Murder 101: A Decker/Lazarus Novel (Decker/Lazarus Novels Book 22)

by Kellerman, Faye

  “The kid is still getting on your nerves.”

  “He gets on everyone’s nerves.”

  “Why don’t you invite him over for tomor—”

  “No.”

  “Take the high road, Peter.”

  “I’m taking no road. He’s nasty and condescending. It’s bad enough that I have to deal with him at work. Why should I let him ruin my weekend or, even worse, inflict him on you? He’d only wind up needling me for being observant, narrow-minded, and provincial.”

  “Or maybe he’d see another side of you.”

  “If I invited him over, it would only feed his delusions that he really is my superior.”

  “The kid might be a snot, but I guarantee you he knows who the real cop is. He probably feels like an imposter.”

  “He is an imposter.”

  “Give him a chance.”

  “He won’t accept the invitation from me.”

  “So maybe he’ll accept it from me.” Rina picked up the phone. “What’s his cell?”

  After Decker gave her the number, she punched it in and waited. “Hi. I’m looking for Tyler McAdams?”

  Over the line, the kid said, “You called my cell so you found me. Who is this?”

  Decker heard his response and mouthed, I told you so.

  Rina blithely continued. “This is Rina Decker. My husband and I wanted to invite you over for dinner tomorrow night.” There was a long pause over the line. She went on. “I don’t know if Peter told you but we’re Jewish and we’re observant. I’m having six to eight students here from the colleges and I thought they might be interested in what people do postgraduation, even if it’s a temporary job.”

  McAdams still didn’t speak. Finally, he said, “Uh, thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. If it’s an inconvenient time, we’ll take a rain check. We usually have people over Friday night, so it’s open-ended. But I’d love to meet you. I always check out my husband’s partners.”

  “No, you don’t,” Decker whispered.

  She gave him a playful slap. “Please come.”

  “Sure . . . great. What time?”

  Decker was making a face. Rina wagged her finger. “Six-thirty. It’s pretty informal. And I’m a great cook.”

  “Sounds like a win-win situation because I like to eat. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. We look forward to seeing you. Bye.” She hung up. “Done.”

  “It’s not enough that he’s a leech at work. Once he’s tasted your food, I’ll never get him off my back.”

  Rina took the casserole out of the oven. “Lots of people have ridden on your back and you’re none the worse for wear. You’ve got a strong set of shoulders. One more kid certainly won’t break your spine.”

  CHAPTER 2

  THE KID WAS on time, which would have been fine except that the students were on Jewish Standard Time. Rina answered the door and proceeded to charm while Decker elected to sulk. It seemed like a lifetime until the other guests arrived. The group—four guys and two girls—brought flowers and wine, leaving the empty-handed McAdams feeling a little sheepish. “I thought this was informal. I would have brought something.”

  Decker said, “Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’m not worried, but I just don’t want to look like a clod.”

  “If only you could remedy that with a bottle of wine.” Decker smiled and put his arm around the kid as he led him to the table. “C’mon, Harvard. Just relax.” Introductions were made all around. Decker whispered, “There are a couple of ritual blessings we need to make. The first one is over the wine—”

  “I know what Kiddush is,” McAdams said. “There are one or two Jews in the Ivies. I had a Jewish girlfriend at one point.”

  “What happened?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend anymore, that’s what happened.”

  “She dumped you.” When McAdams shot him a dirty look, Decker said, “It happens.” He seated himself at the head of the table.

  Rina said, “Tyler, why don’t you sit here between Adam and Jennifer. Both of them are interested in law and I know you’ve gotten into Harvard Law.”

  “Adam and McAdams,” Decker said. “Already sounds like a law firm.”

  Rina smiled. “It does.” She placed the other four students at the table and then Decker made Kiddush. There once was a time where he stumbled over the Hebrew words. But after twenty-five years of embracing her culture and his genetics, he recited the blessing fluently. After drinking wine, the group washed their hands and said the ritual blessing, and then Decker made the HaMotzi, the prayer over the bread.

