Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 05

by False Prophet

  “Yes.”

  Decker dropped his grip on Ness and said to Malone and Ferris, “You’ve got evidence against Jeffers; take him in along with the girl.”

  “They were both dead when I got there!” Kelley shouted. “They must have shot each other—”

  “Kelley, shut up!” Ness said.

  “I’m gonna read you your rights, Ms. Ness,” Oliver said. “Meantime, kindly listen to your brother.”

  “I never admitted to a murder,” she babbled, “just to removing a dead body and burning it—”

  “Shut up, Ms. Ness and let me read you your rights.”

  Oliver pulled out his card once again. After she was Mirandized, Decker said, “I just have a teeny question for both of you. Who ordered the removal of the body?”

  Kelley glared at Eubie, then lowered her head. “No one.”

  Oliver said, “We’re talking about murder, Ms. Ness—”

  “Kelley, don’t do this!” Ness interrupted.

  “Mike, I have to do this!” Kelley softened her voice. “I have to. It’s okay. All I did was remove a body.”

  “Who asked you to do it?” Decker said.

  Kelley was silent.

  “You just decided to go burn a dead body, Ms. Ness?” Malone said.

  Kelley said, “I went to see Dr. Merritt for a personal reason. I…it was horrible. I saw…” She paused. “The image of the spa is very important to me. Russ was a louse. No one would miss him. Why involve the spa? I did it on my own.”

  “You’re lying,” Oliver said. “Who are you protecting?”

  “No one.”

  “Why did you go to see Dr. Merritt?” Decker asked.

  “Female problems.” Her eyes turned hard. “Not an abortion, I assure you.”

  She had returned to her old stubborn self. It must have served her well in the past. Brother and sister were exchanging glances—an unspoken language. Decker wondered just what those two were hiding? He looked at Jeffers. “Do you have anything to say about this?”

  Jeffers whispered, “She’s the boss.”

  Malone said, “Let’s go.”

  Ness shouted, “Kelley, don’t you or Eubie open your mouths until you’ve both talked to lawyers.” He pivoted to Decker. “Maybe you’d like your belt back. Right now, it’s not doing either one of us any good.”

  Decker regarded Ness’s face. Pure defiance. Forged from anger or fear or both? He unknotted his belt and slipped it around his waist.

  Ness rubbed his wrists. “So I’m free?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly call you free, Mikey.” Decker smiled. “You’re just off the hook…for now.”

  28

  Marge’s Honda resting in the driveway meant sleep was still on hold. Decker flicked his wrist; the LCD digits on his watch read twelve noon instead of midnight. He never had figured out how to change the red dot from A.M. to P.M., and after being up twenty-one hours straight, who gave a good goddamn about meridians anyway.

  He parked the Plymouth, got out, and peered inside the Honda’s window. Marge’s head was all the way back, her mouth open, her eyes shut. She looked dead, but he’d seen her asleep before—lots of long drives at crazy hours doing their duty. He rapped on the passenger door and her head jerked forward. She yawned, stretched, then stepped out of her car. She was carrying a briefcase.

  “Is it good morning or still good night?”

  “We’ve crossed the barrier, Detective Dunn.” Decker unlocked his front door, quieted the dog, and turned on one of the living-room lamps. “Come tell Uncle Pete your problems.”

  Marge closed the door behind her, eyes adjusting slowly to the light. She scratched Ginger’s scruff.

  “Coffee?” Decker asked.

  “Not tonight. My stomach feels like it’s swimming in acid. Maybe I’m getting an ulcer.”

  “Maybe you should get some sleep.”

  “How about some herbal tea?”

  Decker tossed his jacket on the couch. “Rina might have something like that in the kitchen. I’ll go check. By the way, you don’t have to whisper. No one’s home. C’mon, Ginger. I’ll let you out.”

  “So the marriage lasted all of eight months.” Marge flopped down on the sofa. “’Bout par for my relationships.”

  “Don’t give Rina any ideas,” Decker called from the kitchen. He came back in a moment later. “It’s a testament to her good nature that she hasn’t thrown me out with Lilah Brecht showing up in the middle of the night. I put some water up. Should be boiling any minute. Did you go to Totes’s bail hearing?”

