“What do you want with his medical charts?” Marge asked Decker.

“I’m a sucker for theoretical models,” he said. “I’m looking for bed-wetting. It usually goes along with fire-starting…and cruelty to animals.”

“The old psychopathic triad,” Hollander said.

“The old psychopathic triad,” repeated Decker, flipping through pages. Marge peered over his shoulder.

“I don’t like to have someone reading over me,” Decker said curtly.

“Excuse me,” Marge backed away.

Decker laughed. “Sorry. I’ve been a real son of a bitch lately and I make no excuses for it. My life is going shitty.”

“Not that I’m trying to meddle, but—”

“Then don’t.”

“Geez,” Marge said. “I’ll give you a pair of tweezers to take the hair out of your ass, Pete.”

He smiled and concentrated on the page in front of him.

“Any bed-wetting?” Marge asked.

“Not so far.” Decker read for a while. When he finished, he reread the chart again. “No bed-wetting,” he announced at last.

“Oh well,” said Marge. “Everything’s always perfect in theory.”

“No bed-wetting, but you know what I see here?”

“What?” inquired Hollander.

“A hell of a lot of cuts and burns in weird places. And a whole lot of broken bones.”

“Child abuse,” Marge said.

“Yep,” said Decker. “Only twenty years ago no one talked about it, much less reported it. Poor Dustin was getting whopped for years and the old doc didn’t make one damn notation on it.” He turned a page. “Will you look at this? Burns on the buttocks. Mom claimed he sat on the stove.”

“We haven’t heard that one since—” Marge looked at her watch “—oh, since maybe two hours ago.”

“Look over here,” Decker said. “Lacerations of the hard palate when the kid was three. Mom said he fell with a spoon in his mouth. The doc records not one, not two, but three semicircular cuts in the region. Looks like Dustin fell with three spoons in his mouth.”

“Jesus, what a bitch!” Hollander said.

“Yep,” said Decker, closing the chart. “Psychos don’t come out of nowhere.”

Friday blurred into Saturday. Shabbos was just another day of the week.

Mary Hollander opened the door and gave Decker a startled look.

“Pete! I haven’t seen you for ages. Thought you’d dropped out of all the shenanigans.”

Decker smiled.

“Guess not. How’s it going, Mary?”

“Fine. They’re all in the back room hooting and hollering. Sounds like a good game.”

Decker stepped inside.

“Bring you a beer?” she asked.

“Sure.”