  Finally, the meal could begin in earnest: soup, salad, rib roast, lentils with red peppers and onions, green beans with hazelnuts, and mixed berry cobbler for dessert. It was enough to break the zippers and pop buttons on any waistline. There was lively conversation between the students and Rina as they discussed the parashat hashavua: the weekly chapter of bible. The kids were intelligent and opinionated. McAdams, on the other hand, was quiet. Like a lot of secular, upper-crust kids of his generation, he was probably scripture impaired. But he was polite and spoke when he was spoken to.

  By nine o’clock, things were starting to wrap up and that’s when Decker’s landline rang. Rina and he exchanged glances. Decker’s father had died a year ago, but his mother was still alive and in her nineties. Rina’s parents were both in their nineties. Whenever they got a phone call on Shabbat, it was a reason to worry. Decker held up his finger and went to the answering machine, which identified phone numbers. “It’s local.”

  “Thank God,” Rina said. “Probably a robocall.”

  The voice kicked in. It was Mike Radar and Decker picked up the phone. “It’s Decker. What’s up, Captain?” He listened intently over the phone. “When? . . . Okay . . . okay.” He checked his watch. “Does he know when the lock was broken? No idea? All right, I’ll look into it. Do you know how far it is from my house? . . . no, I’ll handle it. Just tell me how to get there on foot . . . no, I don’t mind walking if it’s not too far. A mile away is no problem, Mike . . . no, really, you stay put. I just ate the equivalent of half a cow and it would be good for me to get a little exercise. Unless it’s something more, I’ll call you on Sunday.”

  Decker hung up the phone. “There was a break-in at the local cemetery and the watchman is all up in arms. The other detectives are ice fishing in Canada for the weekend so the captain wondered if I wouldn’t mind handling it.”

  Rina feigned mock outrage. “You mean your colleagues didn’t invite you with them?”

  Decker grinned. “Actually, I made the cut, but I declined. Maybe next time.”

  McAdams said, “I would have gone. Nobody asked me.”

  “They probably thought your blue blood couldn’t handle the cold.” Decker sighed inwardly. He had to make the offer to look like a good guy. “Come if you want.”

  “Of course, I’ll come.”

  “Take the car. I’ll meet you there in about a half hour.”

  “I’ll walk with you, Old Man.”

  “Harvard, it’s really cold outside. I’m doing it for religious reasons. No reason for you to suffer.”

  “I’m not gonna let you outmacho me.”

  “Suit yourself. Let me grab a few things and we’ll be on our way.”

  “I’ll get your jacket, Tyler,” Rina said.

  “Thanks.” McAdams jammed his hands into his pants pockets. His eyes were darting back and forth and he walked in itty-bitty circles. When Rina brought over his outerwear, he bundled up and then forced a smile. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Do you want some package warmers for your feet and hands?” Decker asked. “I’m taking some with me. No sense getting frostbite.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

 
Decker gave a wave and he and the kid were off. The night was moonless with thousands of stars sprinkling the dark sky like salt on black velvet. Without the cloud cover, the temperature had dropped to the teens. No wind . . . just cold air and the mist of warm breath wafting through darkness.

  McAdams said, “Thanks for dinner.”

  “You’re welcome. It was my wife’s idea.”

  “Yeah, I intuited that. She is a good cook. She’s also lovely . . . I mean personality.”

  “She’s lovely all the way around. I’m very lucky.”

  McAdams said, “You have a large family. I counted like seven different people my age in the various pictures.”

  “Five kids, two spouses, twin grandsons, and a granddaughter.”

  “Wow.” A pause. “I take it the black guy is a son-in-law? Or maybe you were married before.”

