"Don't do that!"
"So tell me the name."
Whitman's knees buckled. He dropped to the floor. Decker knelt beside him. "I understand your protective attitude. She looks like a nice girl. .. very pretty."
"She's the most..." His voice faded.
"I'm sure I'll understand when I meet her," Decker said. "The name, son?"
Whitman was silent.
"Chris, you don't want your friends to know, do you?"
"No," he whispered.
"The name?"
"Please be nice."
"I will."
"Tell her I'm ... I'm very sorry."
"The name, Christopher?"
"Teresa McLaughlin." 189
She spoke behind a closed door. And even when she opened it to check Decker's ID, she kept the chain on. A cautious girl, but in the end, she let him in. She kept her distance, eyes darting between the upstairs landing and the front door. Distrustful. And after what had happened to Cheryl Diggs, who could blame her?
Decker stepped into Teresa McLaughlin's living room.
Whitman had done a good job of rendering her on paper, but had fallen short. Because she was truly a stunner a breath-taking adolescent easing with grace into womanhood. An oval face held clear, amber eyes flecked with dark chocolate. Her complexion was cream-colored except for a sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose and a natural blush that outlined high cheekbones. Her hair was waist-length, thick and deep bronze, tied back and held in place with a plastic clip. She wore an oversized, long-sleeved T-shirt under a brocade vest and baggy, faded jeans.
Studying her face, Decker bet she had trouble getting dates. Because something about her was unapproachable. Her eyes, though beautiful, were stop signs that said don't touch... don't even look. Her aloofness, combined with a distinct vulnerability, must have been one powerful aphrodisiac to a cocky kid like Whitman.
Decker kept his hands in his pockets, glanced around the living room. Small and neat with conventional furniture. A six-foot sofa facing a couple of armchairs with a coffee table between them. A few nondescript floral still lifes hung on the walls. There was also a framed 190
poster of Monet's water lilies. The carpet was oatmeal hued, marred by a couple of large, faded, amoeba-shaped stains.
"I just made some coffee for myself." Her voice was soft and wary. "Would you like a cup?"
"Black coffee would be great, thank you." Decker smiled and she returned a small one of her own. "Where should I sit?"
"How about the dining-room table?" She kneaded her hands. "My stepmom doesn't like anyone drinking coffee in the living room. Too many accidents on the carpet."
"The dining room is fine, Teresa."
"Terry, please." She looked at the table. It was covered with school papers and texts. "I'll clear it off in a minute." Again a brief smile. Then she disappeared into the kitchen. Seconds later, a child around seven came scampering down the staircase. She stopped short when she saw Decker, keeping a safe distance between them.
"Why, hello there," Decker said. "Are you looking for Terry?"
Nodding, the girl stuck her thumb in her mouth, then quickly pulled it out.
"She's in the kitchen. You can go see her if you want."
She didn't answer. A moment later, Terry returned carrying two mugs of coffee. She saw the little girl, let go with a genuine smile, then placed the coffee cups on top of a calculus textbook. Once the mugs were on the table, the child raced to Terry and hugged her waist.
"It's okay, Melissa," Terry explained. "He's just a policeman a detective with a real gold badge."
Melissa's eyes grew wide. She muttered something. Terry bent down and the girl threw her arms around her neck. She whispered something in the older girl's ear.
"What?" Terry asked. "I can't understand you."
Melissa whispered again.
Aloud Terry said, "No, he's not going to arrest me. But you've got to go back upstairs because I have to talk to him, okay?"
Melissa looked scared.
Terry stood up and faced Decker. "I usually make her a snack about this time. I was about to do that when you came. Would you mind waiting while I prepare her something?"
"Not at all," Decker said. "I'll even show her my badge."
But Melissa wasn't interested. She tagged after Terry, hanging on to the hem of her T-shirt, as the teen dragged her unwittingly into the kitchen. Decker could make out soft, cooing sounds but no words. A minute later, they came back, Terry holding a plate filled with fruit slices and chips. 191
"I want to eat down here," Melissa said.
"I know, honey, but you can't," Terry said.
"I'll be good. I'll be quiet."
"Missy, you don't have to be quiet to be good. You're good just because you're good." Again, Terry bent down. "I have to talk to the policeman in private. You wait for me upstairs. Hopefully, this won't take too long."
The girl didn't budge.
"Come on." Terry took her hand. "I'll walk you up."
They were gone for about five minutes before Terry returned. Her expression was apologetic. "She doesn't get out much. My stepmom keeps long hours. Melissa's a little antsy around strangers. All these stories she hears at school."
