Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 02

by Sacred;Profane

  “Hey man, no trouble.”

  Decker made his way through the formal living room and into the den. Four teenagers stopped talking and looked up. Bruce Springsteen provided the background music.

  Even if he had a warrant, and even if he had been from narcotics, it still wouldn’t have been much of a bust. A lid or two of grass—who gave a fuck? But image was all-important. He scooped up the bag and motioned Brian over.

  “Where’s the john?” he asked.

  “Third door to the left.”

  Decker turned to the other teens.

  “I’m a police officer,” he said. “You kids stay right where you are. Understand?”

  They nodded solemnly.

  “C’mon, buddy,” Decker said. He gave Brian a slight shove forward and prodded him down the hallway into the bathroom. When they were both inside, Decker locked the door.

  The boy’s hands squeezed into tight, white-knuckled balls.

  “You’re not going to try anything stupid, are you?” Decker asked.

  The boy didn’t answer.

  “Unclench your fists, son. I’m not about to duke it out with you.” Decker smiled. “In a john of all places.”

  The boy’s fingers slowly relaxed.

  “As far as I’m concerned,” Decker said, “this never existed.” He dumped the contents of the bag down the toilet and gave it a flush. “I gave you a break. Now you give me one.”

  The kid stared, amazed.

  “Whaddaya want?” he repeated, his tone of voice deferential this time.

  “I’m looking for Brian Armor.”

  “I’m Brian.”

  “I want to talk to you about Lindsey Bates.”

  The boy stared at him.

  “Lindsey?…This is about Lindsey?”

  “Yep. Your bad-ass attitude lost you your stash for nothing.”

  “Aw, shit.”

  “But look at it this way. I’m not gonna bust you.” Decker took out his notepad. “You wanna talk in here or you wanna go out there?”

  “All my friends out there—they were friends of Lindsey’s.”

  Decker grinned. He had just saved himself a mess of legwork.

  “Let’s go.”

  The gang was waiting, stiff and grim. When they saw Brian smile, their posture loosened.

  Brian cocked a thumb at Decker.

  “He wants to talk about Lindsey.”

  “Why should we talk to you?” said a sulking brunette in torn clothing. He knew from Cindy what those rags cost.

  “You’re a friend of Lindsey’s?” he asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Then maybe you give enough of a fuck about her to help me find her murderer.”

  She lowered her eyes.

  “What’s your name?” Decker asked the girl.

  “Heather.”

  Decker consulted his list.

  “Heather Hanson.”

  Her head jerked up.

  “That’s right.”

  The detective checked her name off.

  “I’m going to read some names,” he said. “Answer me if it’s you.”

  They were all there. Decker marveled at his good fortune.

  “So what do you want to know about Lindsey?” asked a big blonde with purple lips. She was Lisa O’Donnell.

  “She left home at eleven A.M. Saturday morning, September tenth. Did she call any of you earlier that day?”

  “She called me,” Heather answered. “I was her best friend.”

  “And?”

  “And she asked me to meet her at the Galleria at 12:30. She didn’t show up.”

  So she had run away or had been abducted somewhere between eleven and 12:30. Amazing that no one had picked up on something so simple.

  Heather went on: “I didn’t think anything about it. We change our plans lots of times.” She twirled her curly hair. “I mean, I didn’t tell the police about her phone call the first time around.”

  “You’re not going to get into any trouble. I’m only interested in Lindsey now. Were the two of you supposed to meet anyone else?”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  Decker stared at her.

  “Like maybe she was supposed to meet her boyfriend that her parents didn’t know about and you were supposed to meet your boyfriend that your parents don’t know about,” Decker pushed.

  The girl studied her fingernails.

  “Who was her boyfriend, Heather?”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” she said weakly. “Is she really dead?”

  Decker nodded.

  Heather swallowed hard and looked away.

  “It matters, Heather,” Decker said, “if it was her boyfriend who ripped her off.”

  “Hey,” Brian butted in. “He wouldn’t do something like that. Man, he was torn to shreds when Lindsey took off. He thought she dumped him.”

