“So there haven’t been any problems?”

“Not that I know of. From my perspective, Papa was thrilled that his son finally showed some interest in family affairs.”

“All right. And what about the business? Is it solvent?”

“Akiva asked the same questions. Sure, it’s been going through some rough times. Everyone’s on edge and the economy isn’t the greatest. But yes, as far as I know, the stores are solvent.”

“Any bad loans?” Decker asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Any bad investments?”

“You’d be much better off asking Chaim.”

“I will do that,” answered Decker. “And I guarantee you, so will the police.”

“Why would the murder have anything to do with the business? The stores have always run on a small profit margin. There’s nothing there to get excited about.”

“I’m sure he’s just trying to get the lay of the land,” Hershfield said. “If I can talk frankly for a moment, Rabbi, you know that the Chasidim in your brother’s area have been in trouble for embezzling public-school funds and transferring the money to the local yeshivas. Is either of your brothers-in-law active in local politics?”

“Not that I know. They’re shleppers, Mr. Hershfield. They make their money by dint of hard work.”

“Two years ago, Yosi Stern was indicted on drug-sales charges. I wasn’t his lawyer. If I had been, he wouldn’t be upstate right now. He used Chasidim to smuggle in ecstasy from Holland, then laundered the drug money through local yeshivas and businesses of the Chasidim. What would you know about that?”

“Nothing,” Jonathan said.

“And your wife’s family?”

“My father-in-law would never permit it.” Jonathan was adamant. “He’s a camp survivor. He kept his wits about him the entire time by an unwavering trust in God. He’s not only a religious man, but a good man.”

“The two don’t always go hand in hand,” Decker said.

Hershfield got up and made himself some coffee. “Let’s take a break. Bagels, anyone?”

Jonathan dropped his head into his hands, but Decker stood up. “I’m hungry.” He smeared some cream cheese over a poppy seed bagel. “Anyplace to wash?”

Hershfield popped a panel door and a wet bar appeared. He held up a becher—a traditional washing cup. “I am fully prepared.”

Decker washed and ate, cajoling Jonathan to do the same. Fifteen minutes later, after saying the grace over bread, Hershfield sat back in his desk chair. He was all business.

“I have made a decision,” he announced. “You’ll like the outcome, I think. If you need representation, I’d be happy to fit you into my busy schedule. But there’s a condition.”

“What’s that?” Jonathan asked.

“If your family hires me, they’re going to have to work with me. That means if I ask them questions, they will have to answer me truthfully.” He shook his finger at Jonathan. “This isn’t the shuk, Rabbi. This isn’t haggling until we find a story we both like. I must know what’s going on so I can perform the service to the best of my ability. Oftentimes, the subtleties of attorney/client privilege are lost on some of our black-hat brethren. They seem to consider it an insult to answer me truthfully. I will not deal with clients like that. At this point in my life, I don’t need that tsuris. Am I clear?”