Free Stone Kiss by Faye Kellerman Page A

up the photos. “Can I keep these over the weekend or are these your only copies?”
    “Those
ar
e copies. Originals are in my file back at the two-eight.”
    “So I can keep these?”
    “What do you want them for?”
    “I just want to… stare at them. See if something jumps out at me. I’ll give them back before I leave.”
    Novack ran his tongue over his teeth. “I suppose you look honorable enough. Sure, take them.”
    “Thanks, Novack.” Decker pocketed the photos.
    Rather than take a chance with the moribund elevator, they elected to walk down the ten flights of steps. The stairwells were
     dark, lit by a bare bulb on each floor, and rank with odors and bacteria. Decker was happy his hands were gloved. He wished
     his lungs had equal protection. As they stepped outside onto the sidewalk, a heavy gust of wind nearly knocked them over.
     Immediately, Decker’s ears were assaulted by the honking of horns and traffic. He took off his latex gloves. “You know, I
     can catch a cab to my brother’s shul.”
    “I can drop you off—”
    “Nah, it’s out of the way.”
    “It’s no problem for me to take you, Lieutenant.”
    “Thanks, Detective, but I’ll be fine.” Decker paused. “So you’re going to check out those twelve-step chapters—”
    “Yeah, Decker, I had intentions of doing that.”
    Novack was irked. Decker said, “I’m a pain in the ass, and an older one at that. That means I’m not only obsessive, but I
     keep asking the same questions because I’m forgetful. Be happy you’re not my wife.”
    Novack smiled. “I’ll check out the chapters.”
    “What about dealers? Where would a religious guy like Ephraim buy his blow?”
    “Probably from the same pushers that sell to the regular crowd. Way too many dealers out there for me to narrow down.”
    “Any known dealer that specifically caters to the Orthodox crowd?”
    Novack thought a moment. “Okay, Decker, this is what I’m gonna do for you. I’m gonna ask Vice. I’ll translate the New York
     part, and you can help me out with the family part and all their religious stuff.”
    “I’ll do the best I can,” Decker said. “But I’ll tell you this much. I’m not
that kind
of religious. Furthermore, the Chasids up in Quinton are probably biased against me because I didn’t start out religious.”
    “Aha!” Novack’s eyes narrowed. “What brought about the transformation?”
    “My wife.”
    A smile. “Was it worth it?”
    “Absolutely.”
    Novack laughed. “I thought of something. It’s gross.”
    “I’m not sensitive,” Decker said.
    “You gave up ham to get to the pork.”
    “Yeah, that’s gross,” Decker said. “Can you call me on my cell
Motzei Shabbos
—Saturday evening.”
    “You got it.” Novack shook his hand. “
Shabbat shalom
.”
    “
Shabbat shalom
,” Decker answered.
    Only in New York.

7
    T he ride back to Quinton was a killer. Traffic out of the city was a parking lot of red taillights, wind blowing dirt and debris onto the cars and
     roadways. Stoically, lifelessly, Jonathan sat at the helm, eyes fixed ahead—an inert driving machine. Decker hadn’t meant
     to, but he found his eyes closing. When he opened them next, the van was pulling off the highway. His mouth tasted like sawdust,
     his stomach long past hungry. He just felt empty.
    Jonathan handed him a bottle of water. Decker drank voraciously.
    “Thanks.”
    “I’ve got some fruit in back. Apples, pears, oranges.”
    Decker reached over and devoured an apple in four bites. He then went to work on a pear.
    “I should have bought you a sandwich,” Jonathan remarked. “I’m sorry.”
    “No, this is fine.” Decker finished the bottle. “I’ll be hungry for
Shabbat
. I’m sure the Lazaruses will have plenty of food to help me out.”
    “That’s true.”
    They zipped past Liberty Field.
    Decker started peeling an orange. “Are you coming into Brooklyn?”
    “For
Shabbos
? Yes. Mrs. Lazarus invited my parents. I told Raisie we