Читать книгу Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 29

“I know it’s late,” Decker said. “I won’t stay long.”

Rina stood at the threshold of the open door, then stepped aside and let him in.

“Did you learn with Rav Schulman tonight?”

“A little.”

She stood with her arms folded across her chest with that look in her eyes. Decker had seen it umpteen times in Jan. What was it? Hostility? Contempt? Injury? Probably a little of all three.

“Do you have any coffee handy?” he asked.

“I’ll make some.”

“Don’t bother.”

Defiance suddenly vanished from her face. Replacing it was sadness. His heart sank. He could deal with her anger, but not with her melancholy. He felt like a total ass.

“It’s no bother,” she said softly. “Would you like something to eat?”

The muscles in his throat tightened. He answered her with a shake of the head. As she started to the kitchen, he called out her name. His voice cracked.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Forget about the coffee,” he said. “Come sit down.”

She did as he requested.

“I brought you a peace offering.” He held out a flat, square package wrapped in gold embossed paper, but she didn’t take it.

“Go on,” he urged. “It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

Slowly she extended her hand.

“Open it.”

Methodically picking apart the paper, she exposed a sterling silver picture frame.

“Thank you,” she said, barely audible.

He took the frame from her.

“Should be the right size. Where’s the picture, Rina?”

Walking over to her kitchen, she pulled out a drawer and handed him the wedding photo. Decker slid it between the backing and the glass, clamped the closure pins shut, and hung it on its old spot on the wall.

“Much better,” he said. “Actually, I think the picture looks nicer in this frame. You notice it more.”

She said nothing.

“I’ll go now.”

Tears spilled over her lower lashes and down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry for this morning, Rina,” he said softly. “I acted like a madman.”

“I never knew the picture bothered you, Peter.” She pulled out a tissue and wiped her eyes. “Of course, I don’t know too much about you, do I?”

The anger was back.

“What do you want to know?” he asked calmly.

“Come back next week. I’ll have a questionnaire made up.”

“I don’t blame you for sniping at me, Rina, but it really isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Why did you come here tonight?”

“To apologize.”

“Well, you’ve done that.”

“You say you want me to talk to you. Now I’m trying, but it doesn’t appear to do any good.”

“Maybe I’m too angry.” She lowered her head. “Maybe I’m too hurt.”

“I should have told you about my adoption. But believe me, Rina, it wasn’t stubbornness that held me back. I didn’t want to misrepresent myself to you. Call myself Jewish when I really didn’t know what it meant.”

“I’m not stupid, Peter. I know how hard it is to live this kind of life. I mean it’s not hard for me—I love it. But for someone not brought up like this, there are restrictions—”

“A lot of restrictions.”

“You don’t believe in any of it, do you?”

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I think some of the laws are nonsense.”

“Such as?”

“The separation of sexes. Women are considered chattels—”

“That’s not true.”

“Honey, your ketubah is nothing more than a sales receipt. Your husband bought you.”

“It’s not that simple.”

He waited for clarification.

“I don’t want to get into a religious discourse right now, Peter. Why don’t you talk to Rav Schulman about it? He could explain it better than I could.”

“Yes, the good rav does seem to have an answer for everything. And when there’s no answer, he tells me to take it on blind faith. That’s not the answer I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for? A neat little solution? You won’t find it.”

“Then why bother concocting religion, Rina? Why not say things are just random? Sometimes they work out well, sometimes they don’t.”

“Because that’s a very bleak outlook on life. I don’t believe we are just some random Darwinian mutation … mutation in a million years we’ll be giant brains resting on vestigial bodies. I don’t believe that at all. Judaism is more than just a series of blind beliefs, Peter—or a concoction. It’s history. The chumash isn’t cute little fables; it’s a family chronicle of my ancestors—your ancestors. When I immerse myself in the mikvah, I think: this is what Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel, and Leah did thousands of years ago. Torah is timeless.

