Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 17

by The Mercedes Coffin

  “The shooting turned Jervis’s life around. He told me that since he was in a wheelchair, he had lots of time to think about things. He found Jesus and never looked back. That’s what he told me.”

  “Did Jervis try to contact you again after you left California?”

  “Nah. We faded out of each other’s life for ten years. Then out of the blue, he sent me a Christmas card…telling me what he’s doing. So I wrote him back, telling him what I’m doing. We’ve been exchanging cards now for about five years but nothing more than that. I was happy he found his life, and he seemed happy that I found mine. I hadn’t actually talked to him until last week, when he called to tell me about the interview he had with you.” He looked at Marge. “That’s when he told me that he had gone to Clearwater Park to pick up Leroy. He also told me that Leroy was real jingly, and Jervis knew that something bad had happened. Then I told him about my phone call with Leroy six months after Dr. Ben died. I told him that Leroy said he was there but never admitted to doin’ nothin’”

  Arlington stared at the window.

  “Maybe Leroy snipped him, maybe he had help. We’re never gonna know because Leroy’s dead.”

  “And you’re sure that Leroy never mentioned Rudy Banks in connection with the killing,” Oliver said.

  “Leroy didn’t tell me any names. I know that the police talked to Leroy after Dr. Ben’s murder. If they couldn’t get the truth out of Leroy, I figured why should I do their job for them?” He turned to the detectives. “I suppose if you’re determined to arrest me, you’ll do it no matter what I say.”

  “We’re not going to arrest you,” Marge said. “But we’re not at that point yet where we have to be concerned with legal matters. We’re just trying to solve an old crime. We’re trying to speak for Ben Little who can’t speak for himself. Thank you for talking to us again. We’ll probably have some follow-up questions if you don’t mind.”

  Arlington opened the door to his office and blew the whistle. “Back in formation. I want to see you practice going down the lanes. Keep it smooth.” He turned back to Marge and Oliver. “You can go ahead and ask your questions. And I’ll answer them. But do me a favor, Detectives. Next time you want to talk to me, use the phone.”

  CHAPTER 39

  DECKER LEANED BACK in his desk chair and regarded his two detectives. A dedicated duo, they had come straight from LAX to work. “So Leroy Josephson told Darnell Arlington that he was there when Bennett Little was shot?”

  “Leroy ‘saw it go down’ was the quote,” Marge answered. “Leroy made a point of telling Darnell that he didn’t murder Ben, just that something bad had happened and Little was killed.”

  “And that was about the extent of his details,” Oliver added.

  “Yeah, it seems that everyone that we’ve talked to is involved and connected, but none of them murdered Little,” Marge remarked. “And equally as convenient, the supposed guilty ones are either dead or missing.”

  Decker said, “And both of you found Darnell to be credible?”

  Oliver rubbed his eyes. He and Marge had been up since four in the morning to make a six-thirty flight out of Ohio to get to work by ten. Going cross-country east to west was always disruptive. True, he gained three hours, but his internal clock was so discombobulated that it hardly mattered. Even full-strength coffee wasn’t helping. “Right now, I don’t know. When we left, I felt like he was telling the truth.”

  “I did, too.” Marge was wearing drawstring pants, a loose-fitting T-shirt, and an unstructured jacket. Comfortable traveling clothes that went anywhere. “If you think it’s necessary, we can set up lie detector tests to rule out Wenderhole and Arlington. But even if they came back as being deceptive, we don’t have anything that ties them to the crime—no witnesses, no physical evidence, just a lot of hearsay.”

  Oliver yawned. “I agree with Marge.”

  Decker said, “You look tired, Scott.”

  “I’ll wake up eventually. I have to. I have a court case this afternoon.”

  “Lester Hollis?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What about you?” Decker asked Marge.

  “Other than a mound of paperwork, nothing too pressing.”

