“About four miles from the house. I walk there after lunch. Yossie picks me up after dark. I used to see some of the old crowd there. Now they stay clear of me and of Mr. Kim. I may not have scared Ruby Ranger, but I think I scared lots of them.”
Decker rubbed his head.
“I’ve given you a headache.”
“I’m just glad you told me all this after the fact.”
Jacob said, “I’m doing better, Dad. It’s hard, but I’ll be all right.”
“Yonkie…” Decker cleared his throat. “Am I wrong in assuming that the bastard who molested you did more than you’ve admitted?”
Again the teen turned red. “I told you everything that I remembered. But there may be stuff that…that I blocked out. I was only seven, so…you know.”
Decker felt sick to his stomach. What did that motherfucker do? Calmly, he said, “Are you talking about it with Dr. Gruen?”
“Bit by bit. When it comes back to me.” Jacob flashed him a quick smile. “You want to talk about Ruby Ranger?”
Decker was happy to change the subject. Did that indicate a weakness on his part as a parent not to probe deeper? Or was he rationalizing it by telling himself that it was best left to the professional? Decker was only human. There was only so much he could absorb at one time. “What can you tell me about her?”
“Objectively, she’s smart—a computer person. I bet she’s an amateur hacker. She’s sexy enough to get plenty of guys if you’re into that severe Goth look. I could see her talking Ernesto into vandalizing the shul. She’d get off on that. But she’d never get her own hands dirty. That wouldn’t be fun for her. Her thing is manipulation, getting you to act out her pathology.” He grinned. “I sound pretty shrinky, don’t I?”
“You’ve learned the lingo.”
“When in Rome…” He looked at Decker. “If you talk to her, tell her to go to hell for me.”
“She’ll be interviewed but not by me.”
“Ah!” Jacob smiled. “Conflict of interest.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sorry to be such a burden to you. Don’t worry. I’m out of your hair in a few months. Surely, you can hang with that.”
“Jacob, you’re not in my hair.”
“Sure, Dad.” He gave him a sour smile. “Actually, I’m looking forward to Johns Hopkins and getting out on my own. And I’m not going to shoot anyone. Although if I did pop Ruby Ranger, I’d be doing the world a service.”
“That’s not funny, Jacob.”
“I didn’t mean it to be.”
11
Installing and painting bookshelves gave Decker much needed downtime, using his body instead of his mind. By two in the morning, the chemical cleaning fumes had become overwhelming, so the shul gang broke for the night. Rina was out as soon as she hit the pillow, but Decker remained fitful, dreaming in dribs and drabs about rebellious boys, his own stepson included. He awoke with a start at five-thirty—it was still dark—and drowned his lethargy with three cups of espresso. At six, he took his prayer shawl and his phylacteries and rushed over to the synagogue to join the men in morning services—an anomaly because usually their small house of worship couldn’t round up a quorum. But the events of yesterday motivated the community to try a little harder.
Right before the services started, half of Yonkie’s school—including Yonkie—came in to join them. Some smart kid even had the grace to bring in Danishes and juice as a reward for participation. It was downright homespun and everyone seemed friendlier, more social and a lot more grateful—praying with sincerity…making it count. By eight—after demolishing the snacks—the men started leaving to begin their working day. Rina, along with several other women, came in just as the men were filing out. They were holding pails, scrub brushes, scouring pads, and lots of Scotch tape to piece together torn bits of the holy books. Decker helped them unload the cleaning material.
“I’ve never seen the place so spotless,” he remarked to his wife.
“Almost like it never happened,” Rina answered. “What’s with that kid? Why on earth would he do such a terrible thing? I know you can’t answer me. I’m just wondering out loud.”
“Darling, I’m just as confused as you.”
Rina regarded her husband. “Poor Peter. You look tired.”
“I’m fine.” Decker smiled to prove the point. “How come you look so good? It’s not fair.”
“It’s called foundation to hide the dark circles.”
“Ah.”
“Also, you’re not wearing your glasses.”
