Stone Kiss

12

If Donatti had something to do with the hit, he didn’t give off any telltale vibes. But then again Chris had always been good at hiding things, so Decker didn’t dare rule him out. Clearly, Donatti favored youth-teenagers he could control and manipulate. He had to recruit his girls from somewhere, and as long as Shaynda was still missing, any predator of young girls was suspect. Decker had stirred up the muck. Now it remained to be seen what would surface.

Walking along Riverside Drive, he bundled up in his coat and stuck his hands in his pockets. The sky was all pewter and charcoals, enclosing the Hudson River like dented armor. A pungent wind was roughing up the water’s surface. Decker felt the sting in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. Brisk in step, he spotted a taxi and flagged it down. As soon as he did it, he realized he didn’t know where he wanted to go.

With the case stalling and no new leads, there wasn’t any reason to stay in Manhattan. Yet, just as Rina had predicted, he was reluctant to let go. Why had the Liebers turned hostile? Stress manifesting itself or the sinking realization that Decker would not be able to work miracles? A true professional would have returned to Quinton and bullied the family into cooperation. But that was the problem: The Liebers were family. His relationship with his half brother Jonathan wasn’t fixed in concrete, and Decker didn’t want to jeopardize a tenuous bond that took ten years to build.

His options were dwindling, but he still had some recourse left. Since he was in Manhattan anyway, he could pay a visit to Leon Hershfield. The attorney was working on a high-profile case, and because Hershfield wouldn’t work on Saturday, logic dictated that the lawyer was probably in his office on Sunday.

He gave the driver the Fifth Avenue address, calling Hershfield on his cell phone. The lawyer didn’t sound thrilled to hear from him, but he was smart enough to invite Decker over. Twenty minutes later, Hershfield met him at the door to his office. He was impeccably dressed in sporty attire-a camel-hair jacket over gray slacks, a white shirt, and red tie. Not the usual Brioni or Kiton suit, but still appropriate for a seven-figure, high-powered attorney. Hershfield’s shoes looked to be boots-elephant hide.

“No rest for the weary,” he told Decker as he closed the door behind him. “Sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“No, I’m all right.”

A glance at his wrist revealed a thick gold watchband. Hershfield said, “It’s noon. How about some lunch? I was going to order in. The Broughder case has been incredibly time-consuming. Who has time to go out? But I’d be happy to order you a sandwich or bagel.”

Decker smiled. Hershfield had just related a page’s worth of hidden messages: I’m a busy man, I’ve got commitments, and I’ve got time restraints. You’re imposing on them. I’ve looked at my watch. I’m clocking you.

“No, thank you, Counselor. I shouldn’t be here more than a few minutes. Thank you for your time.”

Message received loud and clear.

Hershfield sat back in his desk chair. “So how are you feeling?”

“I’ve been better.”

“Jet lag.”

“I’m sure that’s part of it.”

Silence.

“Are you making progress to your satisfaction?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Part of it is I’m working blind.” Decker licked his lips. “I’m getting this strange feeling that I’m not wanted.”

“Cops are territorial.”

“Not the cops, Counselor, the clients. I have this notion that certain people are sorry they got me involved. Lord only knows why they called me.”

“Initial panic, maybe?”

“Probably.”

“Then maybe it’s time to say good-bye.”

The speed with which Hershfield answered gave Decker second thoughts. It seemed likely that the Liebers had contacted Hershfield, maybe even asked him how to get Decker off their backs. “Although, I’ve got to tell you,” Decker answered, “I’m having a hard time letting go. I have this thing… my daughter says it’s called the zygarnic effect. It’s this pathological need for closure. At least, that’s what my daughter says.”

“Children love to categorize their parents.”

“My wife says the same thing about me. Must be a kernel of truth in there.”

“I’m sure you’re right. But if the need is pathological, maybe such doggedness is not such a good thing.”

“It works well in my field.”

“I suppose it does.” Hershfield smiled. “And what about the cops? When we last spoke, you said you were going to contact them, ask them questions.”

“They’ve been very cooperative.”

“That’s good to hear. Do you think that they’re competent?”

“They’re fine. Good actually. Motivated.”

“So why not leave the case to them? Unlike you, they’re not working blind. They have the resources and the connections. Why visit trouble? The family won’t appreciate it anyway.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because that’s the way we Jews are, nu?”

Now he was being folksy as well as conspiratorial.

“Maybe it’s time to close up shop before you get in over your head.”

Decker eyed him. “Over my head?”

“It’s just like you said, Lieutenant, if I may be blunt. New York is a behemoth. If you’re not a local, you don’t stand a chance. Even if you were a local, you’d be in thick gravy. Plus, you’ve got this subset called Chasidim. If you think the cops are doing a good job, I would strongly suggest that you bow out before you get sucked into something you can’t handle.”

Decker stared at him. “I’m not wanted.”

“Don’t take it personally.”

“Who am I pissing off? Obviously, Minda doesn’t like me, but I think it’s more.”

Hershfield shrugged, offering Decker a palms-up gesture. “I like you. In some ways, I identify with you. We’re both frum Yiddim, trying to negotiate the world for a bunch of black-hatters who think we’re goyim. Why stick your nose into dung if people are only going to tell you that you stink?”

“That’s what I do for a living, Counselor. Stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“But you’re not getting paid for this, Lieutenant. You’re taking precious vacation time to get spit at. And if you think you’re going to redeem yourself with these people, even after this is over, think again. You’ve been with the tribe long enough to know that working for Jews is nothing but problems. I’m getting paid for it. But what do you need it for?”

The anonymous complainer could have been anyone from Chaim to the cops, even Donatti, who used Hershfield as his lawyer. And if it were Chris, maybe Hershfield was using the Liebers to deflect the heat off him. Decker said nothing.

“Anything else?” Hershfield asked.

“Yes, actually there is something else. First time we met, you asked my brother about Mr. Lieber’s stores as a pass-through for money-laundering drug dollars. Do you know something that I don’t?”

“Lieutenant, if you want to work from that angle, it’s fine with me.”

“I don’t need your permission.”

“No, Decker, you don’t.” Hershfield’s face had tightened, the skin over his bony cheeks taut and dry. “Look, murder is a terrible thing. And I’m devastated about the young girl. Really, I am. But until she’s found-one way or another-the Lieber family has to be protected. That’s why you hired me. And that’s what I’m trying to do. Which is why I’ve instructed the family members not to talk to you until we know what’s going on.”

Decker stared at him.

“It’s for their own good,” Hershfield went on. “I know that you’ve got a job to do, Lieutenant, but so do I.”

“You’re shutting me down.”

“No, Lieutenant, I’m being a very good defense attorney.” Another flick of the wrist.

Decker stood. “Don’t bother. I’m going.”

“Lieutenant, don’t be so bitter. I heard that you had a very nice Shabbos. That your sons came in to visit you for the weekend and your family was together. Think of that as the purpose of your trip.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He smiled. “Thanks for your time, Counselor.”

“It’s no problem.”

Decker closed the door behind him, thinking there were only a select number of people who knew the specifics of his Shabbos, but only two of them who would have a reason to contact Hershfield. It was unlikely that Jonathan would have shut him down, so it was down to Raisie. The question was, did she call Hershfield on her own, or was she her brother’s agent?

The larger question was, what did it matter?

He shouldn’t be here. He should be where he was wanted, in Gainesville, doing something meaningful, like helping his old man rebuild the toolshed and fixing the plumbing for his aged mother. Instead, he was doing favors that no one appreciated.

No more Mr. Nice Guy.

To hell with Quinton.

To hell with all of them.