The Forgotten

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Jacob began to pace. “What a prick! What an absolute prick!”

“Why do you think he called you?” Decker asked.

“I don’t know. I barely knew him.”

“Do you have any opinions about him?”

Jacob gave out a breathy laugh. “I have four grandparents who are camp survivors—two of them with numbers. This guy vandalizes the shul and leaves Nazi crap and hate graffiti all over the place. But I’m not supposed to take it personally?” He bit his lip. “Yeah, I have opinions about him. I think he’s a butt wipe.”

Decker restrained a smile.

“He’s a rich kid,” Jacob said. “But he makes a big point of not flaunting it. He’s so concerned about not flaunting it that he flaunts it. Money meant nothing to him because he was always flush.”

“Is he a smart guy?”

“No dummy. He took the SAT twice. Did over 1400 the second time.”

“Better than I could have done,” Decker said. “Of course, that’s not in your league—”

“Stop it!” Jacob snapped.

“Good Lord, take it easy, will you!” Decker barked back. “I’m trying to be nice.”

Jacob looked away. “I’m sorry.” He touched his forehead. “I think I’ve inherited your tendencies toward headaches. Pretty good trick, considering we’re not genetically related.”

Decker wanted to smile but couldn’t get it out. “I’m going now. If you need anything, call me, not Eema. She’s got her hands full.”

“Yeah, sure.” Jacob kneaded his hands. “Look, if you want to ask me stuff, it’s okay. I don’t know much about Golding. I knew him from the parties. I haven’t seen him or any of them in six months. I hope you know that.”

“Yonkie, I’m not looking over your shoulder.”

The teen considered the words, but gave no indication that he agreed with them.

“You miss Sammy?” Decker asked.

“Yeah.” He licked his lips. “Yeah, I do. We E-mail each other almost every day, so in a way I talk to him as much as ever. But then things come up … things you don’t want to write about. It’s not the same.” He caught Decker’s eye. “Golding had a really nice girlfriend … Lisa Halloway. They were real tight, and then he broke up with her. She was upset about it. Totally baffled. At least, that’s what she told me. I felt bad for her. I almost asked her out. Not because I felt bad for her, but because I liked her. She was smart enough and really good-looking.”

“So why didn’t you ask her out?”

“What’s the point?”

“I’m sure she would have gone out with you, Jacob,” Decker said. “Besides the brains, you got your mother’s baby blues.”

“No, I didn’t mean that. I know she would have gone out with me. But it wouldn’t have lasted, so why make Eema upset? Eventually, I would have been too Jewish for her, and she would have been too goyish for me.”

He shrugged with resignation.

“You know, it’s not the rabbis and all the mantras they feed us at school that keeps me Orthodox. It’s idiots like Ernesto Golding. It makes me realize how alienated I am from the vast majority of this country. I can’t be a typical American teenager, starting with the fact that I’ve never eaten a cheeseburger. So maybe the rabbis did their job on some level.”

“Do you like being Jewish?”

Jacob turned hostile. “What kind of question is that? Do you like being Jewish?”

“Most of the time, yes. Can you stop biting my head off?”

“Sorry.” Jacob tapped his toe. “I’m okay with being Jewish. Better with it than I was six months ago. Now that the pressure’s off, and I can choose a secular college without feeling guilty, I feel a lot better about it.”

“That’s good.” Decker leaned down and kissed Jacob’s head. Not that he had to lean down much. The kid was inching his way to six feet. “I’ve got a mound of paperwork that’s weighing down my desk.”

“Go jam,” Jacob said. “Don’t worry about anything. Hannah will be fine.”

“And you?”

“I’m fine.” A pause. “A bunch of us are thinking of going to Magic Mountain Saturday night. I’m driving, but the guys are chipping in for the gas. I have enough for admission, but that’ll bust me. Do you have any odd jobs I can do for a couple of bucks?”

“I suppose baby-sitting counts for something.” Decker handed him a twenty. “That should tide you over for a while.”

“This is very generous.” A big smile … a genuine smile. “Thanks a lot. I’d better go study. I’m pulling high B’s in Gemora and would like to keep it that way.”

“Absolutely.” Decker left the boy in peace. Money. It certainly wasn’t love, but sometimes it acted as a damn good imposter.

9 (#ulink_ec545ab3-ad74-5b43-8850-288583c20913)

Microwaving the pizza had left it tasteless with soggy crust to boot, but it was hot and filling and that was the best that Decker had hoped for at this point in time and space. He made it back to the station house by six-thirty with a belly full of grease and a head spinning with ideas. He knew that Ernesto Golding had not worked alone, but other culprits continued to be elusive entities. Decker would have liked to question Ernesto’s friends extensively—find out if they had information—but he knew that their parents wouldn’t allow contact. Without proof of involvement, Decker couldn’t muscle his way into their living rooms, and no other evidence was forthcoming because Ernesto insisted he was the sole perpetrator. Furthermore, since Ernesto had cooperated with the D.A., Melrose had high hopes of getting the charges knocked down to a malicious mischief misdemeanor—probation combined with community service, and a sealed record.

Now that Ernesto had entered into the legal system, Decker’s part in the play had been relegated to the role of supporting cast. He didn’t have a lot of working time. If he didn’t come up with something new very soon, the entire case would slip from his grasp—officially closed, naming Ernesto Golding as the one and only vandal.

Entering the detectives’ squad room, Decker was heartened to find Martinez and Webster at their desks. Wanda Bontemps was also finishing up her paperwork. She was hunched over her desk, her fingers playing with a cap of tightly knit curls. She wore black pants and a blue turtleneck. A black blazer was draped across the back of her chair. He flagged her down, along with Martinez and Webster, and the quartet convened in Decker’s office.

Webster said, “Was Golding arraigned yet?”

“An hour ago,” Decker answered. “No contest. He’s back home—own recognizance. Court date will be in about six weeks.”

“Was he expelled from school?” Wanda asked.

“That I don’t know,” Decker said. “I have this gut feeling that there’ve been some quiet negotiations behind the scene. You know how it is with institutions and money.”

“The way of the world,” Webster said. “Nothing you can’t buy with money. Even money.”

Decker said, “I don’t know what the headmaster is planning to do. In a perfect world, Golding should be expelled.”

“In a perfect world, he should be in jail,” Wanda said.

“This is very true. But given the fact that Melrose pushed through a rush job, it’s unlikely.” Decker felt glum, as if he somehow had failed Rina. “What’d you find out about the Preservers of Ethnic Whatever.”

“It’s run by a guy named Darrell Holt, who is a mixture of lots of races,” Martinez said. “So I can’t figure out how he reconciles his own genetic variety with his ethnic purity crap. Anyway, he’s wrangled endorsements for his cause from some token minorities—one Filipino, one Hispanic, one African-American, one Asian, one Jew, and for sake of completion, one Anglo.”

“What kind of endorsements?” Decker asked.