Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 01

by The Ritual Bath

  “I want to know what’s in it for me,” the kid said shakily.

  “Nothing,” Decker answered. “But look at it this way. You’ve got premeditated murder on the other side. And that’s a capital offense. And you’re over sixteen, buddy. That means you’re going to be tried as a big boy, and you’re going to pull some hard time.”

  Decker leaned in close and whispered.

  “You’re gonna get your ass reamed, Cory.”

  “Captain, I object to your detective’s scare tactics and won’t hesitate to cite them as grounds for appeal if you obtain a confession. I demand a moment alone with my client.”

  “The hell with you,” Cory spat out. To Decker he said: “I wanna just say one thing. You gotta understand—I didn’t kill no one. I’m innocent!”

  “Look here, kid,” Ronson said, snapping a pencil. “I don’t need this shit. I’m trying to help you.”

  “Fuck you.” Cory returned his attention to Decker. “I can talk, can’t I?”

  “Of course—”

  “Do you understand that everything you say will be used against you, Cory?” Ronson said.

  “Yeah, I understand. Man, let’s just pretend it went this way. I’m not saying it did. Let’s just pretend that it did, got it?”

  “Cut the crap, Schmidt,” Morrison barked. “And when you address me, you use sir or captain. If you can’t get that straight, you’re going back to your holding pen. Got it?”

  “Okay, okay. I just want to make it clear that this is just pretend.”

  “Fine, Mr. Schmidt,” the captain said, checking the cassette recorder to make sure it was working properly. “It’s all theoretical.”

  Ronson pulled out a pen and poised himself for writing. “You’re sealing your death warrant, Mr. Schmidt.”

  “Hey, I know what I’m doing. Like the captain says, it’s thredical.”

  “Just get on with it, Cory,” Decker pressed.

  The boy placed both hands on the table and ran his tongue over his lips.

  “Man, you gotta believe me when I say this. I didn’t know what was gonna go down. It wasn’t planned, man. I swear to you, I didn’t know shit. Man, it was the dust. Never would have happened if we weren’t flying on dust. I mean we weren’t thinkin’ too clear, man. I mean, I didn’t know what the fuck was going down.”

  “What happened?” the captain said impatiently.

  “Maybe we started off just sitting around, smoking joints dipped in dust, bullshitting about the kikes. Hey, man, nobody wanted ’em here. They just came, and nobody wanted ’em. Man, those kikes are weirdos. They ain’t American. They’re all spies for Israel, and they come here to bleed us of all our money and give it away. Man, we don’t need any fuckin’ foreigners telling us how to run our country, right? And that Jew bitch got us into trouble.

  “Then maybe one of my friends said, ‘Let’s go down and kick some ass at Kiketwon.’ He said it. Maybe I didn’t say anything. I swear I didn’t say a word.”

  “Go on, Cory,” Morrison said with exaggerated boredom.

  “So, man, we was all flying and charged up. Man, we felt so good, ’cause maybe we did a few rocks of coke also. So we got on our bikes, and maybe we went down there. Hey, there’s no law against looking the place over, right?

  “So maybe we did a little more, like hopping over the fence, and one of my friends maybe asked me for my buck knife. Man, I swear I didn’t think he was gonna do anything with it. Just maybe kick a little ass or maybe scare a little kike bitch into spreading her legs. I mean I didn’t think he’d want to waste anybody.

  “So I give him my knife, and we start to hunt for kike. But then we saw this big fat nigger bitch with a mean-looking piece thinking she was Queen Shit. We see the nigger and, man, that was even better than a kike. So maybe we hid in the hills and made a little noise. Big fat coon comes up to see what’s happening, and we knocked the gun out of her fat hands.”

  The boy began to pick his nose.

