Читать книгу The Burnt House - Faye Kellerman - Страница 9

2

THE POLICE TOOK eighteen-hour shifts. Somewhere Decker got down enough food to calm his stomach, although he had no memory of eating. The crash information that filtered through to the emergency crews was incomplete and contradictory. With the passing of the first twenty-four hours, no radical terrorist group came forward to take responsibility and that seemed to soothe frazzled nerves. Decker thought it was quite a world when everyone was rooting for mechanical failure. From the eyewitness accounts, it appeared that the plane had been in trouble from takeoff. Ascent was never fully realized, and a few moments later, it nose-dived. No one remembered seeing a midair explosion, and so far, no videos of the crash had surfaced.

Thirty-seven hours after WestAir flight 1324 plummeted into 7624 Seacrest Drive, the fire department declared that the inferno had been contained, although it was far from out. Jet fuel was still stoking the flames, and even in the areas where active fire had died out, there were still flare-ups. It would take days before residents could come home. The Gov had come down, declaring the site a disaster area, making it easier for the surviving residents to get federal aid and loans.

From the snippets of data that went in and out of Decker’s ears, he surmised that the casualties numbered around sixty to seventy, of which forty-seven came from the hapless travelers on the plane. Ground casualties were still being assessed.

Decker was dismissed from duty after forty-two straight hours of work. If he drove home, he didn’t openly remember operating a vehicle. Nor did he recall seeing his wife and his teenage daughter, or taking a shower. Exhaustion had robbed any recollection of his falling asleep. His first conscious memory was Rina waking him up at nine in the morning. He was confused but not ungrateful. His dreams had been disturbing. He wiped his sweat-soaked face with the sleeve of his pajamas, leaving behind a gray streak of soot.

Rina handed him the phone. “It’s Captain Strapp.”

Decker took the phone and depressed the hold button. Electricity and phone service had been restored sometime between when he had left and when he had come home.

“We’re getting calls, Pete. Family of loved ones that lived in the burnt house or in the area: relatives wanting to know if their kin is alive or dead. I want you to set up a task force and collect as many names as possible. Also, get the dental X-rays so that when the coroner’s investigators go in for recovery, we can provide them a list of names and the X-rays for identification. We’ll be one step ahead.”

Decker understood the words as English, but it took him a few moments to grab the meaning. “Uh … do we have a list of the ground deaths?”

Strapp’s voice was strained. “Did you just wake up?”

“My wife just woke me up. I’ve only been home for”—he looked at the clock— “a little under eight hours.”

“How long did you work?”

“About forty-two hours.”

“Good grief! That’s a lot of overtime.”

“I suppose it is.” Decker hoped he had kept the sarcasm out of his voice.

“In answer to your question, we don’t have a list of ground deaths. That’s what I want you to work on. I want your task force to contact the families of the suspected ground deaths and gather names. You can act as a liaison between the bereaved families and the NTSB and the coroner’s office. I’m calling for a town-hall meeting to assess what the community needs. The first thing we need to do is to set up a system so that worried families can access information.”

Decker’s brain was beginning to work. Strapp was spot on target. The charred bodies of the crash belonged to the coroner’s office, the wreckage of the plane belonged to the National Transportation and Safety Board, but the community belonged to the police. Working with bereaved families was bound to be a gut-wrenching assignment, meaning it would be a job that he’d do personally.

Another long day.

Strapp was talking. “… less immediate note, there have been reports of graffiti and looting in the affected areas. I want those investigated as well.”

Decker sat up. “Who’s reporting the looting? The residents haven’t been allowed back in.”

“That’s what I want you to find out.”

Decker exhaled. “All right. I’ll try to make it down in about thirty to forty minutes.”

“See you then.”

The receiver clicked off. Decker gave his wife the phone. “I’ve got to take a shower and go to work.”

She didn’t even bother to protest. “I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Food … that sounds real good.” Decker swung his legs over the bed, stood up, and stretched his six-foot-four frame. Over the years he had gained a few pounds, topping out around 225, but for a guy in his fifties, he carried his weight well. “Is Hannah in school?”

“School is in the hot zone. It’s been temporarily canceled until the board can find facilities where the kids can inhale without clogging their bronchioles with ash. We’re going to my parents for Shabbat, by the way. The air isn’t pristine over there, but it’s a lot better in Beverly Hills than it is here.”

“That could apply to a lot of things. That sounds fine. I’d love to see your parents.”

“You would?”

Decker smiled. “After witnessing such harrowing events, I look forward to a night with the in-laws and their mundane problems. Besides, your mother is a phenomenal cook.”

