Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 10

by Serpent's Tooth

  Rina was quiet.

  “That didn’t come out right,” Decker said. “I don’t mean to minimize your feelings—”

  “It’s all right,” Rina wiped her eyes again.

  Decker said, “Neither one of you did anything wrong, Rina. There’s no reason to feel guilty.”

  “Except that my husband was barely cold, not much more than three months in the ground, I was a religious woman. And Bram was a goy. Not just any goy, mind you. A seminary student studying to be a priest and my late husband’s best friend. I felt like I violated everything that I held dear. Such betrayal—”

  “Yitzchak had died, Rina. Betrayal is for the living, not the dead.”

  “You can betray a memory.” Rina poured coffee into the mugs. “Bram didn’t feel too good about it, either. It was horrible—the mixture of love and guilt. We shouldn’t even have started.” She plunked a mug in front of Decker. “So now you know. Are you any richer because of it?”

  “Maybe I am. Because maybe now I understand why you’ve been so upset. Rina, God didn’t strike Bram dead. A very disturbed person lashed out and he happened to be in the way.”

  “Maybe she was just an instrument in God’s plan.”

  “And maybe we’re just protozoa under a microscope.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “They’re both equally absurd thoughts.”

  “Not that you’re minimizing my feelings.”

  Decker felt his jaw tighten. He willed it slack, weighed his words. “Darlin’, I’m just trying to ground you. Keep you from going further into your blue funk. Bram was a wonderful man, Rina. A brilliant scholar and a caring individual and good-looking to boot. He was also very complex and troubled coming from that dysfunctional family.”

  “Yes, he was.”

  “Take my word for it, honey. You were the best thing that ever happened to him. Man, he would have jumped bridges for you, he loved you that much. And there you were, a young, young widow who had just lost her husband to a monstrous, lingering illness. You had two small children and not much in the way of support.”

  “My parents were around.”

  “I know your parents, Rina. They’re wonderful people, but they’re also camp survivors and very emotional. I know you didn’t unload on them like you did on Bram.”

  Rina was quiet.

  “You were lost and lonely and so was Bram. You took each other through transitional periods in both your lives. And that wasn’t a bad thing. It paved the way for me.”

  Rina sat down with her coffee, leaned over, and kissed her husband tenderly. Poor Peter. Dealing with my past upheavals while your own dam of troubles is cracking. “Don’t worry about this Garrison woman, okay? You’re a very attractive man who’s in a very attractive profession—”

  “I thought the LAPD ranked behind a leper colony in attractiveness.”

  “Despite the press, cops still carry cachet. And a detective…well, he has even more clout. If she tries to make these fatuous allegations actually stick, you’ll fight it. And you’ll win because the truth will prevail.”

  “If it were only that simple.” Decker ran his hand over his face. “Thanks for not being angry—”

  “Why should I be angry? You may have had thoughts, but you didn’t do anything.”

  “No, I didn’t. Still, it’s a load off my mind.” Decker gave her a sheepish look. “So you’ll support me?”

  “All the way.”

  “The little woman standing behind me?”

  “You mean standing in front of you, chump. They want to talk to you, first they go through me.”

  18

  Marge said, “I can’t believe they did this to you.”

  Decker said, “It’s not that bad. Jeanine’s screwy reaction shows we may be onto something.”

  Oliver said, “Fucking bitch—”

  “We’ll just have to find another way,” Marge said. “You can’t stay on her ass, I’ll do it. Like to see her slap me with a sexual harassment suit.”

  Webster said, “Reckon I could tote a few pictures around of Jeanine and Manz, ask her friends and ex-husband a few questions—”

  “No, no, no!” Decker said. “No pictures of Jeanine Garrison with Harlan Manz. Strapp made that clear.”

  Martinez said, “So how are we going to make a connection between them if we can’t talk about them in the same breath?”

  Decker said, “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to take a connection between Harlan Manz and Jeanine Garrison as a given, okay? We are going after a phantom: the second shooter—who may or may not exist.”

  “What’s the game plan?” Oliver asked.

