Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 16

by The Burnt House

“Sounds good to me, but we’ll have to do delivery.”

  “Around my parts, pizza is a staple.”

  “Okay, I’ll order in. Cheese and what?”

  “Whatever you want.” Hollander turned to Decker “Loo?”

  “Maybe later.”

  “Hey, if you want to go out and meet someone for dinner, I’ll stick around. You know me and machines. Never met one I didn’t like.”

  “Thanks, Mike, I just may take you up on it.” Decker excused himself, walked outside into the setting sun. He dialed Cindy’s number and she picked up on the third ring. “How’s it going?”

  “Well…let me put it this way. We now have a gigantic hole in the back wall. I suppose that’s progress…sort of.”

  “I’m so sorry I couldn’t—”

  “Dad, I’m a cop; I understand, and it’s absolutely fine. You absolutely had to do this…to replicate that skull. Because until you put a face on your Jane Doe, there’s no way you’re going to solve her murder. And I know how obsessive you are with open cases. I’m excusing you for the betterment of society.”

  “You’re very sweet and understanding, but I still feel bad about taking Mike away from the job.”

  “You know, Loo, the more work that piles up, the more that Koby will see that we need outside help. Right now we’ve got a huge pile of drywall that’s about to avalanche over his beloved rose garden. I think he’s finally beginning to see that we can’t do this all by our little lonesomes, no matter how well Koby wields a nail gun.”

  “I’d like to make it up to you two,” Decker told her. “What are your plans for dinner?”

  “We haven’t gotten that far yet,” Cindy said. “We’re still in the ‘tarping the giant hole’ stage.”

  “Rina’s visiting her parents in the city. I’ve got to stick around the area until the skull is complete. That doesn’t mean I have to be glued to the machine. Hollander can watch it in my absence, but I can’t go too far. If you can meet me, I’d love to take you both out.”

  “Where are you?”

  “Approximately Roscoe and Sepulveda.”

  “There’s nowhere to eat around there.”

  “Unless you’re interested in consuming marble or brick, that’s true. But if you’re willing to drive out to the Valley, I’m sure I could find something a little more south.”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to pass, Daddy. I’ve got a mess to clean up. Can I take a rain check?”

  Decker was disappointed but tried to keep his voice even. “Anytime.”

  “How’s the skull coming?”

  “Slow, but like you said, it’s our best shot for finding out the identity of our Jane Doe. The technology is impressive, even for a Luddite like me.”

  “It’s really too bad I can’t get away. It sounds really fascinating. Are you also having a forensic computer artist come up with a face?”

  “Yes, ma’am, we are doing that as well.”

  “Be interesting to see how well they match.”

  “Yes, it will be interesting. Please thank Koby again for helping us out so quickly.”

  “You can call him and thank him yourself. He’s on my naughty list right now. There are about a thousand things I’d rather be doing than sledgehammering a kitchen. On the other hand, he and Mike Hollander get along famously. I think Mike’s a father figure for him. He was a great choice, Daddy. Thanks.”

  Decker smiled. “Sometimes I get it right.”

  “Sometimes,” Cindy admitted, “but don’t let it go to your head.”

  27

  LOOKING AT THE replica skull made out of fused paper and perched on a stand, Lauren Decanter turned the base slowly, studying Jane Doe inch by inch as the skull completed a 360-degree revolution. “Absolutely amazing!” She looked up at Decker in awe. “This is the real deal. You can see all the necessary anatomical landmarks and then some.”

  “The wonders of modern technology,” Decker said. “Although she didn’t die by modern technology.”

  Lauren’s hands touched the cranium. “An old-fashioned bop on the head.” She returned her eyes to Decker’s face. “What can you tell me about the case, Lieutenant?”

  “I thought a lot about it on the way over. This is what we have so far. By the teeth remaining in upper and lower mandibles, both the coroner and the forensic odontologist think she was in her early twenties at the time of her demise. We also know that she died during or after 1974 because she was wearing a band sweatshirt that was produced in 1974.”