  “Yeah,” Marge said. “Five-grand bond on fifty.”

  “Could he post the ten percent?”

  “Lilah posted for him.”

  “Was she at the hearing?”

  “No, but I sneaked a look at the agreement.” She rubbed her eyes. “She’s the indemnitor. Victim posting bail for her attacker. Jury’s going to have a good time with that one.”

  “DA’s got his work cut out for him.”

  Marge said, “You wanna fill me in on your evening?”

  “Let me get your tea first.”

  A minute later, Decker handed the steaming mug to Marge. She sipped as he spoke, the dog sleeping at her feet. When Decker was done, Marge looked at him with red eyes. “So Scott Oliver’s a hunk, huh?”

  Decker settled into one of his buckskin chairs and propped his feet on a torn leather hassock. “Don’t salivate when you talk, Margie, you’re not a Pavlovian dog. And recapping tonight’s top story, Oliver’s still married.”

  “Yeah, that’s really too bad.” She stretched out on the couch. “Does he know what he’s doing from a professional standpoint?”

  “He handled Kelley Ness like a pro. I mostly watched.”

  “It’s Devonshire’s homicide.”

  “Actually, it’s Burbank’s.” Decker kicked off his shoes. “Donnally was dead before he was torched—his lungs were clear on the prelim. The prelim also matched the blood in Merritt’s office with Donnally’s although the lab still wants to run more conclusive tests.”

  “I was checking lab reports while you were talking to the hunk. Kingston Merritt had powder burns on his right hand. There were no firearms found at the scene.”

  “We asked Kelley about that. She swore she didn’t remove any weapons of any kind from the scene and we couldn’t trip her up. Burbank couldn’t trip up Eubie Jeffers, either.”

  “So they’re either very well rehearsed or the weapons had already been removed. Did Jeffers’s and Kelley’s accounts jibe well?”

  “Yes, they did and in a natural way. They seemed like they were telling the truth. I don’t think they did the murders, but no one is ruling them out yet. So they’ll spend the night in jail. Tomorrow Burbank and Devonshire will bring evidence to their respective DAs. At this point, there’s not enough to file a murder one, murder two, or even a manslaughter. I’d be surprised if Jeffers got anything bigger than a felony tampering and destruction of evidence. With Kelley, DA could plow her with an obstruction of justice. She refuses to tell who ordered the removal of the bodies.”

  “And Jeffers?” Marge asked.

  “Jeffers says he doesn’t know, was only following orders from Kelley.”

  “Help if we had the guns.”

  “They’re probably buried under two tons of garbage by now. When we find out who ordered the removal of the bodies, we’ll find out what happened to the weapons.”

  “Could Donnally and Merritt have killed each other?” Marge said.

  “It’s possible. Merritt has powder residue; he shot a gun. Could be he killed Donnally and someone else killed Merritt.”

  “What about Mike Ness? He’s a greasy spoon.”

  Decker loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. “Certainly a suspect. And you’re right, Margie. He and his sister have a weird relationship. They’re hiding something.”

  “Incest.”

  “Possibly. Except Kelley claims she and Jeffers are lovers.”

  “M
aybe Jeffers is just a cover.”

  “If Jeffers knew that Mike and Kelley were screwing and was acting as a cover, he’d be getting favors, not doing favors. Remember, Kelley asked Eubie for help in removing the bodies.” Decker was quiet as he fast-forwarded the night’s tape in his head. “I’ll tell you this, Margie. Mike went crazy when he found out Kelley was screwing Jeffers. He actually attacked him.”

  “Lover’s jealousy?”

  “Or just being a protective older brother.”

  “Let’s assume Kelley’s screwing both of them, Pete.”

  Again, Decker thought about Kelley’s relationship with her brother, and with Eubie Jeffers. Something was off and he was just too tired to figure out what it was. “All right, assume Kelley’s screwing both.”

  Marge said, “Now Kelley screwing Jeffers is no big deal. But Kelley fucking her own brother…that’s heavy stuff. If someone found out about that, that someone would have a hold over both Mike and Kelley.”

  “Who’s your someone?”

