He parked his car in a red zone, got out, and told himself to take a deep breath. He’d need to be calm, not to deal with the crime but to deal with Rina. A quartet of uniforms was buzzing around the space like flies. Decker hadn’t taken more than a couple of steps when Mickey Shearing caught him.

“Where is she?” Decker’s voice was a growl.

“Inside the synagogue,” Shearing answered. “You want the details?”

“You have details?”

“I have…” Mickey flipped through his book. “…that the first report came in at eight-thirty in the morning from the guy who operates the dry cleaning. I arrived about ten minutes later, found the door lock broken. I called up the synagogue to find out if there was a rabbi or someone in charge. I got a machine with a phone number on it. Turned out to be your wife.”

“And you didn’t think to call me before you called her?” Decker’s glare was harsh.

“There was just a phone number on it, Lieutenant. I didn’t realize it was your wife until afterward.”

Decker broke eye contact and rubbed his forehead. “S’right. Maybe it’s better coming from you. Anyone been interviewed?”

“We’re making the rounds.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. Probably done in the wee hours of the morning.” Shearing slid his toe against the ground. “Probably by kids.”

“Kids as in more than one?”

“A lot of damage. I think so.”

“Tell me about the guy in the dry cleaners.”

“Gregory Blansk. Young kid himself. Uh…nineteen…” He flipped through more pages. “Yeah, nineteen.”

“Any chance he did it and is sticking around to see people admire his handiwork?”

“I think he’s Jewish, sir.”

“You think?”

“Uh…yeah. Here we go. He is Jewish.” Shearing looked up. “He seemed appalled and more than a little frightened. He’s a Russian import himself. Two strikes against him—Jewish and a foreigner. This has to scare him.”

“Currently, Detective Wanda Bontemps from Juvenile is assigned to Hate Crimes. Make sure she interviews him when she comes out. Keep the area clear. I’ll be back.”

Having worked Juvenile for a number of years, Decker was familiar with errant kids and lots of vandalism. He had worked in an area noted for biker bums, white trash, hoodlum Chicanos, and teens who just couldn’t get behind high school. But this? Too damn close to home. He was so distracted by the surroundings, he didn’t even notice Rina until she spoke. It jolted him, and he took a step backward, bumping into her, almost knocking her down.

“I’m sorry.” He grabbed her hand, then clasped her body tightly. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“I’m…” She shrugged in his arms. Don’t cry! “How long before we can start cleaning this up?”

“Not for a while. I’d like to take photographs and comb the area for prints—”