Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 03

by Milk;Honey

  “This gimp really a buddy of yours?”

  “Yep.”

  Hoersch raised his eyebrows.

  Decker said, “So Leandra heard screams and rushed in the victim’s door.”

  “Yeah,” Hoersch said. “No…wait. I think it went like this. First, she said, she called the police. Then she rushed in and saw the perp attacking the victim. She conked him over the head with a lamp. He was still dazed by the time we got to him.”

  “She called nine-one-one first?”

  “I think that’s what she said. She heard screams and called the police. But the police were too slow, and she went in herself…something like that.”

  “A nine-one-one call was placed,” Decker said, “But it was called from the victim’s phone.”

  Hoersch paused. “I think she said she called the police from her apartment.”

  “Maybe her apartment was the same as the victim’s,” Decker said.

  “I gotta look at my notes,” Hoersch said. “I don’t want to tell you anything wrong.”

  “But you’d be able to ID this Leandra?”

  “Think so.”

  “What about Torres?”

  “Yeah, he probably could, too. Or Andrick.”

  “Andrick is dead,” Decker said. “Heart attack.”

  “No shit?” Hoersch whistled, shook his head. “Jesus. You see a guy…I’ve been off for three days. Went to Catalina to do a little diving…Shit, that’s lousy.”

  “Can I look at your notes?”

  Hoersch didn’t answer. Decker repeated the question.

  “Uh, guess that’d be okay.” He paused a moment, then said, “How old you think Andrick was?”

  “Mid-fifties.”

  “He was overweight, too.” Hoersch patted his hard abdomen. “Man, when I’m that age, I’m gonna be fit. Body is only as good as the way you treat it.”

  Decker said, “When can I look at your notes?”

  “I go on shift at three,” Hoersch said. “Meet me at the station a half hour early.”

  “Thanks,” Decker said. “I’ll remember this, Hoersch.”

  Hoersch shifted on his feet again. “Don’t worry about it, Sergeant.” He smiled. “If you forget, I’ll remind you.”

  Abel’s motorcycle was lying in front of the garage door. Rina parked the Porsche in the driveway and entered the house, hearing steady banging out back as she closed the side door. As usual, Peter hadn’t come home yet. As usual, she was left to her own devices.

  She paced the living-room floor, deciding in a matter of minutes that she was not going to spend another afternoon with him working inside the barn and her imprisoned in the house. She’d have to approach him, tell him to leave. The idea made her jittery, but she was less afraid of Abel, having spent an afternoon watching him and Peter play basketball, seeing the friendship between them.

  Still…

  Anxiously, she felt at the bottom of her purse for the gun, checked it to make sure it was loaded.

  It was.

  She slung her purse over her shoulder and went outside. The barn door was wide open. Abel was working in the back, sifting through a pile of fresh lumber stacked against the hay bales. He wore a blue tank top and a pair of faded brown corduroy shorts. His hair was tied back into a ponytail, a red sweatband encircled his forehead. His natural foot and his prosthesis were housed in running shoes. Rina stood outside the door, called his name. Abel turned around, a smile spread across his face.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Rina said.

  Abel’s smile disappeared. “I’ll go if you want.”

  “You know how Peter is…”

  “Don’t have to explain, ma’am.”

  “Stop calling me ma’am.” Rina noticed an edge to her voice. “Look, I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal. It’s just the way Peter is, and I don’t want to aggravate him.”

  Abel didn’t say anything. Rina shrugged, then turned to walk away.

  “Rina?” Abel called out.

  “What?”

  “Do me a favor. Toss me my cane while I clean up. It’s leaning against the left wall.”

  “Sure,” Rina said. By the time the cane was in her hand, Abel had moved so that he blocked the entrance to the barn. It was as if the guy had floated through the air, he’d been that quiet.

  Abel shut the door. Rina felt her heart begin to pound.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” she asked.

  “Closing the door.”

  “Get away from the door.”

  Abel smiled again; this time it was eerie. “Why?” he asked.

  So innocent.

  “Why are you doing this to me?” Rina shouted out. “I know what you’ve been accused of doing…”

  Abel shrugged.