“I don’t understand why my husband died at twenty-eight of a brain tumor. I don’t understand why I miscarried three times. I could curse the world and reject God, but then what is my alternative? To believe in a world that is ruled by laws solely conceived by human beings? Laws that can be altered at the whim of a crazy man? That’s what happened in Nazi Germany, Peter. The country had a constitution. It had laws. You saw how seriously the people took them.”

He had no answer.

“Torah law is irrevocable, Peter, because it is divine. That’s not to say Judaism is a static religion; it isn’t at all. But the Ten Commandments are the Ten Commandments. They aren’t going to change just because some guru goes on a talk show and says it’s okay to commit adultery. I believe in Torah because its truths are absolute.”

“I’ve always envied the faith you have in your religion,” Decker said.

“It’s your religion, too.”

He shook his head. “Maybe it will be, but it isn’t now. Look at it through my eyes, Rina. My Jewish parents dumped me. My Baptist parents raised me, loved me.”

She faced him, took his hand. “Are you resentful?”

“Not really. My mother was a kid—fifteen. I couldn’t—can’t—blame her for what she did. It isn’t resentment that holds me back from Judaism, Rina. It’s belief. I’m not even sure I believe in God; I certainly don’t believe in structured religion. I’d like to feel the same way you do about Judaism, but I can’t. At least I can’t right now.”

“That’s going to cause problems for us.”

“I know,” he said wearily. “So where do we go from here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Swell.”

“I know what I should do,” she said quietly. “I should tell you to leave me.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Not leave forever, but maybe for a year or longer if you need it. Study Torah. Learn what it is to be a Torah Jew. See if you don’t change your mind. I love you. I’ll wait for you.”

“A year?”

“It’s not that long. Rabbi Akiva left his wife for twenty-four years to study Torah.”

“A year?” He shook his head. “Honey, perhaps this is a very unspiritual thing to say, but I would find it extremely difficult to remain celibate for an entire year.”

She lowered her head.

“I know. I thought of that, but I don’t know what else we can do.”

“I love you, Rina. I’m not going to find anyone I’d love more. That I know. And I know you feel the same way about me.”

“I do.”

He sighed, then blurted out, “Let’s get married. We’ll work it out over time.”

“Peter, if you were a Torah Jew, I’d marry you tomorrow. But feeling as you do about Orthodoxy, it would be suicide for us to marry. We’ve both been married before. You know that marriage doesn’t reduce differences, it magnifies them.”

“I can accept you as being religious,” said Decker. “I wouldn’t interfere. All you have to do is accept me for what I am.”

“It wouldn’t work.”

“It could if you’d let it.”

“No, it couldn’t.”

“Damn it, Rina,” he said sharply. “If you loved me, you could find a way!”

Burying her face in her hands, she started to cry. Decker pulled her into his arms and let her sob on his shoulder.

Shit!

“I’d do anything for you, honey, you know that. But I can’t help the way I feel.”

Her response was to cry harder while hugging him tightly. Acid churned in his belly and his temples began to throb. He started to take masochistic pleasure in how lousy he felt. Everything in his life was going rotten, and he marveled at his reverse Midas touch.

“Honey, I love you. I want to marry you. I just don’t think I’ll ever be the type of religious person you want me to be. If you can live with that, there’s no problem.”

She said nothing.

“But you can’t live with that, can you?”

“I’d never give up this life—”

“I’m not asking you to give it up. I’m asking you to respect me for what I am.”

She didn’t answer.

They sat in silence, neither one sure what to say. The tension increased. Finally Decker couldn’t take it.

“How’re Jakey’s nightmares?” he asked.

“They’re still pretty frequent,” said Rina quietly.

“Maybe you should take him to see someone,” suggested Decker.

Rina flashed him a look of hostility.

“I know what’s best for my child, thank you,” she said.

“I’d better go home,” Decker said. “We don’t seem to be getting anywhere.”

“We’re not going to get anywhere if you leave every time things aren’t going great.”