  “I was married before, but not to Koby’s mother. He’s married to my elder daughter, Cindy, who’s a cop in Philadelphia. Koby is in medical school at the University of Pennsylvania. They have twin boys. The older two white boys are my stepsons. The girls are my biological daughters and the youngest kid is our foster son who’s been with us for the last four years. He is a classical pianist who just graduated from Juilliard.”

  “Impressive. What do the other kids do?”

  “Sam and his wife are both doctors. They have Lily. They live in Brooklyn. Jacob—the one who looks like Rina—just finished his Ph.D. in public policy. He’s still . . .” Decker laughed. “He’s still finding himself. My other daughter, Hannah, is in a Ph.D. program at the Ferkauf School of Psychology in New York.”

  “Not bad . . . but no Crimson.”

  “Yeah, you Harvard guys think that there’s only one school in the world.”

  “No, we do accept Princeton or Yale. But that’s about it.”

  Decker smiled. “What about yourself, McAdams?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Parents, brothers, sisters, city of birth? For as much as you yap when we’re driving, I don’t know anything about you.”

  “Nothing much to tell. I grew up in the city. By the city, that means Manhattan. My parents divorced when I was ten, and both of them were remarried by the time I was fourteen. A couple of half sibs, a couple of stepsibs, all of them younger and none of them as smart as I am. I don’t have much of a relationship with any of them.”

  Talking about family was obviously painful for him so Decker didn’t ask any more questions. They walked the next ten minutes in silence until the local graveyard came into view. That was another thing about small towns. Cemeteries were right in your face, not like L.A. where they’re situated in no-man’s-land off the freeway. This one was several blocks of upright headstones with a secluded, gated portion for the mausoleums: domed structures with fluted columns. Since the captain had mentioned something being broken into, it had to be one of the crypts.

  Decker said, “Do you want a hand or foot warmer package? My feet are ice at this point.”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  After handing him the packets, Decker took a couple for himself, broke them in half, and dropped them into his snow boots. “Ah . . . better. I’m not really cold—after eating that much meat you can’t be cold—but my hands and feet get numb.”

  “Why did you insist on walking? Surely there’s some religious dispensation that allows you to drive the car when working.”

  “Yeah, I could have taken the car. Probably would have been smarter. What can I say, McAdams? Without a Harvard B.A., I guess I’m just handicapped.”

  THE WATCHMAN WAS a dead ringer for Ichabod Crane with a long face and extended skeletal frame and sunken eyes unsuitable for daylight. Any minute, Decker expected to see the headless horseman. His given name was Isaiah Pellman and his family had been living in Greenbury for two hundred years. The history was given by way of introduction to his good character. There were a lot of loquacious people in Greenbury as well as a lot of odd ducks. Eccentrics were everywhere in the world, but they were more noticeable in smaller populations.

  They were chatting while standing between rows of headstones. Pellman said, “I check the Bergman crypt all the time, so I was really surprised when this happened.”

  Decker pulled out a notebook. “What specifically happened?”

  “My key doesn’t work the lock: that’s what happened.”

  “Okay . . . so the lock wasn’t broken off?”

  “No, it was broken off and exchanged for a different lock.”

  “And your key always worked the lock before?”

  “Yes, sir, it did.”

  “Are you sure the lock just didn’t freeze?”

  “I’m sure. First thing I did was heat it and oil it. The key goes in, but the tumblers don’t move. Everything worked perfectly four days ago. I called up the family and explained the situation a few hours ago. They told me to cut the lock and make sure everything inside is okay. But I told them I was gonna call the police. So I called the police. And now you’re up to date.”

  “Who does the crypt belong to again? Bergman?”

  “Ye-ah. They’re all buried inside—Moses and Ruth and their three children, Leon, Helen, and Harold along with their spouses—Gladys, Earl, and Mary. Ken Sobel’s the one I deal with. He’s a grandson from Helen Bergman, who became a Sobel when she married Earl. Ken’s older cousin, Jack Sobel ,was buried here around six months ago. He was seventy-three.”