  “Find out who Jeanine might have been dealing with prior to the shooting.” Decker turned to Farrell Gaynor. “This is your specialty. I want a complete paper trail on Jeanine—every phone call, every credit card slip, every bank account, every withdrawal slip, every will or legal document—”

  “I’m foaming at the mouth.”

  “But we also have to work on the sly,” Decker said. “Quietly. No slipups. Because Jeanine is a liar…and a connected one. It’s just a small step from slapping me with charges to slapping all of you with police harassment. Ergo, I want an equal investigation of her brother. Not only because it will play well for the lawyers, but also because he’s a suspect—a former drug user with a record, who hated his father. Harlan Manz turned him into a millionaire, too.”

  Webster said, “Want me to lean on him, Loo?”

  “Not just yet. First, let’s get paper on him.” He turned to Marge. “Dunn, you’re on target with Jeanine. She can’t claim sexual harassment against you. If we need to question her, you’ll be the one.”

  “Agreed.”

  Webster said, “Since y’all’re trying to figure out this unknown second hit man, reckon it might be a good idea to try to profile him?”

  Decker said, “What do you have in mind, Tom?”

  “Examine what we’ve got and come up with a composite of this phantom.”

  “Don’t like profiles,” Oliver said, “They’re misleading.”

  Webster said, “I’m talkin’ generalities. For instance, this phantom killer…if he were one of Jeanine’s beaux, I reckon he’d be young and impressionable, rather than an old experienced hit man.”

  Martinez said, “Why do you say that?”

  “Because this woman uses her sexuality to get things. Younger the guy, the faster the boner.”

  “Experienced hit men don’t get hard-ons?” Martinez asked.

  “She’s into power, Bert,” Webster said. “Easier to have power over a young untested stud than an experienced racehorse.”

  Marge said, “He’s got a point. Look at the kind of woman Jeanine is. She sets things up, takes charge of events, and coordinates everything.”

  Webster went on. “Then just look at what she did to the Loo here. Using her sexuality to mess with his brain. When that didn’t work out, she went straight for the jugular. She’s into power…power over men.”

  “Manipulating men,” Marge said. “Couldn’t do it to Daddy, so she offed him?”

  Martinez said, “That’s a leap. But I like it.”

  Oliver turned to Webster. “So you’re thinking she roped some young stooge into doing her dirty work by fucking him?”

  “Or by promising to fuck him,” Webster said. “It don’t even have to be the real thing. I know lots of women like that. Southern belles who are steel magnolias. They love to dangle things and I don’t mean worms on a reel.”

  Oliver said, “So Jeanine was working on Manz and some other jerk at the same time?”

  Marge said, “Why not? She’s good at organizing things.”

  “Men aren’t things.”

  “True. They’re easier to manipulate. All you got to do is moan.”

  Oliver threw her a dirty look. Marge gave him the peace sign.

  Webster regarded Decker. “You’re awfully quiet.”

  “Just thi
nking about what Sonia Eaton said about Jeanine. That the woman has admirers…shuffles them around like cards in a gin game…”

  Martinez said, “Look, I don’t want to lose her. Let me tail her. Even if she should notice me, I’m completely harmless-looking. Blend into crowds.”

  Decker said, “I’d love for you to tail her, Bert. Problem is, you’ve got a heavy current caseload that can’t be neglected for a ‘what if.’”

  Martinez rubbed his stomach. “You know I’m not feeling so hot, Loo. I really wouldn’t mind taking the day off.”

  “No dice,” Decker said.

  “It’s already two o’clock, Loo,” Martinez said. “Let me go take a peek. Especially now that you’ve made her nervous. She might do something stupid.”

  Decker sat back in his chair. “I take any of you off your cases and put you on Garrison without some very strong indications of guilt, we all become vulnerable to lawyers.”

  “Who’s running the investigation here?” Oliver asked. “Some slick Beverly Hills eagle or Strapp?”

