“We’ve got one hour, fifty-nine minutes, and fifty-six seconds left.”

Decker smiled. “I’m leaving for court in a few minutes. Though I don’t expect anything, I’ve spoken to CAD. See if they can come up with any past abductions that resemble the Yalom case.”

“What an idea. I’m sure there must be a slew of open files on family kidnappings.”

“You got a better approach, I’m all ears, Marge.”

Marge was quiet. “Sorry. I’m just angry. Angry at what I just saw, angry at Davidson.” She turned to him. “Aren’t you pissed at him? He dared you.”

“I don’t get pissed, I get even,” Decker said. “Guy’s going to eat his words with shit on top. What say you and I get together here around four o’clock and go over Yalom, bit by bit.”

“We’ve done that.”

“We might have missed something. Let’s do it again.”

The notes and charts covered both desks. It had taken them over an hour to review, classify, sort, and resort. At five, most of the other thirty-odd Devonshire detectives were calling it a day. At six-thirty, Davidson walked out of his office and over to their table. Old Tug had on his jacket and was carrying his briefcase. He looked embarrassed to be leaving before them.

He said, “You’re doing this to spite me.”

Decker threw a look to Marge that said, “Let me take this one.” To Davidson, he said, “Like I told you, I’m just doing my job.”

Davidson said, “Don’t you have a baby at home, Decker?”

“Yep. A little girl—a real cutie. She looks like her mom.”

“Don’t you want to see her?”

Decker glanced up from his charts. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sabotaging my efforts, Loo. Lucky for me, I know better.”

Davidson glared at him. Then his expression suddenly eased. “We’re on the same side, Decker. I’d like to find this family, too. I know something’s hinky.”

Decker said nothing.

“Unfortunately, hinky’s not enough.” Davidson shook his head. “Look. I know you’ve had experience in Homicide. But I’ve had more experience. These kind of cases eat up hours and I can’t afford to have two of my Dees punching in useless time, get it?”

“I get it.”

Davidson said, “Of course, you and Marge find bodies…a body—one’s enough—now that’s a different story. Then I can justify the hours.”

And then it dawned on Decker. Tug wasn’t a bad man. Tug wasn’t even a bad cop. Tug was just an administrator. The position had turned him into a bureaucrat. He was forced to evaluate cases in terms of hours clocked, and dollars and cents, instead of good guys versus bad guys.