“It happened one day while you were sleeping off jet lag. I passed a police station. I got curious.”

“About your grandmother.”

“Yes, my grandmother.”

“Does your mother know?”

Rina raised her head. “Absolutely not. You can’t tell her, Peter. Not until I get more information.”

“I have no intention of telling her anything. The less I talk to your mother, the better.”

Rina hit him softly.

Decker said, “What brought this on? Being in Munich?”

“I suppose so. The city is haunted with all my ancestral souls. They spoke from the grave, Peter. Does that make sense?”

“Some of my unsolved cases … they still talk to me.”

“So you understand.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“It was a very weird trip,” Rina confided.

Who remembers? Decker thought. The fatigue had been overwhelming. Most of the time, he was sleeping. Even when he had been awake, trudging through the wet detritus that covered the mountainous region, his thoughts had been elsewhere. Admittedly, the bitter cold had been invigorating. He wished he were there now—anywhere but back home pretending that things were normal.

Rina snuggled closer. “As I passed a police station, I thought … well, if not now, when?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“No. I’m not sure of anything,” Rina told him. “I lost lots of relatives in the war. There was no closure. No bodies to bury, no way of knowing exactly when it happened. Their deaths were the product of unimaginable evil. But with my grandmother … maybe there’s a story behind it. I can’t ask my mother about it. God forbid I do anything that would cause her pain. She’s had enough suffering in her life. But I’m a generation removed. My grandmother is my heritage, too. I feel I have a right to know.”

“And what have you found out?”

There was a pause. Then came the sigh. “Nothing. That’s the problem. I can read the words, and even understand a few sentences. But my German isn’t good enough to comprehend the full text, let alone the nuances. And even if I understood every word in the file, I’m still not a detective. I can’t interpret what it all might mean.” She ran her fingers across his chest. “I can get someone to translate the notes. But I need a well-seasoned homicide professional to give meaning to the results—”

“Rina—”

“But only if you’re interested.”

No one spoke.

Then Decker said, “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?”

“You’re trying to engage me in your business to keep my mind off my failures.”

“You didn’t fail!”

“I most certainly did fail!”

She felt his body tighten. It had been months since the New York ordeal. It was time to come clean, even though it was bound to cause discord. She chose her words carefully, speaking in a whisper. “Peter, I don’t know what happened in the warehouse—”

“I know that. And I’m not ready to talk about it.”

“I’m not asking you to talk about it, Peter. All I want to say is …” A sigh. “I know you weren’t alone.”