Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 02

by Sacred;Profane

  The boy nodded sleepily.

  “Come in.” He yawned and opened the door wide.

  Neither one bothered to sit.

  “What’s goin’ on?” the boy repeated.

  “The gig you got on the day of Lindsey’s disappearance—you said it was a wedding.”

  “Yeah.”

  “You said you got it at the last minute.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who was the original photographer supposed to be?”

  “A guy I know.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Cecil Pode. He’s a—”

  “Shit!” Decker slammed his fist into a waiting palm. “Did Pode know you were supposed to meet Lindsey?”

  The boy’s face was the picture of confusion. He rubbed his eyes.

  “What are you gettin’ at?” he asked.

  “Did Pode ever meet Lindsey?”

  “Couple times. I used to develop my pictures at his studio. He saw some of the shots I took of her and asked me to bring her around. He said he wanted to snap a couple of shots of her for his window display. Made a point of telling me how photogenic she was. I don’t think he ever did it, though.”

  “Did Pode ever see the nudes you took of Lindsey?”

  “I guess. I don’t remember.”

  “How’d you meet Pode?”

  “On the beach. He hung around the Venice boardwalk a lot.”

  “Did you tell Pode before the day of the gig that you had a date with Lindsey on the day of her disappearance?”

  “I might have. I don’t fuckin’ remember.” Panic seized the boy. “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “What the hell do you mean you’re not sure?” Truscott’s voice cracked. “What’s Cecil got to do with Lindsey? Did he do anything to her?”

  Decker was silent. Truscott grabbed his shoulders. He had an alarmingly tight grip for a man his size.

  “Did he do anything to her?” he shouted.

  “He might have,” Decker said quietly. “He might have told her to come with him to meet you. And then he might have abducted her.”

  The boy’s scream came out a strangled, sucking gasp. Then he collapsed into Decker’s arms.

  Decker slept in the station’s dormitory from 6:30 to 8:30 A.M. Bleary-eyed at 9 A.M., he placed a call to the information operator in Klamath Falls. There were three Armbrusters. The second one was the winner. Kate had left home seven years ago and hadn’t been heard from since. Decker explained the situation, expecting to hear emotional upheaval on the other side, but the mother’s only comment was good riddance to bad rubbish. She gladly supplied the name of Kate’s dentist and made it a point to tell him not to bother to ship the body home. Katie was trash, and a Christian funeral for her would be sacrilegious and a waste of hard-earned money.

  Decker reminded himself that Katie had been born with congenital syphilis. The indignation of the hypocrites.

  Katie’s dentist had only X rays of current patients at his fingertips. It would be a couple of days before he could find her radiographs. He did remember working on her once or twice. The Armbrusters really couldn’t afford too much. If he found the X rays, he’d be glad to send them down. A shame about Katie, he said to Decker. She was a wild kid, but that was no reason to die.

  Morrison sat across his desk, eyes fixed on Decker’s face.

  “You want to tell me what the hell is going on, Pete? You’ve requested two search warrants and a tail on some stockbroker named Dustin Pode.”

  “The warrants are for his father’s home and studio. Cecil Pode is a snuff film distributor. I’m betting he’s involved in Lindsey Bates’s abduction and death. After I questioned him, I think he cut town. I want to see if he left anything incriminating behind.”

  “Who says he’s a snuff distributor—the pimp you talked to?”

  “He and another source.”

  “Who?”

  Decker rubbed his eyes and suppressed a yawn.

  “A hooker. Her street name’s Kiki. She seems on the up-and-up.”

  Morrison thought for a moment, then said, “Let’s do it this way. We’ll try for search warrants for Pode’s house and studio based on what you found out from Truscott. Unlikely we’ll get them without something concrete. A still or a film or at least someone who saw Bates and Pode together the day of her disappearance.”

  “Dunn is going to comb the Galleria and ask around at all the stores. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Maybe,” the Captain said.

  “What about the tail?” Decker said.

