Decker threw up his hands. “I was wrong. For what it’s worth, I haven’t gotten past first base with it.”

Neither one spoke for a moment.

“I’m not going back to East L.A.,” Decker said. “Especially not under these circumstances.”

“So you’ll quit the force and then what? Law? You hate law. What are you going to do?”

“You could keep me here if you wanted to,” Decker said. “My Spanish is needed here as much as there.”

“Why should I? You’ve been a bad team player lately.”

“Look, Captain. You’re the one who put me in Homicide.”

Morrison reflected on that.

“Take your badge and piece and get back to work,” he said. “I’ll see what I can do about the transfer. Maybe you’ll quit acting like a schmuck once you’re back with Juvey.”

“Kids bring out the best in me.”

“Snotnose remarks are unbecoming in a veteran like you, Pete.”

Decker suddenly felt old. His mind flashed to Rina’s smooth, naked, young body. He wondered if he looked the way he felt.

He flipped through the stacks of 1040s and 540s on his desk. Cecil Pode had earned about the same amount of money each year of his life, with no sudden windfalls. The last couple of years, the photo business had experienced a slight decline in income. If Pode was making side money in the porno business, he was either stuffing it in a bank in the Cayman Islands or pissing it away. The man had admitted a gambling problem. Might be how he got involved in the first place. But one thing was certain; he wasn’t reporting the dirty income.

Pode’s army record gave no further insights into his personality. He’d spent a hitch in Korea and had been discharged honorably.

Decker pushed away the papers just as Marge bounced in.

“You hit a winner!” she announced, pulling up a chair. “Ida Pode’s remains were not found in bed. She was found inside the room at the threshold of her bedroom door.”

“And no arson was suspected?” Decker asked.

“Nope. The Fire Department figured she fell asleep while smoking.”

“Then why didn’t she die in bed?” Decker wondered out loud.

“Maybe she was awakened by the smoke, tried to get out, and before she could, she was overcome by fumes,” said Marge.

“Or?” Decker said.

“Somebody set her bed on fire and prevented her from leaving the room,” she answered. “What would be the motive for murder?”

“My intuition says insurance money,” he replied. “But we’re only talking ten g’s here.”

“Ten thousand dollars bought a lot more back then,” she said. “And desperate gamblers have been known to do it for a lot less.”

“I’ve got another motive, Margie,” he said. “Hatred.”

The phone rang.

“Decker.”

“Detective? This is Dr. Bachman, family dentist for the Podes.”

“How are you, Doctor?”