  Marge looked at Webster. In unison they said, “The slick eagle—”

  “That’s not entirely fair,” Decker said. “Strapp’s getting squeezed. If he really wanted his ass protected, he would have pulled me off the case entirely.”

  Martinez said, “Loo, I got a light day tomorrow. I can do my paperwork and phone calls from the car. It’s my idea, not yours, okay?”

  “How about if we all take rotating code sevens tomorrow,” Marge said. “I’ll do a couple hours, Bert’ll do a couple hours, Oliver’ll do a couple hours—”

  “I’ll go first round.” Webster sat back in his seat. “Reckon I’ll be in the mood for a long lunch break.”

  “At eight in the morning?” Decker smiled.

  “A breakfast break then,” Webster said. “Y’all know it’s unhealthy to work without proper nutrition. Besides, stakeout is pleasant for me. Put a couple of Bach cantatas in my CD player, I’m not only happy but very alert.”

  Martinez said, “Hey, it’s our problem, Loo. Not yours.”

  “I may regret this, but…” Decker nodded.

  Martinez gave his hands a clap. “Great. I got a couple of court reports to finish up. I can knock off around…maybe three, three-thirty.”

  “Y’got a video camera, Bert?” Webster said.

  “I’ll check one out from supplies.”

  Oliver said, “Overtime work without overtime pay! What the hell! Can’t let the bitch push us around.” He looked up and grinned. “Only wives get to do that.”

  “You ain’t bitter, are you, Scotty?” Marge said.

  “Me?” A finger in his chest. “Never!”

  This time, it was Marge who was the last to leave. Stalling until she was alone with him. She closed the door, tried to smile supportively. “How’s Rina taking the bad news?”

  “Well. Thanks for asking.”

  She waited for more. When nothing came, she smiled again and said good-bye.

  Decker said, “Margie, I really appreciate your support. Thanks.”

  “Of course. The bitch is out of her mind.”

  “Yes, she is. And that makes her…formidable.” He stood. “I’ll walk you out.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “A couple of errands to take care of. And no, I’m not going anywhere near Jeanine Garrison.”

  Marge studied him. Decker knew she was leery, but she remained quiet. A smart lady. He left the station house, drove the unmarked about a half mile, then stopped at a pay phone. The phone rang twice, then Cindy picked up. He said, “I need your expertise.”

  “My expertise?”

  “Can you come over to the house? If you can’t, I’ll meet you.”

  “No, I can come over. Can you give me a hint?”

  “Later. Come over for supper. Afterward, I’ll fill you in on the details.”

  They had been going at it for over an hour without interruption. Quietly so as not to disturb Rina or the baby. The boys were out as usual. Decker studied his daughter, feeling a mixture of love, admiration, and curiosity. Slowly, he was making his way over that interminable hump…viewing his daughter as an independent adult rather than his charge.

  Cindy perused her notes, her father’s notes as well. Piles of them. Brow wrinkled in concentration, she said, “To prevent any misunderstandings, maybe we should review at this point.”

  “A good idea.”

  “You’ve got this guy—Harlan Manz—who by newspaper and witness accounts went postal at Estelle’s.”

  “Right.”

  “But you think he was just some hired gun.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Daddy, I’ve read your own case notes, the original assessment you took at the time of the shooting.”

  “You can read my handwriting, that’s pretty good.”

  “I can not only read your handwriting, I can forge your signature.”

  Decker’s eyes widened. “What?”

  “That’s a separate issue.” Cindy grimaced. “Using your own notes as a backdrop, Harlan Manz does fit the standard profile for a mass murderer…whatever that means.”

  “Which is?”

  Cindy began to count on her fingers. “He was male, he was under thirty, he used a firearm, he worked and was terminated from his employment at the location of the shooting, he talked about revenge to some of the co-workers—”

  “Only right after he was fired, Cin. Subsequently, no one remembered his belaboring the point.”

  “That’s not unusual. Many times, these things are premeditated. So if he had been planning the shooting, he would have kept it quiet.”

  “Cynthia, I combed Manz’s pad. Didn’t find anything there to suggest he was out to get Estelle’s. No letters, no notes, no pictures of his ex-bosses on which he was doing target practice, nothing to imply a man on the edge.”

