Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 06

by Grievous Sin

  Decker said, “Captain Donnell, Dr. Hennon.”

  Captain Donnell shook Annie’s hand. “Call me Liam.”

  “And you call me Annie.” She shrugged. “Now we’re all friends. Isn’t that nice?”

  Donnell smiled. “We should have a body out for you in a jiffy, Annie. Have you been with the Coroner’s Office a long time?”

  Decker said, “She’s not from the Coroner’s Office. She’s a forensic odontologist.”

  “Just think of me as your tooth woman, Liam.” Annie turned to Decker. “And for your information, I do have an official appointment with the M.E.’s Office. Unpaid, to be sure, but that’s because I’m so altruistic.”

  Decker smiled. “M.E. should be coming soon, Liam.”

  Donnell said, “Maybe we’ll even have a body for him…her…whoever.”

  Decker’s toe fell on a mound of ashes. “With the heat and winds, this canyon is a pit of kindling. How’d you boys contain the fire so rapidly?”

  Donnell said, “We had copters in the area because of the Santa Anas. This is prime season for arsonists because, like you said, with the heat and wind they don’t have to work as hard. One of our men spotted the flames before it went out of control. Got to it right away, and look at the damage it did. Gone on longer, we would have had a real disaster.”

  “Did your copter see the car fall off the mountain?”

  “Nope. Just the fire. At the time, he didn’t really know the origin. It looked to him like a fireball—could have been the impact of explosion. But he couldn’t be sure what caused it. He tried to go down for a closer look, but it was too black.” He turned to Annie. “Ever been in the eye of a firestorm?”

  “Never had the pleasure.”

  “The door to hell, I call it. An uncontrolled fire creates its own windstorm. It sucks the oxygen from the air, turns it black and gritty. No visibility. You’re not just battling the heat and smoke, you’re battling searing winds that rip the flesh off the face.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Annie said.

  “It isn’t for the fainthearted.”

  Decker said, “Do you think the car was bombed from the inside?”

  “Nah,” Donnell said. “Frame’s smashed and toasted but intact. Bomb would have exploded it to smithereens. What we got was probably a simple case of arson. Someone dousing the car with gasoline and then pushing it over the cliff.”

  No one spoke for a moment as they watched the car being pried open. A few minutes later, the machinery backed away from the scene.

  “Looks like they got it open,” Donnell said. “You two can go in and—uh-oh! Here come the news people.”

  Decker saw a TV van pull up. He jogged over to the group and asked who was in charge. A coiffed blonde in a tailored white suit and heels came out, a young kid daubing makeup on the blonde’s cheeks. The newscaster broke from her assistant, took out a notebook, and offered Decker a hand. “Alyssa Morland, feature reporter for Primetime News. Are you in charge?”

  “Something like that,” Decker said. “Look, I’ll be happy to talk to you, but I’ve got one request. And that is, don’t report this until the eleven o’clock news.”

  “What?”

  “We’re doing a search here, for a baby, an infant—”

  “I’m well aware of that. Why do you want us to hold off reporting? I’d think you’d welcome any knowledge the public might have of this case.”

  “It brings on the hordes of lookie-looers.”

  “Can’t the police keep them at bay? That’s their job.”

  “We’d rather use the police officers to look for the baby. And if the crowd breaks through and mucks up the works…”

  The newscaster made a face. “I had my choice of assignments. You mean I shlepped out here for nothing? In a white suit of all things. God damn those production assistants! I told them to scope it out beforehand!”

  Decker tried a disarming smile. “I’ll make it up to you for eleven o’clock.”

  The reporter swore. “Well, I’m not about to screw up a search for a baby.”

  “Bad publicity for the station,” Decker said.

  Alyssa glared at him. “For your information, I don’t want it on my conscience. Yes, even we newspeople have little Jiminy Crickets telling us right from wrong. So when can I do my story?”

  “How about in a couple of hours?”