  “At this point, do we have any new reason to think that Melinda Little, Jervis Wenderhole, and Darnell Arlington were directly involved in Bennett Little’s murder?”

  “I don’t know about involved,” Marge said. “I don’t think any of them were actually there when Little was murdered.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Do we think Melinda, Wenderhole, or Arlington commissioned Bennett Little’s murder?”

  “After talking to Darnell, I don’t think that he had anything to do with Little’s murder,” Oliver said. “He wasn’t in town, he had no money to commission a murder, he was turning his life around, and phone records don’t show any contact between him, Rudy Banks, Jervis Wenderhole, or Leroy Josephson directly after the murder.”

  Marge said, “There were some phone calls to Arlington from both Josephson and Wenderhole before the murder—after Darnell left L.A.—but those calls could have been the ones that his nana intercepted. They certainly didn’t last long. After Little’s murder, no contact between the boys until around six months later, when Josephson called him. Then there was nothing in the way of any communication for a long, long time. I think Arlington is in the clear.”

  “What about Wenderhole?”

  Marge said, “He freely admitted that he picked up Leroy at Clearwater Park, so he was involved. But he insists that was the extent of what he did. He admitted that he did wrong, and he’s willing to take a polygraph to clear him of the murder. I believe Wenderhole’s telling the truth.”

  “So let’s save the department the expense of a polygraph until we have more reason to think that Wenderhole was directly involved.”

  “In his condition, he’s not going anywhere.”

  “So that brings us to Melinda Little. She was home when her husband was murdered. Do we think that she hired someone to kill him?”

  “She’s the joker in the deck,” Oliver said. “She could have hired Banks, she could have hired Goldberg, she could have even talked Goldberg into doing it for free. But for all the reasons we said before, I don’t think she did it.”

  Marge said, “Also, bank records don’t indicate any large transfers of money going in and out of the account immediately before or after the murder. Even after she got the insurance money, the amount of cash taken out was steady—no big lump sums paid in cash or suspicious-looking checks.”

  “It looked to both of us like the money was slowly being drained to pay for her gambling habit,” Oliver said.

  Decker said, “So with those three out of the picture and with Leroy Josephson dead, I think we’ve taken this as far as we can. Hollywood has more immediate reasons for wanting to find Banks. They’re also looking for Goldberg, since the MP report was filed in their division. Until we can locate one or both, all we can do is wait.”

  WAITING USUALLY MEANT for someone to make a mistake. That could mean a day, a week, a month, a year, or never. After two weeks had passed with nothing to propel the case forward, Strapp told Decker to call up Genoa Greeves and give her an update.

  Strapp said, “Make it sound like we’re on top of it.”

  “We are on top of it,” Decker said. “We’re just at a standstill.”

  “Don’t tell her that. Tell her an arrest is right around the corner.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “See that you do.”

  The woman came down two weeks after Decker’s phone call. This time, she was all casual, dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt, and sneakers. Her face was free of makeup, she was unadorned by jewelry, and her hair was braided. No purse, just a briefcase. She extended a hand to Decker. “You’ll have to excuse the informal dress. I just got off the plane.”

  “Traveling is hard enough without having to worry about how you’re dressed. No matter what the airlines sa
y, it just seems to get worse and worse.”

  “I flew privately,” she said.

  “Ah…of course.” He ushered her into his office. “Thanks for coming in.”

  “No problem.”

  “And thanks again and again for redoing the station house’s computer system. We at West Valley are the envy of the rest of LAPD.”

  “All this advance technology doesn’t seem to help you solve cases,” she said.

  “It does, but not in Bennett Little’s situation. Eventually it’s going to break open, but I don’t know how long eventually is. I’ll tell you what we’ve done.”

  Genoa took her laptop out of the briefcase. “Go ahead.” As Decker recounted the case, her fingers clicked away. She was fast at the keyboard and seemed to be taking down every word he was saying. When he had finished, she folded up the laptop and stowed it neatly into her briefcase. “I’ll review what you said later. How are you trying to locate Rudy Banks and Ryan Goldberg?”

