Читать книгу Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 20

Decker was about to reach for the door when it swung open, almost clipping him in the ribs. He took a quick shuffle backward, then a seductive voice beckoned him to enter. He slid into the backseat of the limo and closed the door. Davida had removed her veil. Guess the mourning period had passed.

“May I call you Peter?” Davida asked. “Isn’t that what Lilah calls you?”

Straining to keep his eyeballs from rolling back, Decker answered yes.

“Peter.” Davida placed her hand on his knee. “I see you more as a Pete.”

Whatever she called him, he was sorely tempted to drop her hand back in her lap. But at her age, she was harmless. Why ruin the rapport before the interview even began?

“A Pete?”

“Yes, definitely a Pete,” she said. “Not in those clothes of course. What exactly are you wearing? Standard detective garb? I’d never cast you as a policeman. Yes, you’re big and all that crap, but your coloring is all wrong. Redheads do not connote ‘tough guy.’ And your skin—too smooth and too fair. You’re not sinister enough for a cop … except in the eyes. You have very piercing eyes.”

Decker thought: That’s ’cause you’re looking in the mirror, lady. Talk about hard eyes. Hers could scratch diamonds. She’d been lifted by an excellent cosmetic surgeon. Tightened in all the right spots, yet the skin didn’t look as though it would crack if she smiled. The knife work emphasized her strongest points—the great bone structure, the angular chin, the wide mouth. Her lips were still full and sensual, probably been helped along by collagen injections. Up close, she was still a nice-looking woman—discounting the eyes. There wasn’t a scalpel sharp enough to excise the titanium lodged inside those irises.

“Now if I were to cast you,” she went on, “I’d put you in some blue jeans, a plaid shirt, and a ten-gallon hat.” She cocked her face. “Your face isn’t weatherbeaten, but makeup would take care of that.” She squeezed his knee. “What do you think?”

Decker laughed. “I think it’s a good idea I never went into pictures. Can I ask you a few questions? I know your time is limited.”

Davida patted his leg and withdrew her hand. “I like a man who can cut to the chase. I want my jewels back, Peter.”

“And I want you to get them back. Want to tell me about them?”

“You bet your derriere, I do. The first is an emerald brooch—five-carat table-cut Colombian emerald surrounded by round-cut diamonds—twenty points each—maybe four carats’ worth. Three pairs of mabe-pearl earrings—one teardrop-shaped surrounded by emeralds, the other two pairs round, one surrounded by diamonds, the other surrounded by rubies—in case I was in my red mood.”

“What are mabe pearls?”

“The big round ones that are flat on one side.”

“I always thought they were costume jewelry.”

“No, dear man, they are indeed pearls.”

“Total value per pair?”

“Perhaps five to six thousand per. I also had a ruby choker—alternating rubies and diamonds, actually. A sapphire and yellow-diamond necklace—that one’s worth about fifty thousand. Five strands of rose-colored pearls of varying lengths with matching pearl studs surrounded by diamond jackets. A diamond bowknot clip—antique Tiffany.”

She sighed.

“God, this makes me sick! You’re probably thinking the old bitch is insured anyway. What’s her problem? It’s not the money, it’s the pieces. Each one told a different story in my life. My history … just ripped away. I’m furious!”

Decker nodded. Davida waved her hand in the air. “What do you care?”

“Believe it or not, Ms. Eversong, I understand what you’re saying.”

She studied him. “Maybe you do. You seem … sensitive.”

“What else was taken from you, Ms. Eversong?”

“I also had cluster-pearl earrings woven with diamonds, emeralds, and rubies. My Christmas earrings. It makes me nauseated to think of my precious babies in the hands of some snotbucket who wouldn’t know a diamond from quartz crystal.”

Suddenly, the old lady’s eyes moistened. She pulled out a lacy black handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. “I’m simply devastated.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Decker said. “I’m sure Lilah is devastated as well.”

“Why? She didn’t lose any jewelry.” There was a momentary pause. “Oh … yes, that was terrible. Poor dear. But she’s young, Peter. Youth is resilient. She’ll get over it. It’s so much harder for people like me.”

“I think it would have been very difficult if you had been beaten,” Decker said. “But you weren’t, Ms. Eversong. Lilah was. And I’m going to find the perpetrator.”

Davida looked up and caught his eyes. “Tell me something, Peter. Are you going to look for my jewels with as much zest as you have for Lilah’s attacker?”

“We’ll get to the bottom of all of it.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Let’s talk some more about your jewels, Ms. Eversong. Who, besides Lilah, knew you kept your jewelry in Lilah’s safe?”

“Every single one of my children. And I wouldn’t put it past any of them to try to rob me blind.”

The comment sparked a circuit in Decker’s brain. Just as Freddy Brecht was pointing an accusing finger at Kingston Merritt, old Mom was blaming family. Made him awfully curious about the whole bunch.

