Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 05

by False Prophet

  “Doctor, I know this is a bad time for you—”

  “Bad is an egregious understatement, Sergeant. I’m in no mood to be interrogated.” Brecht touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead. “I can’t think clearly. Maybe tomorrow.”

  Decker was struck by Brecht’s manner—incongruent with the informal, guru appearance. He’d expected a palsy-walsy interaction and was getting anything but.

  “Sure, tomorrow’s fine,” Decker said. “It’s just…you know. Well, maybe you don’t. Time is really important in these kind of cases, Doc.”

  Brecht closed his eyes, then slowly opened them. “I suppose a few minutes…”

  Decker walked over and looped his arm around the doctor’s shoulder. Gently, he guided Brecht out the door. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”

  “I never drink caffeine,” Brecht said weakly.

  “Now’s a good time for an exception.”

  “No, no.” Brecht sighed. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. Well, that’s not true at all. I’m very shaken. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “True.”

  They took the elevator down to ground level. It was after five and the cafeteria had begun to serve dinner, the special was meat loaf with mashed potatoes, peas, and coffee or soft drink for $4.99.

  “Hungry?” Decker asked.

  “I never eat red meat,” Brecht said.

  Decker picked up an apple.

  “That’s been sprayed,” Brecht commented. “If you must eat chemically adulterated items, may I suggest an orange as opposed to an apple. Its peel, being thick, absorbs most of the pesticides, leaving only traces of the poison in the meat of the fruit.”

  Decker stared at him. “Maybe I’ll just stick to coffee.”

  “Caffeine has been implicated in heart disease and infertility.”

  “My wife’s pregnant,” he said, then wondered why.

  “Good God, I hope she has enough sense not to drink coffee. Caffeine’s been implicated in birth defects!”

  Decker was quiet. Now that he thought about it, Rina was suddenly drinking mint tea. He wondered if that had been implicated in anything, but didn’t ask. He filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee and led Brecht to a corner table. He pulled out his notebook.

  Brecht said, “How long have you been with the force?”

  Decker held back a smile and sipped axle grease. “I’ve been with LAPD for seventeen years, fifteen of them wearing a gold shield.”

  Brecht looked at Decker, then at the tabletop. “I…apologize for interrogating you…was it Officer Decker?”

  “Sergeant Decker. Detective Sergeant if you want to get technical.”

  “I’m usually very professional in my behavior, Sergeant. But now…well, surely you can understand…”

  “Of course.”

  “What…” Brecht hesitated. “When did it happen?”

  “I’m not sure of the exact time,” Decker said. “I was hoping you could help me with that. You were out with her last night.”

  “Yes, I was. But she was fine when we parted. When did you find out about…?”

  “The call came through dispatch a little before seven in the morning,” Decker said. “Maid phoned it in. How’d you find out?”

  “I called my office.”

  “When?”

  “Around an hour ago. My secretary was panicked by your visit. It took me at least five minutes to calm her down and find out what had happened. She was very worried that…that something had happened to me as well.”

  “She seems like a loyal gal.”

  “Althea has my interests at heart.”

  “Why’d you wait so long to call your office for messages?”

  “I…it had been an unusual day. I was very busy.”

  “With what?”

  “What does my business have to do with Lilah?”

  Decker waited.

  Brecht sighed. “Well, if you really must know, I was preoccupied with my mother.”

  “Davida Eversong.”

  “The Great Dame of the Silver Screen.” Brecht frowned. “She can really put it on, that woman. But she is my mother. What can I do?”

  Decker said, “You were at the spa all this time?”

  “No, no, no,” Brecht said. “At her beach house. In Malibu. Mother’s there at the moment. She doesn’t know a thing about Lilah and I’m insisting that you don’t tell her.”

  “How much do you know about the case, Doctor?” Decker asked.

  Brecht stiffened. “What are you implying, Sergeant?”

  “Take it easy,” Decker said. “I was speaking in medical terms. Have you read your sister’s chart?”

  Brecht paused, uncoiling slowly. “Not yet. It wasn’t on her door when I arrived and I haven’t had the energy to go searching for it. I’ve put in a call to her attending physician.” He looked Decker in the eye. “Is there anything I should know about?”

  Decker didn’t answer.

  Brecht’s voice turned to a whisper. “She was sexually assaulted, wasn’t she?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Dear God!” He gasped out. “Dear, dear God, I don’t believe…” He gasped again. “Could you get me some water, please?”

  Decker bolted up and retrieved a glass of water. Still trembling, Brecht clutched the cup and gulped down the water.

  “Do you need another drink?” Decker asked.

  Brecht held up his palm and shook his head. He took a deep breath. “No…no, thank you.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes…quite. It’s…the shock.” He inhaled deeply once again. “What happened?”

  “We’re still putting pieces together, Doctor. I hope to have a better picture after I talk to your sister.”

  “I just can’t believe…” Brecht buried his face in his hands, then looked up. “Ask your questions, Detective.”

  Decker said, “When did your mother call you to come down to Malibu?”