  “Dustin Pode is a private citizen who isn’t residing or working in our jurisdiction. He hasn’t been implicated. “You don’t have any real evidence on Cecil Pode; you have nothing on Dustin Pode. A tail is out of the question. Takes up too much manpower.”

  “I have a gut feeling that Dustin Pode is involved.”

  “You’re a good intuitive cop, Pete, but I can’t authorize men based on your hunches.”

  “At least send Hollander out to talk to Dustin Pode about his father. Maybe Dustin will implicate Daddy in something naughty,” Decker said. “Mike’s got a light load this morning.”

  “You can talk to Dustin Pode,” said Morrison. “I’ve no problem with that.”

  Decker stalled a moment. He didn’t want to tell Morrison about his Jack Cohen alias just yet. “Let Hollander handle it. He’s good with these broker types. He loves to play dumb.”

  “Fine. Hollander goes out for a one-shot deal. But scratch any idea about a tail.” Morrison lit a cigarette. “You’ve done a good job, Pete. Taken a dead case and breathed some life into it. Just don’t go overboard. And don’t do anything dumb-ass with this Dustin Pode. I don’t want a citizen’s harassment complaint slapped on this division. God knows LAPD gets enough fabricated shit from the papers. Let’s not give them something real to work with.”

  Decker nodded.

  “Now what is this about getting another juvey into the Donaldson halfway house?”

  “I owe someone a favor.”

  Morrison didn’t press it.

  “Okay,” he said. “Start the paperwork.”

  “Thanks, Captain.”

  “When are you taking the lieutenant’s exam?”

  “I thought maybe next year.”

  “Why not this year?”

  “I haven’t had a hell of a lot of time to study.”

  “You’re a lawyer, Pete. After the bar, the exam should be a snap.”

  Decker shrugged. He didn’t have time to study because the yeshiva courses were occupying all his free time—or lack thereof. But he couldn’t tell the captain that.

  Morrison looked disapproving, but said nothing. He stood up and walked away without a word. Decker rubbed his eyes.

  Man, he was tired.

  The phone rang.

  “Decker.”

  “It’s the illustrious Patsy Lee Newford, better known as the redheaded superspy.”

  “Patsy Lee Newford?”

  “Hey Decker, that’s a boss name in Indiana.” She laughed, sounding like a soprano jackhammer.

  “What do you have for me, Kiki?”

  “Pode took a hike.”

  “Know where he went?”

  “Uh uh. But he was one of the major distributors of snuff films ’round these parts.”

  “Yeah,” Decker said. “I found that out.”

  A little too late.

  “Have any other names of snuff men?” he asked.

  “Nope. I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Lie low, Kiki. This is getting messy. You’ve done enough. I’m working on paying you back like we discussed.”

  She was silent.

  “You there?” he asked.

  “Yeah. I can’t believe you’re coming through.”

  “Call me back in a week,” he said. “It should be all set up.”

  “Okay. I’ll see what I can dig up in the meantime.”

  “No!” Decker said, more loudly
than he’d intended to. “Just cool it. We’ll find Pode ourselves. Don’t do any more.”

  She was silent again.

  “Kiki, if you keep poking around, you’re gonna get whacked. Is that straightforward enough?”

  “Hey, I did all right so far. I can take care of myself.”

  “Honey, I’m sure you can,” Decker said, backing off. “How ’bout you doing me a favor and just keep your nose clean until I can get you into this program?”

  A long pause on the other end of the line.

  “What’s it like?” she asked in a tiny voice.

  “It’s a really good place, Kiki. Lots of trees and grass and a swimming pool. The people are good—strict but honest. You’ll do real well there.”

  “Will you visit me?”

  Decker hesitated, then said, “No. But you’ll make loads of friends, honey. Good friends.”

  “What if I don’t make it, you know? I mean what if—”

  “Kiki, let’s take it one day at a time.”

  “It’s just that I’m not so sure it’s what I want. I mean I want to get off of the streets you know, but I’m real independent like.”

  “You’ll do fine.”

  “I mean I got a couple of quirks you know.”