  “How long had they been sneaking around together?”

  “They were in love!” Heather protested. “It wasn’t anything raunchy.”

  Decker backed off.

  “Okay, they were in love. Nobody’s saying they weren’t. How long were they going together?”

  “Over a year,” Lisa volunteered. “He was a nice guy, but sort of a dropout. You know, free-lance photographer, a one-day-at-a-time person.”

  “What’s his name?”

  The room was silent. Decker waited.

  “Chris Truscott,” Lisa blurted.

  “Snitch.” Brian muttered.

  “Listen, jerk,” the girl yelled, “if he had anything to do with Lindsey’s death, I don’t want him to go unpunished.” She looked to Decker for approval.

  “It was okay to protect him before,” the detective said. “After all, if the two of them ran away together, it’s not your business. But now you know Lindsey has been murdered. She was probably burnt alive and suffered a lot of pain. No sense letting Chris walk away as innocent as a newborn babe if he lit the match.”

  Stunned silence. Decker hated this. Bullying people with misery to get what he wanted. Tears fell down Lisa’s cheek.

  “He lives in Venice,” she said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “I forget the exact address. I think it’s Fourth and Rose.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Twenty,” Brian answered. “I don’t know how the rest of you feel, but I feel shitty talking about Chris like he was a criminal. He was in love with Lindsey.”

  “Do you think she took off with him, Heather?”

  “I honestly don’t know.”

  Decker could barely hear her.

  “Tell him about the gig, Heather,” Lisa prompted.

  “What gig?” asked Decker.

  “Photography gig,” Lisa answered. “See, Chris didn’t get it together with Lindsey that day—”

  “Why don’t you let Heather tell it, since Chris made the friggin’ phone call to her?” Brian interrupted.

  All eyes went to Heather. She drew her knees into her chest and rolled herself up into a tight ball.

  “He had this photography gig,” she began in a small voice. “I think it was a wedding or a baptism. I forget. Anyway, he said that’s why he didn’t make it. He asked me to pass the word to Lindsey. See, he was off-limits to her. Her parents hated him even though they’d only met him once. Lindsey didn’t want to upset them by telling them that she was in love with Chris, so she lied and said that she broke up with him. But she didn’t. Anyway, she never showed up and I thought she’d just made other plans. Sometimes Lindsey’d forget things if she’d get real involved with her makeup or nails.”

  Decker told her to go on.

  “Anyway, much later that night,” Heather continued, “her mom had called me, all freaked out. Lindsey hadn’t come home. Was she at my house? God, I got all freaked myself. I didn’t know what to think. Where was Lindsey? She didn’t show up at the mall, she wasn’t at home…Maybe she really did take off with Chris and he just told me he didn’t meet her at the Galleria to throw me off base. So
I called Chris and asked him. But he swore no. I didn’t think he was lying. I mean, he really, really loved her.” She paused, then said. “God, I’ve thought about the whole thing over and over. What went wrong? What really happened to poor Lindsey? I’ve had a ton of nightmares. I just don’t know what to think anymore.” She buried her face in her knees and began to sob. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Lisa threw her arms around her and rocked her back and forth.

  Peter, you callous asshole, thought Decker. He comforted himself by saying he was on the right side.

  When Heather seemed to have calmed down, he asked, “Have any of you had contact with Chris since Lindsey’s disappearance?”

  “A little. Like the first week after she split,” Brian said. “He kept coming to the neighborhood, trying to find her. Then, nothing.”

  “Chris and I used to ride in a bike club together,” answered a boy with lank dark hair and a huge Adam’s apple. His voice was a rich baritone and his name was Marc. “I saw him a couple of weeks ago, first time since Lindsey disappeared. He had sold his bike to someone at the club; said he was hard up for cash. I believe it. He looked terrible, totally wiped out. Asked me if I had heard from Lindsey. ’Course I didn’t.” The boy’s black eyes were sharp and alive. “He couldn’t have killed her, Officer. I’m not saying they didn’t take off together, but he couldn’t rip her off. He was really wild about her.”

