I bit my lower lip to keep from smiling. I had hit a sore spot. The Loo wasn’t ready for the role of grandpa. I said, “Can we talk business for a moment?”

Dad turned all cop. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

“Something’s really bothering me. I figured I’d bug you about it.”

“Go on.”

“I’ve got these loose ends, an unsolved crime that at first I thought was connected to Sarah Sanders’s rape. I thought it might have been the work of Joseph Fedek or one of his cohorts. But after talking to them, grilling them extensively, I don’t think Fedek was involved.”

“What crime are you talking about?”

“Belinda Syracuse. The hit-and-run that Koby and I witnessed.”

“Yeah, yeah. How’s that going?”

“It isn’t. It’s dead in the water.”

“They’ve got the car, don’t they?”

“They hauled it in a long time ago. They’ve even got some DNA from a blood smear on the license plate. But they don’t have a suspect, so there’s nothing to match.”

Decker held out his hands and shrugged.

“I went to Fordham Communal Center the other day. I saw a picture of her—Belinda Syracuse. Weird to see what she looked like with her face whole.”

My father nodded.

“I went there to check in with Mr. Klinghoffner, to see if by any chance David Tyler had contacted him. He hadn’t, of course.”

“Still looking for him?”

“Off and on. Anyway, Klinghoffner had pictures of both Belinda and David Tyler posted on his wall. Like a memorial.”

He waited. “And?”

“I suddenly remembered seeing her before, when she was alive. The first time I went to Fordham to find the information that led to Sarah Sanders’s discovery, Belinda Syracuse was working in the backyard garden.”

“She lived there, Cindy.”

“I know. But it was something else. The way she looked when I saw her. She had this longing in her eyes … like a girl in the throes of heartbreak. I can’t get that expression out of my mind.”

I looked around the living room, shoving my hands in my pants pockets.

“I have this gnawing in my gut about it. Like I’m on top of it, but I have no evidence. Just this vibration … like she’s talking to me.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Okay. Here goes. There’s this real obnoxious guy who works at Fordham. His name is Buck. The first time I went there, we started talking—Buck and me—and I saw Belinda Syracuse staring at us through the window, holding a hoe, her nose pressed against the pane of glass. With this hurt look in her eyes …”

I was seeing the memory as I spoke.

“This man Buck, he turned around and smiled when he saw her. Then he got up to talk to her. It was completely out of character.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s an asshole. Why was he being so nice to her?”

“Maybe he’s not as big an asshole as you think.”

“Or maybe he can be charming when he wants to be … when there’s something in it for him.”