Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 03

by Milk;Honey

  “It won’t do any good.”

  “Humor me,” Decker said.

  Patty gave a cursory glance at the photo, then shook her head.

  Decker said, “I just hate to see such a cute little kid like her in a foster home.”

  “I’m sure her parents will turn up,” Patty said.

  “I don’t think so,” Decker said.

  Patty bit her thumbnail. “Well, it’s not my problem if they don’t. I’m not the savior of the world, you know.”

  Decker said. “Maybe you want to keep the photo, just in case—”

  “Waste of time.”

  “Please. Just show it to your neighbors.”

  Patty bit her thumbnail again. “You’re a stubborn man.” She took the photo, looked at it, and stuck it in her hip pocket.

  Decker said, “Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs. Bingham.”

  “Sure. And don’t listen to Jane. She’s got a big mouth.”

  Decker smiled and walked away. Once inside the unmarked, he radioed in a request for the address of a Mrs. Jane Hickey. She lived a block and a half away, one of the houses where no one had been home yesterday. This morning she was outside, watering her small patch of front lawn, wearing a sunsuit. Her hair was wrapped in a kerchief, her face was deeply tanned.

  “Mrs. Hickey?” Decker said. “I’m Sergeant Peter Decker, LAPD. I was wondering if I could have a couple of words with you.”

  Jane looked at the badge. “What do you want?”

  “I just spoke with one of your neighbors, Patty Bingham,” Decker said. He pulled out another picture of Baby Sally. “I’m trying to identify this little girl and locate her parents. I showed the picture to Mrs. Bingham, and she said it looked familiar to her, but she couldn’t place it. Do you have any idea who this child might be?”

  Jane eyed the picture and laughed.

  “What is it?” Decker asked.

  “She looks a little like Patty’s youngest,” Jane said.

  Decker’s eyes widened.

  Jane said, “Of course, it isn’t Andrea.”

  “Do they look a lot alike?”

  “Just a little around the eyes…and the hair.” Jane handed the picture back to Decker. “All kids that age kinda look alike. Chubby little faces…you know. I don’t know who this one is, though.”

  “Never saw her around the neighborhood?”

  “No,” Jane said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “There’s a lot of kids around here,” Jane said. “I’m not positive that I’ve never seen her, but I don’t know the kid personally.”

  Decker said, “Thank you for your time.”

  He drove back to the Bingham residence.

  “You again?” Patty said, when she saw him at the door. But she was smiling.

  “I think I will have that cup of coffee,” Decker said.

  Patty’s smile turned to a grin. “Why don’t you come around through the side? I’ll meet you at the back.”

  “I don’t mind drinking with all the noise,” Decker said. “I like kids.” He walked inside before Patty could object.

  The house was center-hall plan—living room on the left, dining area to the right. The living room was sparsely furnished and sterile—a white velvet sofa and matching love seat, a glass coffee table, and a fireplace that had never been used. The dining area held a fake wood-grain Formica table and eight chairs. Through the dining room was a kitchen stocked with all the latest appliances, the countertops white Formica, one section already marred by a burn mark. The cabinets were new, but the finish was cheap and full of varnish bubbles. Right off the kitchen was the family room. It was piled high with kids and mess—laundry, toys, scraps of food. The TV was blaring. Three older children were slouched on a brown-and-white plaid sofa accented with Naugahyde straps. A four-year-old was sitting cross-legged on the wall-to-wall brown shag carpet.

  “Sure you want to drink coffee with all this noise going on?”

  “Where’s the fifth?” Decker asked.

  “Huh?”

  “The fifth kid,” Decker said. “I only count four.”

  “Oh,” Patty looked around. “Brian, go find the baby.”

  “I’m watchin’—”

  “I said, find the baby,” Patty demanded. “Shit. I’m always looking for one of ’em.”

  A boy of around ten slipped off the couch, a perpetual sulk plastered on his face.

  “Who’s he?” asked one of the older girls. Her hair was cut short, and she had braces on her teeth.

