Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 14

by Stone Kiss

  “That’s Mom talking.”

  “No, Mom thinks you’ve gone overboard for different reasons. She’s worried you’re going to go to hell.”

  “Tell her I’m used to warm climates. You know, Jews don’t hold a monopoly on dishonesty. Some of the most religious Baptists have not been paragons of virtue, either.”

  “That’s true, but right now you’re not involved with sleazy Baptists. But you may be involved with sleazy Jews.”

  “You just said that the Liebers didn’t produce hits.”

  “That doesn’t mean they’re clean. It could mean they haven’t been caught. Anyway, let me finish, all right?”

  “There’s more?”

  “Yes, there’s more. Quinton produced a couple of hits in my district. For what it’s worth, several teens who were vacationing in Miami with their parents were arrested during a rave raid. The kids were popping ecstasy. I believe they were originally slapped with drug possession, but the charges were knocked down to the lesser misdemeanor of disorderly conduct. Negotiations obviously. Someone got paid off.”

  Decker’s brain took off. The lone pill in Ephraim’s hotel room.

  “Bro, are you with me?” Randy said into the receiver.

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Ecstasy, huh?”

  “Yeah, ecstasy. That’s usually the drug of choice at the raves.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They were juveniles. The records are sealed.”

  “When was this?”

  “Recent. Six months ago.”

  Around the time Shayndie was hanging out at the mall.

  “Sealed, huh?” Decker questioned.

  “Like a drum. I have no idea who they are. However, if Ryan Anderson and Philip Caldwell turn up as problem children in Quinton, well, no one would be surprised. Helpful?”

  “Very. Thank you, Randal.”

  “You can thank me by keeping your promise.”

  “I swear—”

  “Yeah, yeah. By the way, you must know that ecstasy is a vice of your brethren.”

  “What are you talking about?” Decker asked.

  “Israeli Mafia. The Oded Tuito case up in New York? You do know about that, don’t you?”

  Decker didn’t. Even as a lieutenant in charge of the detectives’ squad, he had little if nothing to do with either Vice or Narcotics. They were in separate divisions. Plus, he had lived almost all his police life three thousand miles away from the East Coast. “Tell me about it.”

  Randy said, “Oded Tuito was a drug courier, finally arrested in Spain after outrunning authorities in New York for about nine months. He used erotic dancers to smuggle in ecstasy from Europe into the U.S.—”

  “What?”

  “What’s ‘what’?”

  “Did you say he used erotic dancers?”

  “Did I punch something meaningful?”

  “Maybe.”

  “You want to clue me in?”

  “Finish up about Oded Tuto—”

  “Tuito.”

  “Spell it for me.”

  Randy did. “Where was I?”

  “Oded Tuito was arrested in Spain.”

  “Yeah, him and the other one…I forgot his name. Hold on, it’ll come to me cause it’s relevant.” Mentally, Randy thumbed through his notes. “Anyway, the second dude also pleaded guilty to conspiracy to distribute—this was about a year ago. Both of them used erotic dancers, and both have ties to the Israeli Mafia—Orgad… Jacob Orgad. That’s the other guy. Anyway, before the dancers, guess who the dealers used for couriers?”

  “Dare I hazard it?”

  “Chasidic Jews,” Randy answered. “They used couples, young married couples barely out of their teens. Some of the women were pregnant. The dealers stuffed the pills in socks and told them they were carrying diamonds. That went bust, too. But there is a point to all of this.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “This is still an ongoing case. When the cops took those two clowns outta the loop, other Israelis moved in and took over, but this time the ports changed—Miami/Dade. Narcotics has warrants out for several of them—Shalom Weiss, Ali Harabi, and Yusef Ibn Dod—”

  “Last two sound Arabic, not Israeli.”

  “They’re Israeli Arabs. There is peace in the Middle East, but not the kind that the world has in mind. I found out from one of our Jewish Narcs that the Israelis and the Arabs do business together in three black markets: drugs, sex, and—I kid you not—watermelon.”

