by Hangman
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sela sobbed out.
Marge took the phone and introduced herself.
Another heart-wrenching phone conversation.
Another long night.
CHAPTER THIRTY
TWO BLACK-JACKETED CORONER’S investigators had gently removed the body from the refrigerator and laid it on a blanket. The older of the two investigators—a female Hispanic in her forties named Gloria—turned to Decker. “We need to let the body warm up before we unfold her. If you’ve ever worked with raw cold beef, you know that it isn’t as pliable as room-temperature meat. We don’t want to tear anything.”
“Got it.” Decker squatted down to study the body. Freed from the confines of the icebox, it had unfurled a bit. Crystal was now in the fetal position. Her polished nails appeared intact, although the paint was chipping off of them. The coroners would clip them to determine if there was foreign or biological material present. She had been placed in the fridge for a while, because lividity had taken place, the blood sinking down into the lower halves of the woman’s calves, thighs, and torso. With his naked eye, Decker couldn’t see any gunshot or stab wounds. Her skin tone hovered around bluish-tinged gray, with her lips being a deep indigo. He regarded her neck. There appeared to be some purple dots—petechiae—around the portion of her neck that was visible. That usually meant strangulation.
He stood up and scrutinized the inside of the refrigerator. It hadn’t been scrubbed down in a while. There were particles of rotted produce clinging to the walls and in the crisper along with a few spills and splotches on the bottom and sides.
He took out a presumptive blood kit and swabbed several stains with Q-tips. Most of them turned blue, indicating the probable presence of blood. No surprise there. Raw meat defrosting in a refrigerator on a plate often sat in its own blood. If one handled the plate carelessly—and Crystal didn’t seem to be the meticulous type—the slush often splashed onto the walls or dripped down. Given the amount of stains, Decker would bet that the blood was animal rather than human. In his mind, Crystal, like Adrianna, had died a bloodless death.
Oliver came into the kitchen. “I bagged the sheets, the towels, the clothes on the floor, the crap on the floor, the garbage in the bedroom and bathroom, the toothbrush, and the hairbrush. Anything else you want from the bed and bathroom?”
“What about flies and maggots?”
“A few flies. Didn’t find a pile of maggots. I guess the girl was smart enough not to leave raw meat around.”
“Or someone was smart enough to put her in the fridge so she wouldn’t attract flies.” Decker blew out air. “Not to mention messing up our time of death.”
“Sela Graydon talked to her yesterday morning.” Oliver checked his notes. “Crystal suggested that they go out for coffee, but then never got back to Sela.”
“What about Crystal’s cell phone?”
“We haven’t found it.”
“Does she have a landline?”
“No.”
“Did you find any personal effects?”
“Just a lot of trash. No purse with any ID in it. Her car is still in the parking space.”
“Makes sense. Let’s get her cell phone records.”
Marge joined up with Oliver and Decker. She snapped off her gloves. “The lady was a slob. Makes it hard to distinguish between evidence and trash.” She looked at the body…slowly unfurling. “Golly, that’s sad. Looks like someone broke her neck.”
Decker said, “I’m thinking that she might have died by strangulation.”
“Yeah, she has the petechiae.” Marge blew out air. “Adrianna died from hanging…which is strangulation.”
“So what are the links between the two girls?” Decker asked.
Marge ticked off the possibilities on her fingers. “They were best friends, they were both at the bar at Garage the Sunday night before Adrianna died, they both were talking to the same strange man at the bar, and they both knew Aaron Otis and Greg Reyburn.”
Oliver said, “Didn’t Aaron admit that he fucked Adrianna?”
Marge nodded.
“Could he have fucked Crystal as well?”
“Maybe,” Marge said. “Maybe Greg fucked them both. Crystal and Greg were good friends.”
“Did Garth fuck Crystal?”
“Don’t know.”
Decker said, “Get Aaron Otis and Greg Reyburn back for more interviews. See what they have to say about the latest developments.”