  “Fair enough. I’ll take some scene footage in the meantime.” Alyssa blew air on her forehead. “You are going to give me an exclusive, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, you scratch my back, Alyssa, I’ll scratch yours.”

  “Medical examiner just phoned,” Annie said. “Traffic accident is clogging the freeways. He said to start without him. Just tread lightly.” She offered Decker her arm. “Shall we?”

  A few feet later, Annie said, “You think Liam was trying to impress me with his door-to-hell firestorm thing?”

  “Were you impressed?”

  “Slightly.”

  “Then it worked.”

  Annie laughed. “Wonder how many times he’s used that as a pickup line. ‘Ever been in the eye of a firestorm?’ I mean, who can answer ‘yes’ to that? Got to hand it to him. It’s an original.”

  They stopped in front of the blackened remains of the car. By this time, more deputies had come on the scene. The police photographer was snapping pictures, poking his head inside the auto frame. When he reemerged, his face had darkened from ash. “Got a piece of advice for you, Rabbi. Don’t breathe too deeply.”

  Decker nodded and peered inside the car. In the driver’s seat was a scorched skeleton. The skull was skewed to the left, wedged between the wheel of the car and the bony thorax, the facial bones smashed, the occiput crushed from the impact of the roof of the car. Bits of brain had been exposed and had turned to cinders. The left arm, hanging limply at the side of the rib cage, still retained some flesh. The right was just a humerus; the ulna and radius had detached, both lying on the car floor. The pelvis was intact and attached to the femurs. Both sets of tibiae and fibulae were splintered and crushed. Where the tiny bones of the feet should have rested sat piles of dusty powder.

  The driver was wearing a seat belt.

  Decker wondered if the model had air bags. Not that it would have helped much. Air bags were for front-end collisions, offering little protection against a ton of metal crashing down on the head. Heart ramming against his chest, he put on his gloves and stuck his head inside the vehicle.

  It reeked from smoke and gasoline and made him cough violently. He pulled his head out and covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief. Inside the car again, his eyes burned, but as far as he could tell, he didn’t see any smaller skeleton in the front seat. The backseat was a jumble of metal filled with soot and ashes. He sifted through the debris, felt his lungs fill up with dirt. Quickly, he surfaced for fresh air and took in a mouthful of smoky dust instead. He coughed and spat on the ground. Annie hit his back.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Other than breathing poison, I suppose I’ll live.” He coughed again. “Thought I gave up shit when I quit smoking.”

  “What’s the verdict?”

  “Backseat’s a mess. So far I didn’t find any buried baby bones. I’m going in again.”

  “Hold your breath,” Annie said.

  Decker nodded and went inside for a third look. He quickly sorted through the ashes, stirring up black dust, feeling for something hard and bony. He repeated the procedure a couple more times. “I hope I don’t eat my words, but I don’t think the baby was here.”

  “Thank God!” Annie said.

  “You want to take a look at the skull?”

  Annie slipped on latex gloves. “I am now an official forensic odontologist.” In an Austrian accent, she said, “Give me room, please.”

  Decker backed away. About ten minutes later, Annie stood up and coughed.

  “You lasted longer than I did,” Decker said.

  “Good pair of lungs.” She looked down a
t her chest. “Wish it were so.” She raised her brow. “I can’t tell anything definitive right now. Be able to tell you a heck of a lot more once the skull is removed from the body.”

  “You’re frowning. What is it?”

  “There isn’t a lot of definition. The anterior maxilla and mandible are smashed to bits. No teeth or bony structure from roughly canine to canine—just a big gaping hole.”

  “The face probably got smashed when it hit the steering wheel.”

  “It would take more than a steering wheel to do that kind of damage. The bone looks pulverized. Could be bits of the front teeth are mixed with all the cinders.”

  Decker took out his notebook. “What about the back teeth?”

  “I can’t look at them because of the way the skull is situated. You’re going to have to detach the head from the spine.”

  “Let’s do it this way,” Decker said. “Let me bag all the debris in the car, and I’ll sift through it later. As soon as I’ve got the car clear of whatever evidence there might be, I’ll remove the body…at least the skull.”