"She's your sister?"
"Half sister."
A kitchen bell went off. Terry checked her watch. "That's the washing machine. Would you mind if I threw a batch of clothes in the dryer?"
"Go ahead."
"Thank you." She ran back to the kitchen, then returned and began tidying up her school papers. "Sorry about the mess. I like to spread out when I study."
"Nothing to apologize for," Decker said. "Are you studying for finals?"
"Yes ... out of habit more than anything." She began stacking her notes. "I'm a senior so it's really all over for me. Short of a catastrophe, I should be entering UCLA in the fall as a freshman."
"Congratulations," Decker said. "I hear it's very hard to get into UCLA these days."
She shrugged. "The admissions thing is a bit overblown. It's not that hard." She glanced at her watch. "I'm running a little late. Can I put dinner in the oven? My stepmom usually goes to the health club after work. She comes home ravenous and grumpy. It'll only take a minute."
"I've got time."
Again she flew into the kitchen. When she came back, Decker said, "You're a busy lady, aren't you?"
"It's no big deal."
"It's nice that you help out your stepmom."
She shrugged, but her face was tense.
Decker said, "Or do you have a choice?"
Terry forced herself to smile. "S'right. My stepmom works hard. 192
She's an executive secretary at the regional offices of Filagree Drug Company. Lot of responsibilities." Then she muttered, "Or so she says."
"What about your dad?"
Terry paused. "My dad?"
Decker was quiet. He knew he'd touched a nerve.
Terry said, "Uh, sure, my dad works, too. Of course."
Lots of tension. Decker nodded passively.
"He's a maintenance engineer for several big downtown law buildings." Terry waited a beat. "That's a fancy title for a handyman."
"It's honest labor," Decker said. "Nothing wrong with that."
"It's better than flipping burgers. He did that for a while, too." Terry bit her nail, then sat down. "You're right. It is honest work. And I know my dad works very hard. I don't mean to disparage him."
"I'm sure you don't," Decker said. "You've just got your own problems, I bet."
"Who doesn't?" She folded slender hands, placed them on the tabletop and kept her eyes on her clasped fingers. "Is the coffee okay?"
Decker took a sip. "Terrific." He spoke gently. "You do know why I'm here, don't you?"
"I'm assuming it's about Chris Whitman. What are you doing? Interviewing everyone in the class?"
"Only certain people," Decker said. "You made the list."
"Lucky me." Her voice was a whisper.
She cleared her throat, then spoke louder. "How can I help you?"
"Tell me about Chris."
"There's not much to tell. I know him from school. We're in the same grade."
"Is he in any of your classes?"
"Just orchestra."
"Ah..." Decker took out a notepad. "And what instrument do you play, Terry?"
"I play violin." She waited a beat. "Actually, I play at the violin. I'm terrible."
"Don't be too easy on yourself, young lady," Decker said.
Terry smiled and looked at him, her eyes as warm as melted butter. "I'm just being honest. I'm an excellent student, but I stink at the violin."
"You don't play like Chris, huh?"
"No, not at all."
"He's a remarkable musician," he said. 193
"Yes, he is."
"He's also a good-looking guy."
Terry was silent.
"A little distant, even cool in his personality," Decker went on. "But he's well-spoken... articulate. Classy in his own way. From what I understand, Cheryl was a real party girl. So what was the attraction between them?"
She laughed softly. "You're asking me?"
Decker said, "Yeah, you knew Cheryl, didn't you, Terry?"
"We knew each other by name, but we weren't friends." She began to knead her hands again. "Not that we were enemies. We weren't... anything."
Decker said, "What'd you think of her?"
"I didn't," Terry said. "She never crossed my mind."
"I'm sure you've heard rumors."
"I try to avoid gossip." Her voice was soft. "I wasn't friends with Cheryl... or with Chris for that matter. We didn't hang out in the same circles."
"But you were friendlier with Chris than with Cheryl, weren't you?"
She cleared her throat again. "He was my student... one of my students. I'm a tutor... mostly math and science, but sometimes humanities and languages, too. I tutored Chris for a while."
Decker flipped the cover of his notepad. "And when was that?"
"At the beginning of the term. Maybe seven months ago."
"How long did you tutor him?"
"About three months."
Decker looked up. "What happened?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why did you stop tutoring him?" Decker clicked his pen. "His grades going into finals weren't exactly spectacular."
Terry squirmed. "I wouldn't know. We didn't talk much after he quit."
"It was his idea to stop the lessons?"
