Bram took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He looked as miserable as she felt. Pity tugged at her heart. Within minutes, her presence had turned him from a fun-loving youth into a morose, burdened old man.

He put his specs back on. Looked at her intently and whispered, “This isn’t the right way to say good-bye.”

“So I’ll say it properly.” Her voice softened. “Good-bye and good luck. I mean that, Bram.”

“Rina, please don’t—”

“I’ve got to go. So do you.”

She walked away.

And he had called her that night, begging her over the phone machine to pick up the receiver. When she didn’t, he left a long, rambling message.

Apologizing profusely for his rotten behavior.

Not realizing what had gone on at the yeshiva just a few months earlier, how some maniac had been stalking her, terrorizing her life. How this cop, this Decker had come through for her when she had needed help. Obviously he must be of fine character to put aside his own safety for her welfare. He hadn’t kept up contact with Rav Schulman so no he hadn’t known. He hadn’t known. Because if he had known…he would have…he felt like an ass…just please, please pick up the damn phone.

But she didn’t pick up. Instead, she lay in her bed, tears in her eyes, listening to him implore her. Please, please, please call him back.

But she remained stubborn, deaf to his pleas.

A year later, out of courtesy, she had sent him a wedding invitation. Bram had sent back a gift—a silver kiddush cup—along with the reply card, an X marked in the “yes” box.

The wedding came, the wedding went.

Abram Sparks had been one of their few no-shows.

18

They decided to take Webster’s ’68 metallic-blue Hemicuda—a primitive animal that rumbled and roared, requiring a firm grip on the reins. But it fit nicely with the assignment and, more important, it flew at high speeds. From the Devonshire Substation, it was a quick hop north on the 405 until it merged with the Golden State, the empty lanes on 1-5 begging for pedal to the metal. The ’Cuda zipped through the north Valley, past the smooth, glassy surface of the brimfull LA reservoir, onto the Antelope Valley Freeway into Santa Clarita. Off the freeway and deep into Canyon Country.