Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 14

by Stone Kiss

  “I doubt that.”

  “You’re probably right. Nevertheless, I’d like to give it a shot.”

  “Unfortunately, I can’t give you names. They’re minors. While I feel very bad about that girl’s death, I believe with all my heart that it had nothing to do with Quinton or its citizens. Sorry, Charlie, can’t let you disrupt my town just on a hunch.”

  “Well, how about this? Through my wiles and resources, I managed to land a couple of names. Would it get your nose out of joint if I paid them a call?”

  Merrin’s eyes narrowed, staring at Decker over the rim of his coffee cup. “What names?”

  “Just a few local Quinton kids who were hauled in for possession of ecstasy down in Miami. Correct me if I’m wrong, but some of them might even be eighteen by now.” Decker maintained eye contact as he sipped. “Of course it’s up to you, sir.”

  “I suppose I shouldn’t ask how you found out about it.”

  “We all have our ways, right?”

  “You are one sneaky bastard.”

  “Coming from you, I’m sure it’s a compliment.”

  “Which ones do you want to talk to?”

  “Ryan Anderson and Philip Caldwell. Both of them have reached their majority.”

  “What do you know about them?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then I’ll tell you something.”

  “Please.”

  Merrin sat back, eyes on the ceiling, hands resting on his belly. “Every town, every city has its share of bad boys. For Quinton, it’s Anderson and Caldwell—two nasty little pricks who think it’s a hoot to throw shit in their hometown and watch with glee while someone else cleans it up.”

  “The parents have money.”

  “Yes, they do, and we both know that money can buy a lot of janitorial work. But even money can’t clean everything.” He put the coffee cup down and leaned over. “This stays between the two of us, you hear me?”

  “I hear you.”

  “Those two have done some edgy things in these parts as juveniles. Things I don’t need to go into. When they came back from Miami— after I heard what happened down there—I put the fear of God into them and into their families. I do b’lieve we came to a mutually satisfactory agreement.”

  Decker waited.

  “It goes somethin’ like this,” Merrin said. “I don’t poke my nose in their affairs as long as they keep their mess outside my jurisdiction. That don’t mean they can get away with murder. If I seriously thought those two dogs had anything to do with the death of that little girl, I’d have their dicks in a vise so fast, they’d be talking like Alvin and the Chipmunks. But short of the biggies—murder, rape, assault, robbery—I don’t want you messing with their heads. Simply because I don’t want those two bothering me or the fine citizens of Quinton. If that seems selfish, I can live with that.”

  “Can I talk to them?”

  “No, you may not go to their houses and interrogate them. But if you give me a couple of hours… well, maybe I can set something up here in the station house. Nice and clean and officially sanctioned.”

  “More than fair, Chief. Thank you.”

  “I suggest that in the meantime you go find yourself a nice, warm restaurant and nurse a long cup of coffee. Or… if your dick needs attention with the wife out of town, go on over to Tattlers and tell them that Virgil Merrin sent you. That way, you can have a good meal and some fine scenery on the house. Tattlers likes to cooperate with the law. It’s in their best interest.”

  Decker tried to smile wickedly. “Sounds nice.” He took a calculated risk. “I wouldn’t mind some company. Wanna come with me, Chief?”

  Merrin smiled with smoker’s teeth, but his eyes never left Decker’s face. “Now that’s kind of you to ask, but right now I’m backlogged. Another time, maybe.”

  Decker nodded. “You got it.”

  “Maybe I misjudged you, Lieutenant.” Merrin continued to study the face. “Or maybe I didn’t and you’re being cagey.”

  “Innocent until proven guilty. That’s American jurisprudence.”

  “Nah, that ain’t American jurisprudence.” Merrin unhooked his holster and pulled out a Beretta. “This is American jurisprudence.”

  “Are you telling me something, sir?”

  “I’m not a man to cross.”

  “I figured that out.” Decker got up. “Thank you. You’ve been more than accommodating.”

  Merrin rose, his belly straining the buttons of his shirt. From a wastebasket, he took out a pocket umbrella. “You might be needing this.”