  “This morning,” Brecht said. “She was in terrible pain and I rushed out to treat her.”

  “What time did she call?”

  “Around eight-thirty, nine.”

  “Is that why you canceled all your appointments?”

  “Yes. My appointments that day started at ten. I knew by Mother’s tone that there’d be no way that I could get away with just a simple treatment. Once I was out there, I just didn’t feel…I decided to give her the entire day.”

  “Your secretary said your cancellation message was already on the machine when she arrived at eight.”

  Again Brecht’s scalp deepened in tone. “Well, maybe Mother called at seven-thirty. I really don’t remember exactly.”

  Decker let his words hang. Forget about the phone call for the moment. From Malibu to Tarzana was a toll call. If Mama Eversong did dial sonny boy up, Decker could get the exact time by checking phone records. “What’s wrong with your mother?”

  “Age.” Brecht sounded weary. “She’s over seventy with diabetes, arthritis, bursitis, osteoporosis—oh, why bore you with the details? Conventional drugs alone have had little success. In conjunction with my holistic regimen, Mother does a bit better handling the pain and skeletomuscular problems. But basically she’s just wearing out and not doing it gracefully.”

  “You usually treat her whenever she calls?”

  Brecht sighed. “I evaluate each incident individually. If I hear a demand for attention and not genuine pain in her voice, I put her off. This time she sounded as if she really needed help.”

  “And you received her call around seven-thirty?”

  “I suppose. Anyway, if you need her to verify my presence at the beach house, I’ll have her write you a note. I’m afraid I can’t give you her home number.”

  “That’s all right,” Decker said. “I have it.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “You have my mother’s beach house number?”

  “All of your mother’s numbers. I’ve called all day and nobody answered.�
�

  “My mother doesn’t believe in answering phones. She claims that’s for secretaries.”

  “Does she have a secretary?”

  “No.”

  “There were no machines answering the numbers, either.”

  “She claims machines are uncivilized.”

  “So she never answers the phone when it rings?”

  “Not at the beach house. Or at her apartments. At the spa, anyone wishing to speak with her leaves a message at the desk. She does pick up her messages from time to time.”

  “Then why does she bother having phones?”

  “To make outside calls—as she did to me this morning.” Brecht blew air out of his mouth. “As I started to say, if you need her to verify my presence, I’ll make sure she writes you a note.”

  As if a note from Davida Eversong would carry enough weight to explain anything away. The arrogance of the rich. Or maybe Brecht was used to Mama taking care of him. A note—as in grade school. Please excuse Dr. Freddy for being absent.

  “I’ll even insist Mother have the note notarized,” Brecht added.

  Decker said, “I’d like to interview her.”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

  “Why?”

  “It just is. At least right now. I can’t elaborate. Perhaps in a day or two.”

  Decker let it go. Brecht was being cooperative but only up to a point. Was he protecting Mama or protecting himself? Not that Decker had any reason to actually suspect Brecht. Still, Lilah’s safe was wide open. What the hell was inside?

  “You went out to dinner with your sister last night.”

  “Yes. I picked her up around…” Brecht stopped, stared at Decker. “Now do I have to tell you the precise time?”

  “Do the best you can, Doctor.”

  “I came to her house around eight. We went out to a vegetarian restaurant in the Fairfax district. A Sikh establishment that uses only rennetless cheese. You’d be surprised how many of these vegetarian places use cheese with rennet. Rennet is—”

  “I know what rennet is, Doctor. It’s a chemical used as a binder in cheese making, derived from the gut of a cow.”

  Brecht stared at him. “Your nutrition IQ just rose a notch in my book, Sergeant.”

  Actually, Decker knew about rennet from keeping kosher. Rina had explained to him in great detail why ordinary cheese without certification was considered unacceptable. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him for a chemical to be considered unkosher—a designation he’d thought was reserved for edible food only. But it didn’t matter. Kosher cheeses were just as good and it made Rina happy. If she was happy, he was happy.

  “When did you arrive back at your sister’s home?” Decker asked.

  “Around eleven, eleven-thirty. The restaurant is a ways from her house. There’s quite a bit of traveling time.”

  “Did you go in the house afterward and talk?”

  “No, I was fatigued from a rather stressful day and I was anxious to get my rest.”

  “You dropped your sister off?”

  “Of course not! That would be cloddish and I am not a clod. I parked the car and walked her to the door. After she was safely inside, I drove away.”

  “Everything appear normal when she went inside?”

  “Yes. She turned on the living-room light, told me good night and closed the door.”

  “Does she always leave the living-room light off when she goes out?”

  Brecht stopped. “Good God, here we go again with the precise details. Next time, remind me to take my Dictaphone and video camera!”

  Decker waited.

  “Maybe the light was already on,” Brecht said. “I don’t remember.”

  “Was the bedroom light on?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  “You couldn’t see?”

  “I suppose I could technically see her bedroom window from my car, but I didn’t pay any attention.”

  “Did you hear anything unusual?”

  “Not at all.”

  “See any strange cars parked around the house?”

  “No.”

  “You say you walked your sister to the door around eleven, eleven-thirty?”