  “For godsake, Abel, I thought Peter was your best friend.”

  “He is.”

  “Then get away from the door!” Rina felt her throat tighten. “Please.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You know I have a gun in my purse.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I know how to use it,” Rina said. Her voice sounded shakier than she’d hoped.

  “Yes, ma’am.” Abel started to walk toward her.

  “Why are you doing this?” Rina said.

  But he kept approaching her. Quickly, she reached inside her purse, pulled out her gun, and aimed it at his chest.

  That stopped him for a moment. Rina found her voice. She said, “Just get out of here! Just leave and everything’s forgotten.”

  Abel shrugged, started toward her once again. “’Fraid I can’t do that, Rina.” He wiped his forehead. “No, I just can’t do that at all.”

  Peter’s voice rang in her ears. A knack for attracting weirdos. Then he’d soft-pedaled his indictment.

  I meant you’d attract any man, weird or not, because you’re so beautiful….

  Peter never knew how right he was. Men had always stared at her. Strange men, men she knew, her father’s friends, the men in the community. It didn’t matter. They always were smiling at her, speaking to her, or just plain ogling her. No matter what she did, how dowdily she dressed herself, how tired and drawn she appeared after a long day at work. When she sat in the subway, nose buried in a book, some jerk always came up to her, tried out some sort of asinine line. What was she doing to encourage them? Or was it just her looks, the looks she cursed at this moment. Sweat began to pour down her armpits.

  “I’m going to shoot you!” Rina said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “I’ll kill you, for godsake!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As he drew near her, she began to back up. Her feet felt like jelly, her stomach churned until she felt bile rise in her throat.

  “Abel, I’m begging you to stop,” she sobbed. “Please!”

  “You’ve got two choices, Rina,” he said. His steps were soundless, carefully measured. “Shoot me or don’t shoot me. Now I’m betting that no matter how threatened you feel, you can’t look me in the eye and pull the trigger. But if you do…hey, that’s cool.”

  “Please,” Rina whispered. The gun was shaking in her hands. Her palms were moist and hot. She felt as if she were about to faint, but willed herself the strength to do whatever she had to.

  Abel waited until he’d backed her against the wall, then stopped around ten feet in front of her.

  “You’re sure you know how to use that?” he said.

  So calm. Rina felt hot tears well up, spilling over her cheek.

  “Yes,” she managed to answer.

  “Then you’d better use it,” Abel said. “Or else I’m going to take it out of your hands.”

  “Oh God, please help me,” Rina sobbed.

  “Last chance, Rina,” Abel said calmly.

  Then, at once, he lunged at her. A second later, her hands were empty. Abel stood six inches in front of her, the gun resting in his hands. He smiled at her, shook his head sadly.

  “You blew it, kid,”
Abel said. He twirled the gun like a slinger in an old Western. “If I were a rapist, you’d not only be up shit’s creek without a paddle, you wouldn’t even have a boat.” He pointed the gun to her temple.

  All Rina could see was the faces of her sons. She whispered, “I have children.”

  Abel said, “If I were a murderer, I’d say something like…you should have thought about them a second ago.” He traced her jaw outline with the barrel of the snub nose. With his free hand, he pulled off her kerchief and loosened her hair. “You’re a beautiful woman, know that?”

  Rina didn’t answer. Her boys. Orphans. Peter had no chance of getting them…. Her parents would fight for them…. Dear God, if not for her, for them. She began to recite the Shema to herself.

  Abel moved the gun closer until the muzzle touched her forehead, held it that way for a moment, then let the trigger guard rotate around his finger until the barrel pointed downward. He stood that way for a second, two seconds, then three and four, until Rina finally realized he was offering the gun back to her. Slowly, her hand began to rise, until her fingertips touched the chamber. It was then that her feet gave way. She slid, back snaking down the wall, until she collapsed onto the floor and wept. Abel sat beside her, opened her purse, and slipped the gun inside.