Decker clenched his jaw and took out a cigarette. He stuffed it between his lips, lit it, and inhaled deeply.

“You want me to say the obvious? I’ll say the obvious,” he said, blowing out a plume of smoke. “We’ve reached an impasse. I think it might be best if we saw other people.”

Her eyes filled.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I don’t like it.”

The room was quiet for a minute. Rina broke it.

“If you and I were to … to maybe stop seeing each other, would you still learn with the rabbi?” Rina asked.

“No,” Decker answered.

“You mean you’re not interested in this kind of life at all?”

“No,” he answered. “I’m not—at least, not now.”

“So if you stopped seeing me, you’d stop being religious?”

“Yes.”

“But if we were to marry, would you be religious to please me?”

“Probably in the beginning. Then, quite honestly, I could see myself giving it up. But I’d never interfere with your beliefs.”

“It would be a very hypocritical example for the boys. How could I espouse religion to them if I go ahead and marry an irreligious man?”

“I suppose there’s a grain of truth to that.”

She sat motionless.

“I think I’m meeting you halfway, Rina. I’m willing to let you live your life. If you just wouldn’t be so rigid—”

“I have no choice!” she exclaimed. “I’m not going to be a hypocrite. I want my husband to be religious. What is so wrong with that?”

“Nothing. But that’s not me.” Decker sighed. “Look, we’re both really confused at the moment. Maybe we need a little time to ourselves, a temporary breather from each other—”

“I don’t want to see anyone else,” she answered.

“Maybe I don’t want to either,” he said. “But I want to keep the option open … open in case … case we both know the score.”

She stared at the wall and didn’t answer. Decker waited a few more minutes. When she remained silent, he got up and left.

“Somebody didn’t like us poking around,” Marge said to Decker.

It was nine o’clock Friday morning. She was sitting on his desk, sipping coffee. Decker had his feet propped up on his desk, hands behind neck, and eyes on the ceiling.

“Or somebody may have wanted to destroy evidence,” she added.

“Then why place a bomb in the front part of the studio?” he asked. “Place it in the underground room. I think it was a warning. Anyone seriously wanting us out of the way could have done so by now. I’ve got a call in to Culver City PD. We should know more as soon as they dissect the remains of the bomb.”

“Watch your ass, Pete.”

“I intend to.”

Mike Hollander walked up to Decker and placed a manila envelope on his desk. The return address was from a Dr. Arnold Meisner.

“As requested, Rabbi,” Hollander said. “Fresh off the press.”

“Please quit calling me rabbi.”

Hollander looked at him. “Go get a night’s sleep, Pete.”

“Who the hell is Arnold Meisner?” Marge asked.

“A doctor who used to work under Dustin Pode’s pediatrician,” Hollander said. “When the old man died, Meisner took over the practice. He was kind enough to dig up those records for us.”

“How’d you find out Pode’s pediatrician?” Decker asked.

“I asked Dustin,” Hollander answered.

Decker laughed.

“The direct approach,” he said.

“Don’t know any other kind,” said Hollander. “Dusty Pooh was so busy defending his father—calling the raid entrapment—I think the question was a relief. Something he could answer truthfully.”

“What do you want with his medical charts?” Marge asked Decker.

“I’m a sucker for theoretical models,” he said. “I’m looking for bed-wetting. It usually goes along with fire-starting … starting cruelty to animals.”

“The old psychopathic triad,” Hollander said.

“The old psychopathic triad,” repeated Decker, flipping through pages. Marge peered over his shoulder.

“I don’t like to have someone reading over me,” Decker said curtly.

“Excuse me,” Marge backed away.

Decker laughed. “Sorry. I’ve been a real son of a bitch lately and I make no excuses for it. My life is going shitty.”

“Not that I’m trying to meddle, but—”

“Then don’t.”

“Geez,” Marge said. “I’ll give you a pair of tweezers to take the hair out of your ass, Pete.”

He smiled and concentrated on the page in front of him.

“Any bed-wetting?” Marge asked.