  “Fine.”

  “From a quick glance, can you tell if the skeleton is male or female?”

  “No guarantee, but from the spread of the pelvis it looks like a woman—a big woman.”

  Marie Bellson was tall, Decker thought.

  He pulled out several plastic bags. “Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck.”

  Shoveling piles of ashes into bags, Decker realized it was not only dirty work, it was tedious work. He had to move slowly to minimize stirring up the dust. After he removed most of the cinders from the front seat, he moved on to the backseat. Halfway into the cleanup job, a glint caught his eye but was buried under dust before he could retrieve it. Carefully, he slid his hand in the direction of the sparkle and let ashes rain through his fingertips. A minute later, a lump of what looked like gold rested on his glove. He surfaced for air. Annie smiled at him.

  “Ever think of doing a remake of the Jolson story, Pete? You look the part.”

  Decker wiped grime from his forehead. “I’ve got a lousy voice. Look what I found.” He dropped the metal into Annie’s gloved hand. “I thought it might be a gold filling or something.”

  “Way too big. It’s jewelry.”

  “Could it have been a gold cross?”

  “You mean like a big crucifix? Sure, could have been.”

  “I was thinking more like a pin.”

  “Too heavy for a pin.” She hefted the piece of gold. “Probably a ring.” She studied the object again. “The metal melted around most of it, but there’s a stone inside. Looks intact at first glance.”

  “What kind of stone?”

  “A dark stone…cabochon cut, maybe a sapphire.” Again she felt the nugget. “Wouldn’t say for certain, but with this weight and the cut of the stone, I’d say this was once something like a class ring. Did Marie Bellson wear a class ring?”

  Decker said, “I’ll find out.”

  18

  A shower, a shave, a sandwich, a half-hour catnap, and the joy of seeing Rina holding Hannah to her breast. With a lightweight quilt across her lap, Rina was nestled in a rocking chair next to the living-room picture window, feet tapping rhythmically against the floor as Hannah drank herself silly. The baby was wrapped in a blue blanket that provided a shield against the soft, cool breeze of the air conditioner.

  Decker pulled up a chair next to his wife and looked out the window. The citrus boughs were heavy with fruit, some of which had already fallen to the ground. Time to do a little harvesting. It was going to be a banner year for juices. His eyes went back to his infant daughter.

  “She’s got an appetite like her old man,” Decker said.

  “We’re very hungry, Daddy.” Rina’s eyes drank in her baby. “It’s so wonderful to hold her. It makes me feel useful.”

  “Of course you’re useful.”

  Rina didn’t answer.

  “How’re you feeling, honey?” Decker asked.

  “When I’m occupied—which is ninety percent of the time—I’m fine.” Rina’s eyes moistened. “The other ten percent comes and goes in waves—the self-pity, the anger, the depression. Then I spend another ten percent feeling guilty for not feeling grateful.” She paused. “I’m over a hundred percent, aren’t I?”

  Decker laughed. “Didn’t you used to be a math teacher?”

  “And a bookkeeper. No wonder the company went under.” Rina took her finger and inserted it into Hannah’s mouth, causing the infant to break suction. “Well, we drained that one.” She shifted Hannah to her other breast. “Can’t look lopsided, can we?”

  She looked at Peter.

  “Why am I talking in the first person plural? I can’t look lopsided.”

  “You talk that way because you’re bonding with your baby.”

  Rina’s smile was wide. “I’ll say. This has to be the prettiest baby in the world.”

  “No argument from this side.”

  Decker kissed his wife’s cheek, eyes traveling around what was once his living room. The buckskin chairs were draped with baby blankets, infant T-shirts, and opened packages of diapers. A cradle and a carriage sat side by side on his Navaho rug. At least the fireplace hadn’t been converted into a larder for Pablum.

  “Place is a bit of a mess,” Rina said.

  “It’s fine.”

  “We need another room.”

  “When Cindy moves out, we’ll have another room.”

