Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 06

by Grievous Sin

  The area was filled chockablock with workout equipment and heavy weights. About two thirds of the stations were in use, and more people were coming through the front door. It looked to be a busy evening.

  To say these guys were musclemen or hunks didn’t do them justice. They were mutations, like fancy goldfish—this one bred for a long fantail, this one for bubble eyes, this one for a dwarfed body. Instead, it was: This one lifted for elephant neck size, this one for a rhino chest, this one for legs as thick as tree trunks. Bodies blown up like overstretched balloons. As they worked out, blood vessels popped and pulsated under hairless skin; muscle and tendon became anatomically defined. It made Marge hurt to look at them.

  What possessed men to do this to themselves? Spend hour after hour lifting backbreaking weights? Getting their butts shot up with anabolics that could potentially cause cancer or sterility?

  Then again, what possessed women to starve themselves to flagpoles and barf up their meals?

  When Marge stood the thoughts side by side, she realized that anorexia wasn’t all that different from extreme bodybuilding. Both groups contained people with distorted body images going to extreme measures to “perfect” their bodies.

  The perfect body.

  Marge regarded her own corpus collosus. She wasn’t fat, but she was large—heavy-boned, thick wrists, long limbs, and more than a fair share of muscle mass. And like every woman she had ever met, Marge was dissatisfied with the way genetics had molded her. Big-gal physique would never be featured in Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit edition. But Marge could live with the pain. All her parts worked and required little maintenance to run efficiently. Perfecting the body was just too much damn work.

  But obviously not too much work for the twenty-five or so men in the room. As Leek had described, the builders grunted and growled, sweat bathing their faces and bodies. Dressed solely in tiny little briefs, they did squats and lifts, leg and bench presses, thousands of sit-ups on slant boards, hundreds of push-ups and pull-ups. They lifted umpteen pounds’ worth of freestanding weights atop their heads, muscles bunching, veins bulging, their wet beet-colored faces turning more purple with each second. Then, in a flash, the barbells crashed to the floor, sending vibrations Marge could feel through her spine.

  But no one else in the room seemed to notice.

  The smell of toil and sweat combined with the heat made the place stifling. She felt deep wet circles soaking the pads under her armpits.

  She jumped as metal crashed against metal, sending a ringing into her ears. Weights slamming into each other. A deep shout followed.

  “Can someone teach this dickbrain how to use the weights properly!”

  No response.

  Without reason, Marge suddenly opened her purse and felt for her gun. Not that it would probably do much good against these guys. Their chests were probably steel-lined.

  Her eyes surveyed the room. She hadn’t noticed any women. But the man she spoke to said Tandy had just started her workout and would probably be here for the next two hours. Maybe there was a separate workout area for women. Briefly, she scanned the room again.

  This time her eyes fell upon a figure with a long black braid, shaped like a well-built man. Around five-nine with a broad back, small hips, round, muscular buttocks. The legs were long, with tight thighs and well-defined calves. The arms had biceps and triceps. The back rippled with definition. Then it turned around. It had breasts. It was a woman.

  A beautiful woman, with features that could have been on the cover of Vogue. An oval face with wide-set eyes, smooth olive cheeks stretched over a sweeping zygomatic arch, thick dark lips. She wet them with her tongue, then picked up a weight and did a set of arm curls. With each lift of the dumbbell, her biceps became increasingly more contracted and defined. Marge started toward her, dodging sweat-soaked beefcake. The woman’s back was turned when Marge arrived.

  “Tandy Roberts?”

  There was no response. The woman picked up another free weight, sat on the corner of the bench, and began another set of curls.

  Marge said, “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Tandy Roberts?”

  The woman spoke without looking up. “Bug off. I’m busy.”

  Such naked aggression. The girl must be on steroids. Marge reached inside her purse and pulled out her shield and I.D. “Police. Are you Sondra Roberts?”

  The woman stopped and studied the badge. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  “I asked you a simple question, Ms. Roberts. I didn’t expect hostility. You got something on your mind?”

  Tandy finished her curls, then set the weight down. Picking up a rag, she wiped sweat off her forehead. “You don’t understand buffing. It’s a consuming process, one that requires continuation once you start. Interruption throws off your timing. Mind waiting until I’m done?”

  Marge paused. Tandy was still sullen but more respectful. Not nervous, though. Good eye contact.

  “Tandy, I need your help now.”

  Tandy wet her lips. “My help? For what?”

  Once again a loud clank boomed from one of the weight machines.

  Tandy said, “Idiot! You’re not supposed to let the weights fall like that. It shows a lack of control.”

  “Anywhere we can talk where it’s a bit quieter?”

  “There’s a juice bar across the street.” She stood. “C’mon. Can you give me a hint what this is all about?”

  “Marie Bellson.”

  “Marie?”

  “Yeah, I understand you were pretty good friends with her.”

  “Once.”

  Marge followed the girl toward the exit. As they were about to leave, a pile of chuck steak shouted, “Hey, Tandy, you couldn’t possibly be done yet.”

  She tossed Steaks a smile and said, “In the words of the inimitable Arnold, ‘I’ll be back.’”

