Faye Kellerman - Decker 05 - False Prophet

by False Prophet

  "I don't know about that." Decker paused. "Rina, I think you're the most beautiful woman on this planet—"

  "I'm as fat as a cow."

  "You're not fat, you're pregnant—"

  "Oh spare me."

  "I can tell the difference and so can everyone else. Darlin', I see teenagers eye you hungrily. Like you're my... my unwedded daughter who got herself into trouble. Man, those horny little bugs would just love to catch a piece of that trouble. As far as the guys my age, that's not even worth talking about. The whole squad room gets sweaty palms whenever you walk in."

  "That's simply ridiculous."

  "Except for Marge and Kate. You don't have any effect on them. Ellen I'm not so sure."

  "Peter, you're talking nonsense."

  "Rina, all I'm saying is that after being with you for two and a half years, always feeling like we're Beauty and the Beast, it's nice to see how much you like me."

  Rina took his hand. "Somehow, I suspect I'm being manipulated."

  Decker laughed.

  "You told Lilah not to call here?"

  "Yep. Matter of fact, I told her if she wasn't comfortable with that, I'd be happy to assign her to another detective."

  "You told her that?"

  "Yep."

  "What'd she say?"

  "She hung up on me."

  Rina smiled. "She did?"

  "Yep."

  "Well..." She patted his hand. "I know how you feel about your unsolved cases, Peter. You can call her back and make nice."

  "Nah, it's fine. She wanted to tell me something in person. I'm supposed to meet her at her ranch at eleven. I'll show up and see what kind of reception I get. If she acts inappropriate, I'll pass her to Marge."

  "You're going out to her ranch? To her home?"

  "Yes, Rina, I am."

  "Fine." She withdrew her hand. "I won't tell you how to do your job."

  "Thank you."

  Rina checked her watch. "You'd better get going if you're going to take the boys to school."

  "We're friends again?"

  "I'll think about it." Rina leaned over and kissed his check. "Course we're friends. Go."

  "Should I come home for lunch?"

  "If it's late—around one, one-thirty."

  "Not a problem, my dear." Decker stood. "Arc you going to be home this morning?"

  "No. The school called and asked if I'd sub-teach the seventh-grade girls. Why?"

  "It's not urgent. But whenever you get a chance, call up the phone company and get our number changed."

  "Just in case?"

  "Just in case."

  Still wearing his full-length white coat from morning rounds, Kingston Merritt checked in with his girls at the front office.

  No messages from the bitch. God, how he hated that woman. Hated her and loved her at the same time. Why? Merritt wondered. Why did she have that kind of power over him? She neglected him as a young child, criticized him mercilessly the few times she was around. She was cruel and heartless. Except... except on those rare occasions when she showed her other side—the fun-loving woman with a laugh as light as a summer's breeze. Taking him to the circus, squeezing his hand, introducing him to the lion tamer after the show was over. He had felt so special....

  But this was the final straw. She could just go to hell. No doubt, it was her fault Lilah was hurt. It was her fault that Lilah was estranged from him in the first place.

  He smiled at his ladies, made chitchat as one of them brought him coffee, another brought the day's appointments. A heavy load—forty names, roughly two thirds routine pelvics. There was a star after Mrs. Lewis's name—the cervical carcinoma in situ picked up on a routine Pap. She'd require extra consultation time. He'd check her into the hospital tonight, do the surgery at seven tomorrow after his six a.m. D and C. Mrs. Arlin was in for her three-month fibroid check, as was Mrs. Bennington. Three six-week postpartum checks. The rest were OB cases, five of those evals for termination. One of the candidates was already five months gravid. A termination in the second trimester, much more

  difficult because of the advanced development of the fetus. It was good she'd come to him.

  He stuffed the schedule into his coat pocket and took the coffee into the privacy of his office. A large picture window afforded him a view of the Palos Verdes peninsula, the steely ocean a reflection of the overcast sky. He sat at his desk, extracted a bottle of bourbon from a locked drawer, and laced his drink with a single shot. Then he sat back in his chair and sipped his morning brew. The cup was half empty when his private line rang. He waited a beat, then picked it up.

  "Hello, Mother. Nice of you to return my twenty calls."

  "Where the hell were you yesterday?"

  "Where the hell was I? Where the hell were you?"

  "Talking to the police—"

  "What happened to Lilah, Mother? I tried to see her yesterday, but she had already checked out of the hospital."

  "How'd you find out about Lilah?"

  "I met up with a detective at the spa—"

  "You were at the spa?"

  "Yes, I was... or didn't Frederick tell you."

  There was a long pause over the line.

  Merritt said, "I suppose Frederick didn't tell you."

  Davida said, "1 suppose Frederick and I are due for a little chat."

  "Mother, the detective told me Lilah had been attacked. Tell me what happened."

  "Funny, I was going to ask you that very question."

