Rina said, “It’s amazing.”
“What is?” Decker said.
“At no point during the diatribe did she realize that you were sleeping with your eyes open.”
“I heard every word.”
“You heard it like you heard the birds chirping.” Rina kissed his cheek. “You’re a wonderful father. Don’t snore. I’ll see you later.”
The speech lasted for nearly an hour, allowing Decker a terrific catnap. When he was nudged in the ribs by Barry Gold after the sermon was over, he was actually able to stand up and concentrate on the Mussaf prayers. In honor of the guest rabbi, there was a kiddush. Most of the parishioners were grumbling about the length of the address, but not Decker.
“Best sermon I ever slept to,” he told Rina as he ate a small Styrofoam cup’s worth of chulent—the traditional meat and bean stew provided gratis after services.
“Lucky you.” Rina popped a grape into her mouth. “The Millers just extended a last-minute invitation for lunch. I excused us on the grounds of your exhaustion.”
“That’s a fact. You ready to go?”
“I am.”
As soon as they left the synagogue, Decker felt his heart race, his thoughts interlaced with anxiety. The two of them walked home hand in hand. He knew he should be making small talk, but his mind was elsewhere.
How do I bring this up? Before or after lunch? Before I sleep or after I sleep?
When they reached home, Decker had yet to figure out a game plan. He supposed the best way to approach the subject was with honesty. “Can I help you set up for lunch?”
“Are you hungry after eating all that lamb and chulent?”
“Not really, but you may be hungry.”
“I’m still dairy. I’d be fine with a yogurt and a cup of coffee.” She patted his hand. “Should I tuck you in?”
Decker plunked himself down on the couch. “I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“Uh-oh.”
“Nothing bad.” He patted the cushion next to him for her to take a seat. “Just a few minutes.”
“Sure.” She snuggled next to him. “What’s up?”
Decker took in a deep breath, then exhaled. “Okay … here’s the deal. Yesterday around three in the afternoon, I got a visitor at the station house. He said he might have some relevant information about the Kaffey murders. Every time we get a tip, we have to take it seriously—even if it’s from Aunt Edna who channeled the information from Mars. Sometimes substance is buried in the lunacy.”
“I understand. What are you getting at, sweetie?”
“The tipster said he overheard a conversation between two men speaking in Spanish. He related this conversation to me and in it were some names that no outsider should have been aware of. So I’m listening pretty carefully.”
“Okay.”
“So he’s telling me about this conversation between two Hispanic men, but there’s a problem. The tipster can only hear them. He can’t describe the men to me because he’s blind.”
“I could see where that would be a problem,” Rina said.
“But he’s aware that he might have overheard something important. So he asks a woman next to him to describe the men across the way. She asks him why and he won’t say. She persists and he feels a little foolish, so he drops the issue. But later, he can’t get the conversation out of his mind, so he comes to the station house.”
“This is sounding a little familiar.”
“A little?”
“More than a little.”
“I was afraid of that.”
Rina said, “I don’t know the guy’s name. He works as a translator for the courts. He’s in his thirties—curlyish hair, long face, dresses pretty sharp.”
“His name is Brett Harriman.”
“How did he find out my name?”
“He didn’t. He recognized your voice from the voir dire and said you were impaneled on one of his cases. He remembered you telling the judge that you were married to a police lieutenant. I filled in the blanks and hoped I was wrong.”
“You’re not.”
Decker leaned back and ran his hands down his face. “Did you get a peek at the men, Rina?”
“I looked at the two Hispanic men that I thought he was referring to.”
“A good look?”
“A decent look. He told me to be discreet.”
“He did?”
“Yes, he specifically told me not to stare, so I didn’t.”
Decker exhaled. “Thank you, Brett. Did they notice you?”
“Probably not. So these two men are involved?”
“It sounds like they had inside information. So you don’t think they noticed you?”
“I doubt it. It was right before the afternoon session began and there were lots of people milling around the hallways.” Rina paused. “Would you like a description of the men?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter?”
“Even if you could positively identify them from the mug books, I still wouldn’t have anything. He heard the conversation; you didn’t, right?”
“Right.”
“So … there we have it. You don’t need to be involved.”
“So why bring it up in the first place?” Rina asked him.
“I was just trying to get an idea whether or not this guy is legit.”
“He definitely works as a translator for the courts.”
“How reliable do you think Harriman is?”
“Me?” Rina pointed to her chest. “I couldn’t tell you. The guy seems to know his languages. And he’s very dramatic. We used to call him Smiling Tom—after Tom Cruise—because he wore sunglasses and was always flashing a big white grin. After hearing him translate, we all decided that he missed his calling as an actor.”
“So you think he might be exaggerating?”
“I can’t tell you that. Just that he plays his voice like an instrument. Some soloists are more subtle than others. Actually I didn’t even know he was blind until he talked to me. He uses some kind of electronic locator to move about. He walks like anyone else.”
Decker tried to look casual. “Okay. Thanks for helping out.”
“That’s it?”
“Just wanted to get a feel for the guy.”
“Peter, I’d be happy to look through the mug books.”
“What for? Even if you