Oliver looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven. Want us to do it tonight?”
“They’ll keep until daylight. We still have things to do around here.”
“I’ll call them first thing in the morning,” Oliver said. “By the way, Marge had an interesting idea.”
“What idea was that?” Marge asked.
“Farley, Charley.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She turned to Decker. “So Adrianna was being chatted up by this mystery guy at Garage. Crystal thought she might have heard someone call him Farley. I was thinking that maybe she heard ‘Charley’ instead of ‘Farley.’ As in Chuck Tinsley.”
Oliver said, “We interviewed a woman named Yvette Jackson a few hours ago who works at Garage. She said she thought that she could identify the guy Adrianna was with. We were thinking about making a six-pack with Tinsley’s DMV picture and see if she could point him out.”
“Does Tinsley have a record?” Decker asked.
“He’s not in the system. But I didn’t check beyond LAPD.”
Decker shrugged. “Give it a go.”
No one spoke as three pairs of eyes looked down at the body. Gloria, the Hispanic CI, came over and felt her skin with a gloved hand. “She’s still cold.”
“How long is it going to take for her to warm up?”
“A while.”
Decker spoke to his detectives. “I’ll wait here. Why don’t you two start canvassing the complex. Not too many apartments, so it shouldn’t take too long. I’ll give you a buzz when they’re ready to move the body.”
“You bet.” Marge looked at her boss and longtime friend. “Are you all right, Rabbi?”
“Just tired.”
“How’s the kid?”
“He’s still parentless.” Decker messaged his temples. “I feel bad for him. I also feel stupid for getting involved in his mother’s life.” He gave them a minute recap of his day. “I don’t know if she’s legitimately in trouble—in which case I’ll feel guilty for being mad at her—or if she played me, using my home as a safe place to dump her kid while she reinvents herself.”
“And you haven’t heard from Donatti?”
“I haven’t but the kid admitted to me that he saw him yesterday.”
“So he’s in town or…”
“Probably long gone. Donatti gave Gabe his passport, his Social Security card, and a wad of cash. Probably gave Gabe other things but that’s all the kid will admit to. It’s clear to me that Donatti isn’t coming to pick up his progeny any time soon.”
“Doesn’t his aunt live in L.A.?” Oliver said.
“His aunt and his grandfather.”
“So he has options. Why are you shouldering the burden?”
“He’s offered to go to his aunt’s. But he’d rather stay with me.”
Oliver said. “It isn’t his choice, Rabbi, it’s yours.”
“I know. I should let him leave. But my conscience tells me that putting him into the custody of an irresponsible kid herself is not the right thing to do.”
“See, that’s your problem,” Oliver said. “You’re listening to your conscience. I can tell you from personal experience, Deck, that no good ever comes from that.”
BY TWO IN the morning, the body had been removed, the scene had been dusted, evidence had been taken, and a padlock was placed on the apartment. Decker didn’t need to wait with his two crack detectives but decided to do so anyway. Before he had been called down, he had managed to eat some dinner, although it was tense with the two kid
s picking at their food. When Marge phoned him the news of Crystal, he was shocked, but part of him was relieved to get away and do something productive.
“See you in the morning,” Decker said. “I’ll be in around eight.”
“Take care.” Marge jingled the keys. “I’d like to go by Mandy Kowalski’s place.”
Oliver checked his watch. “Do you not know what time it is?”
“I’m not going to bang on her door. I just want to check if her car is in the lot.”
“The lot is gated. How do you propose to get in?”
“So I’ll peek through the bars. Look, Scotty, she lied to us about having coffee with Adrianna in the cafeteria. Now Crystal’s dead. I just want to see if her car’s there.”
“You want me to go with her, Oliver?” Decker volunteered.
“Nah, I’ll go,” Oliver grumped. “We’re just having our usual spats. I mean, who needs sleep anyway?”
“Sleep is highly overrated,” Marge said.
“Since when have you become such a night owl?”