  “Which band?”

  “Priscilla and the Major.”

  Lauren thought for several deliberate moments. “No, I don’t think I ever heard of them.”

  “They were a duo. The Major was originally from the military and I think he actually served in Vietnam. But Priscilla was the main attraction. She sang and wrote the songs. They were a little on the sappy side: a throwback to an earlier era compared with all the acid and psychedelic rock that was going on at that time.”

  “Hmm…” She started to take notes. “Priscilla and the Major. I would think that the duo would have attracted a more conservative crowd with the man being in the military.”

  “Certainly the army was not a popular institution at the time, so yes, they did attract a more conservative element. But they had their share of Top 40 hits. Their songs were played on major radio stations and they had a sizable following. If I had to compare them to anyone at that time, I would say the Carpenters. Do you know about the Carpenters?”

  “He played the guitar, she played the drums. And she died of anorexia, right?”

  “Yes, but back then, no one realized that she had problems. Instead, they were touted as the clean-cut alternatives to the unwashed, restless youth. Nixon invited them to the White House. If I remember correctly, I think Priscilla and the Major also entertained Mr. Pres. She’s still alive, living in Porter Ranch, if you want to talk to her. Apparently, she loves the color pink.”

  “Very feminine. So a fan of Priscilla would probably be a more conservative person although not ultraconservative if she was listening to the Top 40 stations.”

  “That about sums up my assessment.”

  Lauren took more notes. “So, being as she was dressed in a sweatshirt and liked a conservative band, you don’t see your Jane Doe as a pickup or hooker gone bad?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Because a bash in the head…to me it seems impulsive and unplanned. Something that a john might do to a hooker or a drunk might do to a pickup if she said no.”

  “I agree that it was up close and personal, but I’m thinking it was done by the woman’s significant other—a boyfriend or a husband. I have a feeling that the girl, if in her early twenties, might have been a bit innocent for her age.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Next to the body I found a mood ring. Do you know what that is?”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  “A mood ring has a stone that changes colors to reflect your mood. If it shines red or in the warm-color spectrum, you’re happy, and if it shines blue or in the cold-color end, you’re sad. The stone obviously adjusts to skin temperature.”

  “So it was blue when you found it?”

  “Almost black.” Decker shook his head. “I’m sure it’s been black for a very long time. The point is mood rings were a fad that was geared to adolescent girls. That’s why I’m thinking that our Jane Doe was a little innocent. Someone who’s into peace, love, and alternative spirits.” A pause. “Sometimes young women are swept off their feet by the wrong type of boyfriend.”

  “I see,” Lauren said. “Are you talking to the forensic computer artist as well?”

  “If he wants to talk, I’ll be happy to chat with him. It would be interesting to see how well you two match in your interpretations of the face.”

  “Most of the time we’re pretty close.” She smiled. “You’ve given me a good start. Thanks for your insights.”

  “When do you think you’ll have some
thing for me?”

  Lauren turned on her laptop. “I think I’d like to do a little research into the period.”

  “What kind of research? Maybe I can help you out?”

  “You already have. What I need now is visual input, because recreating a face is a visual thing. I want to look up Priscilla and the Major…I’d like to see what kind of fans they had and if there are pictures of their fans. I also would like to read old articles and fashion magazines. For this case, I think Seventeen magazine might give me more hints than Ladies’ Homes Journal or Vogue.”

  “She definitely doesn’t seem like the Vogue type.”

  “No, but her mother might have been. Rereading the material kind of brings a visual life to the era for me.” She studied Decker’s face. “You are a Vietnam vet, right?”

  “Indeed I am. A lot of detectives my age are ’Nam vets.”

  She stared at him further. “But there’s something in your face…you definitely had your wild side.”

  “It’s all wrinkles, huh?” Decker held back a smirk. “My rebellion was pretty tame and it was a long time ago.”

  “You’re also an oldest child.”

  Decker nodded. “But that’s also no surprise. Oldest children like bossing people around, so the police academy fits that primal need pretty well.”

