by Milk;Honey
Except for that one call from New York. A nervous voice on the other end.
Is Rina there?
No, she isn’t. Can I take a message?
Just tell her to call home.
Where’s home?
New York.
Is everything okay?
Yes.
Who’s calling, please?
Just tell her to phone home.
Click.
Phone home. Like she was some fucking E.T. Treating him as if he were a venereal disease.
“Hi,” Rina said. “You’re home early.”
Kiss on the forehead.
“Someone called from New York,” Decker said, staring at piles of bus schedules. “She wants you to phone home.”
Rina put the bag of groceries on the table. “What’s wrong?”
Decker heard the panic in her voice and looked up. “Don’t worry. She said everything’s fine.”
“She?” Rina asked.
“She didn’t identify herself,” Decker said. “It sounded like one of your sisters-in-law. Probably Shayna. She’s the one without the Brooklyn accent, right?”
“Yes.” Rina started to unpack the food on the dining-room table. “She give you a rough time?”
“Downright rude,” Decker said. “Unusual for her. She’s always been the nice one.”
“Maybe she was upset.”
Decker tossed her a sour look.
“I’m really sorry,” Rina said.
“Nah.” Decker stood up and kissed her. “Just forget I said anything. Not your fault. I had a frustrating day.”
Rina hugged him. “Marge looks better.”
“You visited her?”
“Brought her a cake,” Rina said. “From the both of us.”
Decker laughed. As if Marge would ever believe he’d think to give her a cake. “You two girls have a nice chat?”
She smiled. “The way we both see you is amazingly similar.”
“How’s that?”
“None of your business,” Rina said. She went in to the kitchen with an armful of produce and began to wash vegetables.
“Now that’s not fair,” Decker said, following her.
Rina handed him a head of lettuce. “You wash this, then take a knife and cut it up into tiny pieces. Think you can handle that?”
“Real men don’t make salad.”
“Try,” Rina said. “Pretend…you’re sifting through evidence. I’ve got to phone New York.” She kissed his lips, then wrinkled her nose. “And if we go anywhere tonight, I’ll drive. How many beers did you pack away?”
“Confession isn’t part of my religion,” Decker said. He turned the tap on full blast and doused his shirt as well as the lettuce. “Shit.”
“Finesse, Peter,” Rina said, laughing. “Finesse.” Her face turned suddenly serious as she dialed.
“Shaynie, it’s Rina…What? Calm down, I can’t understand you…”
“What is it?” Decker asked.
“She’s hysterical,” Rina said. Her voice was quavering. She began to pace as far as the phone cord would let her. “Just calm down. Are my boys all right?”
“What?” Decker pressed.
Rina brought her hand to her chest and ignored him. “You’re sure? Can I talk to them?…But they’re okay…Is everyone okay?…You gave me a heart attack….” She slumped against the wall. “Stop crying and tell me what’s wrong.” She was silent for a few moments, then said, “Oh no…oh God…how’s Esther doing?”
“What is it?” Decker asked.
Rina put her hand over the phone receiver and whispered “Pessy.”
Decker puffed out his cheeks and said, “The Pessy?”
Taking her hand off the receiver, Rina asked Shayna, “When did this happen?…Do you have a lawyer?”
Decker started to smile. “What happened to old Pessy?”
“Arrested,” Rina whispered to him. “Don’t use the Public Defender. You need a private lawyer, Shayna, someone who’s done this kind of work…well, I know it’s embarrassing, but—”
Decker started to laugh.
Rina told her sister-in-law to hold on. “Peter, stop it!”
“Don’t tell me,” Decker said. “Soliciting an undercover police officer.”
“Worse,” she said. “Picked up in a raid.” To Shayna, she said, “Yes, I’m still here…. Shayna, he’s standing right behind me. What do you want me to do, lie to him?…He is family. He’s my family, okay?…All right…all right…stop crying. I’m sorry…yes, I know you’re under terrible stress…. Where’s Esther?”