  “Any of you know his phone number by heart?”

  “He’s listed,” Lisa said.

  “Did Chris and Lindsey hang around you guys or did they have their own set of friends?”

  “They hung around us sometimes,” Heather said. “Sometimes, me and my boyfriend would double with them. But they tried to be alone as much as possible. I don’t know much about his friends.”

  “Did Lindsey ever talk about knowing a deaf girl?”

  “Dead?” Brian asked.

  “Deaf,” Lisa snapped. “Like you can’t hear.”

  “Huh?” Brian joked.

  “Get serious, Armor. This isn’t the time,” Marc scolded. He looked back at Decker. “She never mentioned any deaf girl to me.”

  “To me either,” said Heather.

  “Any friend of Chris’s deaf?”

  Blank stares.

  “So none of you heard a thing about Lindsey after she disappeared.”

  They all shook their heads.

  “Did Lindsey ever talk, even jokingly, about running away with Chris?”

  “Lindsey may have dug the guy,” Marc said, “but she wasn’t the type to do something like take off. She had lots of plans for the senior year.”

  “What kind of plans?” Decker asked.

  “The prom. Varsity cheerleading,” Heather said.

  “She was really into cheerleading,” added Lisa. “And modeling. She wanted to be a model. She certainly had the body for it.”

  “I’ll say,” Brian said lecherously. The other kids gave him reproving looks. The boy blushed.

  “Lindsey seemed to be a nice girl,” Decker said. “Considerate of her parents, not wanting to hurt their feelings by going with Chris. Enthusiastic about cheerleading. Anybody want to add anything?”

  “She was a doll,” Lisa said. “Not real heavy on the gray matter—”

  “Like you are?” Brian said.

  “Shut up, Armor.”

  Suddenly Brian became enraged. “Will you quit picking on me!” he screamed, turning crimson.

  The room fell silent. A minute passed, then Brian let out a hollow laugh.

  “She was a great kid,” he said in a cracked voice. “She was nice to everyone…Even me.”

  “She was real sweet,” Marc said softly. “The world could use more positive people like her.”

  Decker had to admit it; she didn’t sound like a prototypical runaway. No evidence of heavy drug use, she didn’t seem to hate her parents, she had a supportive peer group and was involved in school activities. It was beginning to smell like an abduction. Which meant either the boyfriend was involved and Decker would have a substantial lead, or the boyfriend wasn’t and he was up shit’s creek without a paddle.

  Decker folded his notepad and distributed his cards.

  “If any one of you thinks of something that might help, give me a call.”

  Lisa squinted and mouthed the word “Decker.”

  “You got a daughter on the intramural track team?” she asked.

  Decker nodded. “You know Cindy?”

  “Not personally. I just remember this long-legged redhead named Decker who competed last year. Ran like lightning. She should go into the Olympics or something.”

  Despite himself, Decker swelled with parental pride.

  His watch said 6:15. Hard to believe that he’d been in there for over an hour and a half. He was supposed to meet with the rabbi at eight, so he had plenty of time to fix himself dinner. But he wasn’t hungry.

  A nice girl disappears and turns up a corpse, murdered gruesomely. The scenario suppressed his appetite. Making matters worse, the case had little to go on.

  It became all too clear to him why he had transferred out of Homicide. Any victim was better than a dead one. True, he’d seen his fair share of assholes getting blown away in sour drug deals and junkies who kicked themselves. The memories didn’t keep him up at night. It was cases like this one that left the bile in this throat.

  A nice girl.

  He thought of his own daughter. She was safe, he assured himself. She was careful. But the words seemed empty. Careful wasn’t enough.

  His daughter. Alone in New York.

  He took out a cigarette.

  He’d call Jan the minute he got home. Cindy and Eric living together? He thought that was a fine idea.

  6

  “Very good,” Rabbi Schulman said, twirling gray wisps of beard around his index finger. “You’re making very good progress.”

