Webster was florid with fury, his hands bunched into fists. Martinez, on the other hand, was completely impassive, glancing at Mr. Tarpin’s words on why English was such a wonderful, expressive, and large language. That was certainly true enough. Compared to Spanish’s blooming buds, English was an entire bouquet of flowers because it used words from a variety of other languages. The irony was lost on the author.

Martinez said, “Did you print these flyers yourself?”

“The PEI did. Absolutely.”

“Things were left behind in the synagogue,” Martinez said. “Nazi slogans that were printed on flyers just like these.”

“There’s a Kinko’s about a mile away from here,” Holt retorted. “Why don’t you ask them about it?”

Webster said, “And if we were to download your computer files, we wouldn’t find neo-Nazi groups bookmarked on your favorite places?”

“No, you would not,” Holt said confidently. “But even if you did find anything you deem as offensive, it still proves nothing. I did not vandalize anything!”

“There were also photographs left behind at the temple,” Martinez said. “Horrible pictures of holocaust victims—”

“That’s terrible,” Erin piped up. “That’s not our thing.”

“What is your thing?”

“Erin, I’ll handle this,” Holt said.

She ignored him. “Our thing is keeping ethnic identity pure. Gosh, we do it with animals—purebred this and purebred that. So what’s so wrong about wanting people to stay pure? You call it racism, but like Darrell stated, we are not racists! We are preservationists. We have nothing against Jews as long as they stick with Jews, and stop controlling the stock market—”

“Erin—”

“I’m just saying what Ricky says. He says the Jews control all the computers. Just look at Microsoft!”

“Erin, the head of Microsoft is William Gates III,” Holt said. “Does that sound like a Jewish name?”

“No.”

“That’s because William Gates III is not Jewish. If Ricky told you that, Ricky is full of shit!”

Erin’s mouth formed a soft O.

“Who’s Ricky?” Martinez asked.

“Some jerk…” Holt made a face at Erin. “Why do you bring him up?”

“You said he was your friend. Didn’t you go to Berkeley together?”

Holt rolled his eyes. To the cops, he said, “Ricky Moke is to the right of Hitler. Why don’t you go hassle him?”

“Where can we find him?”

“That’s a good question,” Erin said. “He hides out a lot.”

“Erin, shut up!”

“Don’t yell at me, Darrell. You were the one who gave the cops his last name.”

“Is this Moke a fugitive?”

Erin and Darrell exchanged glances. Holt said, “Moke tells lots of stories. Among them is this tale about his being a wanted fugitive.”

“What is Moke supposedly wanted for?”

“Bombings.”

The cops exchanged glances.

“Bombing what?” Webster asked. “Synagogues?”

Holt shook his head. “Animal laboratories. Not the actual cages, just the data centers. Ricky, by his own admission, is an animal lover.”

4