I closed the door and sat down across from him, watching him chicken scratch on a yellow notepad. “That’s not going to work, Alicia, especially with Malcolm Standish. He’s a stickler. Look, rather than bring the case to the grand jury and risk a dismissal, it makes more sense for you to get warrants for the phone calls and bank accounts. Then I’ll have one of my people just go through the paperwork and see if we can’t get a more direct connection.”
More listening.
My father rolled his eyes. He had taken off his suit jacket and loosened a blue tie. He wore a white shirt and gray slacks. His hand made furrows through his hair. “Alicia, I’m telling you this from twenty-five years of experience, if you move too fast, you’re going to come away with nothing. We’ve got a good start. Don’t force it, it’ll … Yes, exactly. Go to Standish and ask for the warrants. He’ll appreciate the attention to detail. He’s simpatico to these kinds of cases if you cross your t’s and dot your i’s … Yeah, specifically because we’re on the border. Yeah … yeah … okay … call me when you get the warrants, and I’ll go through the paper. Fine … fine … bye.”
He hung up and exhaled loudly.
“Trouble?”
“Not too bad. At least, she was open to suggestion. I must spend half my time telling young assistant DAs how to do their job.”
“You should have been a lawyer.”
My dad smiled at the joke. His eyes went to my face. “I want to ask you a question, Cindy.”
I leaned back, curious. “Sure.”
“I want to know what is the purpose of your having voice mail on your cell phone if you never return messages.”
My face went warm. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”
“I understand you dropped by yesterday. Rina said you looked upset. That gave me concern. So I called you three times. But you didn’t answer. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Daddy. Again I’m sorry.”
“Were you sleeping off a depression or something?”
At this point, I could have gotten annoyed with him, but that wouldn’t have helped at all. “No.” I leaned over and kissed his nose. “No, I was with Koby and it was a rather emotional afternoon and evening, and then the time slipped away. It was wrong. For the third time, I apologize.”
“Why are you here, Officer?” he grumped at me.
“To aggravate you.”
“You’re doing a fine job at that,” he groused. “I heard about your bust. Congratulations.”
“Thank you. Have you heard good or bad things?”
“Mostly good. A couple of nasty comments about the convenient bag of X.”
“Scum is scum.”
“Did they hassle you?”
“Yes, but the one good thing about being honest is you have only one story. It’s easy to repeat and you don’t get mixed up in your lies.”
“You want to tell me about it?”
I told him about it. “I looked up the two names El Paso spit out. Joseph ‘Juice’ Fedek is not living at his last listed address, but Pepe Renaldes is. He works on a construction crew with a posh West Side builder—”
“See why I do my own renovation work?”
“Not all of us can build houses, Dad. Ideally, I’d like to bring Sarah Sanders down to the station and have her look through some six-packs from mug books and see if she picks out El Paso or Fedek or Renaldes. If she does, I’d like to check Renaldes’s employment record. I also want to hunt for Fedek. I want to do all those things, but no one’s letting me do anything. So I’m here, taking out my frustration on you.”
“Why not? Everyone else is. What is the status with the case right now?”
“Russ MacGregor and Justice Brill are waiting to see if there’s a drug plea. They tell me that El Paso’s willing to roll, but the DA would rather put him away with a sure thing than take a chance on an iffy six-month-old rape case.”
“That makes sense, Cin.”
“Yes, it does. Unfortunately, if they do it, it means that two very vicious men are out there, able to prey on the public instead of being locked up behind bars.”
“If Sarah’s story is true.”
“That’s why I’d like to show her the mug books and see if she could pick them out.”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I just told the young DA over the phone. Have patience.”
“Do you see me going behind anyone’s back? In the meantime, just because I’m obsessive and dedicated, I’m still looking for David Tyler. I figure if I find him and if both he and Sarah independently ID Fedek and Renaldes, then the rape/assault case is on much more stable ground.” I sat back in my chair. “At first, I thought the bag was good, something we can use to really squeeze El Paso. But I think they’re going for the slam-dunk drug conviction. Better for the statistics.”
“You’re too young to talk that cynically.”
“I’m not cynical, I’m practical. And I’m in a fine mood. A good date makes everything seem a little less hopeless.”
Dad faced me with unreadable eyes. “If you two are still speaking, you can bring him around again for Shabbat dinner. I promise I won’t glare at you this time.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Have you told your mother?”
“It hasn’t come up.”
“You haven’t brought it up. What are you worried about? Your mother’s much more liberal than I am.”
“I’m not worried, Dad. I just want to see how it goes before I even bother.” We both knew I was stalling. I checked my watch. “So I guess I’m off to serve and protect and look for David Tyler.”
“Any leads at all with him?”
“Goose egg. For all I know, he may be dead. Sarah Sanders did say he wasn’t moving when she left the bathroom.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. David could be dead, but I doubt if he was dead from the assault. Cindy, the City changes the trash. People do use the john in the park. If there had been a dead body in it, someone would have noticed.”
“Unless the boys killed him, then came back to take him away and dump him in a less obvious spot.”
“I don’t think so, Cindy. It would draw way too much attention. This sounds like an impulsive type of rape. Why hassle with coming back? All it could do is screw them up.”
