Faye Kellerman - Decker 05 - False Prophet

by False Prophet

  "True, but we have to remember that Reed was a kid," Decker

  said. "Davida could have collapsed afterward and Reed wouldn't have seen it. He also wouldn't have known if his mother had faked her pregnancy. He wasn't living with her and Hermann. And even if he had been living with her, Davida still could have faked a pregnancy."

  "True," Marge said. "Looks like the only one who could have told us if Ms. Eversong looked pregnant was Merritt and he isn't going to tell us anything."

  They rode for several moments, making good time though it was close to rush hour.

  Marge said, "If Lilah was adopted, is it important to our case?"

  Decker shrugged. "Any theories?"

  "Okay, how about this? For some reason, Davida didn't want it known that Lilah was adopted."

  "Odd," Decker said. "Freddy's adopted and no one seems to care."

  "Yeah, but let's assume Davida wanted everyone to think that Lilah was her natural daughter."

  Decker stiffened. "Biological daughter."

  Marge whipped her head around for a second, then returned her eyes to the road. "Yeah, that's what I meant. You okay, Pete?"

  "I'm fine." Decker forced himself to relax, then smiled stiffly. "Go on."

  Marge blew out air. What was on his mind? "Where was I?"

  "Davida wanting everyone to think Lilah was her biological daughter."

  "Right... okay. Merritt suspected Lilah was adopted all along. So he stole the memoirs, read them, and sure enough, Hermann had written about Lilah's adoption. Then Merritt contacted his mother and informed her he was going to tell Lilah the truth. Davida said, 'You have no proof "

  Decker said, "And then King said, 'Yes, I do, Mom, I have Hermann's memoirs. So either you fork over big cash to shut me up or I tell Lilah.' "

  "Exactly," Marge said. "And Davida didn't fork over, so Merritt decided to tell Lilah the truth. But Davida got to him before he had a chance."

  "Sounds good, except—"

  "Uh-oh, here comes the bomb."

  "No bomb. Just that Reed told us that Davida called Merritt and offered him big cash for a favor before the robbery. Assume the

  favor was: Steal the memoirs for me. If she was worried about blackmail, why would she have asked King to pop the safe in the first place?"

  "So maybe Merritt didn't even consider blackmail at first. His mother offered bucks for a theft and Merritt, being hard up for cash, agreed." Marge held up her finger. "But then Merritt got curious and read the papers... read about Lilah's adoption. Thoughts began to percolate... like morning coffee."

  Decker smiled.

  Marge said, "Merritt decided to cash in. Davida didn't like the change of plans. She got pissed, and the rest, as they say, is history."

  Decker said, "His own mother whacked him to get some twenty-year-old papers?"

  "Well, maybe Davida didn't mean to whack him. Merritt's office was a mess. Maybe Davida was tossing his office and Merritt surprised her. Things got out of hand. Boom—accidents happen."

  Decker aimed the air-conditioning vents at his face. "Maybe Merritt's death had nothing to do with Davida or the memoirs. Your theory about a crazed antiabortionist suddenly makes sense. Merritt was doing experiments on aborted embryos and fetuses. That could piss off a lot of people."

  They fell quiet.

  Marge said, "Did Burbank ever call back with the specifics on what exactly killed Merritt?"

  "Yeah, I left a note on your desk while you were at Parker Center."

  "I must have missed it."

  "Three gunshot wounds—one to the throat, two in the chest, thirty-eight caliber S and W. Any one of them could have been lethal." Decker smoothed his mustache. "You know, as much as I like the adoption thing in theory, I see a lot of Davida in Lilah."

  "They don't look alike to me."

  "No, they don't. But the expression, the mannerism—"

  "Environment, Pete."

  "The voice. That's genetic."

  "Lilah's a good mimic. Truthfully, I don't see much family resemblance between any of the sibs except they're all fair. Even dark-eyed Reed has light skin. To me, Lilah looks as much like her half brothers as she does like Freddy."

  "Maybe." Decker pulled down the car's sun visor. "I don't

  know. I just see this linkage between Davida and Lilah. I can't put my finger on it." "Try warped personalities," Marge said. Decker thought about his own half brothers and sisters whom he'd met for the first time eight months ago. He didn't look similar to any of them, but he had taken after his biological father and his siblings were related to him through his biological mother.

  His blood siblings—five religious Jews living in New York. A bizarre twist of events had thrown them all together. After it was all over, he'd maintained a relationship with the oldest, Shimon, and the youngest, Jonathan—a half-dozen letters and even a few phone calls. Shim was ultra-Orthodox and wore a long black beard and a long black coat. Jonathan was a clean-shaven Conservative rabbi, whose tastes in clothes ran toward casual. On the surface, the three of them had nothing in common—physically or otherwise. Yet there was this kinship.