  “Everyone has quirks.”

  “Do they have TVs there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they watch Walley George?”

  Decker smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get TV privileges.”

  “I dunno…I just dunno if I’m ready. Maybe I’m better off working for you.”

  “Kiki, if you want to help me out, keep yourself out of trouble until I contact you, okay?”

  “How will you know where to find me?”

  “Still got my card?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Then come by the station house in a week. You need bread in the meantime?”

  “I’m okay.”

  “Then come by in a week.”

  She was silent for a long time.

  “I’m a little nervous, you know.”

  “That’s okay, Kiki. Everyone gets nervous occasionally. Even big, macho cops who pack iron. You come by in a week. Deal?”

  “Deal,” she said, then hung up the phone.

  Decker placed the receiver back in the cradle and leaned back in his chair. He felt good. Marge came over to him with a hot cup of coffee.

  “Drink,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  “How much sleep did you get last night, Rabbi?”

  “’Bout two hours.”

  “Taking the morning off?”

  “Not until I find Pode.”

  “Good luck,” she said. “I’m off to the Galleria.” She zipped up her shoulder bag and looked at the leather shredding around the seams. “Maybe I’ll look at purses as long as I’m there. This one is shot. Literally. An old gun I used to carry accidentally discharged and blew a hole out the bottom. I patched it up with electrical tape. Think it’s time for a new one?”

  “I’d say that’s reasonable.”

  “Can I pick you up anything as long as I’m out?”

  Sleep, a steak, and sex, he thought. In that order.

  “No thanks,” he said.

  “Anything?” Decker asked hopefully.

  “Nothing,” Hollander answered.

  Angrily, Decker crumpled a piece of scratch paper and threw it in the garbage. Marge hadn’t come up with anything at the Galleria either. If he didn’t come through with some hard evidence, Lindsey would remain an open file. He felt he owed her more.

  “What’s ole Dustin like?” Decker asked.

  “A sleazebag,” said Hollander, taking off his jacket. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his widespread buttocks overflowing the seat. “Wouldn’t trust him to clip my hangnail.”

  “What’d you ask him?”

  “Well, first thing I do is try to develop the old rapport. Told him his jacket was pretty sharp. Next thing I know, I’m getting a goddam fashion lecture on where to buy clothes. He knows this fart and that putz who’ll give him fifty percent off on all Italian silk imports. The upshot of the whole thing is the guy loves to play teacher. So I’ll play the dupe. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll talk himself into a corner. But no dice.”

  “You wouldn’t put it past him to make snuffs?” Decker asked.

  “Hell, no. I wouldn’t put it past him. Guy has radar eyes. Always trying to size you up then figure out his angle.”

  “What did he tell you about his dad?”

  “Hasn’t talked to Daddy in months. They aren’t as close as they used to be.”

  “Maybe we can pull out phone bills that says he has.”

  “So what?”

  “Well, if it were to show lots of calls between the two of them, at least we’d establish Dustin as a liar.”

  “Then what?”

  Decker shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “We’d prove what I already instinctively know,” said Hollander. “The guy’s an asshole.”

  “What did Dustin think about Daddy’s sideline in porno stills?” he asked.

  “Dustin got pissed at that one—claimed that Daddy is just a downhome country photographer. If Daddy ever did anything nasty like that, it was just to feed his poor li’l chilluns!”

  “How dare we besmirch Daddy’s blemishless image!” Decker mocked.

  “You’d better believe it. Guy was ready to call in the ACLU. I calmed him down. I asked him what kind of car he drove. Guy chewed my ear off on the marvels of the Mercedes.”

  Mike scratched his nose, thought a moment, then said, “The guy plainly likes his father. He didn’t say much about his mother.”

  “You asked him about the fire?”

  “Yep. He said this. Mom got drunk a lot. She was very careless about drinking and smoking in bed. More than once he had to pull her out of smoldering bedcovers. Most of the time he’d gotten her out before any real danger was done. Once in awhile, the room was really smoking and he had to call the FD. The day she died he wasn’t home.

