Putting her in a bind. It was beginning to look like the stud was hiding something. If she didn’t at least minimally cooperate, she’d look like she was hiding something as well. Reluctantly, she said, “Answer the question.”

The boy’s name was Ernesto Golding.

Decker said, “Let me make a deal with you, Ernesto. I’m not interested in drugs, pills, weapons…well, maybe weapons. You have a stash in there, and tell me it’s fish food, I’ll believe you.”

“Then why do you want to look in his backpack?” Jaime asked.

“I have my reasons.” He smiled. “What do you say?”

The boy was silent. Jaime looked at him. “Ernie, it’s up to you.”

“This is clearly police abuse.”

Decker shrugged. “If she won’t make you do it, I don’t have any choice. But you’ll hear from me again, son. Next time I may not be so generous.”

Ernesto stood on his tiptoes, attempting a pugilistic stance. “Are you threatening me?”

“Nah, I never threaten—”

“Sounds like a threat to me.”

“Shall we move on, Dr. Dahl?”

But Jaime didn’t move on. Instead, she said, “Ernie, give him your backpack.”

“What?”

“Do it!”

The boy’s face turned an intense red. He dropped the pack at his feet, the storm in his eyes shooting lightning. Decker picked the knapsack up and immediately gave it to Jaime. “You look through it. I don’t want to be accused of planting anything. Tell me if you see anything unusual.”

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

What Decker expected to find were obscene photographs of concentration-camp victims. What Jaime Dahl pulled out was a silver kiddush cup.

6

It stood out, a surface of metal against books and papers. Decker brought his eyes over to the young man’s face. Ernesto Golding was dressed in khakis and a white shirt. Ernesto Golding had intense eyes on a good-looking face, a broad forehead, and weightlifter’s arms. Ernesto Golding didn’t look like a thug. He looked like a macho teen with better things on his mind than killing Jews. Decker took a handkerchief from his pocket and held up the kiddush cup. “Where’d you get this?”

Ernesto folded his arms across his chest, pushing out his bulging biceps with his fists. “It’s a family heirloom.”

“And why are you bringing a family heirloom to school?”

The boy’s face was an odd combination of fear and defiance. “Show-and-tell, sir.”

I’ll bet you’ve been doing lots of show-and-tell, Decker thought. Jaime spoke up. “What’s going on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Decker answered. But his eyes remained on his prey. “The cup has some Hebrew writing on it. See here?” He showed it to Golding. “It’s easy Hebrew. Read it for me.”

“I don’t read Hebrew—”

“I thought you said it was a family heirloom.”