  “Shouldn’t carry a gun unless you’re prepared to use it, Rina,” Abel said. “It’s easy to kill a target, even fire off a couple of rounds at someone fleeing in the woods at night…”

  Fleeing. Peter must have told him how she’d tried to shoot the rapist. Why would he have done that? To warn Abel off? It hadn’t worked. She hated Peter for bringing this pervert into their lives.

  “Yeah,” Abel went on, “it’s easy to shoot when you’re not looking someone in the eye. Not too many people shoot face-to-face. Some can. Your husband-to-be can. But obviously you can’t.”

  Rina couldn’t answer. She was shaking too hard.

  “Do yourself a favor,” Abel said. “Toss the gun.”

  Whispering, Rina said, “You did this…to teach me a lesson?”

  Staring straight ahead, Abel didn’t answer her. Neither one spoke for a minute or so. Rina felt her strength returning. Anger began to smother the fear that had paralyzed her. When she spoke, her voice burned with hatred. “You sadistic bastard!”

  Abel turned to her and smiled. But his eyes were disturbed. “You still have the gun, Rina. Maybe you’d like to use it now, eh?”

  “You wanted me to kill you!” Rina cried out.

  “No,” Abel said. “No, I didn’t want you to kill me. I really didn’t. But I wouldn’t have cared if you did.” He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. “When I was recovering in the VA on the amputee ward, we used to sneak guns in and play Russian roulette. Actually, they say there were some who played roulette in Nam. Like in the movie Deer Hunter—”

  “I don’t go to movies,” Rina said. Then wondered why in the world she was answering this creep. She should bolt up and run away. But fright or its aftermath kept her rooted to the ground.

  Abel went on, “Well, I never did see any grunts spin the gun while in Nam. Pete didn’t, either. But I did do it on the ward. Few guys blew their brains out. But that was no big deal. Staff chalked it up to despondency—suicidal depression.”

  “It was suicide,” Rina said. “It—” She stopped talking.

  Abel waited for more, and when it didn’t come, he said, “Yeah, I guess looking at it now, it was.” He took a drag on his smoke. “But then, I never thought of it like that. Just something to do to feel your heart pumping. It’s like this. You lose a leg, an arm…” A lover, he thought. “You lose something that was part of you, you go numb. And I wasn’t the worst off, by any means. At least I was still a man, if you know what I mean. Others…” Abel felt perspiration drenching his sweatband. “Others weren’t that lucky. So you’re lying there trying to readjust, not doing it very well, you do anything to feel, even if the feeling’s fear.”

  Rina said nothing.

  He shook his head. “You couldn’t possibly understand—”

  “What I can’t understand was how you could do such a horrible…cruel…monstrous thing to me!” Rina blurted out.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Especially since I’m your best friend’s fiancée.”

  Abel didn’t respond. And in that moment of silence, Abel had said it all.

  “It wasn’t me personally, was it?” Rina said. “You like me.”

  “Honey, I more than like you.”

  “But you hate Peter more than you like me.”

  Abel laughed too loudly. “You are one bright lady.”

  Rina brushed away tears and said softly, “I was so nice to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” Abel said. He realized how banal his apology was, but couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “You set me up,” Rina continued. “A payback for something Peter did to you. You son of a bitch!”

  Abel nodded his head in agreement.

  Rina tried to speak, but her voice was choked. She buried her head in her hands and wept.

  “Know the worst part about it?” she finally said. “Peter must have told you what happened to me two years ago. About the attempted rape. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have made that comment about me shooting at things fleeing in the woods.”

  “He did,” Abel said.

  “How could you do that to me—to anyone—knowing what I’d been through?” Rina dried her eyes on her shirtsleeve. “What was Peter’s crime? Surviving the war in one piece?”

  “Saving my life,” Abel said.

  “Dear God…” Rina said a silent prayer, then ran her hands through her hair. “You’re really sick, you know that?”

  “I’m more than sick, Rina,” Abel said. “For all intents and purposes, I’m dead. I died the day I lost my leg.” He turned and faced her. “The key was quarter-turned in the ignition when I heard Pete screaming to get out of the Jeep. Didn’t quite make it all the way out.”

  “And this is how you pay him back?”