Rina shook her head and sat down on the chair. Decker stifled more laughter.
“So who’s watching her kids if she’s tranquilized?” she asked. “Eema has mine plus Esther’s? She can’t handle seven kids!…Okay. Okay…I’ll catch the first flight I can…. Well, how should I know when that will be?”
Rina rolled her eyes.
“Will you stop crying, Shayna? I’ll be there, but it’ll take me a little time to get organized…I’ll try to make it in before Shabbos. Before tomorrow night…. No I don’t think I can do it any sooner, but I won’t know until I start calling the airlines…. I’ll do the best I can…. Okay…okay. I love you, too…. Mendel? Sure, put him on, I’ll hold.”
“You’re going back?” Decker asked.
“Pessy was arrested in a massage-parlor raid,” Rina said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “Esther has fallen apart. My mother-in-law has Esther’s five kids plus mine. I’ve got to help out, Peter. They haven’t even hired a proper lawyer because they’re too embarrassed to let this leak—Hi, Mendel.”
“Why’s Mendel talking to you?” Decker asked.
“Hold on.” Rina turned to Decker. “I can’t talk to two people at once!”
“I thought Mendel didn’t talk to women.”
“Well, he’s talking to me right now, okay!” To Mendel, she said, “Yes, I’m still here…. Uh-huh, uh-huh…You’ve got to be kid—…Mendy, Peter doesn’t know anybody in New York….” She began to pace again. “Mendy…Mendy, every police department is different. Cops don’t have reciprocity….”
She listened to Mendel for a minute, then said, “You know, this is truly unbelievable. All last year, you and Pessy gave him grief whenever he called. Now, you’re asking for favors?…All right, all right…But don’t expect…Okay. Hold on.”
She held out the phone to Decker. He said, “I don’t have any clout with the New York PD.”
“Can’t you do anything? Just a phone call to find out how serious the charges are? Surely there’s some sort of network.”
“Rina, a week ago you were ready to kill this man. Now, you want to get him off?”
“What can I do, Peter?” She looked so desperate. “He’s family.”
Decker ran his hand over his face. “Tell Mendel I can’t do anything about it. Nothing! But between you and me, I’ll call a few people, okay?”
Rina nodded, related the message, and hung up.
“At least horny Pessy’s out in the open,” Decker said. “Takes the heat off of you.”
“One problem solved, another created.” She sighed. “Dear Lord, I dread going back.”
“Want me to come with you?”
“Can you?”
“I’ve got a couple of cases hanging over my neck,” Decker said. “If I make headway on them, I’ll join you for a few days.”
Rina fell into Decker’s arms. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Can you do anything for him?” Rina asked.
“Probably not,” Decker said. “But as promised, I’ll call around. It all depends on the charges, if there were drugs on the premises—”
Rina groaned, “I didn’t even think of that.”
“Think about it, honey.”
“Then he’s in deep trouble?”
“You kidding?” Decker laughed. “If it’s the usual first offense, no drugs involved, a slap on the wrist. He’ll be out a
nd back on the prowl before you fly home.”
“I’ve got to get back.”
“I’m not telling you not to,” Decker said. “I’m just telling you don’t worry about it.”
Rina sank into a chair. “Out of curiosity. Could you have influenced people if this had happened in L.A.?”
“Could I have, or would I have?”
Rina didn’t answer.
“Depends,” Decker said. Then he smiled. “Why? You have a parking ticket you want me to fix?”
“Oh, Peter!”
“What should I do with all this chopped-up lettuce?”
“Put it in a bowl.”
“What do you want to do about dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” Rina said. “And I have to start calling airlines. I hope I can catch a nonstop flight before Shabbos. Shayna says come out now. Beam me up, Scotty. We live in the jet-age world, but as of yet, travel isn’t instantaneous.”
The thought hit Decker as sudden as a gust of wind.
Travel isn’t instantaneous.