  “We’re talking to everyone who knew them. Goldberg is hard to get a handle on because he was such a loner.” When she didn’t comment, he continued. “His brother and a former bandmate have hired a private detective to try to find him, but so far he hasn’t had much luck.”

  “What about Rudy Banks?”

  “We’ve determined that his furniture is in storage here in L.A. The name and address on the rental application is phony. So is the driver’s license number. The rental unit was paid for in cash for two years. We have set up a camera in front of the bin. So far, no one’s been there.”

  “So you are saying that no one has been at the bin.” She smiled at her joke.

  Decker smiled back. “No one has been at the bin. We’ve made arrangements with the people who work there to call us if they have any kind of contact with anyone associated with the bin. We haven’t been able to determine who moved the furniture out of his apartment and into the bin. All the standard moving companies have been ruled out, but we’re still checking out van rentals like U-Haul and Ryder’s.”

  “What about Rudy’s friends and business associates?”

  “Rudy doesn’t seem to have much by way of friends. He does have people who he’s done business with. They haven’t heard from him. What seems to be especially troubling is that his lawyers haven’t heard from him. The man has at least a half-dozen lawsuits currently filed. I frankly don’t know whether he’s dead or alive.”

  Genoa’s face was passive. “And Goldberg…you don’t know if he’s dead or alive, either.”

  “Yes, ma’am, that’s correct.”

  “Would it help if I put some private detectives on the case?”

  “It might complicate things. But I can’t stop you.”

  She paused. “You’re under a lot of pressure with this case.”

  “It’s not pressure.” A pure lie. “When I get involved, I work it hard, but I’ve backed off a little. Right now, Hollywood Homicide really wants to find Banks. They actually have a witness who can implicate him in one of their murders.”

  “The Primo Ekerling case.”

  “Exactly. We’ve sent out a BOLO for Rudy’s car—”

  “A BOLO?”

  “Be on the lookout.”

  “You actually use that phrase?”

  “We do.”

  Genoa smiled. “You’ve done some work, but the case is far from solved.”

  “That’s true, but we’re still on it. No one has thrown in the towel.”

  A pause. “I once learned in psychology that partial reinforcement increases behavior. Do you know what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I do, Ms. Greeves. Reward a little for each successful step and the person will keep working for the next reward.”

  “Exactly. I suppose you deserve a partial reinforcement.”

  “Not me, ma’am, the police department. I’m just an employee.”

  “See, that’s what I abhor about the government. There is no personal incentive.”

  “I have plenty of incentive, Ms. Greeves. My job is very important to me. My reward is getting the bad guy behind bars.”

  “You’re telling me that you don’t work for money?”

  “No, I wouldn’t work for free.”

  “So what’s wrong with my giving you an extra incentive?”

  “It just doesn’t work that way. But I certainly don’t want to discourage you, if you want to do something for the police or for the community. I know Captain Strapp is waiting to talk to you. Ask him what we need.”

  “I don’t like that man. He’s not sincere.”

  “He is sincere. He’s just nervous around you.”

  Genoa smiled. Then she grew serious. “Out of all the people in the case, you know who I identify with?”

  “Who’s that?”

  “Ryan Goldberg. His fate could have been mine if it hadn’t been for Dr. Ben.” She stood up. “All right. I’ll meet with your captain and throw him a bone. Keep me informed if something new happens.”

  “I will.”

  “Let me know if you find Rudy or Goldberg or if you find Rudy’s car. I would think while it might be hard to find a person, it shouldn’t be so hard to find a car.”

  “Think how hard it is to find your keys when you’ve misplaced them in your own house.”

  She considered his words. “Yes, that is a good point, although I have a thirty-thousand-square-foot house.”

