ve been working on this for a while, mostly getting oral history down from my parents because all my grandparents are dead. But then I figure I should do paper research for the sake of completion. So I started going through trunks of old documents that my dad has buried in the attic.”
“An attic?” Decker asked.
“Yeah. I know that’s weird for L.A. homes. But like I said, we have a big home.”
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Go on. You’re digging through old documents.”
“Yeah, right. I think my dad didn’t even know about the shit. It was given to him after his mother died.” Ernesto hesitated, then drank some water. “Anyway, my grandfather supposedly escaped the Nazis and moved to Argentina in 1937. Except old papers showed me that Grandpa’s account was off by ten years. From what I could tell, Grandpa actually came to South America in 1946 or 1947 under the name of Yitzchak Golding. Yitzchak is Isaac in Hebrew. I guess I don’t have to tell you that.”
Decker nodded. Yitzchak was the name of Rina’s late husband—the father of his stepsons.
Ernesto took a breather and went on. “So I figure okay … so Grandpa came after the war. He made a mistake. When I knew him, he was old and a little senile, so his absentmindedness is completely within context. So, I point out this little discrepancy to my dad, expecting a logical explanation. Instead, Dad freezes up, then accuses me of trying to stir up trouble … which was totally ridiculous. Usually, if Dad doesn’t want to talk about it, he just kind of gets this condescending smile and says something like ‘another time, Che.’ Dad calls me Che when he’s trying to prove a point. But this time he gets mad. He gets red in the face. He stomps off. I’m shocked. This means, you know, I hit a nerve.”
Silence.
Decker said, “So what happened?”
“Nothing. I never brought it up, and certainly Dad never brought it up again.”
“So now you’re curious and you have no logical explanation and no one to talk to.”
“Exactly! I technically dropped it, but it’s been plaguing me. It’s on my mind all the time. Because I get to thinking that if Grandpa did come over in ’47, that must have meant that he was in Europe at the time of the war. And being a Jew during the war, he must have suffered somehow. Because I have a couple of friends whose grandparents were European and Jewish, and they have war stories. But I never remember hearing any war stories. Nothing about the … the Holocaust … the death camps. No survival tales, either.”
“I understand.”
“And furthermore, my grandfather’s family was intact—his parents and a sister—which would make sense if they all had come to South America in 1937. The camps weren’t in full operation until later on. But it wouldn’t make any sense for all of them to be alive if Grandpa came over in 1947. You get my drift?”
“Your grandfather was an imposter.”
“That was my conclusion. My dad told me that I got the dates mixed up. But I don’t think so.”
“Do you have your grandfather’s birth certificate?”
“No, and that’s a problem. Just some old papers. I did some further probing … a little of this and that. Called up some resources. I did find a Yitzchak Golding who was sent to Treblinka, a camp in Poland, in 1940. He never came back. His brothers and sisters were also sent to the death camps. So were his parents. None of them came back. No aunts, uncles, cousins … all of them gone. Dead. The family is as extinct as dinosaurs. I’m carrying the name for a bunch of Jewish ghosts. They’re haunting me, Lieutenant Decker. Day in and day out, they’re haunting me. Their faces and their corpses.” Golding looked up, his stormy eyes wild and wet. “I had to get rid of them. So I did what I had to do.”
“You vandalized the synagogue.”
He nodded.
“Are the ghosts gone now?”
He shook his head. “Of course not. They’ll never be gone unless I make peace with them. I don’t know if that’s possible. It’s hard to talk to ghosts. They only talk in dreams, you know.” Ernesto swiped his eyes. “I had this girlfriend for over a year. Lisa. She was wonderful—terrific, beautiful, smart. I broke up with her when I found out about Grandpa. I just couldn’t be with her anymore.”
“She’s Jewish?”
“Yeah.”
“And that’s why you broke up with her?”
“Of course. I was afraid of hurting her. Because of these dreams … these fantasies I have. I would never want to hurt her. I loved her. I still love her. But even after breaking up with her, the fantasies won’t go away.
