A shiddach—a proper mate set up by a matchmaker. “Sins of the father,” Decker said.

“Correct.” Schnitman held on to his hat as the wind kicked up. “But I do want to help. If you come next Tuesday, maybe the person will show up at the meeting. I’ll give you an introduction, but that’s as far as I’ll go.”

“Next Tuesday, I’m back at work in Los Angeles.” He remembered what he told Donatti—sixty hours, now down to less than forty-eight hours. “But thanks. You helped confirm what I suspected.”

Schnitman regarded Decker. “You’re a good man to come all the way out here to help your fellow Jews. You’ve probably gotten nothing but grief for your efforts.”

“You’re right.”

“Moshe Rabainu got nothing but grief for his efforts as well.” Schnitman smiled. “You’re in very good company, Lieutenant.”

29

It was quarter to one when Decker made it back to the synagogue, but Jonathan was still in conference. Five minutes later, Decker saw his brother walking out of his office with a forty-plus black-suited woman and a teenage boy. The woman held a balled-up tissue to her eyes, and the kid wore a sullen moue, his eyes focused on the exit door. Problems, problems, problems. Jonathan accompanied them outside, returning a minute later, trotting back toward his office.

“Jon,” Decker called out.

The rabbi spun around. “Akiva. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” He did a little jog to catch up with him. “You were in there for a while. How about some lunch?”

Jonathan said, “If it’s a social thing—and I suspect not—I can’t afford the time. If you need me, I’m here for you.”

“Where are you off to?”

“I have to go back to Quinton.”

“Perfect! You can drive and we’ll talk in the van.”

Instant hesitancy registered on the rabbi’s face. Decker came to his rescue. “I have no intention of visiting your in-laws. I have other business there—on the north side.”

Now his eyes were curious. “What kind of business?”

“I’ll tell you about it later. How about if I grab a cup of coffee and meet you at the van? It’s parked down the street.”

Jonathan said, “You found a parking space?”

“After a half hour of circling. Go get your things. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

It took more like fifteen minutes. And even when Jonathan did pull out, he couldn’t get very far. Traffic was solid steel, distance measured in inches as the van crept over to the Henry Hudson Parkway, horns blaring in protest and frustration.

Jonathan remained stoic. “There must be some dignitary in town.”

“I read something about a conference—National African Resource Agenda—over at a church.”

“That’s right. The Riverside Cathedral is only blocks from the shul. I’ve been through this before. It’s going to take time to get out of here.”

“It’s fine with me.” Decker finished his coffee, placed it in a cup holder, then regarded his brother in his heavy wool three-piece suit and tie. Heat was blasting from the vents. “Why don’t you take off your jacket, Jon, while you have the chance?”