  Feeling his face go hot, Merritt slammed down the receiver. A couple of beats later the private line rang again. He picked up the handpiece.

  "That was a repulsive, vile insinuation, Mother."

  "Kingston, I wasn't trying to be nasty. We're on the same side, for God's sake! I only meant that maybe you know what happened because you talked to the police."

  "I don't know a thing because I left to see Lilah. And she was gone. So why don't you tell me what happened. Was Lilah attacked?"

  There was a long pause. Merritt heard the drumming of fingers over the line.

  "I've got a busy schedule, Mother. Is that true or not?" "I think so."

  "You think?"

  "Well, Lilah is prone to fits of fantasy—"

  "The detective told me she'd been beaten, for God's sake! How could she fantasize about that?"

  "She had a few bruises. Nothing serious."

  "I want to see her."

  "Kingston, that's not a good idea—"

  "Mother, I demand to see her! Despite what she thinks, I still care for her very deeply. If she needs medical assistance, I have pull with the finest physicians in the city. God only knows how many of them owe me for discreetly getting their daughters out of sticky situations."

  "Freddy's got everything under control."

  "Freddy? You're letting Freddy handle this situation? All of a sudden, you're trusting Freddy?"

  "It's not me, it's Lilah. She trusts—"

  "Freddy?" Merritt let go a deep laugh. "Fine, Mother. You just let Freddy handle Lilah as well as all your situations."

  "King, I know you two hate each other—"

  "Of course you know. You were the one who orchestrated our hatred."

  "I did not!"

  "Mother, you turned Frederick against me—always comparing him to me to his detriment."

  "You were smarter. I was just being honest."

  "You turned him into a petty, jealous person—a shell of a human being. And as a result, he turned Lilah against me."

  "I did the best I could as a mother. No one's perfect. Stop acting like a spoiled child."

  "Mother, I can act however I feel like acting. At the moment, it's you who need me. Now listen closely. I'm going to see Lilah, and furthermore, you're going to arrange it. You're going to explain to Lilah how much I care about her and how much I want to help. You, Mother, are going to convince her to see me."

  "Lilah has a mind of her own, King."

  "I'm sure you can be persuasive. You're always quite pers
uasive when there's something in it for you. Everything—everything will be put on hold until I see Lilah. Do we have an understanding?"

  Again fingers drummed across the telephone wire.

  "I'm hanging up, Mother."

  "King, let's talk this—"

  "Everything's on hold until I can see her. Am I making myself clear?" "Not to worry. King. You're making yourself quite clear."

  The door opened a crack, a small Spanish voice asking who was there. Decker said who it was and the door opened all the way. To Decker, the maid was still shaken. But she told him she was doing better. She led him through a spotless kitchen to the back door and told him Lilah was outside in the stable, grooming her horses. That seemed like a healthy thing for her to be doing. Painstaking tasks occupied the brain, preventing morbid thoughts from taking over. He thanked Mercedes and walked over to the stalls, but was blocked at the entrance.

  "Hello, Mr. Totes," Decker said. "Lilah asked me to come down and talk to her."

  "It's okay, Carl," Lilah called out. "He can come in." The skinny man didn't move right away but stayed fixed in a military position—arms crossed, legs apart, chest extended, and brow furrowed over distrusting eyes. Totes was obliged to move out of the way. But he took his good, sweet time about it.

  Decker walked inside the stable, finding Lilah with Apollo— the palomino that Totes had been riding that first day. She was combing the horse's golden mane, talking sweetly in his ear as she smoothed out the tangles. The animal had on reins and bit, but no saddle. Lilah's garb was part good ole girl, part vamp. She wore skintight jeans tucked into two-tone elephant-hide boots, and her chest was wrapped in a black tube top. Somehow she pulled the whole thing off without looking cheap. She didn't acknowledge his presence and Decker knew she was toying with him. But he wasn't bothered by the silence. There was something serene about watching one golden-haired beauty groom another. Finally, Lilah patted the horse's neck and turned to him. Her face was still bruised but healing nicely.

  "I was about to go for a ride, Peter. See if I still can function. Please join me." "A ride?"

  "A ride will relax me. And when I'm relaxed, my power is more focused. In the long run, it will benefit both of us. And

  don't be frightened by the horses, Peter. They're very well trained."

  Lilah might know his home phone number, but she certainly didn't know jack about his hobbies—all six of them sitting in his own stable. He wasn't about to tell her anything personal. Slipping his hands in his pocket, he thought: no problem, amiga. He could play the slick as easily as the hick.

  "I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion, Miss Brecht."

  She smiled seductively. "You know, Peter, I've noticed that when you get nervous, you call me Miss Brecht. Don't worry so much."

  Outwardly, Decker was impassive, but internally he was wired—angry and sexually charged at the same time. He felt like a jerk but couldn't turn around and walk away without losing face.

