“Still do. A daughter—”

“Cynthia.”

Decker nodded. “She’s going to be a freshman at Columbia this fall. The marriage was worth it for her.”

“So she’s what? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

“Seventeen.”

“About the same age we were when we met,” Abel said.

“Frightening,” Decker said.

“Damn frightening,” Abel said. “Did I ever tell you I got married?”

“No.”

“I did. About seven years ago.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing. We’re still married, so far as I know. We don’t live together. No one can live with me.”

“Kids?”

“Not mine,” Abel said. “She’s got three from previous liaisons, none of them married her. I took pity—seventeen-year-old girl and three kids. Nice chicklet, cute, but stupid as shit. Just can’t say no. So I got her fixed up with an IUD. I send her a little cash, see her when I go back home for Christmas. She’s happy, I’m happy.”

“It’s great to be happy.” Decker raised his eyebrows. “Let’s get back to the rape.”

“Where was I?”

“You paid to sleep over at her house.”

Abel nodded. “That was the last thing I remember. Next thing I knew, I woke up—handcuffed. My skull is cracked open, and the bitch is screaming bloody murder….”

“She said you held a shiv across her throat while you raped her. Then you went nuts. She knocked you out by cracking a lamp over your head, then called the police.”

“I don’t even own a shiv.”

“You still get those blackouts?”

“Yeah. But not this time. I was sleeping, Doc. I heard someone screaming, woke up and saw blood.” He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “I thought I was having another routine nightmare. Man, I never stopped getting nightmares, you know. But this one seemed ordinary enough. So I said to myself, ‘Abe, go back to sleep. It’s just another nightmare.’ Only it was real. God, was it real.”

His eyes became pensive and moist. “I don’t know what happened, Pete. All I know is, when I went to sleep, the girl was whole.”

“Is it possible that you had a blackout, did something to her, and woke up without any memory of it?”

Abel swallowed hard.

“I swear to God I didn’t rape or beat her.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “I believe you.” He finished his sandwich and orange juice. “You didn’t beat her up. But someone did. The report said there was no break-in or forced entry, but Myra often slept with the windows open. She could have known the assailant—a john who got rough or her pimp—tried to cover for him, and you were a convenient scapegoat.”

“I don’t know how they can pinpoint my semen in her,” Abel said. “The broad was a hooker. She must have been swimming in a sea of cum.”