“Because David could identify them.”
“He’s mentally disabled. How much credibility would he have even if he could identify the perps? And that’s a big if.”
I saw his point.
Dad said, “I know you’re working your way through the decidedly unglamorous part of detective work: the shelters, halfway houses, drug rehab, missions, Salvation Army, other areas that have homeless. It’s a tedious chore, but it’s your best bet right now.”
There was a knock on the door and in walked Oliver. He was holding up my tie. It was a nice one—a gold-and-sky-blue Mimi Fong print that I had gotten at deep discount. Furthermore, it went with the navy suit he was wearing.
“What do you think?” I asked him.
“It’s beautiful, Cin. Something I would have picked out. What is it? Battle pay?”
“You might say that.”
My father’s face held a sour look. “You bought him a tie?”
“Yes, I bought him a tie when I bought Koby a shirt.”
“You bought Oliver a tie and Koby a shirt, but your father gets nothing.”
I got up and hugged him around the neck. “Daddy, you’ll always be my number one guy.”
“You’re choking me,” Dad grumped.
Oliver said, “So you and the guy are back together?”
“For the time being, and the guy—like you, Scott—has a name.”
“Yeah, he’s got a name. The black guy. Or if I feel like being politically correct, the African American guy.”
“If you want to get technical, then he’d be just the African guy. Or the Asian guy, because I think he’s an Israeli citizen. Now if he were an American citizen, then you’d have to call him African Asian A
merican guy. So that’s why it’s much more convenient to call him Yaakov.”
“You call him Koby.”
“That’s reserved for friends, Oliver.”
He smiled. Dad drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Anything official you need to talk to me about, Detective?”
“No, not really,” Oliver answered.
“Then close the door on your way out.”
Oliver laughed and left.
I said, “So it looks like my weekend is booked. On Saturday, I’ve got my workout at the gym, afternoon is lunch with Mom, and then I’ve got bowling practice from six to eight in the evening. Then maybe if Koby’s off, we’ll go out. Sunday morning is brunch with my friend Hayley. I’ll look for David in the afternoon, then Sunday evening if Koby and I are still in good standing, we’ll go out again.”
“I’m getting tired just listening to you. You’re hyperactive, Officer Decker.”
“Loo, it’s better than crying in my beer.”
31
Since last week’s dinner at Mama’s, Rina had made a valiant effort to restrain herself, mentioning her grandmother’s case only a couple of times. Peter had played coy, refusing to take the bait. Since subtlety wasn’t working, it was time for the direct approach. After the dinner table had been cleared, she sashayed into the kitchen and slid her arms around his waist as he washed dishes. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt but had still managed to get his cuffs wet.
“I’ll do that,” she said.
“I’m almost done,” Decker told her. “But you can keep hugging. It feels good.”
“I love a man who knows how to scour a roasting pan.”
He smiled. “What’s Hannah doing?”
“Her homework. So what’s going on?”
“Not much.”
Rina broke away. Nervously, she smoothed out her denim skirt and hiked up the sleeves of her pink sweater to her elbows. She picked up a towel and began to dry the dishes. “Just answer me one question. Did you find Marta Lubke?”
“Yes.”
Rina was flabbergasted. “You did?”
“Yes.”
“Is she alive?”
“That’s two questions.”
She punched his shoulder.
“Yes, she’s alive,” Decker answered. “Even better, so is her older sister. I was going to tell you after Hannah went to bed. But since we started, what else would you like to know?”
“For starters, how’d you find her?”
“That would be giving away my trade secrets.” Decker winked at her. “I logged onto Google and got hits for around a hundred Lubkes … probably not the smartest thing to do since the Lubke I was looking for was from Germany. But I thought I’d test the waters here, maybe find a relative. From what I pulled up, I began a process of elimination mostly by age. I found about ten Lubkes who were old enough and sent out e-mails to all of them. I got unbelievably lucky. I received an e-mail response from an Anika Lubke. That, in itself, is pretty good—a woman in her eighties savvy in computers. You wouldn’t believe where she lives.”
“Los Angeles?”
“No, but almost as good. She lives up in Solvang.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Right north of Santa Barbara. I told you it was good.”
“You’re the best. So what did Anika Lubke write back?”
“That she was from Munich. And this is where it gets really unbelievably lucky. She has a sister named Marta, whose married name is Wallek. She lives in St. Louis, Missouri, which I understand has a large population of people of German descent.”
“The home of Anheuser-Busch. As in Busch Stadium.”
“As in Budweiser beer,” Decker said.
“There was an expression my friend Ellie in Munich used to use—‘Bierbauch Bayer.’ It means beer-bellied Bavarian. Beer is a cultural icon in Germany, especially Bavaria.”
“Well, beer doesn’t do too bad in the good old US of A, either. The upshot of this entire thing is that last night I got an e-mail from Marta. Did I do well or what?”
“I can’t believe you found out all this information in so short a time.”
“Thank the Internet. Both women are widows, by the way.” Decker held up a wet roasting pan. “Can you dry a little faster so I have some room for this in the dish rack?”
Rina picked up the dinner plates and stacked them on the counter. “Happy now?”