  “Like I said, I thought we was just gonna kick some ass. Then maybe one of my buddies takes out my blade. Honest, I thought he just was gonna play around. You know a poke here, a poke there. But he wanted more, man. Fuck, he slashed her. Man, I was fucked-up blown away. I mean I was totally blown away. I’ve kicked ass, but I never wasted no one. I’m telling you, I was completely blown away. Shit, all this blood started pouring out in gushes, man, in fucking gushes. Freaked us all out, all this blood all over our hands, all over our clothes. The dude who did it completely freaked. Started laughing like some goddamn hyena, then began to hack away at her arm. The blood kept coming, man. The others stomped on her knee, and you could hear it break, you know? Man, you could hear the crack for a mile. Shit, it was weird, real weird.”

  “Who did the slashing?” Decker asked.

  “It wasn’t me, man. I didn’t know he was gonna slash her. Man, I didn’t do nothing, just maybe stared while they ripped her apart. See, by then I was already coming down, but they were still flying, man. You know dust. It does weird things.”

  The P. D. groaned, scratched some notes, then lit a cigarette and gave one to Cory. All the others followed suit. The room became a cloud of tobacco haze.

  “Then it all got kinda fuzzy,” the boy continued, after filling his lungs with smoke. “I mean, I don’t remember too much after the nigger bitch bit it. Just that it all got kind of fuzzy, and they were doing a number on her. Then, we heard noises like someone was coming, and we all took off. Man, I forgot to ask for my knife back in all the mess. Or maybe it just got lost. I don’t know where you got it. But I didn’t use it on her, man.”

  “Who did?” asked Morrison.

  Schmidt thought a moment, then said, “I don’t think I should tell you that.”

  “Such discretion,” muttered Ronson.

  “You split after you heard the noise?” Decker asked.

  “Man, we were gone!”

  “Theoretically, Cory,” Decker said, “what were the names of your friends?”

  Ronson protested, but the boy ignored him.

  “Maybe, just maybe, their first names were Clay, Dennis, and Brian. That’s all I’m sayin’ for now.”

  “Captain?” asked Decker.

  “Yeah?”

  “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

  “Brief interlude, Counselor?” Morrison asked the P. D.

  “Why the hell not?” snapped Ronson.

  “Great,” Birdwell said, adjusting his glasses. “I’ve got to make a couple of calls.”

  “I buy it,” Morrison said to Decker when they were alone. “Do you?”

  “Yup.”

  “The question is do you go for a sure thing and charge him with Murder One, or do you take a chance that a jury will believe him and try to get all four of them?”

  Decker thought a moment.

  “I don’t feel comfortable letting him take the sole rap when there are three others involved. And I think it would be hard to convince a jury that Schmidt acted alone. Also, other shoe prints and tire tracks were found at the scene. Be interesting if they matched his friends’.”

  “If he turns state’s evidence, then we can get warrants for his pals.” Morrison tapped his foot. “Let’s try for all four. Now how much do we give up in exchange? Letting him off with just an assault charge would be a travesty of justice.”

  “For more than one reason, Captain. I don’t think he did the Adler rape.”

  Morrison knitted his brows.

  “Why the hell not?”

  “Someone tried to break into the ritual bath the night Florence Marley was killed. Cory didn’t mention a thing about it. I think the perp who broke in that night was the same one who did the Adler rape. I made a tactical error by mentioning the rape the first time I questioned Cory after the supermarket thing, and the kid was somehow smart enough to use the information and plea bargain with it against the murder rap.”

  “Shit.”

  “You’re telling me,” Decker said. “I feel like a
jackass.”

  Morrison paused.

  “I’d like to have someone in custody before I dismiss the charges. He confessed, Pete.”

  “I just don’t see it. Cory and his friends have had minor brushes with the law. And whenever there was a weapon involved, it was a knife. When we searched Schmidt’s house, we found only one gun, and it belonged to his father. These kids are cutters. The Adler rapist had a gun. The night I first searched in the hills, someone shot at me. Someone who knew how to use a piece.”

  “Perps have been known to use different methods.”