  “Great.” Decker took it, then extended his hand. “Thanks again.”

  “Not a problem. Always happy to help out.”

  They shook hands, extending the routine gesture just a little too long. Grip-to-grip and eye-to-eye, they were engaged in something more than a pissing contest, but hopefully less than mortal combat.

  Tattlers wasn’t a bad idea. If he could catch a cab, Decker figured he’d be there around three-thirty—after the lunch trade but before the dinner hour. If he were patient and charming, maybe he could slip a few bucks to one of the girls for an interview. Not that they’d admit dealing, but things would come out if he were clever enough. And, if nothing else, it would eat up the time. Merrin had told him to check with him in a couple of hours. If he made it back to Quinton around five, perhaps the chief would have one of the boys waiting for him. Maybe both of the boys.

  Or maybe neither.

  Because there was something about Merrin that bothered Decker. Actually, there was a whole lot about Merrin that irked him, but specifically that one off-the-cuff comment—an obvious blooper: “If your dick needs attention with the wife out of town, go on over to Tattlers and tell them that Virgil Merrin sent you.”

  If your dick needs attention with the wife out of town…

  Now how had Merrin known that Rina had gone?

  It was that kind of throwaway remark that made Decker stand up and pay attention, glancing over his shoulder, checking behind his back. It was that kind of wisecrack that made him wish he had a gun.

  Cabs weren’t readily available in small towns: They had to be ordered. As Decker walked through the park, umbrella over his head, he found a phone booth under a pavilion and placed the call to the local dispatcher. Twenty minutes later, a taxi came by. Decker shook out the umbrella and slid inside the back. The interior was damp and slightly ripe, but the seats were whole and held workable seat belts. The windshield defogger was going full blast, stale air keeping the front window clear. Decker strapped in and told the driver the address. The cabbie—a thin young Caucasian with shorn hair, a pierced eyebrow, and a tattooed neck—turned around, his eyes dull and confused.

  “Problem?” Decker asked him.

  “It’s gonna cost about forty bucks.”

  “That’s all right.”

  “Okay, then.”

  The driver pulled out onto the road, twisting through the rain-slicked streets of the main shopping district. Water was pouring off the awnings, rushing down the curbsides into the storm drains. Not a soul on the sidewalks, everything gray and deserted. Within minutes, Quinton was a dot in the distance. The cab was creeping down a two-lane highway sided by woodland foliage—heaping piles of naked brush, dripping pines and firs, and copses of leafless trees. Wipers, going full speed, were throwing water off the windshield as fast as the rain was dousing it. Decker felt his eyes closing, only to be yanked open at the sound of the cabbie’s voice.

  “You going shopping or somethin’?”

  “No. Why?”

  “The address is a mall. I figured you was goin’ shopping.”

  “No.”

  A few moments passed.

  “Tattlers?” the driver suggested.

  Decker was annoyed, but an inner voice stopped him from shutting the kid down. He looked at the cab’s license. The driver’s name was A. Plunkett. “Why? What’s it to you?”

  Plunkett scratched his nose. “Just that… for t
he forty bucks you’re gonna pay me for transportation… I can do better than Tattlers for you. Know what I’m sayin’?”

  Decker knew what he was sayin’.

  Plunkett sniffed and looked in the rearview mirror. “You know the girls who work there… at Tattlers… some of ’em like places where there’s a little more privacy.”

  Even better, Decker thought. Get them alone and who knows what they’ll admit to. He counted to twenty. “And you know a place like that?”

  “Sure, I know all the good spots.”

  “Local girls, Plunkett?”

  The kid stiffened at the sound of his name. “Is that a problem? Someone local?”

  “I wouldn’t want things getting around.”

  “But you’re not from around here.”

  “I have friends in Quinton. You can’t be too careful.”

  “What kind of friends?” Plunkett asked.

  “Now, I really don’t think that’s any of your business.”

  No one spoke.

  Then the driver said, “Why don’t you tell me what you want?”

  Decker thought a moment. “So it’s forty to you and then I fork out for whatever else I want, right?”

  “A quick learner.”

  “Round trip?”

  “Make it fifty and you got a deal.”

