by Justice
Chris kissed my lips, then said, “I need to finish packing. You keep standing around me, looking so fine, I’m going to get distracted. Why don’t you go and splash a little cold water on your cheeks, baby doll? It’ll make you feel better.”
“Good idea.” I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He extricated himself from my grip. “Go freshen up.”
I nodded and went to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and let it run for a long time. Bathing my face in a baptism of tap water.
It felt good.
Thinking pure thoughts even as his seed swam inside my body.
Trying to block out sentences of newspaper print.
Drowning out the potency of the sergeant’s words that rang in my brain.
Erasing old memories…Chris’s beeper going off…leaving his apartment to return the call.
Wiping away new memories, too. The stench of burned leather that once was my old appointment book.
Because the dates matched and I didn’t want to think about it.
When I came out of the bathroom, Chris wasn’t in the bedroom. I found him leaning against the kitchen counter. My purse was open. He was reading the newspaper clippings that I had stashed in my wallet.
I stopped in my tracks. He looked at my face and held up the articles. “Where’d you get these?”
“Why…why were you looking through my purse?”
“You answer my question first…then I’ll answer yours.”
I stood mortified.
He said, “Okay, I’ll go first. I went through your purse because you were acting funny and asking me strange questions. Now it’s your turn.”
I couldn’t talk.
“Cat got your tongue?” he said playfully. He pocketed the clippings and sat on his carpet adjacent to his sleeping bag. He patted the spot next to him. I forced myself to walk over and sit. He put his arm around me. “I’m not mad. Just tell me where you got them.”
“From…”
“Go ahead. From where?”
His voice was soft like a faraway echo.
“From Sergeant Decker.”
“When did you see him?”
“About a week ago. He came to my house.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
My eyes started getting misty. “I don’t know why.”
“He spook you, Terry? Spook you about me? Truth now.”
I paused, then nodded.
“Do you know why he did that?” Chris flipped hair from his eyes. “Because the prick hates my guts. This is his final revenge on me.”
“He got you out of prison.”
“No, you got that wrong, angel,” Chris stated. “He got me out of prison to save his own ass. Because he screwed up the first time around. If he hadn’t done something, my lawyers would have brought incompetency charges against him and sued the entire LAPD.”
I looked down and said nothing.
“Did he tell you I had something to do with these murders?”
I started crying. Chris pulled me close. “Terry, I need you to tell me the truth. Did Decker tell you I had something to do with these murders?”
I blurted, “He just told me he thought it was funny that you were out here going to high school. And he thought that your cello gigs didn’t make any sense—”
“How did he know about my cello gigs?”
My voice got small. “I guess I told him about them. In the beginning. When he first interviewed me. Like why I tutored you…you know, to explain why you missed so much school.”
“You talk a lot, don’t you?”
I looked away and didn’t answer.
Chris said, “We’ll have to work on that. But first, I want you to listen carefully. Did he say anything about investigating these murders?”
“He said he didn’t have any proof about…about who did them. That even if he…if he investigated them, he’d probably come up empty. Because these guys take care of each other.”
Chris closed his eyes, then opened them. “Terry, look at me.”
I did.
Chris crossed himself. “I swear to Jesus, I didn’t have anything to do with this shit. Decker told you things to discredit me.”
“But why would he do that?”
“I told you why. Because I fucked up his investigation by being innocent of Cheryl’s murder. He had to go back and retrace his steps and hope that my lawyers didn’t catch on. To save face, he tried to snow you with this garbage. And that’s what it is, Terry. It’s garbage!”
He fished the articles from his pocket and ripped them to shreds.
“I don’t kill people, Teresa. If we’re going to make this thing work between us, you can’t doubt me. Because I don’t want to have to spend the rest of my life proving that I’m not Joseph Donatti.”
I didn’t react.
“Look at me, Terry.”
Again, I looked at him.
“Do you believe me?”
I averted my eyes. He picked my head up. “Nuh-uh. You can’t run away from me now. Do you believe me?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
I said nothing.
“Look at me, dammit! I went to prison for you!”
I looked at him, my eyes swollen with tears. “I know you did. I’m sorry, Chris. I’m sorry about everything.”
“What does that mean?”
I looked away, stared at my lap, and couldn’t speak.
Chris let out a soft laugh. “Oh…now I get it. You need another break from me, right? A temporary separation, right? Just like the first time you blew me off. I’m not perfect so that gives you a right to rip out my heart.”
Anything I said would have angered him. We sat in utter silence, my eyes glued to my lap, until I heard something click. I looked his way. My mouth dropped open.
A gun in his hands. It must have been tucked away in his sleeping bag. He showed it to me, then pressed it against my temple.
I was trembling so hard, I bit my tongue. But Chris’s hand was steady—a flesh extension of his weapon. His face was as dead as if he were embalmed. He said, “They were bad men, Terry. You believe that, don’t you?”
Icy rills were running down my cheeks. I felt faint, but managed to keep conscious.
“Answer me,” Chris said, quietly.
“Yes, I believe you.”
