Читать книгу Cold Case - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 9

WHEN HOMICIDE DETECTIVES were a hair shy of a solve, the last thing they needed was a hotshot from some other substation messing around with their cases. Two similar felonies fifteen years apart did not a criminal pattern make, and while Decker had no intention of gumming up anyone's finely oiled conviction machine, he did feel it was incumbent to review the files of the recent Hollywood carjacking/homicide, just in case. To make the cold call to the detectives was an unpleasant prospect.

Lucky for him that he had an in, and that brought a smile to his face. He had done umpteen favors for his daughter and that was to be expected because he was the parent. This little assignment would give Cindy a chance to reciprocate

From the winding roads of Sunset, Decker hooked onto the 405 heading north into his home turf of the San Fernando Valley. Morning clouds had given way to full sun, necessitating air-conditioning. Although the car was old, it valiantly sputtered a stream of Freon-laden air, which felt good on Decker's sweaty face. He loosened his tie and waited for phone reception as the Vic chugged through the mountain pass. When he reached the top of the hill, he used his voice-activated earpiece to talk hands-free. Cindy picked up on the third ring.

“Are you busy?” he said without introduction.

“Just sitting down to a vegetarian club salad.”

Decker checked his watch. It was eleven-thirty. “Early lunch?”

“Joe's hungry and the timing works. What's up?”

“I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes. It would be helpful if you had some privacy.”

“Hold on.” Decker heard Cindy talking to her partner. Several moments later, she was back on the line. “Is everything okay?”

“Just fine. Did I make you nervous?”

“Of course you did. You never call me during working hours.”

“That's because the call is business. Sorry if I scared you. I need a favor, Cin.”

“A favor, huh?” A pause. “Well, now I know I've arrived.”

“Weren't you involved in the car recovery of the Primo Ekerling case?”

“Initially Joe and I were assigned to the case until we popped the trunk and discovered the body. Then it immediately went over to Homicide.”

“So the car was reported as stolen?”

“Yes, but the vehicle wasn't the main issue. Ekerling's girlfriend reported that he, along with the car, went missing. About a week later, a traffic officer was about to write a ticket on the Mercedes when he noticed that the car already had a ticket on the windshield. The car was parked on Prince right off Hollywood Boulevard.”

“That's a residential area, isn't it?”

“Yes, it is. The car was being ticketed because it was parked on the wrong side on a street cleaning day. The first ticket was for the same violation. The car had been sitting there for at least a week.”

“And no one called it in?”

“It was a brand-new Mercedes. I suppose it didn't look out of place. The miracle was that no one vandalized or stole it, especially with all the bars in the area. Lots of bars mean lots of drunks doing stupid things.”

“That is often the case.”

“Anyway, the officer ran the plates and the car came back hot. Joe and I caught the call. When we got to the location, we peeked inside the vehicle. Something just didn't look right. Just as important, something didn't smell right. Joe jimmied the lock on the trunk and the rest is history.”

“And no one complained about the smell?”

“It wasn't that strong, and you know how it is in L.A. No one really walks and you'd have to pass by to notice an odor.”

“Most of the gas and bloat was gone?”

“Most of it, yes, but we got a whiff of something funky as soon as we got close enough.”

“Was the body in the open or was it wrapped up in garbage bags?”

“It was curled up in the trunk.” A pause. “Daddy, I have to get back to my lunch or Joe's going to get suspicious. Can we talk about this later?”

“I need the file.”

“And you don't want to just call up Homicide and ask for it.”

“Exactly. They've got suspects in custody, and I don't want to inject something new unless there's good reason.”

There was a long pause. “We should talk later. I never fully bought into the carjacking/murder theory. How soon do you want it?”

“As soon as possible, but a day or two won't make a difference. Do you remember the name of Ekerling's girlfriend?”

“Marilyn Eustis. I'd like to hear the details of what you're working on. Can we meet for dinner?”

“Love to.”

“I'll call you up when I get the file and we'll have a date. How about Italian?”

“You get the file, princess, I'll take you anywhere you want. I'll even pay.”

“You always pay, Daddy.”

“I do, don't I.” Decker smiled. “See how much your father loves you?”

