Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 05

by False Prophet

  “Five years.”

  “And you were sleeping there the night Lilah Brecht was raped.”

  Totes didn’t answer right away. His fingers tightened around the rim of his hat. “Yessir.”

  Decker assimilated Totes’s pause. “You were sleeping there all night?”

  “Don’t you sleep all night, mister?”

  Decker was impassive. “Were you sleeping there all night, Carl?”

  Again, Totes hesitated. “Yessir.”

  Two pauses within a minute of each other. Was he that slow a thinker or was he formulating consistent lies?

  Decker said, “What time did you go to bed that night, Carl? When did you stop working and go into the stable?”

  “’Bout eight-thirty. Gets dark ’round then.”

  “You went into the stable around eight-thirty?”

  “Yessir.”

  Decker stood and leaned against the table. “Okay, Carl, you went into the stable around eight-thirty. Did you leave the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

  Totes shook his head.

  Decker said, “I need a yes or no answer, Carl. Tape recorder won’t pick up a headshake. Did you ever leave the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

  “Nossir, I never left the stable.”

  “Not once?”

  “No.”

  Decker walked slowly from one side of the room to the other, then back again. He sat on the table, facing Totes, and frowned. “Carl, I’m confused about something. How do you explain your hair on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?”

  Totes was quiet.

  “Carl?”

  “I…I don’t know nothin’ ’bout that.”

  Decker sighed. “See, Carl, your hair was found on Lilah Brecht’s sheets. How do you explain that?”

  Totes shook his head, his expression was pained.

  Decker said, “You don’t have any idea how your hair was found on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?”

  “Nossir.”

  “Well, Carl, if you didn’t visit her the night she was raped, maybe you visited her the night before…”

  Totes looked up. “I don’t get what you’re asking me.”

  “Have you and Lilah ever had sex, Carl?”

  Totes turned angry red. “That’s a turrible question.”

  “I’ve got to ask you these questions, Carl. Have you and Lilah ever had sex?”

  “Nossir!”

  Decker ran his hands through his hair. “Now, you got me confused again, Carl. If you’ve never had sex with Lilah, how’d your semen get on her sheets?”

  Totes was still scarlet. “Like you said, mister, you’re confused. So why should I answer your questions, if you don’t even know what you’re talkin’ about?”

  Totes folded his hands across his chest, his mouth hardening. Decker appraised him. Totes was the kind of guy who mistook soft-spokenness for weakness. Decker liked the good-cop approach to questioning, but it wasn’t going to work here. Time to shift gears.

  “Carl, you said you were in the stable the entire time on the night Lilah Brecht was raped.”

  “Yessir.”

  “The entire night.”

  “Yessir.”

  “You never left once?”

  “Nossir.”

  “Not to go to the bathroom?”

  “Nossir, I got a horse’s bladder.”

  Marge tried to stifle a smile, but was only partially successful. Decker said, “So you never left the stable that night. Not even once?”

  “No…nossir.”

  “Carl, how did your hairs get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?” Decker kept his voice even. “How did your semen get on her sheets?”

  “I…I don’t…I—”

  “Carl, where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

  “In the stable.”

  “C’mon, Carl, stop giving me a hard time. Tell me, how did your semen get on Lilah’s sheets?”

  Totes squeezed his hat until his knuckles turned white. “I didn’t rape her.”

  “Okay, you didn’t rape her. How’d your hair get on her sheets, Carl? How’d your semen get on the sheets?”

  Totes didn’t answer.

  “Carl, where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

  “In my stable—”

  Decker pounded the table so hard, both Totes and Marge jumped. He waited a beat, then calmly resumed. “Carl, how’d your hair get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets if you were in the stable the night she was raped?”

  Totes looked down.

  “Have you ever had sex with Lilah Brecht, Carl?”

  “I already told you no!”

  “So you never had sex with her—”

  “Why’re you repeatin’ yourself?”

  “’Cause you’re not explaining to me how your semen got on Lilah Brecht’s sheets. How’d that happen, Carl?”

  Totes didn’t answer.

  Decker said, “Where were you the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

  “In my stable.”

  “The whole night?”

  “The whole night.”

  “You didn’t go out and no one came to see you?”

  Totes started to speak, then turned silent. Decker picked up on it.

  “Someone came to see you the night Lilah Brecht was raped, Carl?”

  Again, Totes didn’t answer. Decker reseated himself next to the stable hand. “Who came to see you the night Lilah Brecht was raped, Carl? Who came to your stable?”

  There was a long hesitation before Totes said, “I cain’t tell you that.”

  Decker ran his fingers through his hair. “Who came to see you, Carl?”

  “I cain’t…”

  “How’d your semen get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets, Carl?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  Decker said, “Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

  Totes shook his head.

  “Carl, answer yes or no. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

  “Nossir.”

  But Decker knew he was lying, and that made him feel like an ass. All this time he’d been sure Totes was innocent. His gut had told him that. The old gut had been wrong. The stable hand had suddenly turned pale. Decker said, “You want something to drink, Carl? You look a little funny.”