  “Davida,” Marge said. “She’s the common link among all the victims—Lilah, Kingston, and Donnally. I’m betting she was the one who sent Russ Donnally over to Kingston Merritt’s office. She was also the one who sent Kelley over to remove Russ Donnally’s body. Kelley couldn’t refuse, because if she did, Davida would expose her incestuous relationship with her brother.”

  Decker didn’t speak right away. “We’ve got a bunch of blanks to fill in. First of all, are you assuming Davida sent Donnally over with the purpose of murdering her own son?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m saying Davida might have sent Donnally over to look for something…her jewels or the memoirs. A small B and E. He was on probation for B and Es, right?”

  Decker nodded.

  “Pete, remember how only the office was trashed? Could be that Donnally was looking for something when Kingston walked in at the wrong moment. Things got out of hand and they popped each other.”

  “But why would Davida send Russ Donnally over to talk to Merritt? Why not Mike or Kelley Ness if she has dirt on them?”

  “It’s possible she had dirt on Russ Donnally, also.” Marge was pensive. “I’m betting Davida has dirt on a lot of people. Could be why Captain Morrison’s so hinky about getting the case solved.”

  Decker stifled a yawn. Again, something tugged at his subconscious, but he couldn’t bring it to surface. Perhaps it was because the discussion was getting far afield. “Could we pick this up tomorrow and get on with your business? I take it you’re here to see me for reasons other than insomnia.”

  “Right about that. I’m exhausted!” She sat up, pulled a valise onto her lap, and clicked open the latches. “I’ve been going over the case—”

  “Which case?”

  “Lilah’s rape.”

  “That’s the one we solved, Marge.” Decker closed his eyes. “You loved Totes as the bad guy.”

  “In theory, I still do. But let me play devil’s advocate for a moment.”

  Decker opened his eyes and waited.

  “Pete, I’ve gone over the evidence collection three times. Fibers, hair, prints—the whole thing. The only physical stuff we have against Totes is what’s on the sheets. Nothing in the room, nothing in Lilah—not under her nails or in any of her orifices.”

  “Nothing new.”

  “I know. Hollander went over the stable today. The only thing he found hidden was an old crumpled picture of Lilah that Totes keeps under his pillow. Nothing connected to the robbery—no jewels, no papers, nothing.”

  “Did you really expect him to find something?”

  “No, I didn’t. And I really don’t have a problem with all the evidence being on the sheets. If he didn’t climax inside of her, that’s where the evidence would be.”

  “So what’s bugging you?”

  “I was thinking about the morning interview with Totes. Something’s bothering me and I don’t know what it is.” Marge put her briefcase on the driftwood coffee table. “After listening to the tape, listening to Totes’s voice when you asked him if he saw Lilah the night of the rape…I’m sure there was some kind of interaction between them.”

  “But you don’t think he raped her.”

  “No, I don’t, but not because of the lack of evidence. I was thinking about the rape and the incident with the horse and Lilah being nuts and all. Maybe she did orchestrate the whole thing.”

  “Why would she do it?”

  “I don’t even want to consider the why when I can’t figure out the how.” Marge rubbed her eyes again. “Listen, Totes swore he was in the stable the entire night. He sounded like he was telling it true. Pete, he got tripped up when you asked him if someone came to visit him the night of the rape. Lilah came to him. That being the case, for the life of me, I can’t explain his semen on her sheets.”

  “Maybe they were screwing.”

  “How could they be screwing in her bed if Carl hadn’t left the stable?”

  “Maybe they screwed a couple of days before and it was old jiz.”

  “Not according to the lab report. They were fresh suckers. How could she get his fresh jiz on her sheets unless she jacked him off in the stable or something and hand-carried it to her bed—”

  Decker hit his forehead. “Oh, shit!”

  “What?”

  Decker hopped up, grabbed his coat, and began feeling the pockets for his notebook. He pulled it out, flipped pages, and began reading. “Damn my handwriting…should have practiced my loops.” He scanned his notes furiously, then clapped his hands. “Oh, man, sometimes you get lucky! Totes’s clothes were dirty, but his sheets were clean, kiddo!”