“That she is.”

“What about Cindy and Koby? Weren’t they supposed to come over on Saturday?”

“Friday night, actually, and Mama was gracious enough to invite them as well. Hannah, by the way, is thrilled. Not so much because she’s going to see her grandparents, but because she gets to see her friends that live in the city for a change.”

“It’s the age.”

“That’s true. Hannah lives for her friends. She’s either IMing someone or on the phone or doing both at the same time.”

“I hope I can make dinner this weekend.” Decker kissed his wife on the forehead. “This public servant may be doing overtime for a while. At least it’ll mean more cash in the till.”

“I’d rather have you.” Rina stroked his face and Decker realized how lovely she looked. His hormones shot through his lower body, but it was all for naught. He didn’t have the time.

After he showered and dressed, he sat down to pancakes and a cheese omelet. He drank four cups of coffee and two glasses of juice. He could have eaten more but the clock was ticking. When he announced that he had to go, Rina didn’t try to hold him back.

“Are you safe behind a wheel?”

“Safe and completely fueled.”

“I packed you a lunch while you were showering—four sandwiches and various side dishes. What you can’t eat, you can share with your brethren in blue.”

“I’m sure they will be grateful for any morsel I throw to them.” He kissed his wife chastely on the lips, deciding that this wasn’t at all satisfactory. The next kiss was long and deep. “I really do need to retire from my job.”

“You keep threatening, but for me it’s not a threat. First of all, I love you. Second of all, I’ve been collecting a list of projects that we’ve jawed about over the last four years. I’m ready when you’re ready.”

He knew what she was referring to. They’d conversed endlessly about adding more space to their eighteen-hundred-square-foot home, although the house had been losing occupants rather than gaining them. For the last few months, they’d been cutting out articles in design magazines. Rina’s pet project was a sumptuous master bathroom. Decker had been saving articles that dealt with media rooms and home theaters. Everything was still in the dream stage, but it made for interesting reading over the weekend.

Fantasy was the stuff of life.

AT HIS DESK, Decker sorted through the list of names and numbers. “This should keep me busy for a while.”

“Why not call a conference for all of them to come in?” Marge asked him.

“Because I think initial contact should be personal. These people lost loved ones in a horrible way. Besides, it shouldn’t take me all that long to make the phone calls. As the families start dropping off the dental X-rays, we’ll set up a schedule. There needs to be someone manning the desk all the time to deal with the bereaved until we’ve got all the bodies accounted for.”

“I can do that.”

“We should also contact several professionals who can offer support.”

“I’ll call social services and see what they can do for us.”

“Great.” Decker regarded his favorite detective—over forty and young at heart. They had worked together for over twenty years. As bedraggled as he felt, she looked fresh and alert. “How many hours of sleep did you get?”

“About five. Why? Do I look that bad?”

“On the contrary, you look chipper.”

“It’s the coral blouse,” Marge told him. “All women look good in coral.”

“What about men?”

“Men should wear black. It makes them look mysterious. In your case, Pete, black would set off your red hair very nicely.”

“It’s more gray than red,” Decker grumped.

“It’s still has plenty of red in it. So does your mustache. And you’ve got a lot of it … head hair. What you really need to look hip is a soul patch.”

“I’m beyond trying to look hip. All I want is to look appropriate so I don’t embarrass my teenage daughter.”

“I thought that was the purpose of parents of teenagers, to embarrass them.”

She had a definite point. Nothing was as much fun as to see his kids squirm at his misbehaviors. “So what’s going on with the graffiti and the looting?”

“We’ve gotten calls about homes being tagged.”

“How did that happen with units patrolling the area twenty-four/ seven?”

“The taggers are wily guys. They’re also not afraid of heights. We found signatures on the 405 Freeway overpass, and a couple of twenty-foot-high billboards. There’s also one on the top of the Parker/Doddard building, which has to be seven stories high.”

“Criminal Sherpas. Send them out to Everest where they can do some good.”

“I don’t think we’d like to see their signature in the snow, especially if we think what they might use to write with.”

Decker let go with a deep laugh. It felt good. “Not a pretty image. So what’s going on with the looting? Who’s reporting the activity?”

“Anonymous phone calls.” Marge laughed. “Since the residents aren’t back in the area to substantiate the claims, I’m thinking that may be thieves reporting on other thieves.”

“Any arrests?”

“A few for burglary, but that hasn’t deterred the felons. You know how it is, Loo. If houses are left unattended, crime is going to happen even with a strong police presence. The bad boys love to take chances. It’s like the tented houses when the owner fumigates for termites. There are always one or two yutzes who think they can beat the system and make it out before poisonous gas renders them unconscious.”