  Decker laughed. “Do you have any idea where these guys are hiding out?”

  “No. We hauled some of the local dancers. One of them had a bad jones, and when she got desperate enough, she ratted out aforementioned names. But they rabbited as soon as they heard we had the girl in custody.”

  “This is all very interesting.”

  “Okay. It’s your turn now, Pete. What in particular is interesting?”

  “I’m wondering if Lieber knew Shalom Weiss.”

  “Me too. You have some suspicions you want to share with me?”

  “I found out something that didn’t make much sense to me. Now maybe it does.”

  “Go on.”

  “Quinton Police chief Virgil Merrin. I met up with him at Tattlers—”

  “What the fu—what were you doing there?”

  “It’s a long story. Why I was there is immaterial. I was wondering why Merrin was there. Why would he be in such a politically incorrect place right near his hometown?”

  “Maybe he’s a horny guy who doesn’t like to travel too far.”

  “Or maybe he was there for business, Randy. Think about the pieces of information you just gave me. Kids in Quinton arrested for possession of ecstasy in Miami. The Israeli Mafia using erotic dancers to smuggle in ecstasy. The Quinton Police chief in a restaurant specializing in erotic dancers. Three Israelis at large wanted for ecstasy imports. The girl who was murdered, Shaynda Lieber. She used to hang around some of the local Quinton kids…around six months ago, actually.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Too many connections to be coincidental,” Decker said. “Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. Randy, could you fax me a picture of Weiss? Actually, all three of them—what were the others’ names?”

  “Harabi and Ibn Dod.”

  “Yeah, right. All three of them, if you have them.”

  “Absolutely, I have something I could fax you. But first, you’ve got to level with me, Pete. If you have a fix on them, you have to tell me.”

  “Of course I’d tell you, Randy. Do you honestly think I’d hold back?”

  “No comment.”

  “I’m wounded,” Decker answered. “I don’t have a fix, but I do have ideas. Because I’m asking myself where could these guys hide and not stick out.”

  “In any Arab or Israeli community.”

  “Or in any Chasidic community.”

  “Arabs?” Randy was skeptical. “Especially now?”

  “If they’re true Israeli Arabs, they probably speak Hebrew and have seen enough black-hatters to play the part. And if other New York Chasidim had done some transporting, maybe these jokers had made prior connections.”

  “You’re thinking Quinton.”

  “If they were supplying the town, why not?”

  “I’ll come up—”

  “Not yet, Randy. If they’re here in Quinton and you come up, they might jump again. This time, who knows where? Sure, maybe it’ll come to that, but first let me do some groundwork since I’m already a known quantity. Also, I’m still not sure how Merrin fits in, and if it has anything to do with the murders of Ephraim and Shaynda Lieber. Let me poke around a bit.”

  “Just a little legwork, right?”

  “Yeah, exactly.”

  “Nothing confrontational, Peter, because these guys are dangerous fugitives. Weiss was in the Israeli army. He knows how to shoot a gun.”

  “I hear you, Randal, and I thank you for helping me out. Also, I’ve got a pretty good working relati
onship with the detective in charge of the Lieber case. Mick Novack of the two-eight in Manhattan. He’s a capable guy. All I’m doing is maybe speeding things up a little because I’m working one file and he has fifty.”

  Randy said, “It’s good to hear that you’re not being stupid.”

  Decker was offended. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means that you can’t do this by yourself, Peter. There’re too many people and too many possibilities. You need a partner—someone you can trust.”

  “In theory, you’re right. I could use you up here. But just as important—if not more important—I need someone in Gainesville to watch over the family. Who better than you?”

  Randy thought about what Rina had told him this morning, about how she was sure that someone had been after her, after both of them. She had described Peter’s face in detail, but was vague with the specifics about herself. Definitely holding back, probably because she was too confused or too scared to tell him what really happened. So maybe Peter’s request about taking care of the family held some real weight. In the end, Randy acquiesced.

