“Yes.”

“He killed them.”

Rachel didn’t answer. In the living room, Leah woke up and started to cry. Hawkins leaned across the table and asked softly, “How’d he kill them, Rachel?”

Out of nowhere she thought of the clay man in Prague, Rabbi Loew’s golem. It was too insane to mention.

“I don’t know,” she said.

Leah started to scream and Rachel ran for the living room. He followed her.

“Why did they do it?” he shouted over the noise.

Hawkins’s mother interrupted. “She’s wet and hungry.”­

Rachel brought her tote bag and Hawkins’s mother took it from her. “I kin handle her,” she said. Her fingers were swollen and crooked from arthritis, her elbows were big knobs. Leah was quieting down and she picked her up and carried her into another room. Rachel saw a Naugahyde sofa and a TV set through the door. The old lady shoved the door shut with her foot and Hawkins grabbed her arm.

“In Brooklyn it was for Adam. What was it this time?” he asked.

“Luria’s grandson. Some black and white kids had a fight in the high school and Luria’s grandson was killed.”

“The Garners were black?” His grip on her arm tightened.

“Yes,” she said. She felt guilty, but didn’t know why.

“One of the Garners killed the boy?”

“No . . . Tom Junior wouldn’t kill anyone. It was an accident. They were all fighting in the cafeteria”—she remembered what Tom Junior had said—“and Michael fell or got pushed and hit his head. No one meant it.”

“Then why?”

She looked at Hawkins. “I don’t know. Michael had a knife . . . that’s what Tom told me. And I wanted to tell Jacob. I almost did. But I looked at him and I knew it wouldn’t matter. Michael was dead . . . one of our own. One of their own,” she corrected herself. “That was all that mattered.” She stopped, then said, “I don’t know why they killed Willa and Eric. Maybe it was an accident too.” She wiped tears out of her eyes. “I don’t understand why they killed the boys in Brooklyn. I loved Adam. But I swear to you I wouldn’t’ve killed them.”

“Wouldn’t you?” he asked softly, looking at her.

She was going to say no, but all at once she couldn’t get the word out.

“Wouldn’t you really?” he asked again.

She still couldn’t answer.

Another program came on TV. She heard music and voices through the door, and Leah laughed. Hawkins picked up the phone.

“Who’re you calling?”

“The Laurel police . . . the chief.”

Someone answered the phone and Hawkins identified himself. Then he waited and the Laurel police chief came on the line. He was shouting and Hawkins had to hold the phone away from his ear.