“I don’t need glasses!” Decker insisted. “Only with medicine bottles. Let’s not rush things.”
Rina grinned. “Did I tell you I love you this morning?”
“No, you didn’t.”
She did. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Then she handed him a paper bag. “I packed you lunch. Please remember to eat it.”
“That’s never been my problem…not eating.”
She pinched his ribs. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Below the belt, kid.”
“Stop talking that way.” Rina smiled. “We’re in a shul.”
Decker laughed and hugged her. She felt tense and tight. He said, “Don’t overdo it with all the cleaning, Rina. You’re punishing muscles that you’re not used to using.”
She broke away and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m aware of that.”
“I’m going to remember that ‘below the belt’ comment,” Decker said. “Especially tonight.”
“I sure hope so.”
Decker laughed again, then gave her a final wave and returned to his car. Before he started the engine, he tried the Goldings’ home phone number. When no one picked up, he left another message. He had almost made it to the precinct’s parking lot when impulse overtook reason. He did a safe but illegal U-turn in the middle of the street, backtracking until he hit the Goldings’ neighborhood—a ritzy area containing blocks of spacious homes on acre lots. The development had its own tennis courts, swimming pools, saunas, Jacuzzis, workout gymnasiums, and recreation rooms as well as its own private patrol. As Decker groped around for the specific address, a white-and-blue rent-a-cop slowed his cruiser to check him out. Decker flashed his badge. The private cop nodded, then parked in the middle of the street and got out. He showed Decker the route to the Golding abode.
Ernesto lived in a house that was an amorphous blob, resembling a mound of melting chocolate ice cream. It was constructed out of adobe and probably would have looked great in Santa Fe, but since it sat in a lane of traditional Tudor, colonial, and Mediterranean houses, the place looked unfinished. More than unfinished, it looked like a project that someone forgot to start. The front landscaping was an assemblage of rocks and stones, sitting in beds of sand, and drought-resistant plants, mostly varieties of cacti, but there were also ice plants for ground cover and other flowering mint-colored foliage. A couple of stunted pines framed an old, carved door—the front entrance.
Decker knocked but didn’t expect anything. To his surprise, Carter Golding answered with Jill peeking over his shoulder. Even more surprising, they acted as if they wanted to see him.
As a matter of fact, we were just about to call you.
He was invited inside.
The house was sumptuous and airy, utilizing an open floor plan. Furniture and screens were arranged to define rooms with different purposes. The staircase to the upper levels was also free-form and made of brown adobe. The mud-colored walls were textured and lumpy, holding tiny windows that let in large amounts of light. Lots of muted colors, probably because the sofas and chairs were covered with faded and worn upholstery. Nothing was formal or structured, as if every piece of furniture, every knickknack, every painting and wall hanging had been someone’s castoffs. Not that the interior looked junky, more like designer funky.
Jill caught him staring. “Everything here has been recycled. All the upholstery is either the original coverings or we re-covered it with discarded materia
l. The glass windows, for instance, are all recycled.”
“All the architectural features came from demolition projects,” Carter stated. “It’s a point of pride with us. Even the wood used for framing up the house was recycled from other estates.”
“You’ve certainly held a consistent stance,” Decker said.
“We do our share,” Jill stated.
“Probably a fraction of the cost, too,” Decker added. “I’m about to redo my kitchen. This is giving me ideas.”
Jill lit up. “If you want, I’d be happy to show you around our plant. We get old cabinets all the time. Beautiful cabinets, Detective, made of solid wood. Not the current processed plywood.”
It sounded very tempting. But not only was it unethical, Decker could just picture how Rina would react, knowing that the cabinets came from the family of a boy who had tattooed the synagogue walls with Hitler should have killed more of you. It had taken Decker a while to convince her to ride in his revamped Porsche.
Carter was offering his business card. “The number on the back is my private work number. Feel free to use it.”
Decker took the card to (a) have the number and (b) be polite.
“Please sit down,” Jill said. “Anywhere is fine.”
