Читать книгу Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 32

The manila envelope was waiting at Marge’s desk when she and Decker walked into the squad room. They exchanged quick glances. Decker lifted his eyes and said, “Please, God, let us not have made asses out of ourselves.”

Marge smiled nervously as she ripped open the seal and pulled out the piece of paper. Then she brought her hand to her chest. “Phew!”

“It’s Totes?”

Marge nodded and handed him the paper. “Travers says he passed his tests with flying colors. One down.”

Mike Hollander walked into the squad room and over to the coffee urn, his fingers clutched around a paper sack. “How’d the questioning go?”

“No neat and clean confession,” Decker said, flipping through pages of lab analysis.

“But we did get a confirmation from Buck Travers. I’ll take that over a confession any day of the week.”

“We’ve either got one very confused stable hand,” Decker said, “or one excellent bullshit artist.”

“They’re all bullshit artists, Rabbi.” Hollander carried his mug back to his desk and sat down. “Shame on you for turnin’ soft in your old age.”

Marge sat down. “I vote with Pete. I think Totes is very confused … you know, one of those true weirdo types who gets mental blackouts when committing a crime.”

“Dissociative reaction …” Decker said.

Marge laughed. “Oh, my, we’ve been hitting the books.”

“Nah,” Decker smiled. “Remember my weirdo friend, Abel Atwater? His shrink used to call his blackouts dissociative reactions.”

“Yeah, shrinks use that kind of language so they can bilk MediCal out of big bucks.” Hollander liberated a doughnut from his bag and took a bite. Crumbs sprinkled his lap. “Government ain’t gonna pay for a diagnosis of blackout. Otherwise head docs would be cleaning up on drunks.” He took another bite and spoke as he chewed. “Your daughter called, Rabbi. I left the number on your desk.”

“Thanks, Mike.” Decker crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against Marge’s desk. He wasn’t happy with the outcome of Totes as bad guy, and he couldn’t explain why. In past cases, he’d gone to the DA with a lot less material than he had here and felt righteous about it. But it wasn’t his job to pass judgment, just collect and present evidence. “Interrogation only took forty minutes; no one can charge us with tiring the suspect or police brutality. I think we have enough for the grand jury.”

“I’ll call the DA,” Marge said.

“In the meantime, now that we have the test results, someone’s got to handle the booking.”

“I can do it.” Hollander licked his fingers. “You want me to get him a lawyer?”

Decker said, “Court’ll automatically appoint him one once he’s been formally charged. I want to call Cindy first. Then I’ll phone Burbank and find out where they’re at with the Merritt murder. We’ve got Totes for Lilah’s rape, but that doesn’t explain the thefts or Merritt’s murder.”

“I’ll get a warrant to search the stable,” Hollander said. “Could be Totes stashed some of the goods there.” He lifted his sizable buttocks out of his chair. “Glad to help just so long as the jobs don’t tax my heart.”

“Why don’t you go on a diet?” Marge said.

“I’m on a diet, Margie.”

“A diet?” Marge wrinkled her brow. “Mike, you just polished off a doughnut in three bites.”

“I know.” He licked his fingers again. “But this time I bought the kind without the jelly in the middle.”

Decker made the call from the locker room because it afforded him more privacy than the squad room—everybody listening in and pretending not to. Cindy picked up on the third ring.

“Hi, princess. How did finals go?”

She burst into tears. Decker felt his stomach knot and gave her a few moments to compose herself. “Don’t worry, Cindy, I’m sure you did better than you think.”

“I did okay.”

Decker said, “I’m sure you did very well.”

“I didn’t say I did very well.” She sniffed. “I could have done better, but I didn’t flunk or anything.”

“That’s good.”

“Why? Did you think I’d flunk?”

“Of course not.”

“I think I got an A and three Bs.”

“That’s terrific!”

“Aren’t you cheerful.”

Decker exhaled slowly. “When are you coming in to L.A., Cindy?”

“Daddy?”

“What?”

“Are you mad at me for not telling you about the summer?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not mad at all.”

“Is it okay?”

“Cindy, it’s more than okay. I’m looking forward to it. We’ll have a great time together if I can ever get your butt in the saddle.”