  “Thank you,” said Decker.

  The Rosh Yeshiva closed the chumash—the Jewish bible. They were learning bible in the rabbi’s study, a spacious, wood-paneled room that reflected the warmth of its host. The picture window revealed a tranquil evening, the foliage dappled with moonlight like early morning frost on a winter’s landscape. Decker felt a spiritual calm, even though the circuitry of his nervous system was pushing overload.

  “Study next week’s portion and we’ll go over it together. Use the English of course, but try to look at the Hebrew also. Remember what I told you about looking for the shoresh—the three-letter root—in the word.”

  “I will.” Decker stared back at his open Bible and began shuffling through back pages, not quite ready to call it quits.

  “And you’ll be spending Shabbos weekend with us?” the rabbi asked.

  “I’m planning on it. Thank your wife again for her hospitality.”

  “I will do that. And Zvi Adler wants to have you over for Shabbos lunch. I think it would be nice if you accepted the invitation.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “Sarah Libba would have called you, but she’s exquisitely shy, so Zvi asked me invite you.”

  “Tell him I’d be delighted.”

  Schulman stood, his posture as rigid as a T-square. He sensed Decker’s jumpiness and went to a liquor cabinet.

  “A shot of schnapps, Peter?”

  Rotgut, Decker thought. It was amazing the man had any lining left in his stomach. Yet, here he was in his seventies with more energy than someone half his age.

  “Thank you, Rabbi. That would be nice.”

  The rabbi gave Decker a shot glass and raised his cup in the air.

  “L’chaim,” he said.

  “L’chaim,” Decker repeated.

  The old man peered over the detective’s shoulder and noticed the open chumash.

  “Fascinating isn’t it”—Schulman downed the liquid fire in a single gulp—“to read about our ancestors, God’s chosen people? He said to Yaakov, ‘I shall remember your seed, and they shall be as numerous as the
stars in the sky.’ And then we learn that Yaakov’s sons sold their brother, Yoseph, into slavery because they were poisoned with jealousy; that Miriam—a prophetess—was turned into a leper because she spoke ill of Moshe’s wife; that Tamar, dressed as a harlot, seduced her father-in-law, Yehudah, in order to secure her rightful seed; that Shimon and Levi—brothers in spirit as well as blood—avenged the rape of their sister by wiping out a nation. Superficially, one would think we descended from a bunch of hoodlums.”

  The old man coughed.

  “Such is not the case at all. Those men and women were righteous, Peter. On a far higher madraga—level of spirituality—than we are today. You must remember they were worth enough to have been recorded in the chumash for prosperity.”

  “But they were still human beings,” Decker said, “with human frailties.”

  “This is true.”

  Decker closed the book.

  “It’s family, Rabbi,” he said. “It brings out the best and worst in us. Whenever a crime is committed, the first place cops look is the family. Almost always, the perpetrator is a relative or friend. Yoseph was sold by his own brothers. No surprise. If that crime happened today, we could have saved Yaakov years of grief.”

  “Chas v’chaleylah.” The rabbi frowned. He sat down and put his arm around Decker. “God forbid! Hashem had a bigger purpose in mind, Peter. Yoseph was supposed to go down to Egypt. Had he not gone, Yaakov and his sons would have been wiped out by famine. Hashem knew what he was doing.”

  Schulman took off his oversized kipah to smooth his white hair, then placed it back on his head.

  “And of course, the Jews would have never been slaves in Egypt. And that would have been terrible, because then we wouldn’t have had Passover!”

  He broke into a broad grin at his own joke, then grew serious.

  “Events in Jewish history have a way of coming in through the back door,” he said. “Like the selling of Yoseph. Out of that came the Exodus: Moses, the Revelation, the Torah. It is said that even the messiah will not come to us openly. Why? Whenever good comes openly, the yetzer harah—the evil spirit—is there to destroy it.”

  “I don’t subscribe to the concept of an evil spirit, Rabbi.”

  Schulman refilled Decker’s cup.