  “Not good, Roberts…to stop and start.”

  “Tell that to the cops, Eric.”

  “Cops?”

  Another voice said, “Will you two shut the fuck up?”

  Eric said. “Fuck off.”

  Tandy held the door open for Marge. “Classy place, huh?”

  “You people aren’t long on patience.”

  “It’s part of the mind-set,” Tandy said. “You’ve got to approach lifting like the enemy. The swearing and all that kind of jazz is needed to psych yourself up. Lifting is really hard work.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  The question seemed to throw her. She thought a moment before responding. “Each person has their own personal reasons.”

  “What were yours?”

  “What does this have to do with Marie?”

  “Nothing.”

  “So my personal reasons are my personal reasons.”

  “Fair enough.”

  They crossed the street and walked into the juice bar in silence. The place was small, holding a horseshoe-shaped counter and about twenty empty stools. Behind the counter were baskets of fresh fruit, a couple of citrus juicers, several presses, and three juice dispensers bubbling up lemonade, orange juice, and some kind of green citrus drink. A young woman in a leotard and leg tights came out from the back and smiled when she saw her customer.

  “Hey, Tandy.”

  “Hey, Kathy.”

  “Usual?”

  “Not yet. Haven’t finished my workout yet. Get my friend a special—”

  “An orange juice is fine,” Marge said.

  “You’re missing out on something wonderful.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Marge said. “I just ate two hot dogs with sauerkraut.”

  Tandy frowned. “Each his own, I suppose. When I was having eating problems, nobody could tell me the gospel, either.”

  “Eating problems?”

  Tandy sighed. “Do you want to talk about Marie, or do you want to talk about me?” She paused. “What’s with Marie, anyway?”

  “Did you happen to catch any TV news today?”

  “N
ope. Don’t watch the news. It’s a downer. Don’t watch any TV if I can help it.”

  “So you didn’t see the missing infant on this morning’s broadcast.”

  Tandy wet her lips. “No.”

  Kathy, the bartender, placed a beer mug filled with orange juice on the counter. Marge picked up the stein and sipped, waiting for Tandy to speak, throwing the ball in her court. She picked it up nicely.

  “What about this missing infant?”

  “Marie was the baby’s nurse. Marie seems to be missing, too.”

  “Marie’s missing?”

  “That’s what I said. How well did you know her?”

  Tandy paused. “Pretty well, I suppose.”

  Again Marge waited, expecting to hear Tandy ask questions. She didn’t. Nor did she clarify her friendship with Marie. “Do you want to elaborate?”

  “We were good friends for about a year…maybe two years. What exactly do you mean, Marie is missing?”

  “One minute she was on shift, the next minute she and the baby were gone.”

  “You think Marie kidnapped one of her babies?”

  “Her babies?”

  “Excuse me, a baby. She always referred to the infants under her care as her babies.”

  “Interesting.” Marge paused, thinking that if Marie thought of the infants as her babies, she could rationalize taking one of them. “Hypothetically, Tandy, if Marie were to take one of her babies, where would she and the baby go?”

  Tandy’s face registered confusion. “I haven’t the faintest idea. I haven’t talked to Marie in a couple of years. The Marie I knew wouldn’t ever kidnap a baby even if she wanted to. So if she did, she must have changed pretty drastically.”

  “What do you mean by ‘even if she wanted to’?”

  She paused. “I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Of course you do. So why don’t you explain yourself.”

  “Okay, maybe I do. But I don’t think Marie would actually kidnap a baby, okay?”

  “Okay.” Marge took another sip of her juice. “So why would Marie even want to kidnap a baby…even if she wouldn’t?”

  Tandy didn’t speak.

  “Ms. Roberts?”

  “It’s just…” Tandy sighed. “Marie’s very dedicated. Sometimes it hurt her to send a baby into a home with two strikes against it, know what I mean?”

  “No, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You know…send the baby to a broken home, to a teenaged mom who maybe would neglect her or maybe even abuse her. Maybe the mom is even a drug user. Marie used to feel it was condemning a kid to a life of misery. She takes her work to heart.”

  Marge nodded, wondering why Tandy chose to sex the anonymous baby as a female.

  Tandy blurted, “Marie lost a baby when she was young. I don’t think she ever got over it.”

  “Really?”

  Tandy nodded.

  “She told you that?” Marge said. “You two must have been pretty close then.”

  “Yeah, we were. Funny how things change.”

  “Why do you think she told you that, Tandy?”

  “I guess to draw us closer. And it did. That and our professions. I’m a nurse, too. I don’t work full time, just float around. I have some money saved from when I used to model. Not enough to live on for the rest of my life, but enough to dip into.”

  “You used to work at the Golden Valley Home for the Aged.”

  “Ah, so that’s where you got my name. From Lita.”

  Marge smiled cryptically. She wanted to leave Leek’s name out until she had a chance to fully investigate him. “Why did you say that Marie’s loss of a child brought you two together?”

  “What is this? True-confessions time?”

  Marge waited.

  Tandy sighed. “I lost a child when I was young, too. It’s a unique experience, one that you can only share with someone who’s gone through it. Our losses drew us together.”

