Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 18

by Blindman's Bluff

  “Would you like a glass of water?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll be right back.” When she returned, he hadn’t moved from the front door. “How about if we sit down?”

  “Okay.”

  His expression was hard to read without the eyes, but he still seemed tense. When she touched his arm, he jumped, knocking the glass in her hands, water and ice sloshing over the lip. “I’m trying to guide you to a chair.”

  “Yeah…sure. Sorry.”

  Rina took him to the settee and he sat down stiffly. She put the glass in his hand; he gripped it and brought it to his mouth. “Why do you think you’re being followed?”

  “I keep hearing footsteps in back of me…the same footsteps.”

  “You can differentiate between footsteps?”

  He nodded and took off his sunglasses to wipe his face. Glass eyes rolled in their sockets—pale blue with no light behind them. Like marbles spinning across the floor. He put his glasses back on. “I was out with my girlfriend. We heard popping noises. She said it sounded like a car backfiring, but I know what gunshot sounds like.”

  “Did it hit the car?”

  “No, thank goodness.”

  “Were you driving through a rough area?”

  “We were at the downtown interchange.”

  “Freeway snipings aren’t unheard of. Did you contact the police?”

  “I can’t see anything, the car wasn’t damaged, and Dana thought it was a car backfiring.” He was agitated. “Everyone in your husband’s department thinks I’m crazy except maybe him. I need to talk to him.”

  “He’s not available, but I’ll call him and leave a message.”

  “When will he be available?”

  “I don’t know, Mr. Harriman.”

  “Brett. I’m so sorry to barge in on you, but I know when something’s wrong, Mrs. Decker. I can hear it. More than that, I can smell it! It’s the same smell! Someone is stalking me!”

  “Is your girlfriend waiting outside?”

  “No, I took a cab. She already thinks I’m going off the deep end.”

  She ain’t the only one.

  Harriman said, “I don’t know what to do. That’s why I came here.”

  “If someone is really stalking you, you shouldn’t be here. You should be at the station house.”

  He sighed. “They’re not going to believe me.”

  “That may be, but they won’t throw you out on the street.” She considered her options. “How about if I take you there? They’ll give me some credence.”

  “That’s very kind of you…I’m so sorry to drag you into this. I just didn’t know where to turn. When they told me over the phone that Lieutenant Decker wasn’t in, I figured he was at home.”

  “He’s not here.”

  “I realize that. I’m sure I seem crazy to you.”

  “Fear can do that.”

  “I’ve been translating in the courtrooms for years. I’ve been used in some very bad murder cases. But no one has ever bothered me before.”

  “Let me get my keys.”

  “Yes. Where should I put the glass?”

  “I’ll take it.” She went back into the kitchen and returned with her keys. She was about to guide him to the door, but then her eyes rested on the video monitor. The front porch was blank, but there was a strange car across the street. The white sedan appeared with a sizable dent on the rear passenger door. It could be another relative for the elderly woman who lived down the street, but Harriman’s paranoia was infectious. She couldn’t make out the license plate and something told her not to go outside.

  Harriman said, “I caught a whiff of something that wasn’t there a second ago. Like tension or fear. What’s going on?”

  “Maybe I’m nervous to be alone in a car with you.”

  “That’s not it.” He stood up. “What is it?”

  “There’s a car across the street—”

  “What kind of car?”

  “A Toyota or maybe a Honda. I have trouble telling them apart. Just calm down. I’m going to call up someone and have her drive by the house.”

  “Is anyone in the car?”

  “I can’t tell. Excuse me.” Marge was in the field, but she answered her cell. Speaking softly over the line, Rina explained the situation.

  Marge said, “I’m with Oliver. We’re walking to the car. We’ll be right over.”

  “It’s probably nothing—”

  “That nutcase is in your house, that’s something.”

  “He’s blind.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “I saw his eyes. I’m sure.” She paused. “I might be a little unnerved by him, but I can’t say I’m scared by him.”

  “You still have your gun?”

  “Yes. I’ll get it out of the safe, although I’m probably overreacting.”

  “I have to be honest with you. The Loo had some concerns about Harriman dragging you into something bad.”

  “I opened the door voluntarily. It probably wasn’t smart.”

  “Not smart, but a human thing to do. You know what they say.”

  “What?”

  “To err is human, but to shoot the son of a bitch is divine.”

  THIRTY-TWO

  AS MARGE APPROACHED the white Accord from the rear, its motor sprang to life and the sedan crawled away from the curb. She followed it for a block or two, before the car turned on to Devonshire, one of the main drags of the West Valley. Oliver read off the license plate numerals to the RTO and it came back with no wants or warrants. The vehicle was registered to Imelda Cruz, age thirty-four, with an address in East Valley.

  “Maybe Auntie Gwen had another visitor,” Oliver said.

  “I don’t think so.” Marge’s eyes were glued on the Accord as it signaled a lane change. “From the back, the driver looks like a he.” Another signal, another lane change. “Joe fucking model citizen.”