As with the Darcy case, it was just a matter of putting the horse before the cart. Had Granny Darcy come back to get Earl, or had she been there all along? Thinking along those lines, Myra Steele’s case was the same damn thing.
They took her to Hollywood Pres, but her mom insisted she be moved to County, because she didn’t have any insurance.
The right ingredients, but he lacked evidence. But if luck be a lady, he’d get a hold of something. Enough rope for the hanging.
He said, “I’ll call the airlines for you.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Rina said. “My family has caused you enough grief.”
“It’s no bother, Rina,” Decker said.
“Honestly?”
“Honestly.”
“Well, if you do that,” she said, “the least I could do is throw together something.”
“No,” Decker said. “You lie down, read a book. After I call, I’ll take you out to dinner at that Italian kosher restaurant on the other side of the mountain.”
Rina smiled. “That sounds great!” She added, “I’ll drive.”
He wasn’t the least bit tipsy, but thought it would be bad form to argue. “Fine, darlin’.”
“Try to get me a United flight,” Rina said. “I’m saving up for mileage with them.”
“Fine.”
As she started to walk away, Decker asked, “Honey, you ever been to Detroit?”
“Twice,” Rina said. “Why?”
“What airline did you take?”
“Gosh, it was a long time ago.” She paused. “It wasn’t one of the biggies, that much I remember. I think it was Northern or Northeastern. It was Northeastern. As I recall, it was the only one that flew nonstop from L.A.”
“Thanks,” Decker said.
“Why?” Rina asked again.
Decker didn’t answer. Rina didn’t pursue it.
26
At nine the next morning, Decker called the Darcy residence. The phone rang twelve times before it was picked up. Decker identified himself and asked to speak to Pappy Darcy. The male voice on the other end was low and slow.
“He ain’t home,” the voice said.
“Know when he’ll be back?”
“I ain’t suppose to say nothin’ to the po-lice,” said the voice.
“Are you B.B. Litton?” Decker asked.
“I told you, I don’t say nothin’ without my niggerlawyer.”
Decker swallowed back anger. “Is Sue Beth there?”
“Nope.”
“Is she at the courthouse?” Decker asked.
Silence over the other end. Decker felt his frustration grow. “Tell Sue Beth I called, all right?”
“Maybe,” the voice said. “Maybe I won’t.”
The line went dead.
Decker swore, then told himself to let it pass. He’d talk to Nixon later today and arrange the interview through him.
He picked up the receiver, dialed the Hollywood substation, and asked for George Andrick. A breathy female voice on the other end paused a moment, then said solemnly that Andrick had died on Tuesday—just two days ago. Massive coronary.
“You want info on the funeral?” she asked.
It took Decker a moment to collect his thoughts. The woman on the other end said, “You still there?”
“Yeah,” Decker said.
“You a friend of his or something?”
“No,” Decker said. “No, I’m from Foothill substation. I’m sorry to hear about Andrick.”
“Too bad, huh?”
“Yeah,” Decker said. “Listen, I was working on one of his cases. Know who took them over?”
The woman said she didn’t but transferred him to Medino—Andrick’s supervising detective. Decker gave Medino a recap of the case. Medino paused, then started repeating the name Steele over and over, as if it were a religious chant. Finally, he admitted he had no idea who had the case.
Decker asked, “What about Torres and Hoersch? Are they out on patrol?”
Medino said he didn’t know, then transferred Decker to the day-watch commander.
Ten minutes later, a Valley address in hand, Decker was on his way to see Officer William Hoersch.
The patrolman lived in Reseda. His house was in the middle of a quiet block, a faded green stucco ranch home with torn white awnings and a pocked-plaster walkway. The front lawn had been burnt-wheat-colored except for a round disk of grass that had been saved by the lacy boughs of an elm. Two dirt bikes rested against the trunk of the tree. The door to the garage was open, a restored ’62 Vette was up on lifts, and two legs were sticking out from under its belly. Decker cleared his throat. A bare-chested man about thirty slid out. His face was clean-shaven and covered with grease, his eyes dirty green but sharp. They immediately sized Decker up as a cop. Hoersch stood, wiped his oily hands on his shorts, but didn’t say anything.
