Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 02

by Sacred;Profane

  He walked over to the living room window and peered into the darkness outside.

  “Isn’t this what you wanted?” she asked, joining him at the window. “Freedom?”

  “I never said I wanted to…” He was flustered. “I just wanted a little elbow room, damn it! The yeshiva is so goddam stultifying. I had no idea you were going to pick up and leave me.”

  “I’m not leaving you.”

  “What do you call this?”

  “I’m giving you the distance you wanted. That is what you wanted, wasn’t it? Distance. A breather from each other, as you called it.”

  He shook his head no.

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I don’t know,” he whispered to himself.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know,” he yelled. He ran his hands over his face. “God, I don’t believe this. How could you just leave me like this! Is that the extent of your feelings for me?”

  “What do you want out of me?”

  “I want you to fight for us, damn it. Not just…give up and move away.”

  “It would have helped if you’d returned my phone calls.”

  He looked at her. “You’re doing this out of spite, aren’t you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You’re pissed off at me for not being what you wanted me to be. So instead of being honest and admitting it, you’re gonna bust my balls by leaving me. Congratulations, Rina. They’re busted.”

  Encircling him from behind, she slipped her arms around his waist and leaned her head against his back.

  “I’m not punishing you, Peter. Neither one of us can help what we believe. I’m just trying to rectify a bad situation. I figure if we’re apart, maybe we can think better.”

  Her voice had started to waver from its cool, collected tone. She moved her hand upward and tucked it under his open robe. He felt her playing with his nipple, brushing it lightly with her fingertips. Immediately, he found himself growing erect and not wanting to be. He pushed her hand away.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “I want to sleep with you tonight,” she blurted out.

  He turned to her and laughed bitterly. “Really now? Is this the final fuck before the dramatic exit?”

  He couldn’t have slapped her harder had he done it with his hand. She recoiled and turned to leave. He grabbed her arm.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She jerked around, trying to hide her tear-stained face from him. He gathered her into his arms and hugged her tightly as she squirmed to break free of his grip. “I’m really sorry, Rina. I know what that admission means to you. It just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

  Relaxing in his hold, she sobbed in his arms. When she calmed down, she said, “You’re partially right.”

  Decker waited for her to go on.

  “I am a little angry with you.”

  “A little?”

  “A lot.” She wiped her eyes. “So maybe there’s a little bit of I’ll-show-you in my decision. But most…most of it was made after honestly considering the alternatives. Peter, what do you want from me? Do you want me to stay here and watch you take out other women knowing what you’re going to do with them?”

  “I guess it would be hard on you to see that,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  He smiled and said, “I could be discreet.”

  She socked him.

  He cleared his throat. “If you were to make good on your…suggestion, shall we say, there’d be no reason for me to date other women, would there be?”

  “I am not going to stick around here and have a sexual, unmarried relationship with you.”

  “How about a sexual, married relationship?”

  “Have you changed your feelings toward religion?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then we’ve had this discussion before.”

  “Yes, we have.” He suddenly became choked with emotion. “Rina, please don’t leave me.”

  “I’m only leaving you physically, Peter,” she said. “I’m not leaving to find someone else. I’m utterly in love with you and nothing is going to change that. If you turn religious, I’ll be waiting. If you don’t, so be it. It’s my problem, not yours. That’s how I can rationalize…sleeping with you. I’ve been thinking of it for a long time.”

  “You have?”

  She nodded.

  “You know it would have helped me along if you would have mentioned that there was a possibility.”

  She reddened like a boiled lobster.

  “It wasn’t something I was comfortable talking to you about. I was afraid that if you knew I was wavering, that would be it. I’d give in.”

  “Would that have been so terrible?”

  “Of course not! Emotionally, it would have been wonderful, but morally…Peter, premarital sex isn’t that big a deal in Judaism, but it’s something that religious women just don’t do.”

  “So why now?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m leaving, but I think it’s because I’ve finally decided that you’re the only man in my life, period. If we do get married, you’ll be my husband anyway. If we don’t, I’m still not going to marry someone else, so it’s not like I’m being unfaithful to a future husband. Besides, I’m sick of postponing gratification indefinitely. I’m sick of being righteous all the time.”

  “I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said softly. “Believe it or not, I had this idealized image in my mind of what it was going to be like, and it wasn’t under this set of circumstances. Love you and poof, you’re gone.”

  “I have to go. We both need time to ourselves.”

  He cupped her chin. “If you need time away from me, then go. But don’t think you’ll escape my clutches. If you settle in New York, I’ll follow you. If you move to Israel, I’ll follow you there. We’re basheert.”

  “I know that.”

  “Good,” he said, kissing her forehead. “You’re all packed up?”

  “The van left the yeshiva this morning.” Her eyes swelled with tears. “Amazing how little time it took them to pack everything.”

  “You’ve left your imprint, my dear. Believe me.” He gently eased the kerchief from her head and a wave of jet black hair rolled down her back. “Do your parents know you’re here?”

  “Yes.”

  Decker raised his brows. “What did they say?”