“The fantasies … they’re sexual. They repel me, but they also—in some sick, primal way—they excite me. We were having sex, but it was the normal kind. Now all I can think about is the sick kind. Demeaning her … hurting her. It makes me sick to think I’m like that. But I can’t help myself. Certain things you can’t hide, you know.”
His pants were bulging.
“All this shit going through my brain while I’m trying to take my SATs and SAT IIs. I … need … help!”
It was a compelling case, and a sympathetic teenager. Decker was no shrink, but the kid seemed sincere. Not overly done, but clearly troubled. And what would Rina think if she found out that Decker was feeling sorry for the kid?
“Tell me the details about the vandalism,” he said. “Where did you get the pictures? They looked original. Were they from a neo-Nazi group or part of the stuff you found in your attic?”
“What difference does it make? I just got them.”
Decker was blunt. “Who else from your school was involved?”
“Look, I admit that I did it. That’s as far as I’m going. I’m not taking anyone else with me. That’s your job, not mine.”
Decker could have pushed it. And maybe on down the road, he would push it. But his motto was to deal with issues one at a time. And now that Decker knew about Ernesto’s involvement, other things would fall into place. “I’m sure that whoever adjudicates the case will demand that you get some kind of rudimentary counseling.”
“I need more than that.”
“I agree.”
Ernesto jerked his head up, surprised by Decker’s honesty.
Decker said, “You’ll have to talk to your parents—”
“Oh, no, no, no, no, no! That’s not possible! As a matter of fact, I am forbidding you to say anything to them about this. I’ll admit to the vandalism. I think Dad understands where it came from because deep down, I think he knows about Grandpa’s past, too. But he hasn’t faced the truth yet. Maybe he never will. In any event, they don’t need to know the details. My fantasies …”
“You’ll tell your therapist?”
“I’d like to. If I can find one I can trust.”
Yet he told Decker all his thoughts without much hesitation.
Ernesto seemed to have picked up on the thoughts. “My parents have this elevated image of me. Why spoil it for them totally? So what if you think I’m an asshole—a spoiled rich kid flirting with neo-Nazism because I’m bored and a jerk. What do I have to lose? I’m telling you what you already think. I’m not that way, really. I mean, I’ve got my problems but I’m certainly not a Nazi freak. Just ask Jake.”
At the mention of his stepson’s name, Decker felt his heart skip a beat. He didn’t answer.
Ernesto said, “We used to go to the same parties. Everyone knew that Jake’s stepdad was a big-shot cop. We weren’t close, but we knew each other.”
Meaning they probably toked together. Decker remained quiet.
“Not that Jake talked about you.” Ernesto looked somewhere over Decker’s shoulder. “Actually, he didn’t talk about anything personal. He had this way of talking to you without ever talking about himself. Like he was really interested in what was going on in your life. It made him a girl magnet—that and the fact that he looks like he does. Me? I always felt he was hiding something. Kind of like being a cop, I guess. I haven’t seen him around in a long time. How’s he doing?”
“Let’s keep the conversation on you, Ernesto. What do you want me to present to the D.A.?”
“How about if … I, like, give you a statement? And we’ll play around with it until we’re both satisfied.”
“How about if you give me what you want me to present to the D.A.?”
“You can’t help me?”
“No. That’s called putting words into your mouth.”
“All right. I’ll figure it out on my own. What do I do?”
Decker reached into his briefcase and took out a piece of paper and a pencil. “You can start by writing.”
His orders were to pick up Hannah after school at three-thirty on the dot. This was not subject to debate, this was something he had to do because Rina was still busy cleaning up the shul. She refused to leave the sanctuary until it had been restored to pristine condition. No matter that Decker was in the middle of a pressing investigation of the crime that had caused it all, he’d just have to stop and do this parental duty.