  Totes’s expression became mulish. “I’m fine, mister. Be more fine if you’d stop confusin’ me.”

  “Then just answer the questions one at a time, Carl. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

  “I told you no.”

  “Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped, Carl?”

  “Goldern it!” Totes said, “I told you I don’t remember.”

  “No, you didn’t, Carl. You told me nossir, you didn’t see her. That’s what you said. But now, you’re telling me you don’t remember—”

  “’Cause you’re mixin’ me—”

  “You’re mixing yourself up. Which is it, Carl? Nossir or you don’t remember? Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

  Totes was breathing heavy. “Nossir.”

  “How did your semen get on her sheets, Carl?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Did you rape Lilah Brecht, Carl?”

  “I don’t…you’re confusin’ me!”

  Silence.

  Decker said, “Carl, how did your hair get on her sheets?”

  “I…don’t know.”

  “Who came to your stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped?”

  “No one.”

  “Before, you said you couldn’t tell me. Now you’re telling me no one. Which is it? Who came to see you at the stable the night Lilah Brecht was raped. Who?”

  “I…I…I cain’t tell you.”

  “How’d your hair get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?”

  “I’m mixed up.”

  “I know you’re mixed up because you’re not answering my questions. How’d your hairs get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets? How’d t
hey get there, Carl? How?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “They didn’t walk by themselves. How’d they get on Lilah Brecht’s sheets?”

  “I…I…don’t know.”

  “Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

  Silence. Decker repeated the question.

  “You’re confusin’ me,” Totes answered.

  “Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

  “I…I’m mixed up. You’re askin’ too many questions.”

  “Just listen to them one at a time. Did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

  “I don’t…”

  “Carl, did you see Lilah Brecht the night she was raped?”

  Totes was panting. “I…mebbe I did.”

  “Maybe you did,” Decker repeated. “Carl, did you rape Lilah Brecht?”

  “Mebbe I did.”

  23

  The manila envelope was waiting at Marge’s desk when she and Decker walked into the squad room. They exchanged quick glances. Decker lifted his eyes and said, “Please, God, let us not have made asses out of ourselves.”

  Marge smiled nervously as she ripped open the seal and pulled out the piece of paper. Then she brought her hand to her chest. “Phew!”

  “It’s Totes?”

  Marge nodded and handed him the paper. “Travers says he passed his tests with flying colors. One down.”

  Mike Hollander walked into the squad room and over to the coffee urn, his fingers clutched around a paper sack. “How’d the questioning go?”

  “No neat and clean confession,” Decker said, flipping through pages of lab analysis.

  “But we did get a confirmation from Buck Travers. I’ll take that over a confession any day of the week.”

  “We’ve either got one very confused stable hand,” Decker said, “or one excellent bullshit artist.”

  “They’re all bullshit artists, Rabbi.” Hollander carried his mug back to his desk and sat down. “Shame on you for turnin’ soft in your old age.”

  Marge sat down. “I vote with Pete. I think Totes is very confused…you know, one of those true weirdo types who gets mental blackouts when committing a crime.”

  “Dissociative reaction…” Decker said.

  Marge laughed. “Oh, my, we’ve been hitting the books.”

  “Nah,” Decker smiled. “Remember my weirdo friend, Abel Atwater? His shrink used to call his blackouts dissociative reactions.”

  “Yeah, shrinks use that kind of language so they can bilk MediCal out of big bucks.” Hollander liberated a doughnut from his bag and took a bite. Crumbs sprinkled his lap. “Government ain’t gonna pay for a diagnosis of blackout. Otherwise head docs would be cleaning up on drunks.” He took another bite and spoke as he chewed. “Your daughter called, Rabbi. I left the number on your desk.”

  “Thanks, Mike.” Decker crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against Marge’s desk. He wasn’t happy with the outcome of Totes as bad guy, and he couldn’t explain why. In past cases, he’d gone to the DA with a lot less material than he had here and felt righteous about it. But it wasn’t his job to pass judgment, just collect and present evidence. “Interrogation only took forty minutes; no one can charge us with tiring the suspect or police brutality. I think we have enough for the grand jury.”

  “I’ll call the DA,” Marge said.

  “In the meantime, now that we have the test results, someone’s got to handle the booking.”

  “I can do it.” Hollander licked his fingers. “You want me to get him a lawyer?”

  Decker said, “Court’ll automatically appoint him one once he’s been formally charged. I want to call Cindy first. Then I’ll phone Burbank and find out where they’re at with the Merritt murder. We’ve got Totes for Lilah’s rape, but that doesn’t explain the thefts or Merritt’s murder.”

  “I’ll get a warrant to search the stable,” Hollander said. “Could be Totes stashed some of the goods there.” He lifted his sizable buttocks out of his chair. “Glad to help just so long as the jobs don’t tax my heart.”

  “Why don’t you go on a diet?” Marge said.

  “I’m on a diet, Margie.”

  “A diet?” Marge wrinkled her brow. “Mike, you just polished off a doughnut in three bites.”

  “I know.” He licked his fingers again. “But this time I bought the kind without the jelly in the middle.”