“Since my daughter moved out. It’s sometimes hard for me to sleep. I keep wondering about her.”
“But you adopted her when she was a teenager. You lived without her for years.”
“That was then and this is now. I can’t help it if I worry.”
Decker said, “Kids are like heroin—an injection of pain when they’re around, but even when they’re not around, it’s like that next fix. You just can’t stop thinking about ’em.”
WHEN THE CLOCK struck six, Decker gave up. Through the curtains came the hint of light dulled by gray overcast. He slipped out of bed, put on his robe, and decided to start the coffee. Get a little solitude before the onslaught, but it wasn’t meant to be. Gabe had beaten him to the sunrise. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, sitting at the breakfast table, his laptop open but off to the side. He was reading Decker’s morning paper. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Decker answered—a bit sullenly, he decided. Or maybe he was just weary.
“I took the liberty of making coffee. You want a cup?”
“Thanks. I’ll get it. How’s your hand?”
The boy put down the paper and wiggled his fingers. “Sore. I guess now it’s just like going through a process. I’ll be all right.”
“Just take care of it. You’re up early.”
“I couldn’t sleep. I heard you come in last night. It was late. Is everything okay?”
Decker smiled inwardly. No one in his family thought twice about his hours. “Just work.” He poured a cup of coffee and sat down. “How are you?” This time he was sincere with the question.
“I’m okay. Is there anything I can help you with?”
Decker smiled for real. “Your mother said you were a good kid. She wasn’t lying.”
“That’s me.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “You can put it on my gravestone. I was a good kid.”
“If I were you, I’d be seething with anger.”
Gabe looked up at the ceiling. “I guess it comes out. Like brawling with that idiot last night.” He shook his head and pulled a sheet of paper out of his back pocket. “Since I couldn’t sleep, I played with my computer. I went into the hospital’s Web site.”
“Which hospital is that?”
“Yeah, that’s right. You can’t read my mind. The hospital where my mom worked.”
That got Decker’s attention. “Find anything?”
Gabe handed him the piece of paper. “I wrote down all the Indian names that have passed through cardiology or cardiovascular surgery in the last eight years. Before then, my mom and I lived in Chicago. I think some of the names might be women. I don’t know if any of these guys was the guy my mom was talking to, but I wasn’t doing anything anyway, so…”
Decker regarded the surnames: Chopra, two Guptas, Mehra, two Singhs, Banerjee, Rangarajan, Rajput, Yadav, Mehta, and Lahiri. “None of them sound familiar?”
“Just Mehta, and only because of the famous conductor. Like I said, she didn’t tell me the guy’s name.”
“Would you recognize him from a picture?”
“I don’t think so.” He took a sip of coffee. “If you want, I could Google the guys, one at a time, and see if any of them had maharajas for a father. I’m not going to school today. It would give me something to do.”
Decker studied the boy. “And what would you do with the information?”
“Give it to you.”
“How about giving it to your father?”
Gabe crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why would I do that?”
“Why wouldn’t you do it? He’s looking for your mom, too.”
“Lieutenant, if he’s looking for her, it means that’s he’s as in the dark as we are. If he can find her quicker than you, why would that be bad?”
“Are you serious?”
“He won’t hurt her.”
“He already has hurt her.”
“Well, I don’t think he’d do it again.”
“Is that what he told you when you saw him?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact.”
“And you believe him?”
“Yes, I do.” His eyes grew angry. “But he isn’t calling me up for help and I can’t reach him, so this whole discussion is moot. If I had wanted to give Chris the information, I could have mailed it to one of his places. But I didn’t. If you want help, I’ll look them up for you. If not, that’s okay, too.”
Back off, Decker. Chris is still the kid’s father and you’re not going to change that bond ever. “Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth. Anything you can help me with is appreciated. So sure, look them up for me. And for the future, what you do with your dad is your own business.”
Gabe was quiet. Then he said, “I don’t know why I’m defending the bastard.”
