“I’d be fine with you, Chris. I’m okay wherever I am.”
“That girl you’re hanging with…She’s Decker’s daughter, right?”
“Right.”
“You should fuck her.”
Gabe felt his face go hot. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Donatti paused. “Are you queer?”
“No, I’m not queer.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” The truth. His father was probably bi-sexual. Often, when his mom was working late or out of town, Gabe saw Chris taking the young boys as well as the young girls who “worked” for him into the bedroom. Chris Donatti fucked anything that moved.
“You still a virgin?”
“Can we talk about something else?”
“Yes or no?”
“Chris, no guy over fourteen at St. Luke’s is still a virgin.” That was also the truth. It was a ritual: one of the upper-class girls from St. Beatrix would do you in her car. His first time had about as much complexity as a piano rendition of “Heart and Soul.” She had liked him and offered to do him again. She was funny-looking but he still said okay. He, like his dad, never had trouble getting girls.
Chris was talking to him. “…don’t you want to fuck her?”
He faced his father, staring at cold, dead eyes. As impossible as it seemed, they became even more frigid whenever Chris got angry. “You know, Dad, it isn’t always about sex.”
“You’re wrong, Gabriel.” Donatti stroked his grizzled face. “It’s always about sex.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
THE SELF-PARKING LOT sat across from the hotel, elevated and paved, a square of asphalt spread onto the mountain like butter on a muffin top. Undeveloped land in Bel Air was valuable and it was only a matter of time before some conglomerate crunched some numbers and came up with a new development scheme.
And it appeared that the time had come.
Decker read the sign posted at the valet station. It announced the closing of the hotel for renovations and thanked its loyal clients for their patronage. He asked an aqua-shirted valet about the shutdown. He was tall and young and named Skylar.
“They’re going to modernize the hotel. It’s going to take a couple of years. Can I help you with something, sir?”
“I’m waiting for someone.” Then Decker recognized that the valet had been on duty last Sunday. “But as long as I’m here…” He pulled out his badge. “I’m trying to locate a woman who was staying here with her son.” He pulled out a few snapshots he had downloaded off Gabe’s Facebook page. They weren’t the best, but they showed Terry and Gabe full face. “She’s been here for six weeks.”
Skylar regarded the badge and then the pictures, his jaw moving furiously as he worked a wad of gum. “That’s Ms. McLaughlin.”
“Yes, it is.”
“And you’re trying to find her?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Is she missing?”
“She could be missing or she might have left town on her own. We’re still in the investigation stage.”
“Why are you investigating her?”
“It’s at her son’s request.”
“Oh.” Skylar handed the pictures back to Decker. “She was lovely.” A pause. “I mean lovely in her personality. She was good-looking, but she was so nice. She used to tip us even though she never used the valet. A couple of times I helped her carry things from her car in the lot across the street to her suite. Then she’d tip me double even though I told her it wasn’t necessary.”
Decker had taken out his notebook. “When do you first recall seeing her?”
“I don’t know…maybe like a month ago.”
“How did she appear to you?”
“Appear to me?” He didn’t wait for clarification. “She had a couple of fading bruises on her cheeks and under her eye…and her lip was swollen. People often come here to relax after they’ve had plastic surgery. I don’t know what she looked like before, but the surgery must have been a real success. She was beautiful.”
Decker didn’t bother to correct the misconception. “How’d you find out her name?”
“She introduced herself. She told us she was staying here for a while for rest and relaxation. I’m so sorry she’s…”
Decker nodded. “Did she ever seem preoccupied…worried?”
“Not so far as I could tell. She was always friendly.”
“Did you ever see her with anyone other than her son?”
A silver Rolls-Royce Phantom drove up to the station. Skylar excused himself, greeted the driver, and parked the grande dame in a coveted spot. He came back a moment later. “What did you ask me?” Decker repeated the question and the valet gave it some thought. “No, I don’t remember seeing her with anyone other than the boy. He’s about fifteen, right?”
“About.”
“Quiet kid. She used to chat us up, saying things like ‘Hey, Skylar, how are the auditions going?’ or ‘When am I going to see your name in lights?’ Just stuff to let us know that she regarded us as human. The son…” The valet thought a moment. “His name was Dave?”
“Gabe.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
A classic red Ferrari roared into the parking lot. Skylar was there with the ticket and a smile. After he parked the bucking horse, he jogged back to Decker. “The kid was quiet. Whenever his mother made small talk, he’d stand there looking embarrassed…you know, like teens get when they’re around their parents. He was a good-looking boy.” He snapped his fingers. “He played the piano.”
“How’d you find that out?”
“We have a piano in our main hall. The management would let him play it when no one was around. I heard him a couple of times. Man, he was unbelievable—a real pro.” Skylar’s expression became perplexed. “She’s really missing?”
“At the moment, we’re trying to locate her.”
“What about Gabe?”
“He’s being cared for.” Decker showed him a picture of Donatti. “What about this man? Have you ever seen him before?”
Skylar studied the face. “I might have seen him a couple of days ago.”
“That would be what? Saturday? Sunday?”