***

TAKING ON THE cold case didn't mean that Decker's paperwork didn't pile up. As soon as he hit the squad room, he became the lieutenant in charge and was bombarded with questions, comments, and complaints. Lucky for him he had a few genuine allies that he now considered close friends.

Marge Dunn in specific.

Dunn had worked for or with Decker for over twenty years, starting out as a rookie detective under his tutelage in Juvenile and Sex Crimes for the Foothill Division of the LAPD. He had brought Marge with him to Homicide in West Valley because of her insights and work ethic. A winning personality made her a gem among dross. The woman was tall and big boned with light brown hair that had grown blonder since her involvement with Will Barnes, a former Berkeley detective who had moved to Santa Barbara to be within commuting distance. It was wonderful to see Marge happy, not only from a friendship point of view but also because Marge worked better when she was in good spirits.

Who didn't?

Dunn had filtered out all the nonsense, leaving Decker with the nuts and bolts of what needed to be dealt with to successfully run the detective's squad room. She sat in his office as he rummaged through a forest's worth of phone messages.

She said, “FYI, I went over the list of the current faculty at North Valley High and found a few old-timers who remember Ben Little.”

Decker looked up from his pile of pink slips. Today Marge was wearing a magenta cotton blouse tucked into beige slacks. “Did you get a chance to talk to anyone?”

“No, I had a court case to deal with and an emergency scheduling issue. Besides, I thought you told me that Strapp wanted you to do the interviewing personally.”

“Well, that's not going to happen.”

“It's rotten of Strapp to put this kind of pressure on you.”

“I'll survive. Did you have a chance to look up when Christopher Donatti came to L.A. as a student?”

“Bad boy Chris came to Central West High a year after Little's murder. He never attended North Valley, although the schools are only six miles apart. If you want, I can delve a little further. The Little murder looked like a professional hit, and Donatti was … is a professional killer.”

Decker nodded. “Actually, I might even give him a call. Guys like him are always paranoid and hyperaware, so he may have heard something.”

“You can't be serious!” When Decker shrugged, Marge said, “The son of a bitch shot you.”

“It wasn't personal.”

“You're crazy!”

“Maybe so, but a lot is riding on a solve for a fifteen-year-old case, and I'll take any help I can get. So who's still teaching at North Valley High from the Little days?”

Marge handed him the list—two teachers from the humanities, two from math and science, and the boys' gym coach. “If you allow me to bring Oliver in, we could probably rip these interviews off in a couple of days. He would also be helpful because Scott was in Homicide at Devonshire when Little was murdered.”

“Have you talked to him about the Little case?”

“I don't do anything without your okay, boss, but I'm sure if he read the file, a lot would come back to him. I did ask him about Arnie Lamar and Cal Vitton.”

“And?”

“He said they were all right … not corrupt as far as he knew. They were old-timers, although he was quick to point out that they were probably the same age as he is now. Then as he thought about it, he slipped into one of his famous funks. As you well know, it's unpleasant dealing with Scott Oliver when he's moping.”

“Did he wonder why you were asking about Lamar and Vitton?”

“I think he guessed, Pete. They've become synonymous with Ben Little's murder.”

Decker handed her a slip of paper. “The first name—Phil Shriner— was the private detective that Melinda Little Warren hired to look into her husband's murder. He wasn't successful, even though Melinda said that she paid him a fortune.”

“Do you know if he's still practicing?”

“No idea.”

“I'll check him out.” She wrote down the name in her note pad. “Who's Darnell Arlington?”

“A pet project of Ben Little. The first time Darnell was expelled, Ben went to bat for him and the school gave the kid a reprieve. The second time, Darnell got the boot and Ben backed up the school. Arlington was in Ohio when the murder happened, and Ben's widow had heard that the kid turned his life around. Cal Vitton talked to him at the time of the murder, but he's worth a second look.”

“Consider it done.” Marge wrote down Arlington's name and gave the slip back to Decker. “So I can bring Oliver into the fold?”

Decker thought about it. “All right, let's include Oliver. Strapp knows that I can't do this all by my lonesome, but he doesn't want it getting back to the big boys that I've farmed it out. With all his faults, Scott can keep a confidence.”

“That is true.”

“And who knows? Maybe a special assignment will snap him out of his funk.”

Marge shrugged. “One can hope, and yet one will probably be disappointed.”