  Decker smiled, but she failed to see the humor. “The car could have been repainted, it could have been chopped up, it could be holed up in a garage, or it could be right under our noses. America’s a big country, Ms. Greeves. There’s lots of space to get lost.”

  THE PILLOW BEGAN to vibrate: little tiny fingers massaging his cheek. Without opening his eyes, Decker pulled the covers over his head, reached underneath, and extracted the phone.

  “Decker.”

  “This is what I got, and I don’t know how reliable it is.”

  The voice jolted him awake. His heart began to pound.

  “Hold on.” Decker slithered out of bed and tiptoed into the walk-in closet. On the second shelf, he kept two pencils and a pad of paper. “I’m here. I’m listening. What do you have?”

  “There’s a small inn near Ocean Boulevard in Santa Monica called the Sand Dune. It rents by the hour. Ladies go in and ladies go out.”

  “Aha.”

  “My sources tell me that the guy you’ve been looking for has been there recently. Different name, different hair, different clothes, but it’s probably him. They say that he pays in cash and they say he’s a chubby chaser. Whether any of it is true or not, I don’t know. I’m just passing it along. Don’t bother saying thank you; your friendship is all I ask for.”

  “By friendship you mean almost killing me?”

  “If I wanted to kill you, I would have. Besides, you always hurt the one you love.”

  “By any chance, do you have a direct connection with this fine law-abiding establishment?”

  “Me? Never. Why would you think that?”

  “You’ve been known to help the ladies.”

  “I’m a generous guy. I help everyone.”

  “I assume that a certain lady told you all this. I’d like to talk to her.”

  “Can’t help you there, but I won’t do you bodily harm if you go down to the establishment and talk to people. Just be polite.”

  “Donatti, it’s a murder case. I need to talk to her.”

  “Who knows if she even exists? And if she does, who knows if she’s telling the truth. People say all sorts of things to get on my good side.”

  “You’ve got a good side?”

  “I do. I just don’t use it too often. My bad side’s so much more fun.”

  THE UNCERTAINTY FACTOR.

  What if Donatti got it wrong?

  What if Donatti was deliberately misleading him?

  What if Rudy Banks didn’t show up?

  What if he showed up and something went wrong?

  What if he showed up, eve
rything went according to plan, but he wasn’t involved in Ben Little’s death?

  What if, despite Decker’s best efforts, the case was never solved?

  For the moment, the “what if” was pushed aside to deal with the “what needed to be done.” Talking to the owner of the Sand Dune motel was a chore. It took a lot of cajoling before Mr. Craddle was thoroughly convinced that the detectives involved were from Homicide and not from Vice. At last the proprietor figured out that to help the police would benefit him in the long run.

  Hollywood placed rotating decoys at the front desk of the Sand Dune. Sometimes it was a man, sometimes a woman. Since security cameras had already been set up, Decker, Diaz, and Garrett reviewed the most recent tapes, trying to see if they could recognize Banks from the hundreds of grainy shots of furtive men. Since the quality wasn’t sharp, it was hard to make out features, and even when they did, they noticed that a lot of men purposely hid their faces or turned their backs toward the camera aimed at the desk. Several additional security cameras were installed, courtesy of the police, so that it was easier to capture faces from different angles. Old cameras were upgraded. Everything was in place.

  So they waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  CHAPTER 40

  PATIENCE WAS NOT only a virtue, it was a necessity. As months passed and there was no sign of Rudy Banks, the Hollywood brass became disenchanted with Decker’s tip. They pulled back the decoys at the Sand Dune and allocated them to other operations. Every week, Diaz or Garrett or Decker or Marge or Oliver or some other Hollywood Homicide detective went in to check the tapes and replace them with clean cartridges. No one was surprised when the contents revealed nothing significant—just sneaky johns and call girls. But that was detective work: hours of mind-numbing tedium followed by that compensatory, glory-hallelujah, once-in-a-blue-moon, shot-in-the-veins adrenaline rush.