Again, Gabe didn’t answer.

“Okay, we’ll get back to that one,” Decker said. “What did Chris tell you?”

“Why do you think Chris was in town?”

“Because we’re both looking for your mom and we’re going in the same direction. He’s just a few steps ahead of me because he can devote full-time energy to this.”

“So you saw him?”

It was Decker’s turn to sidestep the question. “We think we might have located your mom’s car.”

Gabe looked up. “You did? Where?”

“It’s been junked at a scrap-metal dealership. We’ve got the pink slip and the VIN number. We’re trying to tie that car in some way to the car your mother drove. Because the one we found didn’t belong to her.”

“So why do you think you found her car?”

“How many new Mercedes are sold for scrap?”

The teenager paused. “Who owns the car?”

“Atik Jains. Does the name sound familiar?”

“No.”

“He’s Indian…Indian Indian. Jainism is a religion common in India. Does your mother know any Indians?”

“No,” Gabe told him. But his cheeks pinkened.

“You know you’re blushing?” Decker paused, then said, “Gabriel, we both have the same goal. To find your mother. We need to work together.”

“I have no idea if she knows any Indians. I didn’t follow my mother’s social life. As far as I knew, she didn’t have much in the way of friends.”

“And yet you blushed when I asked about her knowing any Indians. What’s that all about?”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“Tell me anyway.”

The boy squirmed. “It was a while back. I was waiting at the hospital for my mom to finish up. The place was swarming with guys in turbans. I thought it was like a terrorist threat or something. When I asked my mom about it, she said it was nothing, that some really rich maharaja was getting heart surgery and all those guys were his bodyguards.”

“How long ago was this?”

“I have to think. It was when I first started taking lessons at Juilliard. So it must have been two years ago.”

Decker took out a notebook. “Okay. What else?”

“Nothing else,” Gabe said. “I think I made some wisecrack about India having a billion people and the maharaja had to come to New York to find a surgeon. My mom told me that the maharaja’s son was a visiting cardiac surgeon in the hospital and he wanted his father to have the operation where he could keep an eye on him.”

The seconds ticked on.

“That’s it.”

“So you were around twelve?”

“About. I only remembered it because it’s not every day you see like twenty guys in turbans.”

“Did your mother say anything else about the maharaja or his son?”