He understood his wife’s agitation. The thought of the synagogue in a state of obscene disarray was something she—the daughter of camp survivors—couldn’t handle. Cleaning was a way of not only negating what had taken place, but of doing something. Action as opposed to sitting around and being victimized. The techs had taken the better part of the afternoon to do their thing, so not only was the synagogue messy from vandals, but it was covered with print dust. The hate-filled leaflets and horrible pictures had been bagged and carted away for evidence. And though it might take a while to put all the pieces together, Decker was sure that it would work out. Now it was just a matter of retracing the kid’s steps, finding out whom he had associated with. This was a good case for Wanda Bontemps to sink her teeth into. As a newly arrived detective, she’d get a chance to show her mettle. And if she needed mentors, she couldn’t ask for better ones than Webster and Martinez.
Decker pulled the unmarked next to the schoolyard. Which is what it was: a schoolyard, because it certainly wasn’t a playground. Not much more than a six-car parking lot sided by two basketball hoops. Twenty minutes, twice a day, the little kids were let out to ride tricycles, hit a tetherball around a pole, and run around. He got out of the car and stared at the asphalt.
“Where are the swings and slides?” Decker had asked his wife.
“Where’s the money? You find money, you’ll find swings and slides.”
Waiting among the group of gabbing mothers, he once again felt like a wart on a beauty queen. One of them attempted a smile. Decker tried to smile back, but from the look on the woman’s face, he had probably retorted with a sneer. She gave him the back of her head and went back to talking with the other moms.
Rina wouldn’t have approved of his reserve, but she’d never tell him. She knew his heart was in the right place—as were his hands. He had revamped the bathroom of the shul practically single-handed. Although they had thanked him heartily, he had known what they’d been thinking. The goyim … they’re good with their hands—as if he couldn’t be smart and coordinated at the same time.
Everything in their small Orthodox Jewish community was operated on spit and prayer. The primary school had originally been a thirty-year-old medical building. A step away from being demolished, then someone had stepped in at the last moment with a down payment. The architect—the brother of a member of the shul—had managed to join all the suites under a common ceiling. The classrooms weren’t much bigger than closets, but it was home. At least one of the docs had had the courtesy to leave a skeleton behind for the science lab—their most up-to-date prop. There had been a to-do about keeping the bones. Although the body was plastic, the head had once belonged to a genuine human being. In the end, the more modern outvoted the less modern, and Mr. Skeleton stayed.
Hannah came running out of the gate. “Daddddeeeeee!”
“Hannah Rosieeeeee!” Decker answered back, picking the seven-year-old up in his arms. “How was school?”
“Great! How many bad guys did you catch today?”
“A zillion billion.”
“Yes!” Hannah’s feet kicked the air. She squirmed her way down until she was standing on her own power. “Where’s Eema?”
“She’s busy.”
“Is she at the shul?”
Decker looked at her. “Uh, yeah, she is.” He bent down and looked his daughter in the eye. “What do you know about the shul?”
“The teachers told us that a bad man made it messy.” Her brow was knitted in sorrow and fear. “Someone who doesn’t like the Jewish people. Is he going to hurt us, Daddy? Like that bad man who shot the kids at the center?”
“No, honey. No one is going to get hurt. It’s all under control.”
“Did you catch the bad man, Daddy?”
“Sort of.”
“I’m scared. Why is Eema there?”
“To clean up the mess, that’s all.”
“But no one got shot?”
“No, honey, no one got shot.” What a world! “Let’s go, Hannah. Cartoons are waiting.”
Hannah was quiet on the ride home. Decker tried conversation, but the little girl didn’t respond. Four blocks before home, she started talking, although it had nothing to do with the shul. It was a diatribe about how Moshe always took her pencils … just grabbed them from her hand without even asking!
“That’s very rude,” Decker concurred.
“He never even once asked,” she said in outrage. “And … he never said thank you.”
“Very rude.” Decker parked the car in the driveway, helping his daughter out of the car. Then he took out Hannah’s backpack, which must have weighed twenty pounds. “How do you carry this?”
“On my back.”
“No. I mean it’s so heavy!”