  “He should have let me die,” Abel said. “My fiancée died that day. And that kinda left me addled. She was lovely, Rina, half Korean, half Vietnamese. A thoroughly beautiful woman, not unlike yourself. Her name was Song Duc Lu. Ask Pete about her. He knew her well, though not as well as he thought…” He looked down.

  With shaky hands, Rina drew her purse onto her lap. She felt safe in an odd sort of way. He’d had his opportunity and didn’t take it. Primitive thinking, but she held on to her logic as tightly as she clutched her purse.

  “So you’re angry at Peter for saving your life,” Rina said. “For your girlfriend’s death. You’re crazy, Abel. You’re crazy and you’re right! Peter should have let you die.”

  Abel broke into a slow smile that spoke of his tortured soul. Rina was suddenly ashamed of herself. She stared at him, at this shell of a man consumed by the poison of untimely loss. Rina knew the feeling well. Once, she’d been as bitter as he. But time and God had calmed her soul. She knew some people who’d returned to God during troubled periods, but most did not find their ultimate salvation in religion. Time was a different animal. Most raging souls were soothed by the passing of years. Abel had been one of the exceptions, his war experience turning him into a ghost. There had to be more to his story, but she didn’t want to engage him in any more conversation. Suddenly, the prospect of returning to New York didn’t seem nearly as gloomy.

  “Look,” she said. “I…I’m sorry your fiancée died. But I didn’t kill her.”

  Abel let out a bitter laugh. “True enough.”

  His presence was suffocating. She had to get out of there. She tried to stand, but didn’t have the strength. In a clear voice, she said, “I’m a little shaky, Abel. Help me up.”

  Abel regarded her face for a moment. Full of anger, yet he knew she’d forgive him. She was that type of person, the exact opposite of himself. Even after all he had done to her, she couldn’t sustain her hatred. He th
ought of her eyes as he’d threatened her. He’d known she couldn’t pull the trigger.

  He stood up, offered her his hand, then pulled her up, holding her hand a little longer than he should have. And she knew it, too. But she seemed too weary to pull away. He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the fingertips several times.

  “You didn’t do it, did you?” Rina said.

  “No.” Abel dropped her hand. “No, I didn’t. I’ve got lots of bad qualities. You’ve just seen one of them, Rina—I can’t let go of anything. But I don’t hurt women—ever.”

  Don’t hurt them physically, Rina thought. She turned on her heels and ran into the house without looking back. Ten minutes later, she heard the roar of the motorcycle’s ignition. It spat and hissed, then faded until it dissipated into the hot summer air.

  27

  Cool and calm.

  Decker had learned a lot over the years, two decades of police work had been an extended training course in control. Dispassionate inwardly, compassionate outwardly. Don’t get overinvolved.

  Except the bastard had put a gun to her head. Suddenly, nothing else mattered.

  He parked the unmarked on a side street connecting Sunset and Hollywood—equidistant from the teenage prostitutes and the chickenhawks. The harsh noonday sun highlighted the ugliness. All around, neglected apartments. Buildings gray with grime and smog. Bungalows with rotted porches and rusted siding.

  Abel lived in a two-story decaying structure called the Aloha. Its exterior was pink, but once it had been colored aqua, the old paint surfacing through in inkblot patterns. Decker jogged up a metal staircase coated with grit and walked down an outside hallway, heading toward the back. Abel’s bachelor pad overlooked a pay parking lot. His door was open. Decker stepped inside.

  The place was bare bones. Plaster walls painted yellow, a worn brown carpet as flat as packed dirt. His sofa had been gold and red brocade, but the fabric had thinned to surgical gauze. In front of the couch was a wood-grained Formica table resting on spindly black legs. A matching square table was shoved into the windowed corner, two orange plastic chairs pushed against it. The top was clean and clear except for a gooseneck lamp and an old toaster. A kitchenette was squeezed into a closet—a two-burner hot plate, a bar-sized fridge, and a small porcelain sink, its surface polished sparkling white. The room was stuffy and, as always, reeked with the smell of ammonia, bug spray, and disinfectant.