“Maybe Sunday.”
“Do you remember what time?”
“Maybe around noon. We have brunch then and it’s usually pretty busy with the cars. I don’t think he had a car. He probably self-parked.”
“Do you give out tickets for the self-parked cars?”
“Yeah, but not for long-term guests. If that’s the case, you get charged daily on your room, so what would be the point of the ticket?”
“But for someone using the restaurant, say. He’s get a ticket?”
“Yeah, most likely.”
“Take a look at the picture again. Can you tell me anything about him.”
Skylar stared at the photograph. “He was tall…carrying flowers maybe?”
That was Chris. “Did you see him leave?”
“I don’t think so.” He eyed a plum-colored Aston Martin coming through the entrance driveway. “But I get off at three, so if he might have left afterward. Why don’t you talk to one of the self-park attendants?”
“Who was on duty that Sunday?”
“Either Trent or Alex. I think Alex will be on at three. Excuse me.”
As Decker waited for the valet to tend to the Aston Martin, he noticed a small brunette waving at him. He returned the gesture even though he wasn’t sure that he was the targeted recipient. She wore a black suit and a red blouse with low heels on her feet. She carried a briefcase, marching through the lot at a fast clip. When the valet returned, Decker said, “Is there anyone else that Ms. McLaughlin talked to besides you?”
“She talked to all the valets. Probably other service people, too. She was friendly.”
“Okay. And one last question. When was the last time you remember seeing her?”
“Oh gosh…” He thought hard a
s he turned over the parking ticket in his hands. “I don’t recall seeing her Sunday.” He looked at Decker. “But I’m not sure. Sorry.”
“You’ve been a real help.” Decker shook his hand. “Thank you very much, Skylar. I hope they save your job for you.”
“They’re firing everyone,” the valet said with a combination of bitterness and wistfulness. “Trying to de-unionize the staff and the only way they can do it is by closing two years. But don’t worry about me. Like Ms. McLaughlin said, one day you’ll see my name in lights.”
UP CLOSE, ELIZA Slaughter was maybe five feet tall, ninety pounds, and had bones as delicate as a songbird. “Yowser,” she exclaimed. “How tall are you? About six five?”
“Six four.”
“I look like one of your ski poles. Sorry I’m late.” Her head was craned upward. “Traffic was a bitch.”
“Not a problem.”
Her face was equally elfin. She had short, feathery hair, hoops in her ears, and pink cheeks. She wore very little makeup and her fingernails were clipped almost to the quick. He introduced her to Skylar, who excused himself and met up with a Maserati. “The guy was very helpful.”
Decker recapped the conversation as the two of them crossed over the bridge, walking down a pathway that cut through a tropical jungle’s worth of potted and planted foliage in full spring bloom. The scent varied from pungent to sweet, the rich verdant leaves dripping water from a recent misting.
He said, “Since Terry seemed to be friendly, we should talk to the staff—even those who were off on Sunday. Maybe we could get a list from someone in the lobby.”
“I don’t know if they’re going to be cooperative. Violating their guests’ rights kinda thing.”
“If the hotel administration wanted to play hardball, yes,” Decker said. “On the other hand, the place is closing down, so maybe they’ll give us a little latitude. We’ll ask for a list of all the employees, which we won’t get. Then we’ll ask for just a list of the people working on Sunday, which we’ll probably get. Let’s stop by the office once we’ve looked at Terry’s suite. Who we really need to talk to is Alex or Trent, the self-parking lot attendants. Now that Terry’s an official missing person, I want to see if (a) someone remembers Terry leaving in her car; (b) if someone does remember her leaving, was she alone; (c) if she wasn’t alone, who was she with; (d) does anyone remember Chris Donatti coming in and leaving and coming back; and (e) if they do remember all this, what was the time frame?”
“That’s a lot to remember.”
“Maybe the attendant wouldn’t pay too much attention to Chris, but I’m betting an attendant would remember Terry. She’d been holed up here for a while, and like I said, she seemed to be an amiable person.”
They stopped at the door to Terry’s suite. Since she had paid up until the end of the month, the card key that Gabe had given him still worked. On the night of Terry’s departure or disappearance, Decker had given the hotel instructions not to go inside and clean the suite. It was a compromise reached between a reticent clerk and Decker. In exchange, Decker agreed not to string up crime-scene tape across the door.
The rooms were exactly as Marge and he had left it. It smelled a little stale in the heat. Decker opened the patio door and stepped outside. He examined the planting area that surrounded the brick pad—azaleas, impatiens, gardenias, and camellias. He was looking for anything that signaled a fight or a struggle: broken branches, crushed bushes, footprints in the dirt. The space was impeccably manicured and in full bloom. He came back into the suite.
Eliza was in the bathroom. “Medicine cabinet is empty.”
“We bagged the contents.”
“What did you find?”
“Advil, Tylenol, Benadryl, a recent prescription for Ambien, and a prescription for Vicodin. The bottle was dated two months ago and it was half full. I don’t think she’d been using it recently. You want me to drop the stuff off at West L.A.?”
