Free The Forgotten by Faye Kellerman Page A

Cleaning was a way of not only negating what had taken place, but of doing something. Action as opposed to sitting around and being victimized. The techs had taken the better part of the afternoon to do their thing, so not only was the synagogue messy from vandals, but it was covered with print dust. The hate-filled leaflets and horrible pictures had been bagged and carted away for evidence. And though it might take a while to put all the pieces together, Decker was sure that it would work out. Now it was just a matter of retracing the kid’s steps, finding out whom he had associated with. This was a good case for Wanda Bontemps to sink her teeth into. As a newly arrived detective, she’d get a chance to show her mettle. And if she needed mentors, she couldn’t ask for better ones than Webster and Martinez.
    Decker pulled the unmarked next to the schoolyard. Which is what it was: a school yard , because it certainly wasn’t a playground. Not much more than a six-car parking lot sided by two basketball hoops. Twenty minutes, twice a day, the little kids were let out to ride tricycles, hit a tetherball around a pole, and run around. He got out of the car and stared at the asphalt.
    “Where are the swings and slides?” Decker had asked his wife.
    “Where’s the money? You find money, you’ll find swings and slides.”
    Waiting among the group of gabbing mothers, he once again felt like a wart on a beauty queen. One of them attempted a smile. Decker tried to smile back, but from the look on the woman’s face, he had probably retorted with a sneer. She gave him the back of her head and went back to talking with the other moms.
    Rina wouldn’t have approved of his reserve, but she’d never tell him. She knew his heart was in the right place—as were his hands. He had revamped the bathroom of the shul practically single-handed. Although they had thanked him heartily, he had known what they’d been thinking. The goyim…they’re good with their hands —as if he couldn’t be smart and coordinated at the same time.
    Everything in their small Orthodox Jewish community was operated on spit and prayer. The primary school had originally been a thirty-year-old medical building. A step away from being demolished, then someone had stepped in at the last moment with a down payment. The architect—the brother of a member of the shul —had managed to join all the suites under a common ceiling. The classrooms weren’t much bigger than closets, but it was home. At least one of the docs had had the courtesy to leave a skeleton behind for the science lab—their most up-to-date prop. There had been a to do about keeping the bones. Although the body was plastic, the head had once belonged to a genuine human being. In theend, the more modern outvoted the less modern, and Mr. Skeleton stayed.
    Hannah came running out of the gate. “Daddddeeeeee!”
    “Hannah Rosieeeeee!” Decker answered back, picking the seven-year-old up in his arms. “How was school?”
    “Great! How many bad guys did you catch today?”
    “A zillion billion.”
    “Yes!” Hannah’s feet kicked the air. She squirmed her way down until she was standing on her own power. “Where’s Eema?”
    “She’s busy.”
    “Is she at the shul ?”
    Decker looked at her. “Uh, yeah, she is.” He bent down and looked his daughter in the eye. “What do you know about the shul ?”
    “The teachers told us that a bad man made it messy.” Her brow was knitted in sorrow and fear. “Someone who doesn’t like the Jewish people. Is he going to hurt us, Daddy? Like that bad man who shot the kids at the center?”
    “No, honey. No one is going to get hurt. It’s all under control.”
    “Did you catch the bad man, Daddy?”
    “Sort of.”
    “I’m scared. Why is Eema there?”
    “To clean up the mess, that’s all.”
    “But no one got shot?”
    “No, honey, no one got shot.” What a world! “Let’s go, Hannah. Cartoons are waiting.”
    Hannah was quiet on the