  Decker took out a fifty-dollar bill and held it so it was visible in the rearview mirror. “So… what would I get over there for… let’s say a hundred?”

  “What do you expect for a hundred?”

  The kid was clever, waiting for Decker to speak first. “I’d like something nice.”

  “For a hundred, I could find you something very nice.”

  He drove a few more minutes, then took a turnoff, the cab bouncing through the hillside as thunder cracked through the air and lightning webbed across the sky. Nothing around except shivering woodland as fierce winds shot through the empty branches. The taxi continued its journey, going deep into the forest. Five minutes later, it started to slow, and Decker saw it—a three-story white clapboard house, complete with tar roof and peeling paint.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Decker said. “This looks pretty seedy. I got a wife. I can’t afford to risk anything.”

  The cabbie was vexed. “Whatddaya mean? You gettin’ cold feet? Cause I don’t need this shit—”

  “I mean, Plunkett, do they take precaution in there? I’m not carrying anything with me.”

  “Ah…” Plunkett was relieved. “They got all kinds of protection.” He pulled up alongside the house, missing a tree by inches. He parked. “You wait here. I gotta clear this, okay?”

  The driver opened the door, got out, and slammed it shut, leaving Decker in that awful metaphysical silence. Rain slammed onto the vehicle, suddenly blasting it with machine-gun volley. Decker leaned forward and looked out the windshield. Hailstones were streaming from the clouds. Involuntarily, he felt himself sweating, felt his heart beating too rapidly to be considered healthy. It stank inside. It reeked of bacteria and mold. It smelled rotten.

  It smelled like a freakin’ setup.

  Decker took his umbrella, yanked on the door handle, and got out. He made a dash for the house, trembling under the eaves of a wraparound porch. Hail continued to fall, little perfect balls of ice bouncing on the dead ground.

  Thinking about his options. Not too much to think about because he didn’t have many alternatives. He could stay put… or he could run.

  Heart going a mile a minute.

  Then he remembered his cell phone. Extracting it from his pocket, he pushed the speak button and the satellites sprang up a dial tone—albeit humming with static. Quickly, he dialed Jonathan’s number.

  Seconds ticked by.

  “C’mon, you son of a bitch, connect!”

  Another second passed. Then it started ringing.

  “Thank you, God!”

  One ring.

  “Answer, brother, answer!”

  Two rings.

  “Hello?”

  Never had Jonathan’s voice sounded so good. “Hey, it’s me and I got a big problem.”

  “What?” Across the line, crackle threatened to break communication any moment. “Can I call you back, Akiva? The connection’s bad.”

  “Don’t hang up!” Decker shouted. “I’m out in no-man’s-land— somewhere up in the hills between Quinton and Bainberry, about ten minutes out of Quinton. As you’re going toward Bainberry, you turn left off onto some barely noticeable turnoff; it’s a side road—”

  “Akiva—”

  “Shut up and listen, Jonathan. Follow it up and you’ll see a clapboard structure that looks like a broken-down bed and breakfast. If I’m lucky, I’m at a whorehouse. If not, I’m gonna be shot at really soon.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “Listen! If I don’t call you back in five minutes, come out and look for me. And whatever you do, don’t call the Quinton Police. Call up the State Police, you understand?”

  “Akiva—”

  “There’s my date. Gotta go.” He clicked off the phone and stored it in his pocket. “Hey, Plunkett! I’m over here!”

  The cabbie turned around and came over to him. “Whacha doing out here?”

  “I’m claustrophobic.” Decker’s voice shot bullets. “I’m getting pissed. Yes or no?”

  “It’s a go,” Plunkett said. “Calm down, all right?”

  Decker exhaled. “Sorry. Let’s go.”

  The driver extended his hand. “Hey, my job’s done.”

  “Wrong.” Decker grabbed him by the collar. “You go in with me. I like introductions.”

  And then he heard the click. Something in his primal consciousness must have anticipated it because his autopilot instantly grabbed the offending wrist. In a smooth, sharp twist, Decker wrested the gun away, feeling the grip slip from the cabbie’s into his own hand. Then he nailed him against the wall, pressing the muzzle of the Smith & Wesson .32 snub-nose against the kid’s Adam’s apple.

