She wasn’t what Decker had expected, looking older than fourteen but not because of cosmetics. On the contrary. She was deliberately understated. Her long blond hair hung poker straight and was parted in the middle. She wore jeans, a sweatshirt, and a necklace of wooden beads. Barefoot, she sat cross-legged on her bed and twirled her hair absently. Tiny wet circles had formed under her armpits, staining her sweatshirt, and she was breathing rapidly.

Marge stood in a far corner and tried to appear preoccupied. Decker pulled up a desk chair to sit opposite her. Turning the chair around, he straddled the seat, leaning his elbows against the back. He glanced around the room.

The two sisters were opposites. Whereas Lindsey’s room was a momument to conformity, Erin’s room resonated with iconoclasm. Antinuclear posters were plastered to the walls, along with quotations from Thomas Jefferson, Aristotle, Thomas Mann, and Nietzsche. An erotic Aubrey Beardsley pen-and-ink was thumbtacked to her closet door. Her bookshelves were crammed with paperbacks on philosophy, art, and social sciences. A Bach organ fugue thundered from a compact disc player.

“Mind if we turn the music down?” Marge yelled out.

“Go ahead,” Erin answered.

“I don’t want to touch the equipment,” Marge said.

Erin bounced up and turned off the system. The room fell quiet. She plopped back onto her bed and took out a pack of cigarettes.

“Mind if I smoke?” she asked.

“If it’s okay with your mom, it doesn’t bother me,” Decker said.

Erin plucked out a Benson and Hedges from her packet.

“I really shouldn’t,” she said, lighting up. “It’s a filthy habit.” She inhaled deeply. “Oat cell carcinoma here we come. But all of us have our vices, I suppose. It’s better than boozing, or heavy doping…What the hell, let’s be honest, huh? It’s a type of dope, right?”

She tried to smile, but wasn’t successful.

“Are you a little nervous, Erin?” Decker asked.

She shrugged.

“I’m ready if you are,” she said.

“We’re kind of starting from scratch, Erin,” Decker said. “The Glendale police interviewed your mom and dad before, so I sort of knew a little bit about them. But I don’t know anything about you.”

“There’s not much to know,” she answered.

“Well for starters, you’ve got pretty sophisticated taste in books.”

“I try,” she said, embarrassed but pleased by the compliment.

“You’re interested in philosophy?”

“Only as a sideline. I’m veering more toward economics.” She giggled. “A little more money in it, no pun intended.”

“Makes sense,” Decker said, straight-faced. “Ditto.”

Erin smiled, then dipped her head coquettishly. The mannerism softened her face. She glanced at Marge, then back at Decker, and became serious once again.

“Lindsey and I didn’t have a lot in common,” she volunteered.

Decker nodded.