  “You’ll call me as soon as you start putting the pieces together.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’ll keep researching from this end,” Randy said.

  “Good idea.”

  “Peter, please don’t muscle it on your own. You know what we’re working with.”

  “Randy, I value my life.”

  “That’s very good, bro. It’s good to hear you say the words out loud.”

  27

  He insisted that he wasn’t living like a king, and by his choice of lodging, I suspected that, for once, he was telling the truth. The building looked a hairbreadth short of dilapidated in an area gone of its glory days. But this was New York City, and I knew that here space was king: Real estate was judged by different standards. Columbia University was encroaching and, somewhere along the line, the land would be valuable. I rang the buzzer and a very sexy voice asked who I was. I gave her my name, which meant nothing to her. But she let me in anyway.

  The place was on the fifth floor, number thirteen, and if that was significant of anything, I didn’t know about it. I had to walk through a metal detector, and then a young guard checked my purse. The receptionist, a pretty girl who looked in her teens, asked if I had an appointment. When I told her that I didn’t, she said I’d have to wait.

  “He’s in the middle of a shoot. It’s going to be a while. Why don’t you come back in an hour?”

  “It’s important,” I told her.

  “It’s always important.” A roll of the eyes. “You’ll have to wait, ma’am.”

  “It’s very important,” I insisted. “I’m from out of town. If Mr. Donatti finds out that I was here and you didn’t let me in—or even that you made me wait—I guarantee you he’ll be very angry.”

  She didn’t answer right away. There must have been something in my voice—calmness and authority—a rarity for me.

  “I’ll take the heat,” I assured her. “I know what he’s like when he’s angry. I’m not worried. Page him, please.”

  She hesitated, but then she picked up the phone. I heard him screaming.

  “What!”

  “Sir, there’s a woman—”

  That was as far as she got. The slam of the receiver was so loud that even I recoiled. He flew out of the door, his face as red as the blood that had seeped into his cheeks. “Who the fu—”

  He stopped when he saw me. He was breathing hard, sweating hard as well. Mrs. Decker had been right. He didn’t look well. He spoke to me. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine. I need to talk to you.”

  The room went quiet.

  “You’re sure everything’s all right?”

  I nodded.

  He exhaled. “Give me five minutes.”

  I nodded again. “Should I wait here?”

  “Yeah.” He regarded his secretary. Her complexion had gone pale gray. “It’s okay, Amber. You did the right thing. Take the rest of the day off.” A glance over at the guard. “Both of you, take the day off. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The guard stood up. “Are you sure, Mr. Donatti?”

  “Very sure. Here.” He gave them each a fifty. What I could have done with that money. “You can leave now. She’s fine by herself. Have a good time.” To me. “Five minutes.”

  “Take your time.”

  “Do you want anything? Are you hungry?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He held up his hands and disappeared behind the door.

  Amber gathered up her belongings, giving me an expression that wavered between confusion and awe. I knew what she was thinking. Who is this ponytailed bag lady with the strange feline yellow eyes, dressed in oversize chinos, a black ribbed crewneck sweater, wornsneakers, and a threadbare peacoat? Her clothes look like they came from a thrift shop.

  In fact, they did. Right now, Chris was paying tuition not only for my medical-school education but also for Gabriel’s private schooling, as well as his piano lessons with a very sought-after maestro. Chris was paying my rent, my utilities, my child-care needs, and our health insurance. He paid off my undergraduate loans and gave me whatever spending money I asked for. He never questioned what I needed. His largesse allowed me to be job-free so I could concentrate on Gabe and my studies exclusively. I kept a microscopic watch on where each dime went.