  Lauren studied him for just a moment longer. “There’s something playful going on inside your head right now. As I look at your eyes, they’re teasing me without being flirtatious. I bet you have daughters.”

  “I have daughters and I have sons.” He paused. “Stepsons, but for all intents and purposes, they’re my sons. I’ve been their only father since they were six and eight and now they’re in their twenties.”

  “But your daughters are yours biologically.”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm…you just seem like you’ve had recent experience with children.”

  Decker laughed. “Okay, I confess. My older daughter is almost thirty, but my younger daughter is only fourteen.”

  “Aha!” Lauren said triumphantly. “I knew it. I have a nose for this kind of thing. When I do reconstruction, it’s as if the person is talking to me, directing my fingers. It’s like a sixth sense.”

  “How are you on the stock market?”

  “Sorry, Lieutenant, I’ve never been any good at numbers.”

  DECKER THOUGHT HE was getting an early jump by arriving at the Crypt by nine the next morning. Lauren was already at her station and had immersed herself in the 1970s—photographs, articles from Time and Newsweek, magazine spreads from Fashion Weekly, Seventeen, and Vogue, several vintage pieces of seventies clothing. She was still studying the skull, but she had put eraser tips on the anatomical landmarks. On the left side of the tabletop sat several rectangular loaves of adobe-colored clay. Her carving tools were neatly laid out on her right. Priscilla and the Major whispered from a CD player.

  “I wish I could play their songs on a phonograph,” she told Decker. “That would really get me in the spirit.”

  The forensic artist wore a white chef’s apron over her jeans and black cotton top. Her chestnut-colored hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she wore no makeup. When she finally put the first slab of clay onto the replica skull, Decker wanted to sing “glory hallelujah.”

  “Are you going to watch me the entire time?” Lauren asked him.

  “I’m making you nervous?”

  “No,” Lauren told him. “But you are changing the energy of the room. This process is instinctual. The skull talks to me and she may not want to say what’s on her mind if you’re around.”

  “Okay, then…” Decker paused. “How about if I come back in a couple of hours?”

  “She and I will be talked out by the end of the day. Why don’t you stop by then?”

  A glance at his wrist told him it was 9:20. “Around three?”

  “That would be great.”

  AT 3:18, SHE had made a lot of progress, but she was far from done. The face was shaped but the features were blurry, like staring at a likeness without corrective glasses. The work area was covered with reddish clay shavings. She stepped back from the head and rolled her shoulders. She laced her mud-covered fingers together, stretched out her arms, and cracked her back. “I’m glad you came in. Sometimes my posture is terrible.”

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?”

  “You know…I think I forgot to eat my lunch.” She walked over to an industrial sink and washed her hands. It took her quite a while to get all the clay off her fingers and out of her nails. When her hands were spotless, she dug inside a brown paper bag and pulled out a baloney sandwich with lettuce on white bread. “Wow, I’m hungry.”

  “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “No. I have my soda.” She pulled out a can of Coke and a bag of potato chips.

  Decker said, “I do believe that you are the first woman I’ve met who drinks regular soda.”

  She took another bite of her sandwich, opened the bag, and daintily pulled out a chip. “I’m not into food so much. I don’t have a very good palate. My friends all say I eat like I’m a ten-year-old.” She opened her soda and drank it with a straw. “They have a point.”

  “Hey, what you’re eating looks pretty good to me.”

  “You want a bite?”

  “No, no.” Decker smiled. “I’m good, thank you.”

  “No palate, but God more than made up for it in the visual department. This job is really a calling.” She ate another chip. “It’s not enough just to be artistic. You also have to be acutely tactile, to feel the face taking shape under your fingers and let it guide you rather than the other way around.” She finished her sandwich and ate a few more chips. Then she wiped her hands and face with a napkin and patted her stomach. “I feel much better. Well, back to work.”

  “How much longer are you going to work?”

  “I really don’t know. If you want, you can come back in a couple of hours. There might be more to show you.”