  “I’m not following, Pete.”

  “How about this, Marge? How about Lilah paying Totes a call and jacking him off? How about Lilah taking his dirty sheets and replacing them with clean sheets? How about Lilah using those dirty sheets to fake the rape?”

  “How about Totes just washing his sheets?”

  “He washed his sheets but not his clothes?”

  Marge frowned. “Why would she set Totes up, only to bail him out?”

  “Because she never thought we’d get this far,” Decker said. “She wanted to fake a rape, not screw up her ranch hand. Hey, I’m just playing out your thoughts. If we accept Lilah faking a rape, we have no trouble buying that Lilah drugged her own horse. Like we said before, she, more than anyone, had access. She just miscalculated the effect the PCP would have on the animal.”

  “And the bruises on her body—bruises you saw?”

  “She could have done that to herself. Some superficial cuts, whip herself a couple of times with a belt and get some nasty lacerations. Bang into a wall and that explains the lump on her forehead. Margie, we’ve seen women do mutilating things to themselves just for attention. And now that I think about it, she looked bad, but her grip…man, I had to pry a finger lock off my arm. I should’ve picked up on it.”

  “Hey, you see a rape victim, who’s thinking self-inflicted wounds?” Marge said.

  “My antennae should have been raised. We’ve seen stuff like this before. Just last month we had a lady who shot herself and blamed it on imaginary robbers. Had CAPS spinning their wheels for days.”

  Decker slapped his notebook against his palm.

  “The lady who shot herself wanted workman’s comp. Why would Lilah fake a rape and a near-fatal accident? What could she possibly get out of it?”

  “Attention,” Marge said.

  “Lilah has never lacked for attention. Why would she want such embarrassing notoriety?”

  “Beats me.” Marge waited a moment before talking. “Think she might have staged the robbery, too?”

  “I would say yes except Kingston Merritt and Russ Donnally are dead. And like you said, that points to Davida.”

  “Maybe Lilah and Davida staged everything together.”

  The phone rang. Decker pounced on it, thinking, Please God, no more bad news.

  “Rina?”

  “No
, it’s Dr. Elias Kessler, Sergeant. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  He caught his breath. Kessler, the doc who’d done the pelvic on Lilah. Business call. His family was okay…. “I was up anyway, Doc. What can I do you for?”

  “I was just finishing up a midnight delivery at Sun Valley Pres when I happened to see the latest admittance sheet. Lilah Brecht—”

  “Jesus, wha…” Decker felt his throat go dry. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s stable. I don’t know all the details because it’s not my case. A floor nurse said she ODed on Seconal—”

  “Oh, shit!” Decker refrained from hitting the wall. “But she’s okay?”

  “So far as I know. Poor kid. I guess that sometimes happens with rape survivors, huh?”

  “Not often, but sometimes. Doc, do you think she’s too sleepy to talk right now?”

  “I think you’d have much better luck in the morning. I just called because I thought you might want to know.”

  “Thanks, I did.”

  “Look, if you need any help from a forensic point of view, don’t hesitate to call.”

  “I won’t. Thanks for calling.”

  “You bet.”

  Decker hung up and leaned against the wall. “That was Kessler, the doc who did the rape swabs on Lilah. Apparently she tried to kill herself tonight.”

  “Oh, Christ!”

  Decker shook his head and filled Marge in on the details. “What a mess!”

  “Attempted suicide,” Marge said. “That’s drawing attention to yourself.”

  “It’s also what you do if you’re extremely despondent—like if you’ve been raped and beaten. Or if you feel guilty about your brother dying.”

  The quiet that followed was oppressive. Finally, Marge said, “How about if I go by the hospital tomorrow? See if I can’t get something out of Lilah?”

  “Fine.”

  “Should I run our clean-sheets theory past her?”

  “Hell, it’s probably stupid. Play it by ear.” Decker let out a big yawn and looked at his watch again. “It’s close to one. We both need sleep to think. If you want, you can bunk down here for the night…sleep in the guest room…while it’s still the guest room. It’s going to be the baby’s room if I ever get around to putting up the wallpaper. Rina’s so mad at me, she’s ready to hire someone to do it.”