A weekend of dreaming in red, the images so realistic that even after Decker had awoken, he was disoriented. His heart raced, his skin was damp and sticky, his gut knotted with raw fear. Monday morning was especially bad, because he had to leave the confines of his bedroom and face the world. It took him a long time to shower and shave, to dress and say his morning prayers. He felt inanimate, removed from his flesh—a series of circuits programmed to follow a routine. It was as though he’d lost proprioception—his sense of self. He left for work without eating.

He knew the job would jolt him back to the present. With familiar people in familiar surroundings, he’d be okay, able to function. But the freeway ride over the mountains seemed surreal, the steamy hills melting into the asphalt, the cars’ blurs of steel—futuristic cockroaches speeding away from burgeoning sunlight. Even the station house seemed an oddity—a dirty white stucco building planted in the middle of a burned-out field. A gag gift from some alien architect.

What brought Decker back to earth was the odor of Hollander’s pipe.

“What tractor ran you over this morning?” Hollander asked.

Decker glanced at the clock—quarter to nine. “I think I’ll call Marge.”

“I just spoke to her, Pete. She sounds a lot better than you.”

“She’s okay?”

“Due to be released at ten. Her current flame is picking her up, and she sounded very pleased about that. You know, I think it was real lucky that she’s dating a shrink. I mean, he’s probably pretty good for her at a time like this.”

“Probably.”

“Building up her confidence,” Hollander said. “That’s the worst part. When you lose the confidence, start doubting yourself. Then things start looking pretty iffy out there.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“Something major happen to you, Rabbi?” Hollander said.

“I’m all right,” Decker said. And at that moment, he decided he was. His memories were like old photo albums, to be stashed away in an attic trunk, opened only on the rainiest of days. “Really, I’m fine, Mike.”

Hollander took a puff on his briar and blew out fruit-scented smoke. “Then you won’t mind hearing that an hour ago they sprang our buddy Earl Darcy on his own recognizance.”

Decker snapped to attention. “Who picked him up?”

“Sue Beth Litton,” Hollander answered. “I didn’t talk to her directly, but the jailer said she was pretty shaken by the whole thing.”

“Sue Beth didn’t have the foggiest notion of what she was in for when her brother confessed.”

“That was the jailer’s impression.”

The two men looked at each other, Hollander fidgeting with his pipe, Decker smoothing his mustache. With all that had happened with Rina and Abel, Decker had put his cases on hold. Time to bury the personal life and take out the professional one. Time to work!