“No, you can keep it in your evidence room,” Eliza said. “What about birth control?”
Decker raised his eyebrows. “Didn’t find it.”
“How long had she been with her husband?”
“I don’t know exactly when they married, but they’ve known each other for around sixteen years.”
“She must have been taking something to prevent future babies, don’t you think?”
“As a matter of fact, that’s what caused Donatti to snap. He thought she had aborted his baby. It turned out she was paying for her half sister’s abortion.”
“So, they’ve been trying or…”
“Who knows? He obviously didn’t want her having an abortion.” Decker thought a moment. “Terry was going to rent a house in Beverly Hills. She got Donatti to agree to pay for her living arrangement even though he was probably not going to live there.”
“And her controlling hit-man husband agreed to that?”
“Chris was feeling contrite.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Terry did make a strong point of telling him that he’d have the key and that he could come whenever he wanted. She implied that they would still share a bedroom when he was in town.”
“So she was probably on birth control if their relationship was ongoing.”
“Or she wanted Chris and me to believe that it was ongoing.”
“You think she was scamming you?”
“No, not scamming me. Maybe she was trying to convince people like me that something happened to her. Maybe she’s been planning this, she knew she was never going to see Chris Donatti again, and she threw away her birth control.”
“And you think she’d just get up and leave without her kid?”
“Yeah, that’s the rub, and it’s a big one. It’s certainly possible that Donatti came back and got her.”
“Got her? Like offed her?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. He seemed okay with her renting the house when I was around, but it could have been an act.” He glanced around the room. “If Terry left the hotel with Chris, she didn’t leave me any signs that she left in distress.”
“Do you think he could kill her here and not transfer any kind of evidence?”
“Usually something is left behind, but he’s…good at what he does. Marge and I examined the carpets, the walls, the baseboards, the shoe moldings. We scoured the bathrooms and sinks and tub drain. We didn’t find even a hint of blood. Nor did we find any evidence that someone had cleaned up. No smells of disinfectant, no towels missing, no used boxes of Kleenexes.”
“Her car is gone,” Eliza said. “If she disappeared for good—as in dead—she might have left behind her birth control.”
“Yeah, she could have run off with another man. Donatti pretty much stalked her, so I don’t know how she’d develop a relationship.”
“But even the most diligent stalker isn’t there all the time. What does her son have to say about that?”
“He seems genuinely perplexed by her disappearance. Maybe she didn’t tell him her plans.”
“Or there were no plans,” Eliza said. “Donatti came back and murdered her.”
“Or someone else killed her. Until we find her body, we don’t have a clue as to what we’re dealing with.” Decker gave the room a final glance. “I don’t think we’re going to get much more out of this. Let’s see what the staff has to say about friendly Dr. McLaughlin and her quiet son, Gabe.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE ONE GREAT thing about playing was that it was all-consuming. When he was into it, Gabe simply didn’t have the psychic energy to deal with anything else. Playing transported him to another place. He was so focused on what he was doing, he was able to shut out the world. Unfortunately he had only one hour of intense solitude before Hannah and the others would come in for choir practice. The way his nerves felt—raw and discharging at whim—he would have done well with an entire week of isolation—just him and Mr. Steinway.
Hannah was the first to arrive. She immediately walked over to him. “Hey.” She sat down at
the piano bench next to him. “Where’d you disappear to?”
Gabe felt his skin go hot. “Someone noticed I was gone?”
“Yeah, I did. You had me worried.”
“Worried?” He was mystified. “Why?”
Hannah was puzzled. “After what happened to your mom, I’d think you’d want to be a little cautious.”
“I just got a cup of coffee. I’m fine. Do me a favor and forget about me, okay.”
She was silent. “I don’t mean to look over your shoulder, Gabe. It’s just that my dad’s a little concerned about you.”
“Why? What does he thinks gonna happen?”
“He’s probably a little uneasy about what Dad could do.”
Again, Gabe felt his face warm up. “I keep telling your dad that my dad doesn’t give a shit about me.” His fingers danced up and down the keyboard. “See, your dad is thinking like a dad. My dad doesn’t think that way. Unless I have something he wants, he has no use for me. When I was attached to my mom and we came as a package, he wanted my mom, so he was stuck with me. But now my mom’s gone. Ergo, he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“Rest assured that my dad is out of the picture.” He turned back to the keyboard, hoped his lies—well, half lies—were convincing.
When he was little—before his parents married—Chris used to come visit them in Chicago, where his mom was going to med school. He and Chris used to spend a day together. They’d go to the park in the morning, have lunch at a restaurant, then they’d go back to the apartment, where Chris would sit him down at the piano for a two-to-three-hour lesson. Even though Chris wasn’t a pianist, he was a musician and knew brilliance in any instrument.
He was one of the best teachers that Gabe had ever had.
After his parents got married and they moved to New York, things rapidly went downhill and escalated into chaos. No one could live with that man full-time.
“I’ll talk to your dad,” Gabe told her. “And stop worrying about me. I can take care of myself. I’ve been doing it all my life.”
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