Decker started writing down a schedule. “While you’re doing stakeout, I’ll drop by the Goldings and run Holt, Moke, and the Preservers of Ethnic Integrity by Ernesto. The boy isn’t going to admit to anything, but a good nuance is worth a thousand words.”

The Goldings weren’t home, leaving Decker to wonder if they were hiding out somewhere. Just as likely, they were out to dinner. It was only a little past eight. Decker called Jacob and was apprehensive when no one picked up the phone. He tried Jacob’s car phone. The boy answered after two rings. “Yo.”

“Are you two all right?”

“Oh, hi, Dad. We went out for ice cream.”

In the background, he heard Hannah scream, “Hi, Daddy!”

“Hi, Hannah Rosie.” To Jacob, Decker said, “Is she in the backseat?”

“Backseat with her seat belt on,” Jacob replied. “We’re on our way home.”

“I was thinking about stopping by the shul to see Eema.”

“That’s fine. Don’t worry about us. I can put Hannah to bed.”

“Could you do me another favor?”

“What?”

“Before you put her to bed, can you two come down and bring me some junk clothes and my sneakers from home in case I want to help paint later tonight.”

“No problem.”

“Or maybe I should just go home, so Hannah won’t be subjected to—”

But the line had already gone dead. He thought about calling Jacob back. He didn’t want Hannah reading all that hate-filled graffiti or seeing those dreadful pictures. Then again, Rina had been there for a while: the shul was probably somewhat sanitized by now.

He arrived at the shul by seven and parked on the street because the tiny lot was full. A few broken windows had been boarded up, but light shone through the translucent curtains covering the intact glass doors. When he went in, he entered a construction site. Tarps and drop cloths had been laid down everywhere. More than a dozen people were working, brushes and rollers in hand. The walls had been primed, and open paint cans were everywhere. Rina was wearing overalls and a big red bandana over her head. Her face was dotted with Navaho white. She gave him an air kiss.

“How’s it going?” Decker asked.

“Baruch Hashem!” She was smiling and it was genuine. “Let me introduce you to some of our volunteers that you don’t know.” She walked over to two African-American women. One was tall and skinny, the other was short and fat. Mutt and Jeff. “This is Letitia and this is Bernadette. They’re friends of Wanda Bontemps from her church. As soon as she called them, they came right down to help.” She patted Decker’s shoulder with a paint-splattered hand. “This is my husband, Peter.”