  Decker made the call from the locker room because it afforded him more privacy than the squad room—everybody listening in and pretending not to. Cindy picked up on the third ring.

  “Hi, princess. How did finals go?”

  She burst into tears. Decker felt his stomach knot and gave her a few moments to compose herself. “Don’t worry, Cindy, I’m sure you did better than you think.”

  “I did okay.”

  Decker said, “I’m sure you did very well.”

  “I didn’t say I did very well.” She sniffed. “I could have done better, but I didn’t flunk or anything.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Why? Did you think I’d flunk?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I think I got an A and three Bs.”

  “That’s terrific!”

  “Aren’t you cheerful.”

  Decker exhaled slowly. “When are you coming in to L.A., Cindy?”

  “Daddy?”

  “What?”

  “Are you mad at me for not telling you about the summer?”

  “No, sweetheart. I’m not mad at all.”

  “Is it okay?”

  “Cindy, it’s more than okay. I’m looking forward to it. We’ll have a great time together if I can ever get your butt in the saddle.”

  She said nothing, but Decker could picture her smiling with moist eyes. Her voice was little when she returned to the line. “It’s okay with Rina? I don’t want to impose—”

  “Cynthia, you’re my daughter. You are never an imposition except when you get cranky and even then you’re not an imposition, just a pain in the butt. You’ve been very cranky lately. What’s bothering you? Is it Rina being pregnant? Is it me having another baby? Are you jealous?”

  There was a long pause.

  “Not consciously.”

  Decker smiled. What a college-kid answer. “Baby, I love you. I love you, love you, love you. You are my kid, you will always be my kid even when you’re in your seventies, I’m in my nineties. It’s a sentence of life without parole, Cynthia. You’re stuck with me.”

  He heard a chuckle over the line. That made him smile again. “So just tell me when and where and I’ll pick you up. Your mother already dropped off your car, so you should be all set.”

  “I won’t get in your way—”

  “Cindy, you’ve never gotten in my way.”

  “I can be a help to Rina.”

  Decker sighed. “For God’s sake, princess, you’re becoming your old man—too darn serious. Even I wasn’t this bad at nineteen. Will you do me a favor? Will you try to have fun this summer?”

  She laughed. “I’ll try.”

  “Try hard, Cindy.”

  She laughed. “I’ll call you after I’ve scheduled my flight out, Daddy. You know there’s something wrong with your phone—”

  “Damn!” Decker gently hit his head with his fist. “I’m working on a bizarre case and we’ve changed our number. I forgot to tell you.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “I’m sorry, Cindy. Mea culpa, twenty lashes with a wet noodle, ashes and sackcloth.”

  “Oh, Daddy!”

  He gave her the new number. “I love you, princess.”

  “I love you, too…. I know I’ve been testy. And I know you’ve been trying really hard. It’s okay. You’re really a good guy.”

  “’Preciate the compliment, beautiful. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Bye.”

  She cut the line.

  Decker hung up the phone, feeling on top of the world.
A good talk will do that to you. That’s all she needed—a good talk, words of support from Daddy. Nothing like a father’s love to make you feel good.

  Then he thought: Maybe she felt better because she’d made it through her first year of college. Maybe it had nothing to do with their conversation and had a lot to do with finals being over and an A and three Bs at Columbia.

  With teenagers you never could tell.

  He shrugged, then laughed to himself. Of course it was their talk that had eased Cindy’s mind. His understanding words, his paternal love. The hell with being a shrink. What was that famous motto? When it comes to kids, take all of the credit, none of the blame. That sounded about right to him.

  It was all Ness could do to refrain from punching her lights out. Instead, he kept himself hidden, waiting until Davida opened the door to her bungalow. Then he moved in, pushing her inside with his body and shutting the door behind both of them. He latched the chain, then shoved her against the wall. Davida’s expression changed from frightened to furious, then back to frightened.

  “Where have you been?” Ness whispered.

  Davida cast her eyes down at her pumps, then slowly inched them back to his face.

  “I bought a new car, Michael. A black BMW convertible with a new Alpine stereo, DAT tape deck and CD.” Her lips formed a wide smile. “I drove it off the lot. Would you like to take a ride?”

  Ness closed his eyes, counted to ten, and opened them. “Do you have any idea how much shit you’re in?”

  “Me?” Davida laughed. “Why, Michael, I haven’t done—”

  “Remember that so-called little assignment you gave me yesterday, Davie?” He eased his grip on the old woman and stroked her arms, lowering his voice. “Kingston’s dead.”

  Davida brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh, dear!” She pushed Ness away and sat on her divan. “Oh, dear, are you sure?”

  “Yes, Davida, I’m sure.”

  Slowly, her eyes moistened. “I thought it might be bad, but I had no…I thought it was…” She choked out, “My poor baby…”

  Ness went to the bar and poured himself a Scotch. Davida wiped her cheeks, only to have them wetted again by a fresh flow of tears. Ness sat down next to her. After downing half the shot, he held the tumbler to her lips.

  “Drink.”