  “Granted. But still, I’d like to delve a little further into the case before sticking it on Cory.”

  “I’m assuming you’ve questioned Macko about it?”

  “Yes. It’s not his baby.”

  “How’s your caseload?”

  “With the Marley murder and the Foothill thing out of the way, I’ve got a little more time on my hands.”

  “Any suspects?”

  “A few.”

  “It would be handy if Schmidt knew he didn’t have the Adler thing to bargain with. Let’s say, we’ll keep it quiet for forty-eight hours. See what you can do in two days.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Birdwell returned.

  “Where do we go from here?”

  Morrison briefed him.

  “So what do you want to do with Schmidt?” the prosecutor asked, wiping his glasses. “Stall him?”

  “Yeah, we stall him for two days,” Morrison responded. “Tell him we’re considering the trade.”

  The captain turned to Decker.

  “Have Hollander or Dunn pick up his friends on suspicion of murder, while you search for the ritual bath rapist. I don’t want them splitting on us when they get wind of the fact that Cory’s in deep shit.”

  “What do we do if the Adler case comes up dry in two days?” Birdwell asked.

  “Then we’ll have to see about a deal.” The captain turned to Decker. “Two days, Pete. Starting right now.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Decker started to walk away.

  “Pete,” Morrison called out.

  “Yes, Captain?”

  “Good job on the Macko collar.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  24

  Rina waited for Decker in the park.

  It had been two days since the capture of the Foothill rapist, a week since they had last talked. Though she would have loved to call him up—to congratulate him on a job well done—she didn’t want to be a nuisance or give him the wrong idea. After all, she’d been so firm about not seeing him socially anymore.

  But today he had called, saying he needed to talk to her, and they arranged to meet for lunch. Now she wondered if the rendezvous was wise. They could have spoken over the phone—there was no need to talk face-to-face—yet she had agreed and was excited about it. Being brutally honest, she asked herself whose needs were being satisfied.

  He had occupied her thoughts since the first time she’d laid eyes on him. Feeling so vulnerable the night of Sarah’s ordeal, she’d been attracted to his self-assurance and physical stature. And in all the time she’d known him, never once had he taken advantage of her momentary weakness. He was kind to her boys and respectful to her, never mocking her religious beliefs. And she loved when she dreamed about him, the images exhuming sensations in her body that had been buried for so long.

  She felt happy when he was around; she missed him when they were apart. It was absurd. Theirs was a relationship that could never be. But she couldn’t help her feelings.

  The Plymouth pulled up, and Peter got out. She’d expected him to be overflowing with relief and joy at capturing a man who had plagued him for so many months. But his face was full of tension.

  “Hi,” he said, sitting down next to her.

  “Congratulations,” she said enthusiastically.

  “For what?”

  “For catching the Foothill rapist.”

  “Oh that.” He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. “It’s old news already.”

  Her eyes drifted to his shoulder holster, then stared at the ground.

  “Must be a load off your mind.”

  “Oh yeah, no doubt about it. Nice to get the bastard behind bars. It’s even nicer that it looks like he’ll stay there for a while. We’ve got a couple of victims who picked him out of a lineup.”

  “That’s wonderful,” she said. “How’d you do it?”

  “A little routine police work. But mainly, his girlfriend ratted on him after the son of a bitch got tough with her poodle.”

  “Poodle?”

  “The guy kicked her dog. No telling what’ll bring citizens to their senses.”

  A smile spread across his face.

  “You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said.

  She let out a nervous laugh and smoothed out her silk dress.

  “Why are you all dressed up?”

  “I met my parents for breakfast. They like it when I dress up.”

  “I don’t blame them. I like it, too.”

  He thought a moment, then said, “I thought you don’t eat out in restaurants.”

  “This one was kosher.”

  “I remember a couple of kosher delis in Miami, but I didn’t know there was anything like that here.”

