“Rina’s kids?” Fordebrand asked.

Decker nodded. “The older one found the bones. What a crappy deal! Nice weather, so I take them for a few days in the wild—unpolluted skies, unspoiled nature—and they have to be exposed to this crud.”

“That’s too bad.” Fordebrand’s right arm had begun to swell. He clawed at it and winced. “So you want this one, Deck?”

“All right. Starting the twenty-sixth. Nothing’s going to go down between then and now anyway.”

“Easy case,” Fordebrand said. “Open and shut. Poke around a little just to say you did something. Look through a few Missing Persons files and forget about it. A week’s worth of desk work—nice and clean.”

“If it’s so appealing, Ed, you can take the case.”

“I’ll be happy to, Decker, if you take the packinghouse slashings.”

“Pass.”

Fordebrand ran his fingers through his hair.

“Yeah, you look through a couple of Missing Persons files, then close the books, and they go down in the annals as a couple of John Does.”

“Jane Does,” Decker said. “They look like females to me.”

“Jane Does, John Does, who the hell cares? Nobody’ll hear from ’em again.” Fordebrand slapped him on the back. “I’ll handle the preliminary garbage. You go off and finish your vacation. Take care of the boys.”

“Sorry I had to drag you out on Christmas Eve.”

“Ah, it’s okay,” Fordebrand said magnanimously. “I’ll be back in time for the honey-glazed ham and the turkey. The ham’s in the oven; the turkey’s coming in from Cleveland.”

Decker smiled. “Your mother-in-law?”

“Who else?”

“Have fun.”

“If you get lonely tonight, Deck—”

“I’ll be up here with the boys, but thanks anyway.”

Fordebrand nodded.

“Yeah, you probably don’t go in for Christmas anymore, do you, Rabbi?”

Decker shrugged.

“You like playing Daddy, Deck?”

“They’re good kids.”

“What’s with you and their mama anyway?”

“Beats me, Ed.”

Decker called out to Jake, and jogged over to Sammy and sat down beside him. The younger boy came running and jumped onto Decker’s lap.

“The police will take it from here, guys, so we can go back to the campsite now. We’d better get going. We still have to pitch the tent—”

“Peter, I want to go home,” said Sammy.

Decker blew out air forcefully. “All right. Is that okay with you, Jakey?”

“Yeah, I’d like to go home, too. I’m sick of peanut butter.”

Decker put his arms around the boys. “I’m awfully sorry, guys.”

Sammy leaned his head on the detective’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Are you guys a little spooked?”

“Maybe a little,” Sammy answered.

“How about you, Jake?”

Jacob shrugged.