  “They were stunned. They didn’t say anything. We left it at that.”

  “You’re taking the red-eye out tomorrow night?”

  She nodded.

  “I’ll drive you to the air—.”

  “No,” she interrupted. “My parents will drive me…I don’t do well with airport good-byes, Peter. I’d rather you didn’t drive me.”

  “Okay.”

  “So I guess this is it.”

  There was an awkward silence. She smiled. He smiled.

  “I’m very nervous,” she said.

  “So am I.”

  “Don’t expect too much. It’s been almost three years—”

  “The mechanics haven’t changed, Rina.”

  “Well, that’s comforting.”

  He burst into laughter, scooped her into his arms, and carried her into the bedroom, kicking shut the door behind him.

  24

  Waking. That delicious stage of limbo between sleep and full arousal. The senses working but not consciously coding. Decker’s body was drugged with exhaustion from all-night lovemaking, his mind groggy from words and confessions. He turned to his side and hugged his pillow as if it were a lover.

  His mouth had been hopelessly manic last night. He had talked, confided…babbled. What had he told her? It made no difference. There was still so much more left unsaid. So much more for the future.

  He opened his eyes. She was gone, as he knew she would be. But she had been no phantom, no dream. The room was a testament to what had passed between them, the air still redolent of musk and sweat, th
e sheets still damp with their juices.

  He shut his eyes. Pardes, he thought. Me and Ben Azzai. Neither of us wants to go back.

  Promises between passion. Vows between tears. What words of hope had filled their hearts? He had agreed to continue studying with the rabbi. No guarantees about the outcome. If something clicked, she’d meet him halfway. In a sense, she had done that last night.

  In the end, it was left up to destiny. Basheert.

  Marge caught him as he exited from the unmarked.

  “Where the hall have you been?” she said.

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s two-thirty, for chrissakes!”

  “I got hung up.” He tucked his tie under his collar and started to make a knot.

  “Hung up?” she said skeptically. “You look like a piece of trash that the wind just blew in and smell like a whale’s testicle. I sure hope she was worth it, Pete, ’cause you’re in hot water right now.”

  He’d misjudged the length and the tie came out too short. “What’s wrong?” he asked, undoing it.

  “Let me do that,” Marge said disgustedly. “Armand Arlington’s in one of the interview rooms waiting to talk to you. Morrison feels he’s about to drop a dime, and the good captain is pretty damn pissed—at you and me—that Mr. Megabucks had to cool his heels for the past hour. I’m supposed to know where you are, remember?”

  “Well, how was I to know he was here?”

  “Try answering your phone or your beeper. What’d you do? Turn them both off?”

  Decker gave her a helpless smile and shrugged.

  Marge looped the tie and pushed the knot to his chin.

  “What did you do to Arlington, Pete? The man didn’t come forward because he wanted to clear his conscience.”

  “I just talked to the guy. Jesus! You can’t even talk to someone anymore without someone jumping down your throat.”

  “Yeah, you talked to him with a gun up his ass,” she said.

  “If I had had a gun up his ass, Marge, I’d have fired it. Then he’d look like what he is—a pile of shit.”

  Decker walked into the interview room and unfolded the lone chair leaning against the wall. The place was cramped when occupied by only two people; with five it had become vacuum-packed. The others were squeezed around a metal bridge table, stuffing butts into an overflowing aluminum ashtray. He sandwiched the chair between Morrison and the wall.

  Not exactly the executive suite.

  “So good of you to show up, Sergeant,” Arlington sneered from the opposite side of the table. “That is your current rank, isn’t it?”

  Decker ignored the comment but zeroed in on the man. Arlington was dressed expensively and conservatively—Italian silk navy suit, fine white cotton shirt, navy-and-maroon silk striped tie. His feet were ensconced in crocodile loafers, and a maroon handkerchief blossomed from his breast pocket.

  His face was suffused with contempt.

  Of what? thought Decker. The surroundings? The police? The indignity of it all?

  He became enraged.

  The guy’s a first-class scumbag and he’s contemptuous? Decker’s eyes drifted to Arlington’s left, to his lawyer. A white-haired Modigliani, strictly high power. The guy reeked of self-confidence—the kind that had come from years of being kept on retainer. Opening his Mark Cross briefcase, Mr. Long Face took out a pile of papers, a fine-point felt-tip pen, a notepad, and a Sony tape recorder. Not to be outdone, Morrison brought out his own cassette deck. He pushed the pause button and waited.

  The last man at the table was George Birdwell, the deputy DA, a bespectacled black Berkeley grad in his late twenties. Good, Decker thought. We’re in fine hands. Birdwell was as conscientious as anyone Decker had ever met and was as sharp as a cactus needle.

  Arlington’s lawyer spoke up in a deep voice. “Let’s begin now.”

  “Go ahead,” Morrison said, turning on the tape recorder.