  His thoughts shifted to his brother Randy. They weren't blood-related, yet they had plenty in common, too. Both were cops, both were outdoorsmen, and both were devoted, loving sons and good fathers. But their personalities were completely different. Decker was the serious one. Randy, freewheeling and adventurous. Then Decker mentally examined his stepsons—genetic brothers raised in the same environment. They weren't at all alike. None of it made any sense. Time to move on. Marge said, "Maybe we should approach Davida with our little theory, Pete. Gauge her reaction."

  "I don't know if the time is right for that. Marge. Davida's a damn good actress. If we bring it up casually, she could probably deny it convincingly." Decker raised his brow. "And I'll be honest. I don't want to get her riled just yet. Have her calling in the press and piss Morrison off."

  "Any way for us to verify the adoption theory?" "Short of a blood test?" "Genetic banding..."

  "Pull some hairs from Davida and from Lilah?" Decker shrugged. "It could be done, but I don't know how we'd justify it to the department. Not to mention the ACLU. It really is invasion of privacy."

  "Evidence for a homicide?" "Not at this point." "You're right."

  Decker said, "I'll call that old lady Perry Goldin told me about, the one who supposedly knew Hermann Brecht from Germany. Maybe she could tell me a thing or two about Davida's pregnancy. "

  "Maybe." Marge glanced at Decker. "You sure you're okay?"

  There was a long pause.

  Decker blurted: "Marge, I'm adopted."

  "What?" She suddenly realized the car in front of her had slowed and slammed on the brakes. "Jesus, I'm sorry! Are you all right?"

  Decker nibbed his neck. "A little whiplash never hurt anyone."

  Marge inched the unmarked forward, trying to shape her thoughts. "Peter, why didn't you tell me a long time ago?"

  "I didn't think it was relevant."

  "It's not, but..." Her mind was agog with questions. "How could you keep something like that from me."

  "Are you pissed at me?"

  "I don't know..." She paused. "Maybe."

  "Sorry."

  "S'okay." Marge tapped her fingers on the wheel, waiting for Decker to give some details. As usual, he was playing mute. "It doesn't matter a fig to me... you being adopted."

  "I know."

  "I just think if we're gonna work together, there shouldn't be these major secrets."

  "Agreed."

  "I would have told you."

  "I know."

  "Does Rina know?"

  "Yes."

  Marge was quiet.

  "I had to tell her, Margie. In order for us to get married—"

  "Hey, you don't owe me an explanation."

  Decker ran his hand through his hair. "You're pissed."

  "Yes, I'm pissed." Marge sighed and patted his knee. "I'm hurt, big guy. Don't you trust me?"


  "I'm sorry. I should have told you a long time ago. I'm glad I told you now. It's a weight off my shoulders."

  "Why do you keep things inside, Pete?"

  "Because I'm macho."

  Marge laughed.

  Decker said, "Well, consider this. You're pissed finding out that

  I'm adopted, think how pissed Lilah would be if she found out she was adopted and had never been told."

  "She'd be mucho pissed... at Davida."

  "Maybe that's why Davida didn't want her to find out," Decker said. "Hiding something like that from her, it would set off more

  than a few fireworks."

  "Why would Davida have hidden it from her in the first place?" "Sometimes adoptive parents feel threatened by biological parents. It's silly, but..."

  Marge said, "Are you talking from personal experience, Peter?"

  "Maybe a little."

  There was no listing for a Greta Millstein in the standard phone book, but there was a number for G. Millstein in the unlisted directory. Decker dialed it, let the phone ring ten times, then

  hung up.

  He massaged his bad shoulder, popped an Advil, and looked at the clock on the squad-room wall. Four-fifty-five. He'd been working nonstop for almost fourteen hours. Time to call it a day.

  But instead, he grabbed a pile of Merritt's photocopied monthly Visa statements and ran down the items with the tip of a pencil. Nothing seemed unusual although Merritt had expensive tastes— Bally shoes, Neiman Marcus men's department, Scotland House of Cashmere, Gucci, Dunhill, Hermes, Aristocrates. The man needed money for research yet he was spending a pretty penny

  on threads.

  Then he thought: A shabbily dressed OB-GYN in Palos Verdes

  wouldn't be a big draw.

  Even with the high-ticket items, Merritt wasn't overdrawn on his bills. In fact, he'd paid off his Visa balance every month, the box marked finance charges always $0.00.

  On to American Express. Again, nothing indicating any late fees or finance charges. And Merritt wasn't using one credit card to pay off another. Decker was halfway through the Master Card listings when Lilah stormed into the room, her voice sending a spurt of acid into his belly. He put down the papers and

  looked up.

  She wore a black, formfitting sleeveless dress, the hemline a

  good three inches above her knees. Her long legs were as tan and

  bare as her arms. On her feet were leather thongs, the soles slap-

  ping against the floor as she marched toward him. Her hair was loose and long and fanning over her bronze shoulders like a golden shawl.