  “Yes.”

  “But you didn’t go into the house?”

  “No. Lilah asked me if I wanted to bunk down in the guest bedroom for the night, but I said I’d rather go home. Now I wish to God that I had. I’m feeling terribly guilty about it.”

  Decker nodded.

  “Of course, I had no way of knowing…”

  “None at all,” Decker said.

  “Damn, if only I had been there!”

  “If you’d been there, maybe you’d have ended up in worse shape than Lilah.”

  “Better me than her!”

  “All I’m saying is, it might have been both of you.”

  “You just don’t understand.” Brecht took a deep breath. “I’m not myself. Do you have any idea who did this horrible thing to my sister?”

  “We’re investigating every avenue right now, Doctor.”

  “In other words, you have no suspects.”

  Decker was quiet.

  “Are we done, Sergeant?”

  “Almost. By any chance, do you have a key to your sister’s house?” Decker asked.

  Brecht’s voice hardened. “Yes, I have a key. Why?”

  “Just checking out every avenue,” Decker said. “Did you know your sister has a safe in the bedroom closet?”

  Brecht shifted in his seat. “I don’t like this line of questioning.”

  Decker waited.

  “Yes, I know she has a safe in her closet! What of it?”

  “Do you know what she keeps in—”

  “Of course not!”

  “Not even a hint?”

  “No, Sergeant.”

  “Do you have the combination—”

  Brecht rose from his seat. “Why would I have the combination to her safe!”

  “My brother and I have the combination to my parents’ safe,” Decker said. “I don’t have any idea what valuables they keep inside, but they gave us the combination in case something happened to them.”

  Brecht seemed suspended in midair, then he slowly sat back down.

  Decker shrugged. “With you being so close to your sister—you have a key to the house—well, I thought she might have trusted you with the combination.”

  “She didn’t.” Brecht touched his fingers to his forehead. “May I assume the safe had been opened?”

  “You can assume anything you want.”

  Brecht clasped his hands together. “There was a robbery in addition to the assault?”

  Decker said, “Maybe.”

  Brecht said, “You don’t say too much, do you?”

  “I’m just trying to do some fact-finding. A few more questions and we can call it quits, Doctor. What did you do after you dropped Lilah off?”

  “I went straight home.”

  “Make any calls?”

  “No, not at that hour.”

  “Check in with your service?”

  “Uh…no.”

  “Don’t you usually check in with your service before you go to bed?”

  “If there is an emergency, they’ll page me. I believe in leaving well enough alone.” Brecht folded his hands across his chest. “I think we’re done now.”

  “Doctor, please bear with me. How many brothers do you and Lilah have?”

  Brecht opened his mouth and shut it. “What?”

  “How many brothers do you have? Straightforward question.”

  “Uh…two.”

  Decker looked at him. “You’re sure, now?”

  “Of course I’m sure. We have two other brothers—half brothers, really.”

  “Their names?”

  Again, Brecht paused. “What do they have to do with any of this?”

  Decker shrugged. “Every avenue.”

  “Good God,” Brecht said. “No, they couldn’t have. They couldn’t
. Could they?”

  Decker didn’t answer. Brecht hadn’t brought up his brothers, but now he sure seemed eager to implicate them.

  “It’s my understanding that your sister had quite a noisy argument with King.”

  “The maid must have told you that.” Brecht made clucking noises with his tongue. “Kingston scared the daylights out of her. If it wasn’t for Carl, who knows what he might have done to Lilah. Not that I’m implying Kingston had anything to do—with Lilah.” He looked at Decker. “I shouldn’t be telling you this…”

  But he was going to tell it anyway, Decker thought.

  “Kingston has always been insanely jealous of Lilah, though he disguises it as being protective. The fact is, he’s irate that she’s the sole heir of Mother’s estate. For years, he’s been pressing Mother to change her will. Even though Mother slips him money from time to time.”

  “Slips him money?”

  “Just to shut him up, I think. I really don’t know much about Kingston’s affairs. We’ve been estranged from each other for quite a while.”

  Decker nodded, knowing that old Freddy Brecht was no objective character witness for brother King. Still, it never hurt to listen to opinions.

  “You think Kingston might have broken into his sister’s safe to steal money?”

  Brecht suddenly reddened. “I have no proof…I really don’t know why I said that. Probably because Kingston’s always hard up for cash. Even though he makes untold hundreds of thousands at that mill he’s running.”

  “Mill?”

  “Abortion mill.” Brecht scrunched up his face. “I think he’s branched out into other things—infertility is the latest rage. First women pay money to kill their babies, then they pay money to have them.”

  “Kingston is an OB-GYN?”

  “Yes. Imagine a specialty for something as natural as childbirth.”

  “Excuse me, Doctor, but isn’t your other brother an OB-GYN as well?”

  “Indeed. But at least John seems to be a little bit more respectful of fetal life.” He wagged his finger. “Not that I’m against abortion like those crazy right-to-lifers. But Kingston’s mill is positively repulsive. His so-called practice is the antithesis of what we physicians profess to represent.”