  “We’re driving a cruiser. He knows we’re tailing him.”

  Marge’s cell rang. Oliver fished the phone out of her purse. It was Rina.

  “The car’s gone, Scott. Where are you?”

  “Tailing the car.”

  “Oh…okay,” Rina said. “In that case, I’m going to take Harriman to the station. Neither one of us wants to stay here right now.”

  “Rina, let me call in an escort for you.”

  “What’s going on?” Marge said.

  “She wants to take Harriman in.” Into the receiver, Oliver said, “Just wait for a cruiser to show up to follow you.”

  “As long as you make it quick. I’m getting creeped out.”

  “Got it.” Oliver hung up the phone and called in for a cruiser. “He looks like he’s headed for the freeway. If we’re going to pull him over, do it before the on-ramp.”

  Marge turned on the siren. A moment later, the Honda signaled and pulled to the curb. Every time cops made a stop, there was that potential for violence. The Kaffey double homicide just made them all that more cautious.

  “This is a case for ye olde bullhorn.” Oliver instructed the driver and any of the passengers to step out of the car with hands in the air. The seconds that followed were infused with tension, waiting for the unexpected.

  The passenger door swung open and a scarecrow-thin kid emerged, wearing a wife-beater undershirt and saggy shorts. His arms were bony, and his hands were in the air. His skin was covered with tattoos.

  Oliver said, “Put your hands on the trunk of your car.”

  When the kid complied, Oliver told him not to move and the two of them descended quickly, Marge on one side, Oliver on the other. It was clear he wasn’t carrying weapons, so Oliver told him to turn around. The kid was around five five with a face filled with zits. He barely looked old enough to drive. His eyes were dull and brown. His expression was an utter blank—neither aggression nor fear.

  “Anyone else in the car?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Where’s your ID?”

&nbs
p; “In the car.”

  Marge said, “Mind if I go inside your car to look for it?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “What’s your name?” Oliver asked him.

  “Esteban.”

  “Esteban what?”

  “Cruz.”

  Probably a relative of the owner. Oliver said, “How old are you?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Ramona Drive.”

  “Do you have an address?” The number he gave put Esteban living in the East Valley. “You’re a little far from home.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Hanging around.”

  “You shouldn’t be here, hanging around. That doesn’t look good.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You should be in school.”

  “I dropped out of school.”

  “So what do you do now that you’re not in school?”

  “Hang around.”

  “That’s not a very healthy way to live, Esteban. Who owns the car?”

  “My mother.”

  “And she gives you the car to drive just to hang around?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “So if I called her, she wouldn’t be upset that you have the car?”

  “No, sir.”

  The boy seemed basic, and in this case that made him smart. He didn’t ask why he was pulled over, he wasn’t belligerent, and he didn’t volunteer any information.

  “Do you have a number for your mother?”

  Esteban gave Oliver a phone number. He made the call on his cell phone and a woman came on the line. “Is this Imelda Cruz?”

  “Sí?”

  When Oliver identified himself and told her that he had her son in custody, the woman answered with a “no speak English.” Knowing that Marge’s Spanish wasn’t much better than his, he mumbled a “muchas gracias” and cut the line.

  He studied Esteban. “You’ve got a lot of number twelves tattooed on your skin.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Bodega 12th Street gang?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then why the tats?”

  A simple shrug. “It looks good.”

  “So you have all the tats, but you’re not a gang member.”

  “No, sir.”

  Oliver said, “That doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

  The boy didn’t answer. Marge had finished her search and was walking toward the two of them. She gave Oliver a slight shake of the head.

  Approaching the boy, she said, “What are you doing in this area?”

  “Just hanging, ma’am.”

  “Esteban, what were you doing in your car in the middle of a residential area about twenty miles from home?”

  The boy picked at one of his pimples. “I can sleep here and not get shot.”

  Marge and Oliver exchanged glances. “You sleep in the car?”

  “Sometimes. Sometimes I listen to my iPod. Sometimes I read.”

  “Did you find reading material inside the car?” Oliver asked Marge.

  “Two comic books and a graphic novel.” She studied Cruz’s face. Portraits in the museum held a lot more life than he did. “You shouldn’t be hanging around. It makes you look like you’re doing something bad.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You should be in school.”

  “I dropped out of school.”

  “You like to read,” Marge said. “Why’d you drop out of school?”

  Esteban didn’t answer right away. Finally, he offered an opinion. It’s not a school, it’s a zoo.” A flash of anger had abruptly emerged from his face: frightening in its intensity, but within seconds it had faded into nothingness.

  “If you like reading, you should go to the library,” Marge told him.

  “You can’t sleep in a library,” Esteban told her. “They kick you out.”

  “Well, find a better place to read,” Marge said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She handed him back his wallet. “The reason we pulled you over is that your taillight doesn’t work very well. Get it fixed.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Silence.

  “You can go,” Marge told him.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After the kid had driven off, Marge regarded Oliver. “Did you notice the anger when he talked about the school? A flare-up in an otherwise monotone conversation.”