  “Dad, you didn’t find much of anything in his apartment period. You wrote that down right in your notes.”

  “Where?”

  Cindy showed him the pages. “See? Right here. A loner’s apartment. Also consistent with mass murderers.”

  “Or consistent with the fact that someone got to his apartment first and removed all his personal effects.” Decker clenched his jaw. “Harlan was no loner. A slacker, yes, but no hermit. He was good-looking, a sharp dresser, had girlfriends, made the social scene, taught tennis, tended bar, went to auditions—”

  “More like the Ted Bundy type,” Cindy answered. “Used his wiles to get his victims. Except he wasn’t a serial killer. But there might be some similarities here. I bet you he used drugs or alcohol before his final act. Something that lowered his inhibitions, calmed his nerves. Did you do a gas chromatography on his blood?”

  “I’ll call Pathology in the morning and find out if one was done. If not, I’ll order it. They still have his blood, so it shouldn’t be hard to get a complete analysis.”

  “Daddy, it’s not that I completely disagree with you. Manz was not your typical schizoid. It does appear that he was able to maintain an outward social facade.”

  She paused.

  “He was also an actor of sorts. He could have been better than average at emotional deception.”

  A very good point. Decker told her so.

  Cindy smiled. “So let me get this straight. You think that Manz was hired by Jeanine Garrison to kill her parents and he covered his tracks by committing mass murder at Estelle’s. And then, someone else—also hired by Jeanine Garrison—was chosen to shoot up Estelle’s as well as kill Harlan Manz with the same type of double automatic?”

  “Maybe. Ballistics lab can’t do a weapons match on each and every shell. Just too many bullets. They don’t have the time or the manpower.”

  “But the gun at Harlan’s side was the gun that killed him.”

  “Appears that way, yes.”

  “So if it wasn’t suicide, how’d that gun get there?”

  “Someone exchanged weapons at the scene.”

/>   “O-kay.” Cindy was dubious. “And then this mystery killer fled the scene, leaving a dead Harlan—the disgruntled employee—to take responsibility for all the killings.”

  “Yes.”

  “Pretty darn artful.”

  “And pretty darn cold.”

  “I’ll say.” Cindy thought a moment. “A perfect crime.”

  “Except forensics doesn’t lie.” Decker briefly explained the inconsistencies of the weapon angles.

  “Ah…” Cindy nodded. “So, obviously, Harlan Manz didn’t know about this other mystery killer.”

  “Or maybe he did, Cin. Maybe Harlan thought they were in it together. And the other person double-crossed him.”

  “So then they both would have gone into the restaurant and opened fire at the same time.”

  Decker thought a moment. “No…that’s not how the witnesses described it. They only noticed Harlan. No one mentioned a mystery killer.”

  “But you did write that people claimed that the bullets were flying all around them…indicative of more than one gun going off. Maybe it makes more sense to assume that Manz didn’t know about a second shooter.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then Jeanine was working with them both independently.”

  Decker said, “Possibly.”

  Cindy looked at her father. “I don’t quite understand how that would work.”

  Decker said, “Suppose Jeanine was doing a number on Manz, getting him worked up over the loss of his job and the need for offing her parents. When Jeanine finally convinced Manz to do it, they set up a date. Then she hired another guy to murder Manz and mop up her parents’ killings—in case Harlan screwed up.”

  “At the same time, Harlan was murdering everyone else?” Cindy shook her head. “Wow.”

  Decker smiled. “Pretty far-fetched. Then again, Jeanine Garrison is one hell of an organizer.”

  “By your definition, she’d have to be.”

  “What I’m looking for is a profile on the mystery killer. Any ideas, hon?”

  Cindy shrugged. “If she indeed did use Manz to kill her parents, she probably would have used someone similiar to Manz for the second kill. Because most killers are pretty unoriginal. They use roughly the same methods unless they’re serial murderers out to play games. But you’re assuming Jeanine is not a serial murderer.”