Decker decided on a rose-on-the-vine-patterned sofa. It was very comfortable. Carter took up an overstuffed chair and looked around the house as if observing it for the first time.
“My wife has a designer’s eye.” Carter’s smile was open—a slash of solid white among his gray and brown facial hair. “She knows how to put things together. It’s an art.”
The man was acting all too jocular. Thin and short, he was nearly swallowed up by the chair’s ballooned pillows. “Can I get you anything to drink?”
“No, I’m fine, Mr. Golding.”
“Call us Jill and Carter,” Jill said. Her elfin face had been freshly scrubbed, leaving her skin clear and shiny. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She looked less stressed and years younger. Both of them wore denim work shirts and jeans. Decker felt stiff in a suit.
Jill said, “It is so fortuitous that you dropped by. It’s so much easier to talk face-to-face.”
“I’d be happy to talk.” But Decker’s mind was on Ricky Moke and Darrell Holt: if they had anything to do with Ernesto and the vandalism. “But if it’s okay with you, I’d first like to have a few words with Ernesto.”
“He’s not here,” Carter said. “He’s with some relatives. All the hullabaloo has left him zapped. More than that, he needs time and solitude to think about the magnitude of his actions.”
“Maybe I can stop by…where he is right now.” Decker smiled. “It would help me out a lot to ask him a few questions.”
Jill sighed. “I’m so sorry, Detective, but his lawyer will not permit you to see him without his counsel. But if you’d like to leave a message, we’ll relay it.”
“I really wanted to see him in person.” Decker sensed he was working with someone cooperative. “Is there a way you can arrange a quick visit? Maybe you can take me over? I don’t mind if you stay while I ask him a couple—”
“No, that won’t work,” Carter broke in. “Not without the lawyer. I hope you understand.”
Decker nodded. “I have no objections if Mr. Melrose is there.”
“Everett is on a tight schedule,” Jill stated. “I’m afraid yesterday took up most of his time. I’ll run it by him, though. Maybe he’ll have a spare moment.”
“Would you?” Decker asked.
“It would be my pleasure,” Jill said.
But Decker knew she wouldn’t do it. “What about Karl?”
“What about him?” Jill responded.
“Perhaps I can talk to him?”
“Whatever for?” Carter broke in. “No use dragging him into the mess. We don’t believe in guilt by association, sir.”
“Of course.” Decker was getting nowhere. He stood up. “Thanks for your time—”
“Please stay for a moment.” Carter waited a beat, stroking his neatly trimmed beard. “We have a couple of favors to ask of you.”
“Me?”
“Please sit,” Jill requested. “Are you sure I can’t get you something to drink?”
“No, I’m fine.”
Jill was still waiting for him to park his butt, so Decker sat back down. Jill followed suit, then beamed at him. “We have some very good news. We’ve found a terrific therapist for Ernesto. It took us all night, but we found the perfect people to deal with him.”
Carter said, “The vandalism was inexcusable—outrageous and disgusting. Even so, we feel we need to get to the root of the problem, don’t you agree?”
Decker agreed.
“His behavior definitely shows lack of parental understanding on our part.” Carter looked down and shook his head. “You try your best, but sometimes it isn’t enough. You need a professional.”
“Do you have children?” Jill asked.
Decker nodded.
“Teenage children?”
Carter said, “Jill, that’s a bit personal.”
Obviously Ernesto hadn’t told his parents about Jacob. Decker said, “I have teenage children. I know they can be full of surprises.”
“Exactly!” Jill exclaimed. “I’m glad you’re on our team!”
“Your team?”
“Yes, in a way.” Carter was excited now. “Because you can be of enormous help. Ernesto has asked that you talk to the therapist.” He smiled. “I don’t know what you said to our son, but obviously you have developed some kind of trust…a rapport if you will. I, for one, think that’s marvelous. I must tell you that this kind of…bonding is very unexpected…coming from a policeman.”
He almost spit out the last word.
“Not that we don’t support the local law, but given the recent history of the LAPD, the department leaves much to be desired—”
“Cart, we don’t have to go into that right now,” Jill said tightly. “Detective, we’d like you to talk to Dr. Baldwin. We would really appreciate that.”