“I just didn’t want to nick the stoneware.”
She smiled. “You’re wonderful. I love you.”
Decker started washing the utensils. “I love you, too. You want to hear the interesting part?”
“There’s more?”
“Lots. Guess what Anika’s married name is?”
Rina finished with the dinner dishes, then picked up the pan and began to dry it. “Being as there must be about a million German surnames, I give up.”
“Even if you went through them all, you wouldn’t be close. It’s Emerson.”
“She married an American.”
“She married a Brit.”
“That must be a story.”
“It must be one hell of a story. But I don’t know it because it’s not the kind of thing you e-mail to a stranger.”
“Are you sure you’ve got the right Marta Lubke?”
“Yes, I’m positive because she remembers your mother for the same reason your mother remembered her. They were both Marta. And she remembered some of the other girls when I mentioned their names. And both of them remembered your grandmother’s murder. How much detail they recall … that I don’t know.”
Rina put her hand over her mouth and froze. Slowly, she let it drop to her side.
Decker said, “Marta Lubke and Anika are well into their eighties. I think your mother has been playing a little loose with the years.”
“I’m stunned.” Rina swallowed. “Not by Mama cheating on her age, but that you really found someone she knew as a child.”
“Marta Lubke Wallek was very excited that Marta Gottlieb Elias is still alive. She would like to contact your mother, Rina, if that’s okay with your mother. She said she has quite a story as well. We need to tell Mama what’s going on.”
Rina sighed. “Of course. It won’t be easy to tell her about it. Mama will wonder why we were searching for Marta Lubke.”
“Just tell her that after she spoke about her childhood, you wanted to find someone from her past.”
“All right.” Rina was uncertain but was resolved to do the right thing. “We’ll forget about my grandmother’s murder. I’ll tell Mama what’s going on. Actually, I’m much more excited about a possible reunion between the two of them. Better than digging up old bones.”
“Very noble of you.” Decker laid the clean utensils on top of the rack. “However, I think I have a better idea.”
Rina waited.
“I don’t think we should bring the two of them together until we know more about Marta and Anika Lubke. Remember, your mother is a camp survivor, and we don’t want to cause her any more pain. I think we should talk to the women first.”
“You want to go to Saint Louis?”
“No need because the fates are with us. Marta Lubke Wallek is coming in to visit her sister. How about we take advantage and make a little vacation out of it? We’ll leave Saturday night, right after Shabbat, stay overnight in Santa Barbara, then continue on to Solvang on Sunday and come back Sunday night. Surely the boys can watch Hannah for twenty-four hours. They’re both over eighteen.”
“Sammy works on Sunday.”
“Jacob doesn’t.”
Rina made a face. “I don’t know, Peter. What about Cindy?”
“Saturday is her day with Jan. Sometimes they go out at night. That’s inviolate. But she can certainly pick up some of the slack on Sunday. I’m sure she won’t mind a morning or afternoon shift.” Now Decker made a face. “By the way, she’s bringing Koby over for Shabbat this weekend.”
Rina’s eyes brightened. “So they’r
e back together?”
“For the time being, yes.”
“I like him.”
“You like his circumcision,” Decker remarked.
“Yes, I like that he’s Jewish. I’ve never hidden my partisan feelings. So when are we going to visit Solvang?”
“Marta is visiting her sister in three weeks. How does that work?”
“Perfect. No major holidays in the way. And it will give me plenty of time to prepare … cook Sunday dinner for the boys and Hannah.”
“Rina, they’re capable boys. They can cook for themselves.”
“I know, but it’s not hard for me to cook a little extra.”
“Can I give you a cross to nail your hands on, Saint R?”
“I like cooking for my family. So sue me.”
“I don’t want to sue you.” Decker took her in his arms and slapped her to his chest. “I’d rather screw you.”
She punched his shoulder. “What got into you?”
“I wish something would get into you.” He raised his eyebrows. “If you would examine my motivations, you’d see I have other reasons for wanting you alone for a night away.” He kissed her hard on the lips.
“Eeeuuuu!”
They both looked toward the door. Hannah scowled at them, turned on her heels, and stomped out. They broke into laughter.
Decker said, “I’ll see what she wants.”
Rina held him tightly. “She’ll survive for a minute.”
She gave him a long, slow kiss, the kind that makes body parts move independently.
“My oh my,” Decker said. “What got into you?”
“Are you complaining?”
“Not at all.” He broke away. “I’ll go check up on Hannah.” He was still stiff. “Maybe you should check up on Hannah, and let me take a cold shower.”
“Not too cold.”
“Believe me, darlin’, there’s plenty more where this came from.”
32
The secret of optimal performance is to keep the mind focused, but the body completely relaxed. Completely loose.” Koby shook out his arms. “You watch basketball, no?”
“Occasionally,” I told him.
“You ever see the pros make long shots? The trey—the perfect three-pointer—is usually a swisher, all net with just a flick of the wrist. So loose. Or a slugger at bat, the follow-through on his swing, the whole body moves in one motion. It’s very hard to do because the natural thing when you concentrate is to tense up, right?”
Faye Kellerman Page 25