“Yes, it is,” Hannah agreed. “Sometimes I use the wheels. Can I have Mike and Ike for snack?”
“No candy before dinner. How about milk and cookies?”
“I don’t like cookies. How about milk and Mike and Ike?”
Decker was too tired to argue. “Sure.”
“Oh, Daddy!” Hannah crooned, hugging his waist with thin little arms. “You’re the best!”
Translation: Between you and Eema, you’re the sucker. He parked her in front of the TV and used the quiet time to call his wife. “Just wanted to let you know that I got her.”
“Thank you, Peter. Is everything okay?”
“As long as you don’t mind her snacking on Mike and Ike.”
“And if I did?”
“I’d say, next time you pick her up.”
Rina laughed over the phone. “I do appreciate you picking her up. I can’t stand the shul in this state.”
“Are you almost done?”
“Not even close. I don’t know who made the bigger mess—the vandals or the techs. Judith Marmelson and Reneé Boxstein are here. Reneé’s husband, Paul, is bringing over cans of paint. If you want to leave Hannah with her friend, Ariella Hackerman, you can join the party.”
“This time I’m going to have to pass. I’m waiting for Yonkie to get home. I’d like him to baby-sit while I go back to work. I cut short what I was doing to pick Hannah up. But that’s okay. Actually, it was good to get out.”
“How’s the investigation going?”
“Promising. I can’t tell you any more.”
“Promising is good. Promising is encouraging.”
“It is indeed.”
“A suspect—”
“I can’t tell you any more.”
“You’re no fun.”
“Yeah, but you knew that when you married me.”
Yonkie was home on time. Decker waited until he settled into his room before intruding on his life. A moment later he heard ear-blasting punk rock coming from Yonkie’s stereo. Decker had to bang on the wood to be heard over the din. The music volume took a nosedive, and then his stepson opened the door, looking at him with grave eyes. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Decker tried out a smile. “Can I come in?”
“Sure.” He stepped aside. “What’s up?”
“Are you still mad at me?”
“No, not at all. Sorry about today. I spoke without thinking.”
“Did you get a lot of flak from your friends?”
“It’s okay. I can handle myself.”
Same words as Ernesto. It was the adolescent creed.
Yonkie licked his lips. “What I don’t want is help, okay?”
Neatly stated. Decker nodded.
Yonkie was restless, clearly anxious for him to leave. “Anything else?”
“I left work early to pick up Hannah,” Decker said. “I’ve left some things unfinished. Can you watch her for a couple of hours until Eema gets home?”
“No problem.”
Being agreeable, but there was anger behind it. “Are you all right, Jacob?”
“Fine. Don’t worry about it.” A pause. “How’s Eema?”
His voice took on concern. The kid loved his mother. That made two of them. “She’s scrubbing out the synagogue. It was pretty bad.”
“Does she need help?”
“You’re helping her by watching Hannah. You sure it’s okay?”
“Positive. If she gets bored, I’ll take her out somewhere.”
“Thanks.” Decker patted the boy’s shoulder, but there was no response. Like Jacob was made of stone. Or maybe he was just plain stoned. Jacob knew he was being sized up. He didn’t flinch from Decker’s scrutiny. “Uh … are you going out now?”
“Yeah, give me a few minutes.”
“Take your time. Call me when you need me.”
He closed the door in Decker’s face. Jake’s life was a giant tumor of repressed anger. Decker tried not to take it personally, but the tension left him queasy. He went over to Hannah, who was steadily working her way through the box of candy.
“How about a grilled cheese sandwich?”
The girl’s eyes were glued on the TV—Scooby Doo. Man, that had longevity. The talking Great Dane had been around when Cindy was a little girl.
“Hannah, did you hear me?”
“Grilled cheese is okay.”
She had heard him. Decker made up a grilled cheese sandwich, courtesy of an electronic sandwich maker that not only grilled but also molded the bread into an attractive shell shape. The aesthetics were lost on Hannah. She asked him to wrap it in a napkin so grease wouldn’t get all over her fingers. Meticulous at times, downright messy at other times. Kids never failed to mystify him.
