“All right.” Marge blew her bangs off her forehead. “Pisser that we don’t have the time to do both. That we have to do this with our own dogs, on our own time.” In a mocking voice she said, “Because Tug can’t justify department hours.”

Decker didn’t respond.

“You’re not pissed?” she asked.

“Nah.”

Marge watched as Decker smiled cryptically. She studied his face. “It’s a game with you, isn’t it?”

“Homicide is never a game.”

“Bullshit, Peter. You want to do this on your own time. You’re dying to prove the bastard wrong.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Marge thought a moment. “Nothing.”

14

Decker finally pulled into his driveway a little after eleven. He was surprised to find Rina not only waiting up for him but still in her street clothes. He asked her if everything was all right.

“Fine,” she answered. “We missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Everyone okay?”

“Dandy. Was it a fruitful night for you?”

“Not great. We’ve got one lead, Rina. A phone call made by one of the teenaged boys.”

“But that’s a lot, Peter. At least you know the boy is still alive.”

Decker didn’t answer. In fact, he didn’t know if Dov was alive or dead. Dov had made a phone call three days ago. “Why are you still up? You need your sleep.”

“I thought we might go out for a walk.”

Decker looked out his living-room picture window. It was pouring. “I think the weather’s a tad nasty.”

“Not up for a romantic walk in the rain?”

“What’s on your mind, darlin’?”

Rina did a quick glance over her shoulder, her eyes brushing across the closed door to the guest room. She whispered, “How about we talk in the barn? Just you and me and the horses.”

Decker was tired. His head and neck ached, his shoulders were stiff and his old bullet wound throbbed. Weather like this sure didn’t help. But he tried to mask his weariness. “Sure, let’s go check on the horses and you tell me what’s on your mind.”

Rina put on her slicker. Decker hadn’t even taken his off. He slipped his arm around his wife, guided her through the kitchen, then opened the back door and a big, black umbrella. Huddled under a waterproof canopy with Ginger at their heels, they ran for the barn, their shoes muddied in the process. But once inside, the barn was warm and dry and smelled sweet from recently pitched hay. Decker turned on a hanging electric lantern which illuminated the ground with a halo of soft light. The horses were prone, surprised by the intrusion but not disturbed by it. Decker’s favorite mare, Beatrice, whinnied softly, the stray cats purred. Ginger nestled next to the tabbies and lowered her head to the ground. Decker folded the umbrella and pointed to a clean pile of hay.

“After you, madam.”