She nodded. I followed the Loo’s example and gave her my card as well. We exchanged good-byes and walked back to the car.

I strapped myself in and turned on the ignition. “Is Sarah sitting on something?”

“Definitely.”

“So what do we do about it?”

“Nothing.”

17

Staring out the window of his daughter’s apartment, Decker organized his thoughts. His gaze shifted onto Cindy’s face. “This is the deal. It would be a good idea to type up your notes for when you talk to MacGregor. That way, you not only have something organized to look at, so you don’t have to grope for words, but also you have something concrete to hand him after you’re done. You don’t want to overwhelm him with detail. It’ll make you look like a hot dog and it’ll irritate—” Abruptly, Decker stopped talking. “Are you listening?”

Cindy’s eyes went from her lap to his face. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening.”

“Then can you stop playing with the fringes of your couch pillow and look like you’re paying attention?”

“I am paying attention. Why are you chastising me like I’m five years old?” She jumped up. “I’m going to make some fresh coffee. Would you like some?”

Decker rubbed his aching temples. After a pause, he told her yes he would like coffee. As his eyes skipped over the place, he noticed how stark her apartment had become. Once the decor had been homey, almost girlish, as if her room as a teenager had been moved in toto. Now it bore the scars of its rape. He stood up and walked into her small kitchenette. It could barely contain both their bodies. “You can’t have it both ways. I can’t be a father and a lieutenant at the same time. So take your pick.”

She poured water into the machine. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, and I expect you to be totally honest. Are you pissed because Koby is black?”

“No.”

She turned to face him. “So why are you still pissed that I didn’t mention it to you?”

“Mention it to me?” Decker regarded her dubiously. “Cindy, you deliberately withheld it from me!”

“What difference does it make?”

“It’s descriptive. You went out of your way to tell me he was Israeli—”

“He is Israeli.”

“No, Cindy, he lived in Israel. He is a self-described Ethiopian. All you had to do was tell me that. Instead, you caught me off guard.” A pause. “I probably acted like an idiot.”

“You were fine.”

“Well, I didn’t feel fine, I felt uncomfortable. That’s my problem, not yours. But you could have helped me along. What were you afraid of? Do I make you that nervous?”

“Yes.”

Decker sighed. “Well … then I’m sorry. That’s never my intention.”

“I know. It’s all right.”

Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, he stared at her blank walls. Just once he’d like to end their time together by congratulating himself for a parenting job well done, instead of walking to the car feeling like a failure.