  Decker popped another Advil and saw Marge move in for the intercept. She and Lilah met about twenty feet from his desk. Lilah tried to push her way through, but Marge was taller and heavier and made a very effective brick wall. Still, everyone in the squad room was instantly aware of the standoff, ready to jump if needed. Though flushed with anger, Lilah sensed the hostility. She tugged down her dress and stood up straight.

  "I'm here to talk to Sergeant Decker, please," she said solto voce. "Will you kindly step aside?"

  "Miss Brecht, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside,' Marge said. "I'll deliver your message—"

  Lilah raised her voice and pointed. "He's right there!"

  "Please wait outside, Miss Brecht. I'll be with you moment—"

  "This is outrageous...just..."

  Lilah burst into tears, burying her head in her hands. Marge put her arm around the sobbing woman and walked with her toward an empty interview room. She glanced over her shoulder, caught Decker's eye, and beckoned him forward with a cocked head. Decker held up two fingers—two minutes.

  Marge guided Lilah inside the room and closed the door. By the time Decker arrived, Lilah had just about composed herself. Her eyes were blue pits of fire.

  "I told you something had happened to Kingston!" She moaned. "I told you it was something bad! I'm prophetic! I know these things!"

  "So who killed your brother?" Marge asked.

  "How should I know!" Lilah collapsed in her chair. "Why is this happening to me? Why? Why!"

  Decker waited a beat, then said, "Lilah, what did you and King talk about when he called you yesterday?"

  "Yesterday..." She dried her eyes and sighed. "It seems like light-years ago. Maybe it was. Maybe I'm living in a different metaphysical world."

  Decker and Marge exchanged glances.

  "Lilah?" Decker prompted.

  "What did we talk about?" Again her eyes filled with tears. "Old times. After my harrowing experiences, I was so happy to hear from him. He was my big, strong, older brother. It felt

  good." Her eyes slowly hardened. "Kingston was fine as long as I obeyed his every word. The trouble between us started when I began to express myself." Her face suddenly lost expression. "It's Mother. She's behind all this evil."

  Marge shot Decker a look. "What do you mean?"

  "Her evil is overpowering us all."

  Decker said, "What kind of evil are you talking about, Lilah?"

  "She's put a curse on the family. She can do those things because

  she's a witch."

  Marge raised her brow. "Why would she curse her own family?" "She hates me," Lilah said without emotion. "She's jealous of my youth, my beauty, my power for good—which is as strong as her power for evil. She's also jealous—jealous of the love my father had for me, jealous of the love Kingston has for me. It tore her apart when we all lived together. When my brother and I went our own separate ways, she was delighted. Then yesterday he came to reconcile with me. Mother couldn't take it. She had him

  killed."

  "Lilah," Decker said, "did your mother actually make any statements to that effect—"

  "Of course not! She's not stupid!"

  "Do you have any proof of your theory?" Marge said.

  "I don't need proof. I know." She faced Decker. "I just know."

  Again the room fell silent.

  "But that's not why I'm here," Lilah announced.

  Marge said, "Why are you here?"

  Lilah's face regained animation. "For Carl Totes! I heard you had the nerve to arrest him for my rape! I already told you it wasn't

  him."

  "Lilah," Decker said, gently, "we have evidence that directly

  links Totes to the rape."

  "That's absurd! What kind of evidence. There's some sort of

  error!"

  Marge said, "The lab tested it twice—" "The lab was mistaken!" Lilah insisted. "Check again!" "We can run a retest, Miss Brecht, but it's going to come out the same," Marge said.

  "We're going to the DA with Totes, Lilah," Decker said. "Unless you tell us something that will contradict the evidence we have."

  "I'm telling you it's not—" Lilah paused. "What would contradict the evidence?"

  "That's for you to tell us, Miss Brecht," Marge said.

  "I'm telling you it wasn't him," Lilah said. "Isn't that enough?"

  Decker said, "You were blindfolded—"

  "It wasn't him!"

  "Then how did his semen get on your sheets?" Decker stared at her.

  "Why are you looking at me like that?" Lilah demanded.

  "I was just wondering if maybe you and Carl had willingly..." Decker let the words hang in the air.

  Lilah's eyes got very intense. "Me? With Carl? That is the most disgusting—"

  "I just wanted to make sure—"

  "—vile, fiendish insinuat—!" Lilah stood and glared at both of them. "You are all pure evil. Full of evil thoughts and evil deeds! Perhaps it is not Mother responsible for the ills which have befallen me. Perhaps you are the devil disguised in the name of good. A pox on both of you!" She zeroed in on Decker. "And a pox on your wife and unborn baby."

  She slammed the door as she left.

  Marge and Decker sat in silence for a moment. Then Decker said, "Why couldn't she have confined her curses to me? Why'd she have to drag in Rina and the kid?"

  "That is o
ne spooky lady!"

  "You said it," Decker said. "I'm saying my evening prayers tonight, I can tell you that much."