“Not so far.” Decker read for a while. When he finished, he reread the chart again. “No bed-wetting,” he announced at last.

“Oh well,” said Marge. “Everything’s always perfect in theory.”

“No bed-wetting, but you know what I see here?”

“What?” inquired Hollander.

“A hell of a lot of cuts and burns in weird places. And a whole lot of broken bones.”

“Child abuse,” Marge said.

“Yep,” said Decker. “Only twenty years ago no one talked about it, much less reported it. Poor Dustin was getting whopped for years and the old doc didn’t make one damn notation on it.” He turned a page. “Will you look at this? Burns on the buttocks. Mom claimed he sat on the stove.”

“We haven’t heard that one since—” Marge looked at her watch “—oh, since maybe two hours ago.”

“Look over here,” Decker said. “Lacerations of the hard palate when the kid was three. Mom said he fell with a spoon in his mouth. The doc records not one, not two, but three semicircular cuts in the region. Looks like Dustin fell with three spoons in his mouth.”

“Jesus, what a bitch!” Hollander said.

“Yep,” said Decker, closing the chart. “Psychos don’t come out of nowhere.”

Friday blurred into Saturday. Shabbos was just another day of the week.

Mary Hollander opened the door and gave Decker a startled look.

“Pete! I haven’t seen you for ages. Thought you’d dropped out of all the shenanigans.”

Decker smiled.

“Guess not. How’s it going, Mary?”

“Fine. They’re all in the back room hooting and hollering. Sounds like a good game.”

Decker stepped inside.

“Bring you a beer?” she asked.

“Sure.”

He walked through an immaculate living room full of knick-knacks collected over the course of a thirty-year marriage and into the den. It was crowded. Hollander sat on the edge of an ottoman, munching popcorn and shouting at the TV. Marge was parked on the red Naugahyde loveseat, next to a behemoth of a man he didn’t recognize. Fordebrand and MacPherson filled the matching sofa and Marriot reclined on the Barcalounger. They fell silent when he walked in the door.

“What’s the score?” Decker asked.

“What are you doing here?” Fordebrand asked puzzled.

“Oh boy,” Marge groaned.

MacPherson started singing: “Oh it’s crying time again …” He was from Robbery—a black man with a sizeable paunch who loved Shakespeare and had a lousy voice.

“Shut up,” Decker said grumpily.

“Want a hot …?” Hollander paused. Decker could smell the wood burning. “Want something to eat?”

“Hot dog’s fine,” Decker answered.

“They’re not kosh—”

“Hot dog’s fine,” Decker repeated.

Hollander grunted as he rose from the ottoman and went into the kitchen.

“You just missed a hell of a play, Rab—Deck,” Fordebrand said.

“Does he really give a damn about football?” MacPherson mused. “When the cloth of passion’s gown hath been rent—”

“Knock it off, Paul,” Marge said. “Pete, this is Carroll.”

Decker shook hands with the behemoth, noticing that the man’s paw was twice as big as his own. Marge had described him as big, but it didn’t do him justice. The guy was a barn.

Hollander brought Decker a hot dog and a cold beer and sat back down on the ottoman.

“What did I miss?” he asked.

“Pete was just going to tell us his sob story,” MacPherson said.

“Knock it off,” said Fordebrand.

“Hey, he’s among friends.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Decker said mildly.

“Peter! Come on!” MacPherson pressed.

“Why the fuck should he tell a loser like you?” Fordebrand asked.

“Because one loser can relate to another.” MacPherson’s eyes gleamed. “Besides, if he and Rina are really kaput, I wouldn’t mind giving her a try.”

Decker laughed.

“Well,” MacPherson said, “I’ve had black women, white women, spics, and chinks. Never tried a Jew. Certainly not an Orthodox Jew. Certainly never one who looked like Rina. Those big blue eyes and pouting lips. That nice tight—”

“You’re pushing it, Paul,” Decker warned.

