They stepped outside, Decker locking the door. Rina said, “Peter, I was so flustered this morning, I forgot to write down the name of the New York detective who called me about Gershon Klein’s murder.” She reached in her baby bag and pulled out a slip of paper. “But he gave me the precinct’s phone number. Here.”

Decker pocketed the paper. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Is it my imagination or do I seem to rope you into doing a lot of unofficial overtime.”

Decker gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s the kids—”

“I know, sweetheart. I’m concerned for all of them. So far, we have a stalled van with a couple of flats. For all we know, it may be simple car problems.”

“And you think that’s a real possibility.”

Decker didn’t answer. Instead he opened the door. “You’re all set.” He took Hannah from Rina. “I’ll put her in her car seat. Are you sure you don’t want me to pick up the boys and run them over to the yeshiva?”

“It’s not a problem for me, Peter. I’m sure you have enough to do without worrying about carpooling.”

True enough, Decker thought. He was a busy man, having people both dead and alive vying for his attention.

Through the mike, Decker heard Marge’s dulcet tones.

“Where in the hell did you disappear to!?”

“Tug didn’t tell you?”

“Squat.”

Decker explained Rina’s phone call; then a quieter Marge said, “Jesus, that’s terrible! No sign of the kids?”

“I just got off the line with Highway Patrol Officer Rachel Parks—who’s pissed as hell that I’m taking so long to get there. I lied and told her I got stuck in a traffic jam. Anyway, so far no one’s reclaimed the vehicle. I’m on my way there now. What’s going down on your side?”

“Well, we got what we were looking for—two positive IDs—Arik and Dalia Yalom. I thought I’d feel excited about the progress. Instead, I feel wrenched. That’s why I’m so pissed at you. I’ve got no one but Tug to talk to and he’s about as helpful as a hangnail.”

“How’s Orit Bar Lulu holding up?”

“She’s in awful shape, Pete. I rang up her husband, told him to come down and pick up his wife. The lady’s absolutely torn up. I also told him to call her doctor. She was sitting in the squad car, shaking, trying to get down some soda. Then she got nervous and tried to stand. She passed out. Luckily, I caught her.”

“Call an ambulance.”

“I did. Davidson thought that was a peachy idea because—and I quote—‘The last thing this department needs is another wrongful death suit.’ Old Tug’s a sensitive soul.”

“Has the coroner arrived yet?”