  “My client has a few remarks he’d like to offer in the hope they may aid in your investigation of the Bates-Armbruster case. Mr. Arlington has come here of his own volition—against legal advice—and in good faith, in order to advance the course of justice. Furthermore, it is agreed upon by all parties present that any information disclosed in said statement may not be used against Mr. Arlington should there be any further legal proceedings pertaining to this matter.” He looked at Arlington. “You may begin.”

  The steel man read from a prepared statement:

  “I first came into contact with Cameron Smithson through a mutual acquaintance on or about July fifteenth of last year. After a brief discussion of security investments, Mr. Smithson offered to show me explicit, illegal, pornographic material for the disclosed sum of five thousand dollars per viewing. I accepted the invitation in the hope of gathering information that could lead to his arrest, since the thought of viewing such filth for pleasurable purposes was personally sickening. During the course of my investigation, I came into contact with Cecil Pode and his son, Earl, who appeared to be business partners with Mr. Smithson. I was about to delve further into this highly organized network of illicit activity when the police invaded the premises of 791 Brooks Avenue in Venice. I state this in order to aid in your ongoing police investigations and to put an end to the perversion that is so widespread in our society.”

  He tossed the sheet of paper toward Decker.

  “End of statement.”

  “How did Cameron Smithson arrange the filming?” the captain asked.

  “End of statement!” Arlington boomed, rising out of the chair.

  “Where did Smithson get the films, Arlington?” Decker prodded. “Did he finance them and hire Cecil to do the camera work?”

  “You heard my client, gentlemen. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

  The captain pushed the stop button on the cassette player.

  “What I just read was for the record,” Arlington scowled, brushing a piece of lint off of his lapel. “Now this is off the record.” He glowered at Decker. “If you ever, ever show your face around my homes or any of my offices again and try to roust me, I’ll personally cut off your balls, have them pickled, then eat them with my chef’s salad for lunch. I hope you understand what I’m saying, Sergeant?”

  “Are you threatening my man, Arlington?” Morrison snapped.

  “Just a statement of fact.” Arlington opened the door. “Good day.”

  The two of them walked out.

  “Asshole,” Decker muttered, then smiled at Morrison. “But we’ve got something.”

  “Besides,” Birdwell said excitedly, “it’s all bluff. He knows he could be subpoenaed as a material witness to the raid. We all know that Arlington’s involvement goes deeper than a marijuana charge. Why else would his mouthpiece be so insistent upon immunity?”

  “Immunity for anything connected with Cameron Smithson,” Decker said. “But not for everything. If we can connect him to other illicit activities, he’s an open target.”

  “Like what?” Morrison asked.

  “Soliciting minors for immoral purposes. Assault. Murder. Minor things like that.”

  “You’re trying to link him to the Loving Grandpas?” Morrison asked.

  “Yes,” Decker answered. “Who told you about them?”

  “Someone called me from Hollywood and said Dunn had been questioning hookers about them. I figured she was there at your behest.”

  “Loving Grandpas?” Birdwell asked.

  “A club of old, rich pervs who beat up runaways,” Decker said.

  “Jesus,” Birdwell said. “And Arlington’s connected with them?”

  “Maybe,” answered Decker.

  “Maybe not,” Morrison answered.

  “If he is, this could be big,” Birdwell said, licking his lips.

  “If it turns out that way, you’ll be the first to know,” Morrison said. “Thanks for coming down today, George.”

  “No problem.”

  After the prosecutor left, Morrison shut the door and looked at De
cker.

  “You’re being dunked in the cesspool, Pete,” Morrison said. “I’ve got a notice of transfer sitting on my desk. Guess who it’s for?”

  “Oh shit!”

  “Someone thinks you went overboard and wants you off the case,” Morrison said.

  “Jesus Christ, all I did was goose the asshole,” Decker said.

  “Yeah, well now the asshole just fucked you over.”

  “Who’s got a hard-on for me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, Arlington’s got someone in the Department.”

  “I have a feeling it’s more than one person,” the captain said. “The transfer notice was sent by Hollenbeck Division. Ostensibly they need a Spanish-speaking detective of your rank.”

  Decker swore under his breath.

  “I’m not going,” he said.

  “You fucked up.”

  “Fuck this noise.” Decker took out his shield and gun and threw them on the table.

  “Cut the dramatics, Pete. You know you fucked up. You’re damn lucky your ass is still in one piece.” Morrison pushed the rewind button on the tape recorder. “Yeah, we knew Arlington was holding back, but you can’t harass him. You can’t threaten him. Damn it, Pete. You know that!”

  “Sometimes you’ve got to bend the rules a little. Goddam it, I saw…you saw what happened to that poor kid, and goddam it, I don’t want it to happen again if I can help it.”

  “Let me ask you this, Sergeant. What the hell would you have done if he’d called your bluff and slapped you and the Department with a multimillion dollar harassment or defamation of character suit? You’d be ruined as a career cop, and you’d probably also get disbarred. What would you have done?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t you think you should have thought about that?”

  “You’ve got to follow your own dictates once in a while.”

  “What would you have done?” Morrison pressed.

  “I don’t know, for Chrissakes! But I know one thing, Captain. If I didn’t do anything, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself. No job is worth that.”