  “Be nice to have a guest room.”

  “Who wants guests?”

  Rina slugged him in his good shoulder—the one without the bullet wound.

  “I thought you wanted to move, anyway,” Decker said.

  “I thought you didn’t want to move.”

  “I never said that. I just said I didn’t want to move into something inferior. All the houses we looked at were twice the price and half the size.”

  “So let’s just stay here and add another room. If you’d just let me get a few bids from a couple of contractors—”

  “I can build it at half the cost.”

  “Peter, when are you going to have time to add a room?”

  “Let’s drop the subject. It’s not the right time to talk about it.” Decker waited for a comeback. When Rina didn’t answer, he said, “Our energy should be directed toward getting you on your feet again. Not dissipated by construction.”

  “Agreed.”

  Decker was amazed—consent with no argument. She must be really tired. He turned to kiss her and caught her staring at him. “What?”

  “As exhausted as I feel,” Rina said, “I think I feel worse for you.”

  “Me? Nonsense. I’m just doing my job.”

  “I’m very proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” He touched his infant daughter’s tiny ear. She stopped suckling. “Sorry. Don’t let me interrupt your meal.”

  “Just a pause to catch her breath.”

  “How’s the baby nurse working out?”

  “Nora? She’s terrific. Between her and Mama, I feel like a hothouse flower. They’re cooking up a storm right now for the shalom nikevah Sunday morning.”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot about that. How many people did you invite?”

  “About a hundred.”

  “Rina, don’t you think it might be wise to put off the celebration for a couple of weeks?”

  “It’s too late now. I’m not going to uninvite everybody. Besides, I’m not doing any work. All I have to do is show up and smile. Even I can do that. Mama’s handling everything. The boys are great. The nurse is wonderful—”

  “That’s good.”

  “And then there’s Cindy. I think Hannah remembers her—or at least recognizes her smell. She never fusses when Cindy holds her,” Rina muttered. “All that early bonding that I couldn’t do.”

  “She isn’t fussing now.”

  “No, she isn’t. And I am very grateful to Cindy. I don’t mean to act so babyish. Sometimes I just can’
t help myself.”

  “Blame it on the hormones. Do you know where Cindy is? I need to talk to her about Marie Bellson.”

  “She’s sleeping.”

  “I don’t want to wake her….”

  “Knock softly on her door. I know she’d want to help.”

  “Yeah, I’m afraid of that.” Decker stood and kissed his wife on the lips. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Gently, he kissed Hannah on the top of her downy head. Again, she stopped nursing, eyes looking up in wonderment. Decker said, “I’m your old man, with an emphasis on the old. Do me a favor and go easy on me, kid.”

  Cindy’s eyes snapped opened when she heard the rapping at her door. “Yes?”

  “It’s Dad.”

  “Oh…wait a sec.”

  “I can come back.”

  “No, just wait a sec…please.”

  She had fallen asleep with her clothes on and felt as wrinkled as an old paper bag. She sat up cross-legged and rubbed her eyes. The room held several abortive attempts at a decorative theme. There was a fold-out couch and desk that suggested a former guest room or an office. There was also the full-sized crib—a portent of the baby’s room to be. Finally, there was her furniture, a bed, dresser, nightstand, and a wall covered with college banners—Dad and Rina’s stab at converting the place into her summer room. The result was an odd mixture—the ghosts of rooms past, present, and future.

  Cindy told her father to come in. Dad opened the door and walked across the threshold. “Sorry to wake you.”

  “I was up. What’s going on in the investigation?”

  “We don’t know anything definite, but it looks like the baby wasn’t in the car wreck.”

  Cindy slapped her hand to her chest. “Thank goodness!”

  Decker sat on the corner of her bed. “Yeah, as long as you heard about the car crash, I thought you’d want some follow-up.”

  “Thanks for telling me.”

  “You’re welcome.” Decker pulled out his notebook. “I’d like to ask you a few questions, then you can go back to sleep.”

  “Ask away. I want to help.”