  Just cut the losses, Deck. Ride the damn horse and get out of her way.

  "I've got about forty-five minutes, Lilah. You want to spend it riding, it's fine with me. But I'm not coming out here again."

  "Oh, yes, the ground rules." She tossed her hair over her shoulder, ran her fingers over her cheeks. "I tried to cover the... bruises with makeup. Can you tell?"

  Decker appraised her beautiful face and told her she looked fine. Which was the truth. There was still some bluing underneath her eyes. Other than that, she appeared good enough for the cover of Vogue... or Playboy. He felt his face go hot. If she noticed his embarrassment, she didn't remark on it.

  Lilah said, "Carl, saddle up High Time for Sergeant Decker."

  "Which one's that?" Decker asked.

  "The Appaloosa. The spotted horse, Peter. You'd better take your jacket off. It's hot. You can ride shirtless if you want."

  "No, thanks."

  "That's right, you're a redhead. You'll burn rather than tan. I don't see why Mother pictured you as a cowboy. Redheads can't be cowboys."

  "Your mother told you about our little chat?"

  "No. Just that she thought you'd make a marvelous cowboy. Much better than a detective. Frankly, I don't see you as either one."

  Decker shrugged and looked away. He took his jacket off and

  draped it over a saddle peg, watching Totes throw a western saddle on High Time. Totes's face wasn't registering any hostility; it wasn't registering much of anything. He was just doing his job with trained efficiency. When the stable hand was done. Decker walked over to the horse and eyed him carefully.

  "She doesn't bite, Peter," Lilah said. "Just don't sneak up behind her." She turned to Totes. "Carl, walk High Time out and show Sergeant Decker how to mount."

  His mounting was fine, thank you very much. But he followed Totes out and didn't say anything.

  Totes touched the stirrup. "Put one foot in here. Then put your other leg all the way over the horse and just set up. You don't gotta do nothin' else but set. You ken hold the reins but don't go pullin' on them. Horse'll follow the Miss. You start pullin' the reins, you gonna confuse her."

  "Got it," Decker said.

  Totes walked away unceremoniously. Decker mounted as the horse stood passively, her tail swatting at flies. Lilah came up to his left. He noticed she seemed tight and asked her if she was in pain. She told him she was much better—at least physically— tugged on High Time's bit and the two of them were off. She rode sans saddle, sitting on some kind of Indian blanket.

  Immediately, he felt the sun burning down on his scalp. Sweat filled his brow, his cheeks, and his armpits. The sky was smogless blue, the air stagnant and filled with flies and gnats and other things that buzzed. The mountaintops seemed to shimmer in the heat. About a minute into the ride, he realized he was actually grateful for this turn of events. Riding not only made him feel good, it made him feel in control.

  Lilah said, "Thank you for accommodating me."

  "This one time."

  "Ye olde ground rules." Lilah lowered her head. "I'm sorry if I upset your wife."

  Decker didn't answer her. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and took out a pen and notepad.

  "I don't believe it!" Lilah said. "You can't take notes and ride at the same time."

  "Hey, Carl said I wasn't supposed to do anything except sit on the horse. Besides, I've got an excellent sense of balance."

  "Your writing is going to look like scribbling."

  "It does anyway."

  "Don't you ever stop working?"

  "Are you going to tell me why I'm here?" Decker said.

  Lilah slowed. "Can you give me a minute to work up to it?"

  Decker looked at his watch. "We're down to thirty-five minutes, Lilah."

  "You're impossible!"

  "Why aren't you riding with a saddle?"

  She turned and gave him a closed-mouth smile. "I like the connection with my animals... the feeling of their muscles working."

  Decker didn't react. He never rode bareback, believing that even the most docile of horses were still animals. Saddles gave the needed support in rare emergencies.

  They rode another five minutes without speaking. Her ranch was much bigger than he had remembered. Or maybe he just hadn't seen the whole spread. Like his, it was backed by the San Gabriel Mountains, but she had much more. A dusty path divided the property into halves, the trail disappearing into a thick copse of eucalyptus trees about three hundred feet ahead. On his immediate right were the fruit groves, behind them another structure that could have been a guesthouse. On the left was the garden— at least an acre's worth of leafy vegetation.

  "That's one heck of a plot," Decker said.

  "I use it commercially."

  "How so?"

  "Every single fruit and vegetable served at the spa is grown in that garden or in one of my greenhouses. It's the only way to get quality control."

  "I don't see any greenhouses."

  "They're not the large prefab ones. I've several sm
all greenhouses tucked into sunny locations. All of them are climate-controlled and pesticide-free. I grow out-of-season and exotic vegetables—just a few to tease the palate. Give my guests something memorable. I also grow tropical flowers—mainly orchids and bromeliads. They make lovely table settings for the spa's dining room."