“Damn right it’s hard. But I can handle it. And if I may say so myself, I was doing a fine job of adjusting until I got my long lost mother slapped in my face. I’m still reeling from that blow and this nightmare pops up. And now I’m supposed to be the objective, third-party professional. For chrissakes, Rina, the kid is my blood-nephew. I have a tangle of emotions inside me that’s going to take years to unravel. What do you want from me?”

“Oh, Peter!” Rina hugged him as tightly as she could. “I’m sorry!” She burst into tears. “I’m sorry!”

“Forget it,” Decker said, hugging her back. “I’m sorry, too. Part of me wants to walk away from this mess. And the other part is yelling at me to do more. And I’m not getting anywhere, which makes me feel like a failure. I’ve got plenty invested in this. I’m a juvey cop; I’ve located hundreds of missing kids. I, of all people, should be able to get somewhere.” He paused a moment. “Fuck this noise.” Then he said, “Pardon my Hebrew.”

Rina smiled, kept him locked in her embrace.

After a minute, Decker pulled away. “I’m going to talk to the police. File the report, see what I can come up with.”

“Want me to come with you? It’s only a ten-minute walk from here.”

“No.”

“I can just walk with you to the building—”

“No, I’ve got my map. I’ll be back in about an hour. Sure you don’t want to go home?”

“I’ll wait for you.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to,” Rina said.

Decker smiled. “I won’t object.”

11

Boro Park was under the auspices of the 66th Precinct, which local cops called the Six-Six. The building was tucked into the corner of Sixteenth and Fifty-ninth, a two-story brick rectangle attached to a taller towerlike edifice also made of bricks. It was a fortress that would have protected the Three Little Pigs from any wolf for many years to come. Atop the lower portion of the structure was an American flag waving in the breeze.