“Very bad men—dealers, murderers, extortionists. Got in my uncle’s way. Just…bad men killing bad men. No concern of yours…unless you get in the way.”
Chris’s voice turned very soft.
“I’m not stupid, Terry. I know you don’t believe a word I say. And you shouldn’t, because I’m a pathological liar. All you had to do was fake it…minimally fake it. Why didn’t you do it?”
I hugged myself to prevent the spasms from overtaking me.
“You hurt my feelings,” Chris said.
“I’m…sorry,” I whispered.
“I’m sure you’re very sorry now. Look at me.”
I did, the gun moving from my temple to between my eyes.
His eyes were red and moist. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I love you too much. Except right now I hate you an awful lot. You know why, don’t you?”
I nodded.
“You keep quiet about all this, you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Very quiet. You talk, you’re dead. Understand?”
I nodded.
Slowly, Chris lowered the firearm and rested it on his lap. My eyes stealing a glance at the hunk of metal, shocked to see such a little weapon, almost comical-looking because the barrel seemed to be wrapped with Brillo. Looking at the ceiling, he said, “Let me ask you a philosophical question.”
I waited.
“Suppose you have a pit bull—a good specimen. Strong, quick, and a real fast learner. Suppose it gets in the hands of the wrong owner. If it listens, it gets rewarded. If it doesn’t, it ge
ts the shit kicked out of it. The owner teaches it to attack. And it attacks. And it does it real well. Matter of fact, it gets rewarded big time because it does it so well. Is it the dog’s fault he’s like that?”
“No.”
“Terry, I’m not going to hurt you. Answer me honestly! Is it the dog’s fault?”
No, it isn’t the dog’s fault. Still, it’s a vicious animal and should be destroyed. I said, “We’re people, Chris. We can walk away.”
“Not true,” he said. “Just maybe…maybe I could hide from my uncle. But I could never hide from the entire organization. I’m stuck.” He looked at me. “Do you see that?”
I told him I understood, praying the pit bull wouldn’t turn on me.
“God, how I love you,” he whispered. “Love you enough to give you a head start. So get out of here, Terry. Run out of here! And don’t let me ever see your face again. Because if I do, I swear to Jesus, I’ll blow your head off and give you a mirror to watch.”
Slowly, I stood up on shaky knees and managed to get to his door. I opened it, was about to leave. Instead, I turned to him. “You didn’t kill Cheryl Diggs, did you?”
In a flash, Chris fired off shots in my direction—soft, zvitt sounds that sent clouds of steel wool in the air and made me jump and gasp. Two bullets flew over my left shoulder, two over my right. All of them hit the wall, but left me quivering. I almost dropped to the floor. But some inner strength kept me upright.
“Perfect double taps.” Chris smiled eerily. “I’m a real pro. Don’t work unless I get paid. And I didn’t get paid with Cheryl.” He clicked the gun. “Next set won’t miss, Teresa. Go before I change my mind and never let you go.”
I closed the door and ran all the way home.
44
The autumn flower arrangement practically covered his desk, the card in it congratulating Decker on his new promotion. The entire squad room had signed it, but he knew that Marge was behind the whole thing.
He started unpacking, settling himself into his new office. His official duties would begin five days from now, on Halloween. He had considered coming to work dressed up in costume but a) Halloween wasn’t a Jewish holiday, b) dressing in costume wasn’t him, and c) with his new position, he already felt like an imposter.
Because along with the position came the title—Lieutenant Decker.
The one thing he would sorely miss was working in the field every day with Marge. Not that he couldn’t work with her directly on the big cases—actually, he could work with anyone on any cases he wanted—but that wasn’t his main job anymore.
Everything that went down in the Detectives department was now his responsibility. Being the kind of person he was, he knew that would mean a major personality adjustment. His obsessive nature made him focus on detail. One of the reasons he was such a good detective. Rarely was something overlooked.
Now he’d have to approach everything with a broader outlook, a bigger lens. But that was okay with him.
Because nothing ever stayed the same.
First thing up was the picture of the wife and kids. He smiled at Rina’s face, wondered how she’d put up with his miserable moodiness the last couple of months. Ah, well, maybe the increase in his paycheck would make up in part for his grumpiness.
Next came the picture of the boys riding bareback in the woods, followed by a snapshot of Hannah on her swing. Lastly, Cindy’s senior picture. She had moved back to the campus dorm. Last time Decker had spoken to her she had sounded depressed. Things hadn’t worked out between her and the boy. So she’d be going it alone for a while longer.
Alone.
Nothing new on the shopping-bag rapist. The bastard had taken his own summer break. Every time Decker talked to his daughter, he reminded her that the madman was still out there, lurking around, just waiting…waiting. By now, Cindy was probably growing weary of the lectures. But Decker wouldn’t ever let up until the bastard was caught.
Someone knocked.
“Door’s open,” Decker said aloud, arranging the pictures on his desk.
Wanda Bontemps stepped inside his new office. She was dressed in civies—a gray suit offset by a white blouse with a frilly collar. She wore makeup and had had her hair done.