“You think your children would steal from you?”

“No, not really. I’m just talking.”

But Decker wasn’t so sure. Her words sounded as if she were covering a slip of the tongue. But her manner was so casual. Then again, the woman was an actress.

“Does Dr. Brecht have the combination to the safe?”

“I don’t think so. He’s my little messenger boy. Brings my pieces to Lilah to lock up.”

So he knew what was stored in the safe, Decker thought. He remembered how Brecht had vehemently denied knowing the contents of Lilah’s safe. He jotted the inconsistency down in his notes. Family was getting more and more interesting. He decided to focus in on them.

“Do you think your children could mastermind a robbery like this one, Ms. Eversong?”

Davida laughed wickedly. “I doubt it. Not that they wouldn’t mind my money. I pad their wallets from time to time, but it never seems to be enough … the carrion eaters.”

“How much padding are we talking about?”

“A thousand or two, here and there.”

“Including Lilah?”

“No, she has her own money. And why would she steal from me, knowing she’s going to get the whole kit and caboodle after I move on to the next world?”

“She inherits everything?”

“Oh, I haven’t given her everything. I’ve remembered my boys, but not as much as my little girl and that’s just tough titties if they don’t like it. Men have it easy in society. No one looks askance when an old frog is hooked up with a princess fifty years his junior. Women—aging women—need an extra boost and that boost is money. Lilah doesn’t understand that now. She thinks her looks will last forever. Someday, when she’s old and gray, she’ll realize what I’ve done for her. Despite my admitted self-obsession, I do have her interests at heart.”

Decker didn’t answer.

Davida picked up an emery board and began to file her nails. “Not that I’m claiming to be Mother Teresa. Yes, I’m selfish. So what? Why shouldn’t I take care of myself? Didn’t some ancient philosopher say, ‘If I’m not for myself, who’ll be for me?’”

“Rabbi Hillel,” Decker said.

“What?”

“Rabbi Hillel said that.”

“A Jew said that?”

Decker nodded.

“That figures.” Davida stopped filing and looked up at Decker. “Are you Jewish?”

“Yes.”

“Did I offend you?”

“Not really.”

Davida studied him. “You don’t look Jewish. Sure you weren’t adopted?”

Decker broke into sudden laughter.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Davida said.

But it was. The old lady had hit it on the nose. Born to a Jewish mother, he’d been adopted in infancy by a good Baptist family. It wasn’t until he met Rina that he’d returned to the religion of his bloodline.

“Well, your Rabbi what’s his face was right in this case,” Davida said. “One must take care of Number One.”

“You missed the next line of the quote, Ms. Eversong. Hillel also said, ‘And if I’m only for myself, then who am I?’”

Davida gave him a sour expression which slowly turned into a grin. “Who am I? A bitchy, famous, rich old woman, that’s who I am. Are you here to quote dead rabbis, Sergeant, or are you going to find my jewels?”

“Any other pieces inside the safe?”

“Let’s see. You have the earrings, the pearls, the brooch. Did I tell you about the diamond bracelet?”

“No.”

“Heavy braided gold studded with diamonds. I also have a ruby and emerald bracelet to go with my Christmas earrings. And of course, I have lesser pieces. An amethyst ring surrounded by baguettes, a peridot brooch that’s identical to the emerald brooch. Sometimes I want to wear the brooch but don’t feel comfortable going out in a five-carat Colombian emerald. So I had the same brooch made up with peridot and faux diamonds.”

She took his hand and stroked it.

“Find my pieces, Peter. I’ll make sure you’re more than adequately compensated for your time.”

Decker looked down at his hand in hers. Like mother, like daughter. He pulled away gently. “Doing my job well is all the compensation I need. I’d like to touch just a moment on the memoirs—”

“God, you’re tedious!” She faced him. “What!”

“You knew about them, but you’ve never seen them.”

“Yes, yes. I told you all this before. I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Do your other children know about the memoirs?”

“How should I know? Ask them!”

“Who else do you think might know about them?”

“Don’t know and don’t care. Our time is up, Sergeant.”

Decker inched closer to the old woman. He could smell her sweat mixed with overly sweet perfume, see the pores giving texture to her white face makeup. “Just a few more minutes? Please?”

Davida traced his jawline with a sharpened index fingernail, then let her hand fall in her lap. “Oh, go ahead! You’ve already ruined my morning.”

“You say you haven’t the faintest idea about what’s contained in your late husband’s memoirs.”

“Correct. Hermann was a self-obsessed genius. He never spoke to me or anyone else about his art. Frankly, I wasn’t interested in his art, I was interested in his performance. Which I regret to say wasn’t Oscar caliber.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh!” Davida stared at him. “Do you want the smarmy details?”

“Do you want to tell me details?”

“He was a drunk, which made him a lousy fuck. How’s that for details?”

“So why’d you marry him?”

