Day of Atonement

It was definitely her. Decker had sharp eyes, had matched too many disguised faces to too many mug shots not to see it.

Just age the damn face.

The cabbie stopped the lecture for a moment.

“Where are you from?” he asked.

“Los Angeles,” Decker said.

“Oh, L.A.,” the driver said. “Very, very good. If you want I can show you Ebbets field where your Dodgers used to play.”

“Just take me to the library.”

“Not much to see,” the cabbie went on, “a housing project now. But some people are very, very sentimental.”

“I’m not.”

“Are you interested in architecture, sir?” the driver said. “Or perhaps real estate? Two days ago I took a rich man to see the brownstones on Eastern Parkway. He was very, very impressed.”

Decker tightened his fists and said, “Just the library.”

“While you’re here, you should see the Grand Army Plaza. It has a very, very big arch.”

“I’ve seen loads of arches at McDonald’s.” Decker scowled.

“Oh, no,” the cabbie answered. “This one is not like that. It is much bigger. And older too.”

“I’m not interested in seeing any arch—”

“It is a very nice arch.”

Decker enunciated each word. “Just take me to the library.”

“We drive right past the arch to the library—”

“All right, show me the friggin arch!”

“Well, if you do not want to see the arch—”

“I want to see the arch,” Decker said. “In fact, I want to see the arch so badly that if I don’t see the arch, someone will pay.”

Decker looked in the rearview mirror. The cabbie’s mouth had frozen into an O. He steered the taxi by the arch, then took Decker to the library. Throughout the remaining portion of the trip, he didn’t say another word.

4 (#u42e40edc-7cff-5dbb-9d89-4a516e806490)

This was the alibi: He’d suddenly remembered an important detail to a very important case and he had to use a pay phone because it would have been a breach of ethics to let anyone else overhear him and he had to get in touch with Marge at the station house because someone’s life depended on it, well, not only someone’s life but the whole California judicial system—

Then Decker thought: Even the most complicated phone call in the world wouldn’t explain an absence of six hours. God’s judgment day around the corner and his mind was full of half-baked lies.

The night held a bitter chill, dampness oozing through his clothes and into his bones. His toes and fingers were as cold and stiff as marble. Used to the temperate zone all his life, he had blood the consistency of rubbing alcohol.

He came to the street, then the house. Lights shining through the windows, smoke undulating from the chimney. And the smells. He dreaded the people but the structure looked so damned inviting. Approaching the door, he turned up his collar, tried to mask his face as best he could. Just in case she happened to be there.

As he stepped onto the porch, he pulled his scarf over his head.

So they’d think him psychotic. Who the hell cared?

Rina swung open the door before he knocked. Her face held an expression of complete bafflement.

“Anyone home?” Decker whispered.

“Everyone’s gone to shul,” Rina said.

Crossing the threshold, Decker took the scarf off his head and pulled down his collar. He headed up the stairs, heard Rina following him. He swung open the door to the tiny bedroom and immediately stubbed his toe on the fold-out bed. Swearing, he sank down into the mattress and ran his hands across his face. The room was illuminated by a single sixty-watt table lamp that rested on the floor. The nightstand clock read six-fifty-two.

Rina sat next to him.

“Peter, you’re scaring the daylights out of me. What on earth is wrong? Did this massive dose of religion give you an anxiety attack or something?”

“Something.”

“Please, Peter,” Rina begged. “I deserve better than this—”

“What did you tell them?” Decker broke in.

“What?”

“What excuse did you make up for me when I stormed out of the house?”

“Something about your daughter … something you forgot to do for her.”

“Cindy’s a good excuse,” Decker said. “Much better than the one I’d concocted.”

Rina suddenly burst into tears. “We shouldn’t have come out here. I should have told them no.”

“Rina—”

“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed.

Decker put his arm around her and drew her near. “No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it—”

“It has nothing to do with religion,” Decker said. “It’s …” He stood, couldn’t even pace in a room this small. He said, “How are we going to sleep if we can’t turn the light off?”

“It’s on a timer,” Rina said.

Decker sat back down, stretched out on the bed, and buried his face in the blanket.