  Marge tried to appear casual as she wrote in her notebook. Just coincidence? Marge didn’t believe in coincidences.

  “It was a long time ago.” Tandy’s eyes seemed far away. “I was very, very young…and stupid. I used to be a model. A scumbag in the industry got me pregnant. He offered me five grand to have an abortion because he didn’t want his boyfriend knowing he was bi, can you believe that? I refused the money. I should have taken it, ’cause I miscarried in my sixth month. Bret gave me a couple of g’s anyway not to blow his cover. I had lousy taste in men. If you knew my dad…doesn’t Freud say we go for our fathers?”

  “Sounds like Freud,” Marge said.

  Tandy bit her lip. “I was in a bad way for a while, but I pulled out of it.”

  “How old were you when you lost the baby?”

  “Fif…no, sixteen actually. I was sixteen by the time I miscarried.” She picked up Marge’s orange juice and took a sip. “What does that have to do with Marie?”

  “Do you know how old Marie was when she lost her baby?”

  “I dunno, older than I was. Around twenty maybe. She said it turned her life around, forced her to look inward. She found Jesus and became a caring person. That’s why she went into nursing.”

  “Did losing a baby turn your life around?”

  “Why are you always coming back to me?”

  “Just trying to get some parallel that might make me understand Marie better.”

  “How will talking about me make you understand Marie?”

  “Can you just indulge me, Tandy?”

  Tandy flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Buffing turned my life around. First time I’ve ever felt in control.”

  Marge was silent, thinking how Tandy emphasized the word control.

  Control over what?

  She said, “Why did you become a nurse, Tandy?”

  “I wish I could say it was for some Florence Nightingale reason, but the truth was, I needed a job.” Tandy laughed bitterly. “Can’t exactly model if you weigh three hundred pounds, can you?”

  Marge tried to look surprised. “You?”

  Tandy’s smile was genuine. “Hard to believe, huh?”

  “Impossible.”

  “It’s the truth. Anyway, I became a nurse ’cause I needed a job. No one would hire me as a secretary ’cause I was too fat. But no one cares what you look like in an old-age home. I started out changing bedpans, went to school at night, and became an L.V.N.”

  “That’s turning your life around,” Marge said.

  Tandy smiled. “More like crawling out of the gutter. I was a five-hundred-dollar-an-hour model in New York when I was fifteen! When I got pregnant, it all disappeared. I did lose the weight…I could have gone back, but I was so disgusted by the way they treated me—my mother, my agent, the industry. I dropped into this blue funk, and my mind started going nuts. I ate myself to nearly three hundred pounds.” She drummed her fingers on the table and gave Marge a painful smile. “It’s all for the best.”

  Marge smiled back. “And you met Marie at Golden Valley?”

  “Yep.”

  “I hear she was helping you find a better job.”

  “You do your homework, don’t you?”

  Same phrase Leek had used. Marge wondered if Leek hadn’t called her. If so, Tandy hadn’t bolted—a good sign for her. She said, “Just that Marie seemed close to you. And now she and this baby are missing. The mother is absolutely distraught.”

  Tandy bit her lip. “I’m sure. But like I said, I haven’t spoken to Marie in ages.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Marie doesn’t understand building, and building is my life.”

  “Prevents the mind from going nuts,” Marge said.

  Tandy’s features froze—a death mask of tranquillity. “Yes, exactly, Detective. Anything else?”

  “Let’s go back to Marie. Did she help you find another job after you left Golden Valley?”

  “No, not really. Well, she could have found me stuff, but it was all full time and I wanted part time. No
prob, though. It’s easy to pick up part-time work as a nurse. Someone is always looking for temps. We’re much cheaper than hiring staff—no benefits or union stuff. I’m strictly fill-in.”

  “You get called a lot?”

  “All the time. I can pick and choose. I like that.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “Anywhere from a private home to a hospital.”

  “Give me an example. Like yesterday, for instance. Where did you work? Or did you work?”

  “Yesterday? I floated at Tujunga Memorial—late shift. Why? Are you going to check up on me?”

  Marge laughed. “You watch too many cop movies.”

  Tandy’s eyes blazed clear and purposeful. “Don’t watch TV, don’t watch movies. I wish I could help you with this missing baby, but I can’t.”

  “Did Marie ever talk about any relative or friend of hers?”

  “Just her mom. Marie didn’t talk much about herself. Too busy listening to my problems.”

  That was consistent with Paula’s statement. Marge said, “Did she ever go visit anyone out of the city?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did she ever leave the city for any reasons? Vacations? Weekends?”

  Tandy drummed her fingers against the counter again, then folded her hands. “We went camping a couple of times.”

  Marge paused. “Whose idea was that?”

  “Marie’s. She loved to camp. She said she could really talk to God in nature. I think she used to go off by herself on weekends and camp. She certainly was good at it. Camping wasn’t for me.”

  “What do you mean she was good at camping?”

  “Just that she seemed at home in the wilderness. She knew different plants and what you could eat and all that kind of thing. Kind of a survivalist but without the guns. She could use a knife, though. She used to cut her own timber for the campfires. Me? I prefer running water and salad bars, thank you very much.”