  “A cop,” Patty said. “I’m giving him some coffee. You take cream?”

  “Black.”

  “Cops can drink when they’re on duty?” the girl asked skeptically.

  “If it’s coffee,” Decker said.

  “Mind your own business, Karen,” Patty said.

  “I was just asking,” Karen whined. “Geez.”

  Brian walked in, carrying a two-year-old. She was wearing nothing but a diaper. Decker stared at the face. Old Jane had a good eye. There was a resemblance. It wasn’t unusually strong, it wasn’t uncanny, but both little girls shared a certain look.

  “That’s the little one?” Decker asked.

  “My bundle of trouble,” Patty said. “Here’s your coffee.”

  “Thanks.” Decker kept glancing at the baby as he drank. Maybe it was the playful look in the baby’s eyes. Sally had playful eyes.

  “So,” Patty said. “How long have you been a cop?”

  Decker gulped the coffee as fast as he could. “Too long.”

  “Seen it all, haven’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “So have I,” Patty said.

  “Give me a break,” Brian muttered.

  “Keep your damn thoughts to yourself,” Patty said.

  Decker put the mug on the countertop. “Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Bingham. I’ve got to go now.”

  “You’re a fast drinker.” Patty nudged him in the ribs. “Hope you don’t do everything that fast.”

  Decker groaned inwardly.

  “How ’bout a refill?” Patty said.

  “No thanks.”

  The air conditioner suddenly blasted cold air atop his head.

  “Gotta go,” Decker said.

  Patty said, “Hey, maybe I’ll see you around, huh?”

  Karen rolled her eyes.

  Decker said, “Maybe.”

  He left as quickly as he could.

  8

  “How was Patty Bingham?” Marge asked.

  Decker loosened his tie and said, “Patty has strong, unfulfilled sexual needs.”

  “What?” Hollander looked up from his paperwork. “What’s this about unfulfilled sexual needs?”

  Marge said, “Go back to sleep, Mike.”

  “A crime-lab report came in for you, Pete,” Hollander said. “It’s on your desk.”

  “Thanks,” Decker said. He sat down, opened a bottle of aspirin, and swallowed a couple of tablets without water.

  “Unfulfilled needs, huh?” said Marge.

  “Can I get this woman’s phone number?” Hollander asked.

  “You wouldn’t want it,” Decker said. “She’s a piece of work.” To Marge, he said, “Her youngest kid looks a little like Sally.”

  “Is that significant?” Marge asked.

  “No, not really,” Decker said. “Just a point of observation. As far as Patty goes, maybe she does know who Sally is, maybe she doesn’t. I had a hard time reading her, because she was coming on to me so strongly.”

  “Is she listed in the book?” Hollander said.

  Decker said, “I talked to some more neighbors. No one knows Baby Sally by name.”

  Marge shrugged. Decker broke the seal on the manila envelope. He pulled out several sheets of paper and began to scan them.

  “What did you order?” Marge asked.

  “Lab report from the scene of my friend’s crime.”

  “Still delusional,” Marge said.

  “A little delu
sion never hurt anyone.” He read on. “They didn’t lift any prints off the shiv. It was cleaned.”

  “Your friend wiped it,” Marge said.

  “Why would he wipe the shiv?” Decker said. “Supposedly it was his shiv, not hers. Of course it would have his prints on it. Seems to me he’d just stick it back in its sheath and leave.”

  “Decker,” Marge said. “Watch TV. Criminals clean their weapons.”

  Decker said, “Let’s reenact this. My friend rapes and cuts this girl. He wipes the shiv and puts it on the table. Now, presumably, he’s getting ready to go and intends to take the shiv with him.”

  “Okay,” Marge said.

  “Now if you were cut like she was, you’d scream, right? You couldn’t help yourself.”

  “I would think so.”

  “So say she screamed when he sliced her. Are you going to wipe your shiv calmly and lay it on the table, or are you going to get the hell out of there, figuring her screaming may have alerted someone?”