“Can we watch the fucking game?” Hollander asked, annoyed by all the noise.

“I have to make a phone call,” Decker said to Hollander. “I’ll use the kitchen phone.”

“I thought she didn’t answer the phone on Saturdays,” MacPherson said.

Decker ignored him and left the room.

“Poor guy,” Marriot said sympathetically. He was a wiry, bespectacled man who never spoke hastily.

“I’ll say.” Hollander turned to MacPherson. “Rina was one piece of ass.”

“Think she was really any good?” MacPherson asked. “I mean being a nun and all.”

“Probably dynamite,” Hollander answered, “I mean, the man had to be hooked on something else besides God, right?”

“Mind you the only thing I did was superimpose the X rays of the skull over the painted boy’s face,” Hennon said over the phone. “But as an off-the-cuff opinion, I’d say the boy in the film matches the skull you dug up.”

“Thanks for doing this on your weekend, Annie.”

“I’m still waiting for a dinner, big man.”

“How about tonight?”

There was silence over the line.

“You’re serious?” she asked.

“If you are.”

“You’re on,” Hennon said. “Anywhere specific you want to go?”

“You choose. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Great.”

She gave him her address in Santa Monica and Decker hung up the phone. He turned around and saw Marge.

“Eavesdropping on me?”

“I just came in to use the phone,” she said.

“It’s all yours.”

She looked down and kicked the floor absently.

“Of course I couldn’t help but overhear a little.”

“Hennon says the skull that we dug up in the mountains matches the painted man in the snuff film.”

“Just as you figured.”

“Yup.”

“So who’s the painted boy?”

“The Blade,” Decker answered. “Whoever he is. Find out what happened to Clementine?”

“No.”

“Damn. I’m so pissed at myself. I should have pulled him for a composite when I had the chance.”

“He’ll show up eventually unless he’s running from something.”

“My informants tell me no one is after him as far as they know,” he said.

“Then he’ll turn up.” Marge paused, then asked: “What happened with Rina?”

“Cultural differences,” he said.

“I thought you liked being Jewish?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. I wasn’t aware of how involved it got. Now I am. Judaism is a hands-on religion. It takes over your life. There are dietary restrictions, sexual restrictions, drinking restrictions, clothing restrictions … restrictions know you’re not even allowed to wear a garment made of wool and linen.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. No one does. It’s just a law.”

He paused a moment, then said, “Over there, I’m an alien. But I’ve been a stranger in a strange land before, and I consider myself very adaptable. But adaptation is empty unless you believe in what you’re doing. I know that and so does Rina.”

“I think about God once in a while,” Marge said.

“You do?”

“Yeah, I think about the size of His penis.”

Decker burst into laughter.

“Must be a humdinger, don’t you think?” she said.

“That’s blasphemous.”

“Yeah, it is,” she said. “I was raised an Episcopalian, but I stopped going to church the day I sprouted pubic hairs. I don’t believe in it at all. But every once in a while, when I’m all alone in bed—a rare occasion if I can help it—I get to thinking, what if I’m wrong? What if all that crap they fed me at Sunday school turns out to be right? Then I get real spooked.

“Rina has it made,” Marge went on. “Even with all the restrictions. If she’s wrong and there’s no one up there, she’ll be dead anyway and won’t know the difference. But if she’s right … right, she’s hit the jackpot.”

“Do you want to come in for a nightcap?” Hennon asked, flicking on the lights to the apartment.

“Sure,” Decker replied.

Her condo was comfortable, full of soft colors, a pillowy sofa and plants sprouting from terra-cotta pots.

“Have a seat,” Hennon said. “What can I get you?”

“Coffee’s fine,” Decker answered.

“Take off your jacket. Make yourself comfortable.” She disappeared into the kitchen.

He removed his jacket and holster and stretched. Looking around he saw the bathroom. A few minutes later he came out to find her pointing his .38 at one of her Boston ferns.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked irritatedly. She lowered the gun.