  “Around six?”

  She picked up a scalpel. “That seems perfect.”

  AT 6:10, JANE had emerged from a fuzzy clump of mud into something distinct. She had a wide nose, a pointed chin, a wide mouth, a hint of cheekbones, and a prominent brow. Without taking her eyes off the bust, Lauren said, “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re amazing.”

  “Thank you. Do you have a moment to talk?”

  “Of course.” He took a seat next to the artist. “What’s up?”

  “Well, I’m having a conversation with her and we haven’t reached a conclusion. I thought that maybe we could brainstorm.”

  “Sure, if you think it will help.”

  “First thing is that Jane has a broad forehead and pronounced cheekbones. I think she has Latina or Native American ancestry. Maybe Alaskan.”

  “Interesting. The pathologist thought she might be Hispanic.”

  “I have to agree. Secondly, in the seventies, there weren’t as many anorexic women as there are now. Plus, her being so young…I gave her a little more cheek fat. What do you think?”

  “I think that’s fine.”

  “Okay.” Lauren smiled. “So let’s move on. You’re thinking that she was murdered in the midseventies.”

  “During or after 1974. That was the date of the sweatshirt.”

  “Okay, so I was doing a little research. In that era, disco was pretty big. I’ve listened to a little Barry White and Donna Summer. Priscilla and the Major were not considered disco, right?”

  Decker smiled. “Correct. Think of disco as John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever.”

  Lauren nodded but her expression was a blank.

  “White suit, big hair, big crystal globe ball in the center of the dance floor.”

  “It sounds like a bar mitzvah.”

  “Uh…yeah, kinda. Disco was the ultimate dance music. Priscilla and the Major were soft rock.”

  “Yes, they sound like soft rock. So that modifies the hai
rstyle from something more extreme to something more conservative. I’ve been looking at some fan magazines around that time. Charlie’s Angels was a really big TV hit.”

  “Indeed it was.”

  “If you think the young woman was a little bit innocent and maybe fad oriented, I’d consider the three stars of the TV series. What we have is three really different types of hairstyles—we have Jaclyn Smith, who had the classical long wavy brown hair. We have Kate Jackson, who had dark, blunt cut hair parted in the middle, side bangs…kind of perky and Ivy League college student. And then there was Farrah Fawcett-Majors, who wore her hair…well, I don’t know what you’d call it. It was like hair all over the place. There were bangs and side wings and layers and flips. I would think that would be a very hard hairdo for the average girl to manage.”

  Decker smiled. “Man, this is a quick hop down memory lane. I will tell you this. Farrah Fawcett-Majors’s hairdo inspired a very popular look. There were lots of women with major-league side flips.”

  “Like Jennifer Aniston’s layers in the early 2000s.” Lauren thought a moment. “If she is Latina and conservative, I don’t see her as the blond, blue-eyed Farrah Fawcett-Majors type. I was thinking that maybe she’d have the long brown hair of Jaclyn Smith.”

  “Honestly, Lauren, at that time, everyone was trying to look like Farrah Fawcett-Majors, regardless of hair or eye color. She was the big one.”

  “So why don’t I do this?” Lauren suggested. “I can put all three Charlie’s Angels hairdos on Jane—the blond Farrah with all the flips, poker straight like Kate Jackson, and long and wavy like Smith. That way we can take pictures of Jane with all three hairstyles and it might increase our chances of finding who Jane really is.”

  “Good idea. You can also modify the hair and eye color. She may be a natural brunette, but there are a slew of blondes from a bottle.”

  “Okay. If we do Farrah Fawcett, we’ll give Jane blondish hair and blue eyes. For Jaclyn, let’s try out darker blue eyes but dark hair. Kate will be brown eyes and brown hair. I have one final comment, Lieutenant. We might try a few pictures with Jane wearing glasses. Contacts were expensive back then. Even though the bigger glasses were coming into vogue, I think large rims would have overpowered her face. I’m voting for small granny glasses.”