  Oliver rolled his eyes. “That’s one cool demon spawn. I could see him shooting you in the face and not blinking an eye.”

  “Which reminds me…” Marge called up Rina. “Where are you?”

  “We’re almost at the station house. Is everything okay?”

  “Everything’s fine. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” She hung up the phone and looked back at Oliver. “There weren’t any weapons in the car. If the kid was hired to hit Harriman, he was scouting his target with an objective eye.”

  Oliver nodded. “That would make Mr. Politeness even scarier.”

  DECKER WAS IRATE. “What do you mean you opened the door! Why’d you do that?”

  Rina said, “Because he was outside all alone and he seemed vulnerable.”

  “You didn’t know that he was alone. He could have brought in a posse of killers.”

  “Since someone bothered to install a video camera, I had a bird’s-eye view of the street.” She took in a breath and let it out. “Harriman went to the police, Peter, and asked to speak with you. Someone told him that you’d be contacted and you’d call Harriman back. Didn’t anyone deliver the message to you?”

  Decker didn’t answer. No one bothered to contact him because they thought Harriman was psycho. “I’m a busy person, Rina. I’ve got better things to do than to check up on some weirdo.”

  Rina said, “So you’re completely discounting his fears. No wonder he feels marginalized, especially after he helped you by identifying Alejandro Brand.”

  “You’re not his shrink, you’re my wife. The idiot put you in jeopardy.” Decker had a burning urge to punch something. “If the bastard was being followed, he led the bad guys to your doorstep. Now you have no choice. You’ve got to move in with your parents until we know what’s going on.”

  “How do you know that the kid in the Accord was after Harriman? You’re the lead detective on the Kaffey case. Maybe he’s after you.”

  “If he’s after anyone, it’s Harriman. Stop arguing with me and listen for a change—”

  “For a change? That is not fair! I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me.”

  “You answered the door! Why the hell did you do that?”

  “Because Harriman seemed distraught. I wasn’t going to throw him to the wolves. You’re not the only one with intuitions. And, I repeat, if Harriman had felt that someone in the department had taken him seriously, maybe he wouldn’t have had to resort to trying to track you down. And stop yelling at me!”

  Decker took a deep breath. “Move in with your parents, all right?”

  “Fine.” She hung up the phone, her hands shaking from adrenaline. The cell rang again. She blew out air and answered it. “Yes?”

  “You hung up on me!”

  “There’s nothing left to say.”

  Decker spoke in a measured voice. “I’m nervous.”

  “Peter, I’m sorry that I made you anxious. I’ll pack up and move in with my parents. I’ll see you whenever you get home.” A pause. “When are you coming home?”

  “I was planning on coming home tonight, but something’s come up and I have to stick around in Ponceville.” A pause. “I mean I don’t have to stick around but—”

  “Do what you need to do. I’ve got to go.”

  “Rina, I’m sorry I yelled.”

  “And I’m sorry if I used bad judgment, but since you weren’t around for guidance, I did the best I could.”

  “I should have had someone dealing with him before it got to this point.”

 
Shoulda, woulda, coulda, she thought. “I’ll be careful. You be careful, too.”

  “I’ll call you later.”

  “If I’m not there, don’t worry. I’m going down to the range to practice.”

  “Good idea.”

  “It’s not because I think I’ll need to fire a weapon. Right now, I need to attack something and so far as I know, a bull’s-eye doesn’t fire back.”

  MARGE KNOCKED ON the door to Decker’s office, then came inside. Rina’s face was a mixture of anger, frustration, and weariness. She got up from the desk chair, smoothed her denim skirt, and adjusted the scarf that covered her hair. “You need to use the office, Marge?”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  She stood up. “You probably think I’m an idiot. It was dumb to open the door, but it’s the way I’m made. I look for the good in humanity, Peter looks for the kinks.”

  “You’re a very kindhearted person, Rina. And you have good instincts. In this case, it worked out fine. Just be careful from now on until we get some answers.”

  Rina sighed. She couldn’t expect her husband to be as empathetic as Marge, but a girl could dream. “Thanks for all your help.”

  “Anytime.” Marge placed a hand on her shoulder. “And don’t pay attention to the Loo. He’s been snarling at anyone who comes near him. He’s just worried about your back.” The desk phone rang. “That’s him. Should I tell him anything for you?”

  “Tell him to watch his back.” Rina waved a bye. “His is a lot bigger than mine.”

  With the desk chair vacated, Marge took up the empty seat. It was close to three in the afternoon and she hadn’t eaten all day, but basic drives would just have to wait. “Hey, Rabbi. This is what I found out about Esteban Cruz. Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready,” Decker answered.

  Marge said, “No wants, no warrants, no priors. Just an average high school dropout. Oliver and I are going to drop by his former high school…try to find out who he associated with. You don’t have that many B12 tattoos on your skin without making a few friends with the homies.”

  “Did you run the name by Henry Almont or Crystal McCall in Juvenile at Foothill?”