Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection. Faye Kellerman
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of that, but I don’t know what else we can do.”
“I love you, Rina. I’m not going to find anyone I’d love more. That I know. And I know you feel the same way about me.”
“I do.”
He sighed, then blurted out, “Let’s get married. We’ll work it out over time.”
“Peter, if you were a Torah Jew, I’d marry you tomorrow. But feeling as you do about Orthodoxy, it would be suicide for us to marry. We’ve both been married before. You know that marriage doesn’t reduce differences, it magnifies them.”
“I can accept you as being religious,” said Decker. “I wouldn’t interfere. All you have to do is accept me for what I am.”
“It wouldn’t work.”
“It could if you’d let it.”
“No, it couldn’t.”
“Damn it, Rina,” he said sharply. “If you loved me, you could find a way!”
Burying her face in her hands, she started to cry. Decker pulled her into his arms and let her sob on his shoulder.
Shit!
“I’d do anything for you, honey, you know that. But I can’t help the way I feel.”
Her response was to cry harder while hugging him tightly. Acid churned in his belly and his temples began to throb. He started to take masochistic pleasure in how lousy he felt. Everything in his life was going rotten, and he marveled at his reverse Midas touch.
“Honey, I love you. I want to marry you. I just don’t think I’ll ever be the type of religious person you want me to be. If you can live with that, there’s no problem.”
She said nothing.
“But you can’t live with that, can you?”
“I’d never give up this life—”
“I’m not asking you to give it up. I’m asking you to respect me for what I am.”
She didn’t answer.
They sat in silence, neither one sure what to say. The tension increased. Finally Decker couldn’t take it.
“How’re Jakey’s nightmares?” he asked.
“They’re still pretty frequent,” said Rina quietly.
“Maybe you should take him to see someone,” suggested Decker.
Rina flashed him a look of hostility.
“I know what’s best for my child, thank you,” she said.
“I’d better go home,” Decker said. “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”
“We’re not going to get anywhere if you leave every time things aren’t going great.”
Decker clenched his jaw and took out a cigarette. He stuffed it between his lips, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
“You want me to say the obvious? I’ll say the obvious,” he said, blowing out a plume of smoke. “We’ve reached an impasse. I think it might be best if we saw other people.”
Her eyes filled.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“I don’t like it.”
The room was quiet for a minute. Rina broke it.
“If you and I were to … to maybe stop seeing each other, would you still learn with the rabbi?” Rina asked.
“No,” Decker answered.
“You mean you’re not interested in this kind of life at all?”
“No,” he answered. “I’m not—at least, not now.”
“So if you stopped seeing me, you’d stop being religious?”
“Yes.”
“But if we were to marry, would you be religious to please me?”
“Probably in the beginning. Then, quite honestly, I could see myself giving it up. But I’d never interfere with your beliefs.”
“It would be a very hypocritical example for the boys. How could I espouse religion to them if I go ahead and marry an irreligious man?”
“I suppose there’s a grain of truth to that.”
She sat motionless.
“I think I’m meeting you halfway, Rina. I’m willing to let you live your life. If you just wouldn’t be so rigid—”
“I have no choice!” she exclaimed. “I’m not going to be a hypocrite. I want my husband to be religious. What is so wrong with that?”
“Nothing. But that’s not me.” Decker sighed. “Look, we’re both really confused at the moment. Maybe we need a little time to ourselves, a temporary breather from each other—”
“I don’t want to see anyone else,” she answered.
“Maybe I don’t want to either,” he said. “But I want to keep the option open … open in case … case we both know the score.”
She stared at the wall and didn’t answer. Decker waited a few more minutes. When she remained silent, he got up and left.
“Somebody didn’t like us poking around,” Marge said to Decker.
It was nine o’clock Friday morning. She was sitting on his desk, sipping coffee. Decker had his feet propped up on his desk, hands behind neck, and eyes on the ceiling.
“Or somebody may have wanted to destroy evidence,” she added.
“Then why place a bomb in the front part of the studio?” he asked. “Place it in the underground room. I think it was a warning. Anyone seriously wanting us out of the way could have done so by now. I’ve got a call in to Culver City PD. We should know more as soon as they dissect the remains of the bomb.”
“Watch your ass, Pete.”
“I intend to.”
Mike Hollander walked up to Decker and placed a manila envelope on his desk. The return address was from a Dr. Arnold Meisner.
“As requested, Rabbi,” Hollander said. “Fresh off the press.”
“Please quit calling me rabbi.”
Hollander looked at him. “Go get a night’s sleep, Pete.”
“Who the hell is Arnold Meisner?” Marge asked.
“A doctor who used to work under Dustin Pode’s pediatrician,” Hollander said. “When the old man died, Meisner took over the practice. He was kind enough to dig up those records for us.”
“How’d you find out Pode’s pediatrician?” Decker asked.
“I asked Dustin,” Hollander answered.
Decker laughed.
“The direct approach,” he said.
“Don’t know any other kind,” said Hollander. “Dusty Pooh was so busy defending his father—calling the raid entrapment—I think the question was a relief. Something he could answer truthfully.”
“What do you want with his medical charts?” Marge asked Decker.
“I’m a sucker for theoretical models,” he said. “I’m looking for bed-wetting. It usually goes along with fire-starting … starting cruelty to animals.”
“The old psychopathic triad,” Hollander said.
“The old psychopathic triad,” repeated Decker, flipping through pages. Marge peered over his shoulder.
“I