She said nothing, but Decker could picture her smiling with moist eyes. Her voice was little when she returned to the line. “It’s okay with Rina? I don’t want to impose—”

“Cynthia, you’re my daughter. You are never an imposition except when you get cranky and even then you’re not an imposition, just a pain in the butt. You’ve been very cranky lately. What’s bothering you? Is it Rina being pregnant? Is it me having another baby? Are you jealous?”

There was a long pause.

“Not consciously.”

Decker smiled. What a college-kid answer. “Baby, I love you. I love you, love you, love you. You are my kid, you will always be my kid even when you’re in your seventies, I’m in my nineties. It’s a sentence of life without parole, Cynthia. You’re stuck with me.”

He heard a chuckle over the line. That made him smile again. “So just tell me when and where and I’ll pick you up. Your mother already dropped off your car, so you should be all set.”

“I won’t get in your way—”

“Cindy, you’ve never gotten in my way.”

“I can be a help to Rina.”

Decker sighed. “For God’s sake, princess, you’re becoming your old man—too darn serious. Even I wasn’t this bad at nineteen. Will you do me a favor? Will you try to have fun this summer?”

She laughed. “I’ll try.”

“Try hard, Cindy.”

She laughed. “I’ll call you after I’ve scheduled my flight out, Daddy. You know there’s something wrong with your phone—”

“Damn!” Decker gently hit his head with his fist. “I’m working on a bizarre case and we’ve changed our number. I forgot to tell you.”

“Thank you very much.”

“I’m sorry, Cindy. Mea culpa, twenty lashes with a wet noodle, ashes and sackcloth.”

“Oh, Daddy!”

He gave her the new number. “I love you, princess.”

“I love you, too … I know I’ve been testy. And I know you’ve been trying really hard. It’s okay. You’re really a good guy.”

“’Preciate the compliment, beautiful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Bye.”

She cut the line.

Decker hung up the phone, feeling on top of the world. A good talk will do that to you. That’s all she needed—a good talk, words of support from Daddy. Nothing like a father’s love to make you feel good.

Then he thought: Maybe she felt better because she’d made it through her first year of college. Maybe it had nothing to do with their conversation and had a lot to do with finals being over and an A and three Bs at Columbia.

With teenagers you never could tell.

He shrugged, then laughed to himself. Of course it was their talk that had eased Cindy’s mind. His understanding words, his paternal love. The hell with being a shrink. What was that famous motto? When it comes to kids, take all of the credit, none of the blame. That sounded about right to him.

It was all Ness could do to refrain from punching her lights out. Instead, he kept himself hidden, waiting until Davida opened the door to her bungalow. Then he moved in, pushing her inside with his body and shutting the door behind both of them. He latched the chain, then shoved her against the wall. Davida’s expression changed from frightened to furious, then back to frightened.

“Where have you been?” Ness whispered.

Davida cast her eyes down at her pumps, then slowly inched them back to his face.

“I bought a new car, Michael. A black BMW convertible with a new Alpine stereo, DAT tape deck and CD.” Her lips formed a wide smile. “I drove it off the lot. Would you like to take a ride?”

Ness closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them. “Do you have any idea how much shit you’re in?”

“Me?” Davida laughed. “Why, Michael, I haven’t done—”

“Remember that so-called little assignment you gave me yesterday, Davie?” He eased his grip on the old woman and stroked her arms, lowering his voice. “Kingston’s dead.”

Davida brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear!” She pushed Ness away and sat on her divan. “Oh, dear, are you sure?”

“Yes, Davida, I’m sure.”

Slowly, her eyes moistened. “I thought it might be bad, but I had no … I thought it was …” She choked out, “My poor baby …”

Ness went to the bar and poured himself a Scotch. Davida wiped her cheeks, only to have them wetted again by a fresh flow of tears. Ness sat down next to her. After downing half the shot, he held the tumbler to her lips.

“Drink.”

She took the glass and sipped. “What happened?”

“I thought you could tell me.”

“I told you I left.” She lifted her head and faced Ness. “Was it bad?”

Ness caught her eye, then looked away. “Yes, it was very bad.” He took the drink from Davida’s hands. “There’re going to be lots of questions. The police have been here—”

“The redheaded detective?”