He said, “Hannah, I’m going back to work now. Yonkie’s here if you need anything.”
“Where’s Eema?” she asked again.
As if repeating the question would make her mother appear.
“She’s at the shul.”
“Okay.”
“I’m going now.”
“Okay.”
“I love you.” He bent down and gave her a kiss. “Bye.”
The little girl chewed off a piece of dripping cheese. “Bye.”
The child was in TV narcolepsy. He patted her head, then heard Jacob summoning him. Actually, Jacob had called out, “Dad,” and that was good. When Jacob was angry, he called him Peter.
“Are you still here?” Jacob yelled from his room.
“I’m still here. What’s wrong?”
“Can you c’mere for a sec?”
Decker patted Hannah’s head again, then entered the inner sanctum of Jacob’s private space. Jacob always made his bed and kept his floor cleared of junk, but his desktop was covered with books, papers, candy wrappers, doodads, and other odd-shaped items that Decker couldn’t identify. Sammy’s bed and desk had been left in pristine condition, completely cleared of anything extraneous. Jacob refused to let his mess carry over to his absent brother’s side of the room. It was as if Jacob kept it clean in hopes that Sammy would materialize.
“I think you’d better hear this.” Jacob turned on his answering machine.
Hi, Jake. This is Ernesto Golding. Long time, huh? I don’t know if your stepdad told you what was flying. Probably not. At least, he shouldn’t be talking about me, but you never know. Anyway, don’t go postal, but you’ll probably hear it from someone. So I figured you might as well hear it from me … that I B-and-E’d your temple … messed up some stuff, spray-painted some swastikas, and threw around some Nazi shit on the floor. I was just fooling around, getting stoned one day, and one dare led to another and things kinda got outta hand. I dunno … it was nothing personal against Jews or anything. It was just something to do. I feel bad about it, but like I said, it was nothing personal. And I don’t know how much you and your stepdad talk, but you can tell him that if you talk about it. I’m sorta rambling, I know. Anyway, I haven’t seen you around in a while. I suspect I won’t see you around anymore. I’m going to hang up now.
There was a click, then the droning buzz of the phone line.
Jacob looked at his stepfather with curious eyes. “Did you arrest Ernesto Golding for vandalizing the shul?”
“What he tells you is his business. But as far as I’m concerned, he’s a juvenile, and I don’t talk about juveniles.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jacob began to pace. “What a prick! What an absolute prick!”
“Why do you think he called you?” Decker asked.
“I don’t know. I barely knew him.”
“Do you have any opinions about him?”
Jacob gave out a breathy laugh. “I have four grandparents who are camp survivors—two of them with numbers. This guy vandalizes the shul and leaves Nazi crap and hate graffiti all over the place. But I’m not supposed to take it personally?” He bit his lip. “Yeah, I have opinions about him. I think he’s a butt wipe.”
Decker restrained a smile.
“He’s a rich kid,” Jacob said. “But he makes a big point of not flaunting it. He’s so concerned about not flaunting it that he flaunts it. Money meant nothing to him because he was always flush.”
“Is he a smart guy?”
“No dummy. He took the SAT twice. Did over 1400 the second time.”
“Better than I could have done,” Decker said. “Of course, that’s not in your league—”
“Stop it!” Jacob snapped.
“Good Lord, take it easy, will you!” Decker barked back. “I’m trying to be nice.”
Jacob looked away. “I’m sorry.” He touched his forehead. “I think I’ve inherited your tendencies toward headaches. Pretty good trick, considering we’re not genetically related.”
Decker wanted to smile but couldn’t get it out. “I’m going now. If you need anything, call me, not Eema. She’s got her hands full.”
“Yeah, sure.” Jacob kneaded his hands. “Look, if you want to ask me stuff, it’s okay. I don’t know much about Golding. I knew him from the parties. I haven’t seen him or any of them in six months. I hope you know that.”
“Yonkie, I’m not looking over your shoulder.”