“How many looting complaints have been called in?”

“About a dozen.”

“Okay. Assign someone to call up the owners of the looted houses and have someone meet them there. Do a quick search inside to see if something is missing. That way if something has been stolen, they can contact their insurance agency right away.”

“I’ll get to it right away.”

“Thanks, Marge.”

“Leave the door open?”

“Absolutely.”

After she left, Decker looked around his private space. It was small, with used furniture, but it had walls that reached the ceiling and a door that made it an office as opposed to a cubicle. He was even lucky enough to have an outside window, although it didn’t open. It wasn’t big, but it usually let in enough light to add a pinch of cheer. Today the sash framed a gunmetal-gray sky. Ash had collected on the sill. He ran his hands through his gray-yet-still-red-according-to-Marge hair. He was still tired, but didn’t dare bitch about it, not when he looked down at all the message slips.

His fingers dialed the first number. A young male voice answered the call. Decker introduced himself and asked for Estelle Greenberg. The voice told him to hold on a second and then it called out, “Ma, police are on the phone.”

The woman who came on the line spoke before he uttered a word. “You found her!”

“Mrs. Greenberg, this Lieutenant Peter Decker of the Los Angeles Police—”

“Yes, yes … did you find my daughter?”

“And your daughter is …”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Why are you calling me if you don’t even know why I called?”

So much displaced anger. Decker rode with it. “I was just given a message. I’m sorry to upset you. Believe me, that isn’t my intention.”

“Did you find my daughter?” She was yelling over the phone.

“We haven’t recovered any bodies from the affected area,” Decker explained. “It’s just too hot and dangerous to search.”

“Then why are you wasting my time?” The fury in her voice barely overlay her desperation.

“First of all, I want to tell you how sorry I am. Second, I want to explain why I called you. I’m trying to gather information so that when the investigators do go into the area, they’ll know who they’re looking for. From this conversation, am I correct in assuming that your daughter lived in the affected building?”

The answer didn’t come right away. When it did, it was laced with tears. “Yes.”

“All right. May I please have her name?”

“Delia Greenberg. Apartment 3C.”

“I know the next couple of questions are going to sound moronic and insensitive, but I have to ask them anyway. So please forgive me if I upset you. I take it you haven’t heard from Delia since the incident.”

“No.”

“Does she have a cell phone?”

“I tried it a thousand times …” She was weeping. “It goes directly to her voice mail.”

“Okay. Did Delia live with anyone?”

“Alone.”

“So there was no one with her when it happened?”

“I don’t know! There might have been. She had friends stay over sometimes.”

“All right. Do you have any names, perhaps?”

“I don’t know! I can’t think right now!”

“You’re really helping me a lot, Mrs. Greenberg. Thank you for talking to me. One more thing regarding Delia. Do you think that you could obtain a copy of her dental records for identification purposes?”

The request was met with a long, long pause. “Probably,” she whispered.

“They can be sent directly to me or you can bring them in person. You are welcome to come in to the station house at any time or any hour and talk to one of us. There will always be someone here who’ll be familiar with your situation. I’m going to give you my cell number. Feel free to call it at any time.”

“Thank you,” she said without emotion.

Decker rattled off several sets of numbers. Whether the woman was writing any of it down was anyone’s guess. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

“Who am I talking to again?”

“Lieutenant Peter Decker.”

“You’re a lieutenant?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Your captain couldn’t have given me a call?”

“He’d be happy to call you, Mrs. Greenberg.”

“But he didn’t. You did.”

“Yes. If you want to set up an appointment with Captain Strapp—”

“Why should I want to set up an appointment if the man doesn’t have the decency to call me?” She was sobbing. “When do you want the X-rays?”

“How about if I come to your house and we’ll go to the dentist together?”

The woman didn’t answer. All Decker heard was weeping. Then she said, “All right. Do you know where I live?”

“No, but I can take down an address.”

“I don’t live so close to my daughter. She wanted her privacy. I’m all the way in the city.”

“I have a car, I can drive. What’s the address?”

She gave him the street address. “When can you come?”

“How about tomorrow morning around eleven?”

“Eleven would be all right. What do you look like?”

“I’m very tall and have red hair.” That’s turning gray very quickly. “I’ll show you ID at your door. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. I know you’re trying to be nice. It’s just …”

She was crying again. Decker could have said, “I know …” Decker could have said, “I understand.” But he didn’t know and he didn’t understand.

Thank God.