"Mutual." Terry fidgeted. "It wasn't a good match."
"A good match?"
She paused. "We both thought he could benefit better from someone else."
"Why?"
"Sometimes that's the case."
"So you broke it off?"
"It wasn't a relationship." Terry took a deep breath. "Why are 194 Justice 191
you asking me questions? I haven't really seen Chris for months. Like I said, we didn't have the same group of friends."
"Yes, I can believe that. But that doesn't mean you and Chris couldn't have remained friends after you stopped tutoring him."
"But we didn't," Terry said.
Decker studied the girl for a moment. It seemed to unnerve her. "So you haven't seen Chris in months, right?"
"Basically, yes."
"What do you mean by basically, yes?"
"Just... I mean I've seen him in school... in orchestra. But we haven't really talked to each other."
"There you go again, using the word really "
"I mean like we'd say hi when we passed each other in the hallways."
Decker leaned in close. "And that's been your only contact with him since you stopped tutoring him?"
"Basically, yes."
"Basically, again?" Decker questioned. "Terry, why don't you just tell me what's going on?"
"That is basically what's going on."
"'Basically' for a third time," Decker said. "You know what, Terry? You're a terrible liar."
She blinked back tears. "I'm not lying. I'm skirting the truth with the judicious use of modifiers."
Decker laughed and so did she until gentle rills rolled down her cheeks. Leaning in close, Decker reached over to her neck and pulled on the gold chain until a tucked-in charm was fully liberated. A gold cross dangled on the end. He showed it to her.
He said, "Two days ago, when I visited Chris at his apartment, he was wearing a crucifix exactly like this one. This morning, he wasn't wearing it."
Terry didn't answer.
Decker said, "When was the last time you saw him, Terry?"
She wiped her eyes. "It would be really silly to lie, right?"
"Right."
"I saw Chris around six this morning."
Decker paused. Whitman was being tailed at that time. The stakeout didn't mention anything about Whitman being with a girl. Something didn't jibe. "You saw Chris at six in the morning?"
"Yes."
"You met him at the Laundromat?"
"Laundromat? What are you talking about?" 195
Decker paused. "What are you talking about?"
Terry turned red. "I... I spent the night at his apartment."
"Ah." Decker wrote as he spoke. "Do you have a key to his place?"
"No, not at all. I came to his place last night... sat on his doorstep and waited for him to come home from the police station."
"How did you know he was at the police station?"
She covered her face and let her hands drop. "Is your official title Detective or Sergeant?"
"It's Sergeant. Go on."
Terry spoke slowly. "I hadn't talked to Chris in months. He stopped talking to me when I stopped tutoring him."
"Why?"
"I don't know why. I guess he was mad at me for suggesting he find another tutor."
"Why'd you tell him to look elsewhere?" Decker said. "The truth this time, Terry."
"The arrangement became ... uncomfortable."
"Was he inappropriate?"
"On the contrary." She cleared her throat and took a drink of coffee. "Chris had been unfailingly polite."
"So what was the problem?"
"That was the problem," Terry said. "There were feelings between us that couldn't be acted upon. Because Chris was ... suffice it to say that it couldn't work between us."
Decker paused. "He told you he was engaged?"
Terry breathed a sigh of relief. "Exactly! He was engaged to someone else. At first, I didn't believe him. He's just a kid. I thought it had to be an excuse.. . that maybe he was gay or wasn't attracted to me. Later I found out that neither was the case."
She looked at the ceiling.
"Eventually, I believed him. And that made things uncomfortable between us. I told him to find someone else."
"Then he got mad at you?"
"Real mad. He stopped .. . talking to me. I knew his behavior was childish, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt."
"You were affected by it?"
"Of course. I liked him a lot. I wanted to remain friends. Obviously, he didn't." She laughed nervously. "Maybe he liked seeing me suffer."
She turned bright red.
"I didn't mean it like that. I was just trying to be funny. Chris was 196
wonderful when I taught him. You know, Sergeant, I've never been attracted to dangerous boys. Lots of girls are, but not me."
"What do you mean by dangerous?"
"You know, the white gang wannabes who shave their heads and brandish weapons to impress the girls." Terry rolled her golden eyes. "Even a tame school like Central West Valley has a group of those kinds of guys. They think it's cool to terrorize, you know. They have contests who can be the first to make this girl or that girl. Once one of them came to me for tutoring. Yeah, right! I made up an excuse, told him I was booked. But he kept pestering me. Giving me creepy looks. Then he showed up at my house! That really freaked me out."
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