I gave him a half smile. “Is it extra to rent a room in back?”
He burst into laughter. “Eating should be stimulating.”
“Stimulating, yes, not X-rated.”
Again he laughed. We ate a few minutes in silence, letting the air around us cool off. Finally, I sat up in my chair and let out a whoosh of breath. “I think I’ve had it.”
“It was okay?”
“It was terrific. It was more than lunch, it was fun. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. For me too. Coffee?”
“Sure.” I paused. “You drink your own coffee, right?”
He smiled. “Yes, you drink your own coffee… unless you make your own new tradition.”
“Thank you, I think I’ve had enough adventure for one day.”
Koby signaled the waitress and ordered for us in Amharic.
“You come here often?” I asked him.
“More in the beginning when I feel a little homesick. If I miss anything now, I think I missShabbat.”
I said, “So Friday night is still on, if you want.”
“No, no, no. I didn’t mean it to be a hint.”
“It’s fine, Koby.” A pause. “I insist you come.”
He regarded my face with intensity. “I can be pushy. You feel okay about it?”
“Of course.” I was aiming for low-key confidence. “Since I know the way, I’ll pick you up.”
The waitress brought over the coffee in a small clay pot and poured it into two demitasse cups. It was stronger than espresso, but not as strong as Turkish coffee. We exchanged smiles as we drank. Awkwardness stood between us because electricity had gotten in the way of simple platonic conversation. Absently, I glanced at my watch. My eyes widened. “Oh gosh! I’m late.” I slapped my forehead. “The meter!”
He stood first and helped me with my chair. “You check the meter. I’ll pay-”
“We’ll split it.”
“No, no, I asked you out.”
I didn’t insist. “So I’ll see you on Friday, then.” I pulled out my business card, thought about giving him my phone number, but gave him my e-mail instead. As attractive as he was, I still had my reservations. I hadn’t Googled him yet or run him through the network to see if he had a sheet. “This is the best way to reach me. I’ll need your address. You do have e-mail, right?”
“Absolutely.” He took my card without disappointment, then handed me his. “My home phone, my work phone, my cell phone, and, at last, my e-mail. You can contact me however you want with the details and I’ll explain how to get to my place. It’s in the hills. I enjoyed your company very much, Cindy. Go.”
I gave him a slight wave and took off, feeling featherlight, despite a heavy gun weighing down my purse.
Just before roll call,I caught up with Greg Van Horn as he was signing out for his two-week vacation, the field roster marked in green highlighter. His face was filled with good cheer, and he had a spring in his step. Already, he had loosened his tie. I cornered him while he was waving his last good-byes. He frowned when he saw me, but too bad. Out there was a girl who needed medical attention. I gave him the slip of paper and explained myself.
“You did this by yourself?”
“All by my little lonesome.”
“On your own time?”
“Yes, sir, on my own time.”
He was still staring at me.
“Golly, that woman does have a brain in her head-”
“Decker!”
“Sorry, sir.” I stifled a smile.
He tapped his foot. “You’re putting me in conflict, Decker, and right before my vacation. I’m not thrilled about this.”
“Next time, I’ll try to be less effective.”
He glowered at me, but it lacked feeling. “The case belongs to Russ, but he don’t deserve the credit. You do.”
“It may not be anything, sir.”
He handed me back the slip of paper. “So why don’t you check it out first?”
“Then what if it is something?”
“Follow it up.”
“Should I contact Russ?”
“Play it by ear.”
Giving me leeway. He was being very gentlemanly. I thanked him and stowed the slip of paper in my pocket. He noticed the uncertainty that I felt.
“What?”
“This is a little different from what I’m used to. Talking to a retarded girl about babies and sex.” That sounded fearful. “I can do it. No problem. Just… any suggestions? I don’t want to blow your case.”
“More likeyourcase.” He held out his hands helplessly. “I’m on vacation, Decker. You got contacts in the Department. Use ’em.”
Home had always been Decker’s refuge, but of late, it was his office as well. At the station, there were issues and problems and details. There were meetings with superiors, meetings with the detectives, meetings with county supervisors or reps from the city council or congressional districts. There was PR that amounted to a lot of BS. Smiling through all of it gave him one giant headache. Once he’d been able to handle it, fielding calls as smoothly as a Vegas dealer. Now he constantly felt distracted, and the sudden images of blood and death didn’t help.
He took off his glasses and set them on the desktop, rubbing his eyes without relief. Rina had set up a comfortable home office in the guest room/den. In the daytime, the back windows showed a view of the mature fruit trees. At the current hour, the vista was dark. But because the room was situated next to a pittosporum tree in full bloom, sweet jasmine scents wafted through the open louver slats. In the peace and quiet of his own sanctuary, he could go through some of the more puzzling case files, often breathing life into stagnating investigations.
He was able to keep his job and his equilibrium because he was working twice as hard as he should have been. He’d get through it-he had no choice, his family needed the money-but it would take a while. Rina’s confession had helped, but Decker knew she wasn’t being completely honest with him. By and by, it would all come out.
“How much longer?”
Decker jerked his head up. Rina was dressed in black sweats. With no makeup and her hair down, she could have passed for her twenties.
“What time is it?” he asked.
“Eleven-thirty.”
“Did I say something about coming in at eleven?”
“You did.”
“Sorry.”
“S’right.” Rina stood behind him and began to massage his neck. “You look tense. Maybe this will help.”
“Oh man, that feels good. What’s the catch?”
“I’ve got another file for you to look at.”
“Now?”
“It’ll take you five minutes.”
“Nothing ever takes five minutes anymore.”
Rina gave his back a slap. “Thank goodness for that. Now I’m going to make some tea while you clear the desk.”
“Yes, ma’am. Do I get tea, too?”
“You do.”
He smiled, watching her sway as she went. By the time she returned from the kitchen, the desktop was visible. She was carrying a tray with a pot of tea, two mugs, and a Pendaflex folder. She set the tray down and pulled up a chair.
“How about you pour and I explain what I’ve done?”
“Are you evernotorganized, Rina?”
“It’s part of my job description. I don’t see you pouring.”
Decker took up the steaming teapot dressed in a quilted cozy, held the lid, and poured two cups of steaming, brewed tea. “One lump or two? Or three if you count me.”
She kissed his cheek. “You are far from a lump. And you know I take my tea plain.” She pulled out three neat stacks of typewritten pages. “Maybe you’d like to take notes?”
Decker laughed and held up a pen. “I’m ready, Professor.”
“Very funny. This sheet has the names of all the people in the file.”