  The man knew his local history. “How old is the crypt?”

  “Erected in 1895.”

  “And the family visited the crypt for a funeral about six months ago?”

  “Ye-ah. Then Ken Sobel came back in the fall. Ken’s in his late sixties. He comes down four times a year as regular as clockwork. And he always makes sure the lock’s on tight.”

  “So he has a key.”

  “He does. Others as well but they don’t come down.”

  “Could Ken have changed the lock?”

  “No, sir, I asked when my key wouldn’t work. And he said no, he didn’t change the lock. And he’s the one who’s in charge.. He told me to break the lock and make sure everything’s okay inside. So that’s when I called you—the police.”

  “Anything of value inside the crypt?”

  “No. Unless the bodies were buried with jewelry.”

  Decker said, “Jewish custom is not to bury bodies with anything material.”

  “So there you have it!” Pellman exclaimed.

  “Indeed,” Decker said although he really wasn’t sure what Pellman was talking about. “Has this ever happened before? That your key didn’t work the lock?”

  “No, sir, not on my watch.”

  During the interview, McAdams’s toe was constantly tapping. Finally, he said, “Why don’t we just go and see what’s going on? If everything looks fine, we can all go home.” He looked at Pellman. “Well, not you, but I’m not getting paid to freeze my ass off.”

  Decker was annoyed, not just at the kid’s rudeness, but at the disruption of the interview. He always collected as much information as possible before he witnessed the crime scene . . . if there even was a crime scene. “Mr. Pellman, do you have anything else you want to tell me before we look around?”

  “No.” The man was stunned. “Should I be telling you something?”

  “It wasn’t a trick question,” McAdams said. “No is a perfectly acceptable answer.”

  “Take your time, Mr. Pellman,” Decker said.

  “No, nothing else.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Decker folded his notebook. “Do you have a pair of bolt cutters?”

  “I do.” He shuffled his feet and didn’t move.

  “Could you get them for me?”

  “Uh, sure. I don’t know if they’re strong enough to cut the lock.”

  “Only one way to find ou
t.”

  Pellman said, “I guess you’re right about that.” Slowly he headed toward a shed that sat about two hundred yards away.

  “Queer old guy but then again they’re all odd over here.”

  Decker turned to the kid. “Don’t interrupt when I’m interviewing. It distracts me.”

  “Just trying to move things along.”

  “Tyler, this is probably nothing, so it’s no big deal. But if you have a chance to investigate a real crime, you can’t rush it along. You’ll miss things. You’ve got to slow down.”

  Before McAdams could respond, Pellman came back with the bolt cutters and handed them to Decker. “You want to see the crypt and the lock?”

  “That would be helpful.”

  Slowly Pellman took them over to the Bergman crypt, an enormous rectangular stone vault with a dome ceiling. Each of the four outside walls hosted a leaded glass window that would have lit up the interior had it been daylight. Five stone steps led down to a padlocked concrete door. No foul odors seemed to emanate from the ground, but it was so cold that everything was frozen solid including dead matter. Decker looked at the bolt cutters and looked at the thin shank of the padlock, something that teens would use on their school lockers. With a little muscle, he should be able to make a clean cut through the U-shaped metal.

  Decker said, “Can I try your key just to make sure?”

  “Sure.”

  Decker inserted the Schlage into the key slot. He could move it a millimeter to the left and right. The insides didn’t appear to be frozen, just that the key didn’t work the lock. He handed it back to Pellman. Then he handed the cutters to McAdams. “Go ahead, Harvard.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, take a whack at it.”

  McAdams threw dagger eyes, but he secured the blades of the cutter around the U-shaped metal. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “Okay.” He pressed down hard and the lock slipped under the blades. McAdams swore.

  “If you don’t get it on three, I’ll do it,” Decker told him.

  “Chill, Old Man. I’ll get it, I’ll get it.”