  I had known Chris for almost nine years. We met in high school back in my native Los Angeles. I had been incredibly naive in every sense of the word, and I think that was why he was attracted to me. My face didn’t hurt, either. Things progressed at a very messy pace and I thought I was in love. By the time I wanted to cut bait, it was too late. I was pregnant.

  By now, I was aware of what Chris did, although we never discussed it. Donatti was a newsworthy name, and from time to time, I came across it in print. When Joseph Donatti had initially been indicted for murder six years ago, Chris had also been indicted as a co-conspirator. Six months later, his charges were dropped for insufficient evidence. Eventually, Joey was acquitted. The picture of Chris and him hugging had made the front page of the Trib. I had seen several sidebar articles about Chris’s magazine and the implications about his pimping and pandering. Nothing ever stuck.

  No, we never talked about what he did, but we both knew what he was.

  Ten minutes later, he accompanied two young boys and a girl out of his main digs, his arm around the girl, talking to all of them in whispered tones. The girl sneaked a sidelong glimpse at me. I smiled, but she did not. After everyone had left, he motioned me in but put his finger to his lips. He picked up his ubiquitous bottle of scotch and we walked into a sizable but windowless office—neat as expected— with lots of security equipment. A ceiling fan added some air to the place, but the fluorescent overhead lighting was harsh. When he saw me squinting, he turned it off and elected to go with a soft pole lamp. I sat on one side of the square table; he lowered his body into a cushy chair on the other side. He gulped some booze, then followed it with an Evian chaser.

  “Where were you hit?” I asked him.

  His laugh was muted. “She called you. Rina did.”

  I cocked my head. “You’re on a first-name basis with her?”

  “Actually not. That’s her doing, not mine.”

  “You like her?”

  “She’s very attractive.”

  “She sounds very nice.”

  “She is very nice.” More water. “Where’s the kid?”

  “Your son,” I corrected him. “I left him at home with a baby-sitter.”

  “That’s nice. I like being alone with you.”

  “Your paternal devotion is touching.”

  “That’s assuming that I’ve acknowledged paternity.”

  I gave a long, suffering sigh. “Will you please take a simple blood test so we can be done with this? Why do you like to torture me? Why do you enjoy torturing yourself?”

  His eyes narro
wed. “Don’t yell at me. I hurt.”

  I stood up and walked over to him. I put my hands on his strong, tight shoulders. “Let me see.”

  “You’re not a doctor yet. Leave me alone—”

  “Chris—”

  “Leave me alone.”

  “Please?”

  He stood up and held my chin. He brought my face to his and kissed me hard. “No.”

  “You’re being stubborn.”

  “You look gorgeous, Terry. You always look great—”

  “Let me see—”

  “Jesus, you’re impossible!”

  He attempted to lift up his shirt. When I tried to help, he slapped my hand away. He showed me his wound.

  “I’m not taking off the bandage.”

  “You should,” I said. “The wound is weeping through the gauze. Do you have any medication or replacement bandages or salves?”

  He held out his hand in exasperation, then gave me a bag filled with medical material—tape, bandages, medicines, salves, ointments. I went through the supplies, then wiped down my hands with a new bottle of Betadine. I started to take off the outer layer of adhesive. He winced.

  “I’m sorry. Hopefully, it won’t take long.”

  “Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked me.

  “Yes.”

  His expression was dubious, but he stood still. I peeled back the layers. “Who dressed this? He did a good job.”

  “She.”

  I laughed. “God, I can’t believe what a sexist I am. Who’s she? Mrs. Decker?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Does Lieutenant Decker know about this?”

  “Nope. Doesn’t know about his wife being here, doesn’t know that I’ve been shot. There’s a lot that Lieutenant Decker doesn’t know.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “My plane doesn’t take off for a while.”

  He talked to me while I worked. His sentences were terse. I was getting the encapsulated version. Probably the sanitized version as well. Twenty minutes later, I had patched him up. He sat down and took another swipe of booze.

  “You shouldn’t drink and take painkillers at the same time,” I told him.