  “There’s a great deli in the Valley and a gourmet restaurant in Los Angeles. The one we went to this morning was a new dairy restaurant. We don’t mix meat and dairy products, so restaurants have to be one or the other.”

  “How was it?”

  She smiled.

  “Not bad. They have a few bugs to work out.”

  “But you felt comfortable eating there?”

  “Yes. I happen to know the rabbi who supervises the place. He’s very particular.”

  Peter’s eyes twinkled, but he said nothing. Suddenly his head had begun to throb. He cupped his forehead between open palms.

  “What’s wrong, Peter?”

  “Oh, it’s only stress—”

  “How long have you had these?” she asked with sudden urgency.

  He looked at her.

  “They’re nothing new. Don’t worry about it.”

  Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out a bottle of aspirin, tossed a couple of pills down his throat, and swallowed.

  She knew she had overreacted because of Yitzchak. Calm down. Not every headache is a brain tumor.

  “Would you like something to wash it down with?” she asked.

  “Sure.”

  She handed him a can of Coke. He took a swig, then winced.

  “Your work is hazardous to your health.”

  “Speaking of hazards, I’m worried about you.”

  “The mikvah is closed,” she said.

  “But we don’t have the rapist.”

  “So Macko didn’t do it,” she said glumly.

  “No. I would have called you immediately if he had. But I do have some other news. We’ve got Cory Schmidt in custody, charged with murdering Florence.”

  “Oh God! He did do it. That disgusting little piece of trash!”

  “No argument from me there.”

  “When I think that he touched me, drew that knife…” She shuddered. “How’d you catch him?”

  “He was set up.”

  “By whom?”

  “I’m not sure. I suspect his friends. Either they were angry at him for ratting on them about the supermarket incident, or the kid who actually did the killing got scared, had Cory’s knife, and found him a convenient scapegoat. That’s not important. What is, is that the murder weapon appeared magically at the station. We obtained a search warrant, and Schmidt’s shoes matched prints lifted from the murder scene. And his motorcycle tires match tracks found outside the yeshiva.”

  “Mazel tov. Did you tell Mr. Marley?”

  “I can’t say anything until everyone is charged.”

  “When will that be?”

  “We have to get a couple of things straight
ened out.”

  She was silent.

  “Cory said he raped Mrs. Adler, Rina.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

  “Because I don’t believe him. It just doesn’t jibe.”

  “Then why on earth would he admit doing it?”

  “He’s trying to plea bargain. We’re not sure at this point if it was Cory or one of his friends who actually murdered Florence. We think it was one of Cory’s friends. Now Schmidt’s willing to turn state’s witness and rat on his friends if we lessen the charge to assault.”

  Rina’s face went red with fury.

  “Assault? He raped her!”

  “The doctor screwed up—”

  “He raped and murdered—”

  “We’re not sure he actually murdered, Rina. That’s the problem.”

  “He’s trying to get away with a lousy assault charge? The boy killed another human being. He pulled a knife on me, Peter! He deserves a firing squad!”

  “If we can find the real rapist, he won’t have the assault to plea bargain with.”

  She squeezed her hands together and clenched her jaw.

  “The naked truth is we still have the mikvah rapist at large,” Decker said.

  Rina pounded her fist against an open palm.

  “I know it’s frustrating—”

  “It’s damn infuriating! How do you stand it?”

  “Who says I stand it? These headaches don’t come from nothing. But I try to ignore the garbage and do my job. The best revenge is to see the bastards behind bars. If I dwelled on the ones that got away from me, my work would suffer. We all have our methods of coping.”

  She looked at him. He seemed so tired. She gave his hand a light pat.

  He smiled at her gesture and decided to shift gears.

  “Kids come back home from the grandparents?”

  “Yes. They had a good time but were more than happy to come home. My parents are overprotective—it’s a hundred degrees outside, and they tell you to take a sweater, just in case.”

  “How long could the boys stand staying there without going nuts?”

  “Why?”

  “I’m just asking you a question.”