“I want a lawyer.”
“That can be arranged.”
They took him to Dr. Williams’s office, Decker standing over Ernesto’s shoulder as the kid called his parents—Jill and Carter Golding. Decker could hear outraged voices on the other side of the line. He couldn’t discern much, but he did hear them instruct Ernesto to refrain from talking to anyone. From that point on, things moved quickly.
Mom made it down in six minutes. She was a pixie of a thing with pinched features and thin, light brown hair that was long, straight, and parted in the center. She wore rimless glasses and no makeup. Behind the specs, her eyes were smoldering with anger that only a parent knew how to muster. First, there were a few choice glances thrown in Decker’s direction. The stronger ones were reserved for her son. Decker knew what that was about.
Dad arrived about ten minutes later. He was short and thin. The eyes were dark and most of the face was covered with a neatly trimmed brown beard flecked with silver. He appeared more befuddled than angry. He even shook hands with Decker when introduced. Ernesto didn’t resemble either of his parents, leaving Decker to wonder if the boy had been adopted.
The last part of the equation came in on Dad’s heels. Everett Melrose was an Encino lawyer who had made a name in California Democratic politics. He was well built, well tanned, and had the appropriate amount of sincerity in the eyes and distinction in the curly gray hair. He wore designer suits and dressed with flair. He had a wife, six kids, and was active in his church. He had defended some very big and bad people in his years, and had come out on top. Melrose’s past was squeaky clean as far as Decker knew. Amazing—a lawyer and a politician with nothing to hide. He shook hands all the way around and requested that he speak to his client, the young Ernesto, in private.
His request was granted.
The twenty minutes that followed were protracted and tense.
When they came back into Headmaster Williams’s CEO office, Ernesto looked upset, but Melrose was unreadable. He said, “Can you tell me the basis for this detainment?”
Decker said, “Your client has a stolen cup in his possession—”
“Have we determined that the cup was stolen?” Melrose asked innocently. “My client claims that the cup was an heirloom.”
Decker said, “Counselor, the cup belonged to the synagogue, Beit Yosef, that was vandalized this morning—”
“That’s impossible!” Jill broke in.
“Impossible that the synagogue was vandalized, or impossible that your son could have some involvement in the crime—”
“Don’t answer that!” Melrose interrupted.
“Ernesto, what is going on?” Carter asked.
“I wish I knew, Dad.” Ernesto tapped his toe and made eye contact with the floor.
A good bluff, but not a great one. Decker said, “The cup was taken from Ernesto’s backpack. That’s a fact. Dr. Dahl was there as a witness.”
“Did he give you permission to search his backpack?”
“Absolutely not,” Ernesto stated.
“It’s irrelevant whether or not you gave him permission!” Carter Golding spoke out. “I’d like to know what it’s doing in your possession.”
“So you’re saying it’s not a family heirloom?” Decker remarked.
“Carter, please!” Melrose said. “He’s not saying anything. He’s not the subject of this inquiry. What I’m hearing is that no one was granted permission to check Ernesto’s backpack!”
Dr. Williams came alive. “The school’s bylaws state that faculty can search lockers and personal property of any student at any given time to hunt out contraband or unlawful substances. Mr. Golding is aware of the bylaws. He has signed an honor code, acknowledging such rules with a promise to abide by them. So have Mr. and Mrs. Golding. It is a requirement of attending the school.”
“Lieutenant Decker is not faculty.”
“Dr. Dahl is faculty,” Decker countered. “She was the one who ordered Ernesto to open his knapsack.”
A few seconds of silence before Melrose turned his curious eyes on Jaime Dahl. “If you do routine searches for contraband, I’m assuming you have a list as to what constitutes contraband?”
“Of course.”
“And does it say specifically what items are contraband?”
“Stolen items are contraband,” Williams interjected.
“So a cup is not illegal.”
“The stolen cup is illegal,” Decker said.
“According to you, Lieutenant, a silver cup was reported stolen from a synagogue,” Melrose pointed out. “How do you know for certain that this is the cup in question? There may be hundreds like it.”
“Do you want proof that the cup belongs to the synagogue? That can be arranged. I can probably even dig up the original sales receipt. But I’ll tell you one thing for your own benefit, in case your client wants to change his story. That cup isn’t an heirloom. We bought it a year ago when the synagogue began having regular kiddushes after services.”
“What’s a kiddushes?” Jaime Dahl asked.
“Hors d’oeuvres after the Sabbath prayers. Before you eat, you need to make a benediction using wine. Hence, the silver cup.” Decker just realized that suddenly he was the resident Jewish expert. A position usually reserved for Rina, he felt strange occupying it now.
Melrose said, “You know a lot about this particular synagogue. May I ask if you’re a member?”
“You may ask, and I’ll even answer it, Counselor. Yes, I am a member.”
“So you’re hardly an unbiased party in this investigation.”
“That may be. But that doesn’t negate the fact that I can identify this cup as stolen.”
Melrose bluffed it out. “None of this will hold up in court. It’s an illegal search and seizure done under false pretenses. You told the students that this was a routine contraband check.”
Carter stood up. “Aren’t we missing the main issue? What were you doing with a cup from a vandalized synagogue, Ernesto?”
“It isn’t the right time to talk about this,” Melrose said.
Jill said, “This is all a mistake. Our son would never have anything to do—”
“Are you going to arrest the boy?” Melrose asked. “Yes or no?”
Decker sat back. He addressed his comments to Ernesto. “Mr. Golding, this isn’t going to go away. I am going to find out what happened, and if you’re involved, it’s going to come out. You can be in the catbird seat, or one of your cohorts can bring you down. Take your pick!”
“Ernie, what’s going on?” his mother asked.
“Nothing, Mom,” Ernesto answered. His breathing suddenly became audible. “He’s trying to psych you out. He’s a part of an organization of brutality. Police lie all the time. They’re never to be trusted. How many times have you told me that?”
Decker saw Jill Golding’s cheeks turn pink. “Ernesto,” he said, “you talk to me, I can ask a judge for leniency. Most you’ll do is some community service. More important, if you cooperate, I can try to get your records sealed even though you’re almost eighteen. The Ivies would never have to hear about it.”
“I