Decker was stunned. “Mrs. Golding—”
“Jill—”
“I’m glad Ernesto’s getting professional help. But I’m not the one who should act as a go-between.”
“Quite the contrary,” Carter protested. “I’m interested in your opinion. More important, Ernesto is interested in your opinion.”
“Sir, to align myself with a suspect—even for societal good—is a conflict of interest. Furthermore, even if I approved of this man—”
“Dr. Baldwin,” Jill interrupted.
“If I liked him, ma’am, it would mean nothing. If I didn’t like him, it wouldn’t mean anything either. I couldn’t tell a good therapist from a bad one.”
“All we want is your opinion,” Jill said.
“I can’t do that.”
“This is very disappointing.” Carter was pensive and grave. “Ernesto insisted to us that you had his interest at heart.”
The manipulating little bastard. “I’d like if things worked out for everyone. But my job puts me in direct conflict with what you’re requesting.”
Carter stroked his beard. “How about this? You agree to talk to Dr. Baldwin, and we’ll let you talk to Ernesto and ask him your…couple of questions.”
They’re all manipulating bastards.
Jill broke in. “Ernesto seems to trust you. He wants your opinion.”
“I can’t give him an opinion. I don’t know anything about therapists and psychology.”
“Surely you’ve seen therapists in your line of work,” Carter added. “You can’t work with oppressed and desperate people day in and day out without some kind of stress management.”
Decker said, “The last therapist I talked to specialized in child psychology.”
Jill said, “Really? What’s his name? I’m sure I know him.”
“Jill, that is also a bit personal.”
Decker said, “Why would you know him?”
&nb
sp; “Because I have an MFCC—Marriage and Family Counseling Certificate,” Jill explained. “I thought you knew that.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“I thought the police knew personal things about their suspects,” Carter said.
“Pardon?” Decker said. “Last time I checked, you two weren’t suspects.”
“Well, the family of a suspect. You can’t mean to say that we’re not under a cloud of suspicion—”
“Cart, we can go into that later,” Jill interrupted. “What’s the doctor’s name? The child psychologist, I mean.”
“Jill, wouldn’t that come under confidential information?” Carter asked.
“Oh, yes, I suppose you’re right about that.” She nodded solemnly. “Sorry. You seemed so open with us that I seem to have forgotten my boundaries. Anyway, it is important to Ernesto that you speak with the therapist. Also, I’d be curious about your opinion. We all want to help Ernesto. I mean, you do want to help him, don’t you?”
“If you help us out, Lieutenant, I’m sure we could work something out with Everett,” Carter said. “If he sees that you have Ernesto’s interest at heart, I don’t see how he could object to your speaking with our son.”
Jill added, “In the end, it is our decision…whether or not we permit you to talk to Ernesto.”
“So we’re swapping favors, is that it?”
She blushed. “I’m just saying it is our decision. Surely you can see that Ernesto’s not a criminal.”
Decker couldn’t see anything of the sort. But he had a half hour for lunch to spare. Rina had packed him a pastrami sandwich topped with mustard, mayo, sauerkraut, and spicy pickles. He figured he might as well get indigestion from something other than food.
12
Crimes more pressing than vandalism still plagued the city, leaving Decker to contemplate the wisdom of using valuable time to interview a couple of shrinks even if it meant a second chance with Ernesto. Still, he might as well try to understand someone else’s kid, because his own stepson left him abashed.
Wanda had found quite a bit of material about Mervin Baldwin and his psychologist wife, Dee, on the Internet. They had been interviewed by the top news-lite magazines, and had had a cover article about them as a power couple in Psychology Now. There were also several “in-depth” profiles on them in in-house papers for local psychology organizations, both city and state. They had written about a dozen pieces for journals, most of them having to do with “Oppositional Behavior in Teenagers.” From reading the abstracts, Decker gleaned that Merv Baldwin’s specialty was working with troubled teens.
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