“I just wanted to see what it felt like being behind one of these.” She smiled. “God, you feel so invincible.”

He didn’t smile back. Walking over to her, he gingerly took the revolver from her hands.

“It’s loaded, Annie. You shouldn’t be fooling around with a loaded gun,” he said, placing the gun back in the shoulder harness.

“Sorry,” she shrugged. “Coffee’s ready.”

He sank into a brown chair, irked. Not only had she done something dumb, she’d violated his personal property.

Returning with a tray, she set it on the coffee table.

“Cream or sugar?” she asked.

“Black.”

“That’s right,” she said. Handing him a mug, she parked herself across the table.

“You use your gun a lot?” she asked.

“As little as possible.”

“It gives you a sense of power, doesn’t it?”

“Not really.” He forced a smile. “Can we change the subject?”

She frowned.

“Okay. What’s the weirdest case you ever were on?”

“I don’t mean to be rude, Annie, but I don’t want to talk about my work. If you want to talk about dentistry—”

“God, no.”

“So you understand—”

“Yeah, but my work is so damn boring.”

“So’s mine. Believe me.”

“The bones case is boring?”

“The bones case is frustrating!” He lit a cigarette. “Do you have an ashtray handy?”

“Not really. I’m allergic to cigarette smoke.”

“You didn’t say anything at the restaurant.”

“I was trying to be polite.”

Decker stared at his smoke.

“Where can I throw this?”

“Toss it down the sink.”

He got up, did it, and came back.

“So what happened with your girlfriend?” she asked.

“I don’t want to talk about that either.” He sipped his coffee. “So you like to ski and play tennis.”

“We exhausted that over dinner, Pete.”

Decker smiled.

“Yeah, we did.”

“Come to think of it, I did most of the talking.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“So I’m getting a little tired of hearing myself blabbing.”

“I’m a little quiet tonight,” he said.

“True. And it makes it mighty hard to get some snappy banter going.” She chuckled. “Most of the men I date … date can’t shut them up. Always chewing your ear off about the latest hustle they have going. Trying to dress up their essentially lackluster lives. Now I get hold of a cop who works in the blood and guts of the city—who does something primal—and he doesn’t like to talk.”

He shrugged.

She shrugged.

“Wanna fuck?” she asked.

Decker burst into laughter.

“No, I don’t wanna fuck.”

“What kind of a girl do you think I am?” she mocked, crossing herself. “Jesus, it was just a thought. And not that unusual a question. Where have you been for the last fifteen years, Kiddo?”

“I like you,” Decker smiled. “You make me laugh.”

“I like you, too,” she answered. “You make me horny.”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks?”

“Yes, thanks. Would you have preferred my ripping off your clothes in mad lust?”

“That sounds good.”

“You try to be a gentleman …” He laughed. “Famine to feast.”

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.”

“You’ve got your ex-friend on your mind, don’t you?”

“She’s left her watermark.”

“Then this was for nothing.” She seemed hurt.

“It wasn’t for nothing. I had a nice time with you. You’re great company and a lovely woman.”

“Sure. Let’s go out for a beer sometimes,” she said sarcastically.

“Not in the bars I frequent. You’d have ten guys on your tail the minute you walked in the door.”

She smiled.

“Trying to redeem yourself, Pete?”

“How am I doing so far?”

“Not bad. Keep going.”

He rubbed his eyes. “In all seriousness, tomorrow I’m going to kick myself for being such an ass tonight. I must be crazy to let you slide through my fingers.”

“So do something about it. Make the plunge.”

“I can’t. I’m too confused. Give me about a month or so.”

She folded her arms across her chest and looked him over.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thanks for the consideration,” he said. He hoped he was being disarming. Luckily, the awkward situation took care of itself. His beeper went off.

“Phone’s over in the kitchen,” she said.

It was Marge.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“I found Clementine.”

“I’ll be right down,” he said eagerly.

“Hold on, Kiddo. He ain’t going anywhere. He’s in the county jail.”