Davida shrugged. “Impulse. And … I was swept away by his reputation. Even I wasn’t immune to what others thought.”

“Do you think he might have written disparaging things about you, Ms. Eversong?”

Davida pondered the question.

“I just don’t see Hermann writing about his tawdry little affairs—or my tawdry little affairs, for that matter. Affairs are just something one does when one is creatively blessed. Personally, I suspect Hermann wrote exclusively about his art. I’m sure he wrote rather harshly about some of his contemporaries. Hermann was very, very critical. But I can’t imagine some old irate compadre director breaking into Lilah’s safe and stealing the memoirs just to censor what Hermann may have written about him thirty years ago.” There was a pause. “Yet I’ve seen weirder things. Egos do abound in this business.”

Decker smiled.

“We’re getting off track,” Davida said. “These memoirs may very well be a figment of Lilah’s overactive mind. Find my jewels. Once you do, everything else will fall into place.”

“Maybe.” Decker noticed Davida staring at him. “Anything else you’d like to add, Ms. Eversong?”

Davida tapped her nails against the portable table. “You seem to be a very skeptical man, Peter.”

Decker folded his notepad and stuffed it into his jacket. “That’s why I’m a cop and not a cowboy, Ms. Eversong.”

Ness sat in a lotus position on the floor and watched Freddy rant. Since Freddy couldn’t handle the ladies and their medical questions, they went to Kell’s office instead of Freddy’s study. Man, sonny boy had a temper, but it was nothing compared to the old lady’s. Bitch could cut metal with her tongue. Ness often wondered if she’d melt if doused with water.

“I’m talking to you!” Brecht screamed.

“I hear you, Doc,” Ness said, quietly.

“Then answer me! What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know—”

“Hell you don’t!” Brecht screamed. “You were with Mother last night.”

“She didn’t mention anyone visiting her. Doc, I didn’t even know this Kingston existed until today.”

“That’s bullshit!”

Ness didn’t answer him. He watched Doc pace. Asshole just couldn’t hold up well under pressure. Probably why Davida didn’t trust him.

“What’s he doing here?” Brecht mumbled. “He must be involved in what happened to Lilah!”

“Could be.”

“Stop being so poised and casual! Doesn’t it bother you that Lilah was beaten and … raped?”

“Of course it bothers me, Doc. You know how I feel about your sister. I just don’t think acting like a fool—”

“Are you saying I was a fool?”

“C’mon, Doc, give me a break, okay?”

“It’s Kingston,” Brecht raved. “He brings out the worst in me.” He touched his fingertips to his forehead. “I behaved very stupidly, didn’t I?”

“S’right. Your sister was raped. No one expects you to behave normally.”

“Mother didn’t mention her son Kingston coming for a visit?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Your prerogative.”

“Why is he visiting Mother?” Brecht raged on. “At this moment! At the spa! Mother would never call him down here.”

“I don’t know.” Ness was exasperated, but held himself in check. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I will as soon as I see her.”

“Where is she?”

“Talking to the police about the theft of her jewels.”

Suddenly, Ness felt the heat of Brecht’s eyes. “Something on your mind, Doc?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the theft, would you?”

“You think I’d steal from your mother?”

“You’d steal without a second thought.”

“Sure I’d steal.” Ness grinned. “But not from Davida. I’m not stupid.”

Brecht didn’t respond. Guy was pacing again. Ness placed splayed fingers on his knees. “Calm down, Doc, and meditate. It’ll do wonders for the spirit.”

But Brecht wasn’t listening. Ness closed his eyes, but kept his ears open.

“Kingston’s planning something, I just know it!” Brecht muttered. “He and Mother are colluding behind my back. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Ness opened his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ness stood without using his hands to rise. “What do you want me to do, Doc?” He placed his palm on Brecht’s shoulder. “Huh, what should I do? Slit my wrist and sign my name in blood? Until today, I didn’t even know you had a brother. And I certainly don’t know what happened to Lilah!”

Brecht was quiet.

Ness patted Brecht’s shoulder. “You want me to chase your brother away?”

“Can you do it without causing a scene?”

“Yeah, I can handle him.”

“Then why didn’t you do it before, hotshot?”

“Because you don’t stick your hands in the middle of a dogfight.” Ness folded his arms across his chest. “Both of you weren’t receptive to suggestions.” He laughed. “God, you boys really hate each other.”

“You’re very perceptive.”

Ness arched his eyebrows. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Brecht sneered. “No, I don’t want to tell you about it! If you can get him out of here, get him out of here. Tell me when he’s gone. And I don’t want Mother to know he was here.”

“Man looked determined, Doc. You know he’s gonna call her.”

“I’ll worry about that when the time comes. In the meantime, don’t mention his visit to Mother. Give me time to figure out what those two are planning.”

Ness grinned. “Secrecy’s expensive, Doc.”

“You’re scum, Michael.”

Brecht took out his wallet. Ness held out his hand.