“Have a seat,” Decker said. “You don’t mind if I keep unpacking, do you?”
“Not at all.” She regarded his working space, looked at the empty walls. Then she sat in one of the two folding chairs. “I just stopped by to congratulate you on your promotion.”
Decker stopped working and smiled. “Well, that was nice of you.”
The room went quiet.
Wanda said, “I got a promotion myself—Detectives.”
Decker offered her a handshake. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. You didn’t know about it?”
“May have heard something floating around. Anyway, that’s great. Good luck!”
“It’s in Van Nuys.”
“Quite a commute for you.”
“Yes, but that’s okay. That’s where the opening was.”
“You take what you can get.”
“There was an opening in Van Nuys because Detective Bert Martinez was moved here.”
“That’s the truth.”
“So that left an opening in Van Nuys Detectives.”
“Yes, I can see where it would work like that.”
Wanda kneaded her hands. “Was Martinez moved here at your request?”
Decker stopped unpacking, tossed her a smile and sat down. “You’re prying, Detective Bontemps.”
“Did you go to bat for me?” Bontemps blurted out. “Please. It’s important for me to know.”
Decker smoothed his mustache. “I mentioned you to some people. And I’m sure it didn’t hurt that you’re a black woman. But you got the promotion with your own scores and your own record.”
Bontemps was quiet, looked at her lap.
“Detective,” Decker said, “don’t worry how you got there. Instead, start looking at what you have to do. I think you’ll do great.”
She looked up and smiled sheepishly. “I’m nervous.”
“It’s a big step. I’d be nervous, too.”
“You just got promoted. You don’t look nervous, sir. You look like you own the place.” She suddenly blushed. “I just wish I could be so calm.”
“I hide things well.” Decker stood up and continued to unpack his belongings. “They give you a detail yet?”
“Juvenile, naturally.”
“I worked juvey for eleven years. Great detail…and a good one to cut your teeth on.”
“Any advice?”
“No.”
Wanda laughed. “Well, that was to the point.”
“You’re honest and so am I.”
Bontemps paused. “I’ve done some thinking, sir. I realize that you don’t have to be white to be prejudiced. And I apologize for my own biases. My grandparents had problems with some Jewish people. Big problems. A Jewish man owned the apartment building where they were living. Then my grandfather hit on hard times. The Jewish man didn’t want to listen.”
Decker nodded and kept unpacking.
“I loved my grandparents. And I felt real bad for their pain.” Wanda sighed. “But that was then…and this is now. We’re all adults and we all make our own beds. It’s time to move on.”
“I have an uncle that I dearly love,” Decker said. “Still calls blacks niggers. No matter how many times people correct him—and lord knows, my mother alone has corrected him more times than I can count—he won’t stop. Bugs the heck out of me, but the old bastard ain’t going to change. We all have baggage in our closets. Unless we deal with it, we’re not going to change it. You and I working on the Green case…it was instructional for me.”
“For me, too.” Bontemps stood. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. I won’t forget it ever.”
“See, the way I figure it, a veteran mother should outrank her incoming daughter.”
Bontemps grinned. “Ye
s, sir. Definitely need to keep the rookies in check.”
Decker laughed. “Bye, Detective.”
“Want me to close the door, sir?”
“You can’t. It’s warped.”
“Shouldn’t be too hard for someone to fix that.”
“I could take a plane and do it myself.” Decker paused. “But why bother? I think I’ll just leave it that way.”
45
She looked burdened but somehow that only added to her beauty. It made her look older and wiser. Her complexion was paler than Decker last remembered, her cheeks a bit thinner. She wore a flowing dress; the mini-print held hundreds of pink roses. Her long, auburn hair was pinned back by a flower clip. She could have been a Victorian noblewoman.
Decker pointed to a chair at the side of his desk. “You didn’t go with him, Terry?”
“Appears that way.”
“Are you in UCLA?”
She nodded. “For the moment, yes.”
“Are you mad at me?”
The question took her by surprise. “I never thought about it. Maybe.”
Decker smiled gently, but she didn’t smile back. Her eyes moistened. “I thought you might be interested in this,” she said. “I got it in the mail yesterday.”
She handed Decker a newspaper article.
Society page.
A black-and-white photo. The bride was a heavyset girl with an ordinary, round face. But somehow her expression of joy offset her God-given plainness. The groom looked less than thrilled but not grossly unhappy. More relieved than anything else. As if he had hit rock bottom and things had to get better.
Decker read:
DONATTI AND BENEDETTO EXCHANGE VOWS.
He skimmed the article as he spoke. “Christopher Sean Donatti…” He stopped. “Chris changed his name?”
“Guess so. After all, he is Joseph Donatti’s son.” Terry took the article back and stowed it in her purse. “Chris’s subtle way of telling me to screw myself.”
“I don’t think he’s overjoyed, Terry.”
“Who knows? He’s more addicted to revenge than to love. He once told me that. Now I believe it.”
“You’re much better off.”
“I’m not so sure. I’m pregnant.”