“Different guys. Two clowns from Burbank—one of them couldn’t take his eyes off the women’s asses, the other one was clearly on a fishing expedition. They know some details, but not enough to cause damage.”

“Did you get rid of them?”

“Only temporarily, Davie. They’re not interested in me. I didn’t even know King. But they’re real interested in talking to you.”

She took the tumbler back from him and finished the Scotch. “I was here all day yesterday. You know that. You were with me—”

“Davida …” Ness took her hand. “I can vouch that I saw you yesterday. But I was also teaching class yesterday. I was in the weight room, I was at the pool, I took the ten o’clock broth break with the ladies in the snack bar. I was with other people and …” He sighed. “And you were not there.”

The old lady just sat there, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ness patted bony, liver-spotted knuckles. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

Davida bit her nail and blinked away tears. “I swear I don’t know what happened. I wouldn’t hurt my own flesh and blood. You know I …” She started crying again.

Ness buried his face in his hands, wondering how the bitch lied with such facility. Then he remembered what acting was all about.

Or maybe she was genuinely grief-stricken. Her son was dead. But what did she expect, sending in some errand boy. She knew King had an explosive temper! But women like Davida never thought about consequences. Just like his mom. Users. They went on their merry way, exploiting their kids as if they were property. She was talking to him.

“ … police say when they were coming back?”

“No, they never do. They just pop up when you’re not expecting them.”

Davida wiped her eyes. “Like audit letters from the IRS.”

Ness smiled. “Freddy sent them out to Malibu—pretty clever stall on his part. You never answer the phones so the two of them are going to waste a couple of hours driving there and back. But you’re going to have to talk to them eventually.”

“What do I say?”

Ness shrugged. “You’re the performer.”

“I’m an actress, Michael, not a writer.”

“Then play it simple. Act the grieving mother and keep your mouth shut.”

Davida blinked her eyes in rapid succession. “I don’t have to act, Michael.”

“I’m sorry, Davida. But you should have known better. You should have let me handle Kingston.”

Davida nodded like a chastised little girl. God, she was sick. But the bitch had a way of evoking pity. Ness sighed.

“Does Lilah know?” Davida asked.

“Yes, Davida, she knows. The cops have already talked to her—”

“What’d she say?”

“I don’t know. She’s been incommunicado, doing nothing but exercising—”

“What?”

“Leading the one o’clock class, even as we speak. She gave Natanya the afternoon off so she could take over. You know Lilah. When she’s truly hysterical, she aerobicizes. She’s been at it all day and hasn’t eaten a thing. Freddy’s really worried about her, afraid she’s gonna drop dead.” Ness gave her a half smile. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

And then Ness felt a whack across his face. It took him a few seconds before he realized she’d actually backhanded him. He touched his burning cheek, then shook his head. Didn’t know the bitch had it in her.

Davida said, “Don’t you ever—”

“Sorry.” Ness sipped his drink, then stroked his face. “Jesus, you pack a good wallop for an old broad.”

She grabbed his chin, turned his head, and inspected his imprinted face. “Yes, Michael, indeed I do.” She kissed his cheek. “When you were … there, did you happen to notice—”

“Davida, I was there for just a moment.” He pushed hair out of his eyes. “It was so … so messy … so … bloody. I just got the hell out. But I took care of some details for you, Davie.”

“What details?”

“Better that you don’t know.”

“But you didn’t—”

“No papers. Your errand boy came up dry. Or King got to him before he had a chance to really look.”

Davida’s eyes watered. “He was my son, Michael, and I loved him. I want you to know that. I never meant for him to die.”

“You don’t mean a lot of things, but you screw up a lot.” Ness stood and kissed her forehead. “I’ve got to go. Afternoon yoga with the ladies. If the cops come, I’ll do the best I can. You know that.”

“I know that.” Davida took out a handkerchief. “Thank you. You have been a luv.”

“That’s me, a real luv.” He took a final drink, then placed the tumbler on the bar. Reaching into his back pocket, he popped a peppermint candy into his mouth. Wouldn’t do at all if the starving girlies smelled Scotch on the breath of their health-conscious aerobic guru.

Then his heart started racing. He felt around his back pockets, then his front pockets. He patted his shirt, tried his pants again. His head started spinning.

His wallet was gone.