  “He was cocky. Or he was a psycho who enjoyed watching her suffer.”

  “I can’t buy that,” Decker said. “Margie, he’s seen it all—arms and legs and shit blasted all over the place, moaning lumps that used to be people. Some guys got off on torturing anything with slanted eyes. Blood lust or they just went nuts. Not Abel…not Abel.”

  Decker covered his mouth, felt himself breathing through his hands.

  “You all right?” Marge said.

  “Yeah,” Decker said quietly. He wiped his forehead with his jacket sleeve. “Logic tells me that a true rape-o would leave as soon as he was done and worry about cleaning the knife another time. And consider this. His prints were found elsewhere—all over the apartment, as a matter of fact. But not on the weapon.”

  Marge said, “Maybe he intended to wipe the apartment clean, but she stopped him by clobbering him with the lamp.”

  “Yeah, that’s another thing. The gal’s dripping blood and has a collapsed lung, but she has enough strength to hit him with a lamp. And what’s he doing while she’s crawling on the floor and retrieving a lamp?”

  “In the john?”

  “She didn’t bong him as he exited the john. If I were him, I would have noticed her and stopped her.”

  “He was too busy cleaning the shiv to notice.”

  “Which brings us back to the first point, do you calmly clean your weapon after all this commotion took place?”

  “Maybe he had her terrified.”

  “Not too terrified. She bopped him with a lamp.” Decker thought a moment. “I wonder who called the incident in?”

  “The PR would be on the tape. Look up the incident number and give Hollywood a call.”

  Decker read further. He said, “There are gross inconsistencies here—the clean shiv, the statement of the whore, the time frame…. Hey, we’ve got a bloody footprint lifted from the kitchen floor that didn’t match the shoe Abel was wearing. It was a size-nine left-foot, rubber-sole number.”

  “Maybe he changed shoes.”

  “Marge…”

  “It’s possible.”

  “Abel doesn’t have a left foot,” Decker said. “And he rarely wears a shoe on his prosthesis. Someone else was in the room.”

  She didn’t answer.

  Decker said, “Sixty-forty a good lawyer could get him off right now, without any further investigation.”

  “Is that what you want?” Marge asked.

  “No. What I want is to find the mother who did this and clear Abel’s name altogether. But that may not be possible.” Decker checked his watch, then locked the file in his desk. “I’ll go over it later. Gotta go to court now.”

  His phone rang.

  “Sergeant Decker? It’s Ms. Rawlings.”

  “Hello, Ms. Rawlings,” Decker said. “How’s my baby Sally?”

  “Fine, Sergeant. I just want to tell you that I’m taking her to the doctor’s this afternoon. Would you like to come pick up the report around four o’clock?”

  “Unfortunately, I’ll be at the airport,” Decker said. “How about if I come pick it up first thing tomorrow morning?”

  “That would be fine, Sergeant.”

  “Thanks for phoning, Ms. Rawlings,” Decker said. “Take good care of my baby girl.”

  Rina slipped her arms under Peter’s jacket and hugged him tightly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy, so relieved. Strong arms, something to lean on. She could feel her muscles loosen, her shoulders and jaw go wonderfully slack. Peter bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. She knew they had to move, that they were blocking the path of people deplaning, but she couldn’t bring herself to break the embrace. Peter finally did it for her.

  He looked at her at arms’ length. Metallic blue eyes, creamy, smooth skin, pronounced cheekbones highlighted by a windswept stroke of blush. Her hair was long and loose—a beautiful ebony wave sheathing her back. She wore a navy shirtdress gathered at the waist, bisected by a white belt.

  “You look gorgeous,” Decker said.

  “You do, too.”

  Decker laughed. “That’s not true, but it’s nice of you to say it.” He picked up her carry-on and her wardrobe. “Did you bring a suitcase?”

  Rina shook her head.

  “Then let’s get out of here.”

