Decker didn’t respond. He poured himself a cup of coffee from the squad room’s urn. “Though I suppose it’s not entirely your fault,” MacPherson continued. “You’re heavily under the influence of pussy.” Decker sipped coffee and said, “Some itty-bitty thought is germinating in that feeble brain of yours, Paulie. Want to tell me what it is?” He added, “Are you able to articulate what it is?” Hollander said, “I think he’s referring to your beany cap, Rabbi.” Decker’s hand went to the crown of his head. He’d forgotten to take off his yarmulke. This morning, he’d recited all of Shacharit before he went to work. He’d even put on phylacteries for the first time in a month. Rina had seemed pleased, but Decker had wondered if he hadn’t acted hypocritically. On the drive over to the station, he’d decided that there was nothing wrong with keeping the peace in the home front—shalom bayis. Besides, after the incidents with her brother-in-law, Rina needed a little restoration of faith.