  “He spoke about his mother in a real detached way, Pete. I don’t know. Maybe it was because she died so long ago.”

  “Or maybe he was real pissed off at her for setting the house on fire,” Decker suggested.

  “Yeah,” Hollander nodded. “I didn’t detect much love lost.”

  “What about Pode’s limited partnership movies?” Decker wanted to know.

  “Pode and this partner of his,” Hollander began. “What the hell was his name?”

  “Cameron Smithson.”

  “That’s the one,” Hollander said. “They invested in low-budget flicks. Grade B horror movies and teenage jiggle films. I asked if it was possible to see them. I wanted to make sure they were what he said they were.”

  “That was smart.”

  “He showed me the videos—as much as I wanted to see. And what I saw wasn’t porno: just a lot of healthy-looking babes showing off their boobs and buns. Standard R fare. Pode also let me look at the books. Some of those turkeys even netted him some pocket money.”

  “Numbers can be fudged.”

  “Yeah, no doubt the sleaze has at least four sets of books: one for his accountant, one for the backers, one for the IRS, and one for himself.”

  Hollander scratched his nose again.

  “I can’t put my finger on why I hated him so much. Yeah, he talked down to me, but I was feeding into his image of me as the dumb cop. He wasn’t an ornery bastard. He was cooperative, polite. He seemed so…so goddamn oily. Even his looks—Pode’s a good-looking guy if you like the male model type. I could see him getting laid by a lot of Marina airheads. But to me, the guy sizes up as a grease ball.”

  “Did he have the kind of good looks that could sway an impressionable young girl?”

  “Definitely.”

  He went over the play in his mind. Act One: Lindsey meets Chris, who introduces her to fellow photographer Cecil Pode. Act Two: Cecil sees Lindsey as much more than
a would-be model for Playboy. Act Three: Cecil introduces her to his son, Dustin. Act Four: Dustin seduces her and convinces her to star in his skin flicks. Act Five: Lindsey dies, maybe because she didn’t like what she was doing and Dustin had a low tolerance for recalcitrant actresses; maybe because she starred in a snuff; maybe because she was in the wrong fire at the wrong time—like Dustin’s mother.

  A whole lot of maybes.

  Why would she bother to make arrangements to meet Chris at the Galleria if she was going to run away with Dustin? Did Lindsey ask Cecil to get Chris out of the way so she could run away with Dustin and throw suspicion on Chris? Poor Chris. Decker could still feel the boy in his arms, cradling him like a baby as he sobbed. And what gasping sobs—like a dying man fighting for air.

  He needed the Podes. Cecil was gone. Dustin was all he had.

  15

  Discretion was the word of the hour. Hollander’s interview with Dustin Pode had been a double-edged sword. Decker hoped it would smoke out Dustin and make him do something foolish, but he also knew that it had heightened Pode’s awareness of cops. The tail would have to be close to invisible.

  He debated over which car to use. Although it had a police radio, the unmarked was a terrible vehicle for a tail, a giveaway to anyone perceptive about cop cars. His personal vehicles were a red ’69 Porsche 911, which he’d rebuilt, and a Jeep. Neither blended inconspicuously in street traffic. Finally, he settled on Rina’s ’77 bronze Volvo station wagon and gave her the Plymouth. He carried his beeper and had asked Marge to buzz him if anything important came up. He hoped all his bases were covered.

  So far, the only place Pode had gone to was work. Decker parked a couple of stalls down from the broker’s white Mercedes 450 SL on level C of the underground garage. The place was dank, the air loaded with exhaust fumes, and he felt a headache coming on. He sat in his car for an hour, then, wanting to stretch his legs, climbed the stairs to the fifth floor. The hallways were empty and soundless except for an occasional inner door closing or a ding from the elevator bell. He leaned against the wall and waited. Another hour passed. At 11:15, Dustin finally came out of his office. From a corner, Decker had a good chance to memorize his face as he waited for the elevator.