“He’s your dad. He’s got all the history with you.”
“Yeah, and most of it’s bad.” A pause. “That’s not entirely fair. He has some good points. He just chooses not to show them very often.” He looked at Decker. “I don’t trust my dad. I never have. But I wouldn’t want to be the one to put him in jail.”
“Totally understandable.” If Decker wanted an ally, he had to start treating the kid like one. He held up the list. “This is very helpful. I’ll make a copy and both of us can see what we come up with, all right?”
“Sure.”
“Gabe, my main objective is finding your mother, not screwing your father.”
“I know. But I also know that if it came down to it—that my dad hurt my mom—you’d go after him without any consideration for my feelings.”
“That’s true.”
“I’d do the same thing. I mean, if I were you, I would.”
“How about if you were you?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant. Like my therapist would say, perhaps it’s not a good time to visit that issue.”
Decker laughed. “You know the lingo.”
“I’ve always had an excellent ear.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MARGE PLUNKED A latte in front of Oliver. “Maybe this will help. You look tired.”
“I am tired. By the time we were done being Peeping Toms, it was past three.”
“And I told you that you didn’t have to come. Let’s drop it. And you’re welcome for the coffee.”
Oliver groused out a thank-you.
Marge rolled her eyes. “Mandy Kowalski still isn’t answering her cell. I also called the hospital and spoke to Hilly McKennick—the head nurse. Mandy was supposed to come back today, but she didn’t show up for rounds.”
“That’s not good.” Another sip of coffee. “Since it is now daylight, I will be happy to go over to Mandy’s condo and see what’s going on.”
“We can do that now.”
“What’s going on with Aaron Otis and Greg Reyburn?”
“Greg hasn’t called me back, but I did speak to Aaron. He’s coming in at ten. It’s only eight. We have enough time to go back
and forth.”
“Did you tell Aaron about Crystal?”
“Broke the news to him twenty minutes ago. He’s acting totally freaked.”
“He probably is. So why wait until ten to bring him in?”
“He’s at work and wanted to get a few things squared away. I figured it’s best to let him set the time frame, use him as an ally instead of a suspect, even though he is one. I have uniformed officers on him and at Greg’s apartment in case either of them decides to run. It’s all under control.” She slung her purse over her arm. “Ready?”
Oliver finished his latte in one gulp. “Man, you were a busy bee this morning. How do you function on so little sleep?”
“I never went to sleep. I knew it would be hell waking up after three hours, so I decided to make myself useful. I found out where Crystal’s mother lived. You’d think it wouldn’t be difficult to find a woman named Pandora Hurst, but it took me the better part of an hour. I called Mom at six in the morning—eight her time. She’s coming in from Missouri.”
“Not a good way for you to start the morning.”
“It was a very bad way to start the morning, but it had to be done. Also, I made a six-pack from Chuck Tinsley’s DMV photo for Yvette Jackson. All that jazz took up another hour.”
“Surely you haven’t called Yvette Jackson yet.”
Marge checked her watch. “I’ll do it when we’re on the road to Mandy’s condo. Let’s go.”
“Aren’t you exhausted?”
“At the moment, I’m jacked up on coffee and Red Bull. If I were to kick at this moment, I’m sure my heart would go on beating hours after my demise—like a pithed frog. Even so, I’m willing to admit that my spatial perception might be a tad off.” She handed him the keys. “So would you mind?”
Oliver took them. “Thanks for dealing with everything. I owe you. How about dinner tonight?”
“How about one day without your complaining?”
Oliver shook a finger at her. “Let’s not push it.”
ONE NAME STOOD out: Paresh Singh Rajput. He had been a visiting cardiovascular surgeon for two years in the right time frame—when Gabe was about twelve. The name—which means “son of a king”—was a warrior name and the royal family to which it belonged had ruled a number of princely states between the ninth and eleventh centuries. There were around five million Rajputs in India, mostly in the central region of Uttar Pradesh but also in the northern regions.