“Hoersch?” Decker said.
“That’s me.”
“Talk to you for a moment?”
“Who are you?” Hoersch asked.
Decker flipped open his ID billfold. He said, “I’m not here on anything official.”
“So why are you here?”
“About a week ago, you and Alfredo Torres answered a two-forty-one Hotshot over in Hollywood—a gimp involved in an ambulance cutting. Victim was a hooker, stopped the perp by hitting him over the head with a lamp.”
“Yeah,” Hoersch nodded. “I remember. What’s Foothill’s involvement?”
“Gimp’s a friend of mine,” Decker said.
Hoersch’s eyes narrowed. He rocked on his bare feet. “So…”
Decker smiled, took off his jacket and draped it over his arm. “No tricks, Hoersch. I’m not out here to bribe you, trap you, or trip you up. And I’m not from IAD.”
Hoersch scanned Decker’s limp shirt, unpressed pants. “You don’t look like someone from IAD,” he added.
“Thanks for the compliment,” Decker said. “I just want to ask you a few questions about the call.”
A young woman wearing a bikini top and cutoff shorts came out the front door. She entered the garage but stopped when she saw Decker.
“Give him a break,” she said. “He’s still got a few hours before he reports in.”
“Inside the house, Terry,” Hoersch said.
“Andy’s on the phone,” Terry said.
“Tell him I’ll call him back,” Hoersch snapped.
“Geez, okay!” Terry’s lips formed a pout. “Don’t have to yell.”
After she left, Decker said, “A few questions, then I’m out of here.”
“Don’t worry about her,” Hoersch said.
Decker said, “When you answered the call, anybody with the woman?”
“I think a neighbor,” Hoersch said.
“Know for sure she was a neighbor?”
“She said she was,” Hoersch said. “I think she said she was the one who phoned it in. She was holding the victim’s hand
, crying that kind of gospel crying that blacks do in those old-fashioned movies. ‘Lordy, Lordy.’ That kind of shit. Victim was bleeding all over the place. Al—Officer Torres—immediately administered aid to the victim, took a towel and tried to stanch the bleeding. I went over to the perp and cuffed him.”
“How’d you know who the perp was?”
“He was the only man in the room,” Hoersch said. “Besides, the neighbor, in between her Lordies, kept pointing to him and saying, ‘He did it! He did it!’”
“The neighbor made the accusation?”
“Yeah.”
“How’d she know? Did she catch him in the act?”
“I think she did.”
“Was this neighbor middle-aged?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you remember her name?”
“Not offhand.”
“Was it Leandra Walsh?”
“I think her first name was Leandra,” Hoersch said. “Last name wasn’t Walsh, though.”
“Think you could ID her?” Decker asked.
“Yeah.” Hoersch shifted his weight, cocked his hip. “Why?”
“What did the perp do while Leandra was shouting, ‘He did it, he did it’?”
“He was dazed,” Hoersch said. “Leandra had hit him over the head with a lamp.”
“Leandra hit the perp over the head with a lamp?”
“Yeah,” Hoersch said, nodding.
“Not the victim?”
“No way!” Hoersch said, laughing. “The victim was hanging on for dear life.”
“Detective Andrick stated in his report that the victim knocked the perp over the head.”
“Not the way I saw or heard it,” Hoersch said. “’Course, they may have told Detective Andrick something different. You know how it is. People get mixed up all the time.”
“Sure,” Decker said. “When you talked to Leandra, what did she say happened?”
“Just that she’d heard screams,” Hoersch said. “Came in through the victim’s door—”
“Door was unlocked?”
“Must have been.” Hoersch folded his arms across his chest. “You know, it’s hard to remember without my notes in front of me.”
Decker said, “You’re doing better than I could. Besides, this is all off the record.”