  Decker sneered. “That wasn’t at all polite.”

  “What the fuck do you want from me?”

  “Just what I said… an introduction.”

  No one spoke, but the breathing was audible, both of them sputtering out big plumes of frosted air, chugging like an old locomotive.

  “Why’d you pull a piece on me?” Decker asked at last.

  “Why’d you grab me?” Plunkett retorted.

  Slowly, Decker lowered the weapon. “Maybe we just had a gross misunderstanding.”

  The driver didn’t answer. He licked his lips. “You’re a cop, right?”

  Decker didn’t answer.

  “A friend of Merrin’s?”

  Within seconds, Decker’s heart was battering his breastbone. “You might say that.”

  Instant relief in Plunkett’s eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me that in the first place? You get a discount with that, you know.”

  Decker took in the words. Suddenly, Merrin’s nomadic job history in Texas made sense. Lots of whorehouses in the small towns. Slowly, he let go of the kid’s throat. “All right, I appreciate the info. Walk me to the door, and you’ll get your money.”

  They eyed each other; then Plunkett took him to the front entrance.

  “Open the door,” Decker told him.

  Plunkett complied. Decker took a peek inside. Not much greeting him. A darkly lit paneled lobby with a couch and several empty wing-back chairs. There was a drinks cart in back of the sofa holding cups and glasses as well as a coffeepot, an urn of hot water, and a half-dozen crystal cut-glass bottles of amber liquids. Decker thought about asking for the liquor license, but at this point, brevity was the soul of safety as well as wit.

  He was face-to-face with a walnut desk and the young blonde who was manning it. Dark blue eyes peered up from a face framed by soft shoulder-length hair. She had decent regular features, but was a step short of pretty; her looks dropped a notch from the remnants of adolescent acne on the cheeks, though the pitting was hidden well with m
akeup and blush. She wore a short-sleeved hot-pink sweater with a plunging neckline, showing off her stunning wares. She looked up at Plunkett, then at Decker, first at his face, then at the gun in his hand. Plunkett smiled.

  “I just found out he’s a friend of Merrin’s.”

  “Well, that helps.” The woman smiled with slightly crooked teeth, the kind that would have benefited from just a touch of orthodontics. “Come in all the way, sir. Don’t be shy.”

  Her voice was smoky. Decker placed the gun in his coat pocket and stuffed the fifty in Plunkett’s hand. “You can go now. Don’t bother to wait. It may take a while.”

  The cabbie looked at him. “What about my gun?”

  “Where’s your license, Plunkett?”

  No response.

  “I thought so,” Decker said. “I repeat. You can go now.” Eyes still on the woman, he called Jonathan up. “Call off the posse. Everything’s okay.”

  Jonathan was screaming. “Akiva, where are you—”

  But Decker turned off the phone, staring at the woman. If she was in her twenties, it wasn’t by much. Her nails were meticulously manicured but with no polish. Decker continued to take in her face.

  “What can I do for you, sir? Would you like to see a portfolio of our masseuses?”

  Again that breathy voice, raising his heartbeat just a little too high. It took him a few seconds to put himself back in job mode. If anyone would have information, it would be the queen bee, not the worker ants. He caught her eyes and bore in. “I like you.”

  She smiled and kept the eye contact. “Sorry, sir. I’m just window dressing.”

  Nice and polite. Someone had taught her manners. “You know what, darlin’? That’s okay with me. Right now, all I want to do is talk.”

  Eyes fixed on his face, her expression hardening. “Against the rules.”

  Decker took out a hundred-dollar bill. “You know, I bet it’s pretty slow right now. We don’t even have to tell anyone.” He winked. “Please?”

  Stealing a quick glance over her right shoulder. Decker followed it and made out a small door that blended neatly with the lobby’s paneling. Someone was behind there. No doubt someone with a gun. Again she shook her head, her carriage holding the confidence of big-time protection. Merrin had his fingers in a lot of pies. She kept her eyes on Decker’s. “No can do, sir.”