  The freeway was jammed rush-hour traffic in the afternoon heat. The unmarked’s air conditioner tried desperately to cool off the sticky upholstery, but the temperature gauge’s needle was grazing the red zone. Horns blasted, the sun reflected blindingly off chrome fenders, side mirrors, and rear windows. Decker shut off the air conditioner and cranked open the window.

  “Car’s going to overheat, honey,” he explained.

  Rina nodded, rolled down her window. A gust of exhaust fumes from a bus assaulted her nostrils.

  “Welcome back,” Decker said with a smile.

  “This would be welcome weather in New York. I left one-hundred-degree heat and ninety-percent humidity. At least it’s dry out here.”

  Decker took her hand. “Your hair’s uncovered.”

  “You noticed.”

  “Is that a statement?”

  “Sort of.”

  Decker took his suit jacket off, inched the car forward. “You want to talk about it?”

  “First tell me how you’ve been,” Rina said.

  “Nothing changes around here. God, I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too.” She took a tissue out of her purse and dabbed his forehead. “It’s so good to see you, Peter. Sometimes I wonder why I left.”

  “I’ve been wondering about that, too.”

  “I think I wanted you to find God…or my concept of God…I don’t know. How are you and God doing?”

  “I can’t speak for the Big Man, but I’m doing okay.”

  “How’s Rav Schulman and the yeshiva?”

  “Rav Schulman’s fine.”

  “Did you spend Shabbos with him last week?”

  “No, I changed my mind,” Decker said. “I have a hard time staying in someone else’s house. I’m better off spending Shabbos at home, davening by myself. I’m just not a group person, Rina.”

  She nodded. “How’s Cindy’s vacation coming?”

  Decker grinned. “She’s having a wonderful time. Jan’s having problems with it. I think she’s going to have a hard time letting go, and is going to dump on anyone who’ll let her. I pity Allen.”

  “Is she giving you a hard time?”

  “Nah. Not too bad considering that in four months my child-support payments will stop and Jan’ll lose her last little leash on my life. Now, when my daughter needs me for money, I can send it to her directly.”

  “Is that an improvement?”

  “I’m going to find out.” He kissed her hand. “You’re stalling.”

  “Oh, nothing’s wrong with me, Peter,” Rina said. “It seemed like a big deal over there. Now, it seems…silly. I just had to get out of New York.”

  “Are y
ou planning on going back there?”

  “That all depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On if I have a home here.” She faced him. “Do I?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, you do.”

  “Then I guess I’m moving back.”

  Decker grinned.

  “Great,” he said.

  Rina stepped out of the car and inhaled deeply. “Soil!” she said. “Land. Look at your citrus grove! The trees grow out of the ground instead of pots. It’s so beautiful.”

  “Never thought of it quite like that,” Decker said.

  “Everything looks so green,” Rina said.

  “Actually, everything has been fried by the heat,” Decker said. “Come on inside, I’ll get you something to drink. I’ve even stocked my refrigerator for you.”

  “Peter, take me for a ride.”

  “We just got out of the car.”

  She threw her arms around his neck. “On horseback.”

  “Horseback? You?”

  “Yes, me. You’ve always wanted to take me riding. Now, I’m giving you a chance.”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes. Right now.”

  “You’re not too tired?” he asked.

  She shook her head no.

  “It must be ninety-five degrees out here,” Decker said.

  “It’ll cool off soon.”

  “I’m thirsty,” Decker said. “Can I get a beer first?”

  “Okay.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Rina brought his mouth onto hers. She felt his hot breath, smelled his sweat, rubbed her fingers into his damp hair. He pulled her closer, undid the top button of her dress, and slipped his hand down the front. Her skin was warm and moist.

  “Sure you want to go riding now?” he said.

  She didn’t answer, kissed him again. Sweet, long kisses.

  “It stays light out for a long time,” Decker said. He unsnapped the next button, she unknotted his tie. She kissed him again.

  “Why don’t we go inside?” Decker suggested.

  Rina didn’t move. She stroked his chin, traced his jawline with her fingertip.

  “It’s cool inside,” Decker said.