Faye Kellerman - Decker 05 - False Prophet

by False Prophet

  Decker settled into one of his buckskin chairs and propped his feet on a torn leather hassock. "Don't salivate when you talk, Margie, you're not a Pavlovian dog. And recapping tonight's top story, Oliver's still married."

  "Yeah, that's really too bad." She stretched out on the couch. "Does he know what he's doing from a professional standpoint?" "He handled Kelley Ness like a pro. I mostly watched." "It's Devonshire's homicide."

  "Actually, it's Burbank's." Decker kicked off his shoes. "Don-nally was dead before he was torched—his lungs were clear on the prelim. The prelim also matched the blood in Merritt's office with Donnally's although the lab still wants to run more conclusive tests."

  "I was checking lab reports while you were talking to the hunk. Kingston Merritt had powder burns on his right hand. There were no firearms found at the scene."

  "We asked Kelley about that. She swore she didn't remove any weapons of any kind from the scene and we couldn't trip her up.

  Burbank couldn't trip up Eubie Jeffers, either."

  "So they're either very well rehearsed or the weapons had already been removed. Did Jeffers and Kelley's accounts jibe well?" "Yes, they did and in a natural way. They seemed like they were telling the truth. I don't think they did the murders, but no one is ruling them out yet. So they'll spend the night in jail. Tomorrow Burbank and Devonshire will bring evidence to their respective DAs. At this point, there's not enough to file a murder one, murder two, or even a manslaughter. I'd be surprised if Jeffers got anything bigger than a felony tampering and destruction of evidence. With Kelley, DA could plow her with an obstruction of justice. She refuses to tell who ordered the removal of the bodies."

  "And Jeffers?" Marge asked.

  "Jeffers says he doesn't know, was only following orders from Kelley."

  "Help if we had the guns."

  "They're probably buried under two tons of garbage by now. When we find out who ordered the removal of the bodies, we'll find out what happened to the weapons."

  "Could Donnally and Merritt have killed each other?" Marge said.

  "It's possible. Merritt has powder residue; he shot a gun. Could be he killed Donnally and someone else killed Merritt."

  "What about Mike Ness? He's a greasy spoon."

  Decker loosened his tie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Certainly a suspect. And you're right, Margie. He and his sister have a weird relationship. They're hiding something."

  "Incest."

  "Possibly. Except Kelley claims she and Jeffers are lovers."

  "Maybe Jeffers is just a cover."

  "If Jeffers knew that Mike and Kelley were screwing and was acting as a cover, he'd be getting favors, not doing favors. Remember, Kelley asked Eubie for help in removing the bodies." Decker was quiet as he fast-forwarded the night's tape in his head. "I'll tell you this, Margie. Mike went crazy when he found out Kelley was screwing Jeffers. He actually attacked him."

  "Lover's jealousy?"

  "Or just being a protective older brother."

  "Let's assume Kelley's' screwing both of them, Pete."

  Again, Decker thought about Kelley's relationship with her

  brother, and with Eubic Jeffers. Something was off and he was just too tired to figure out what it was. "All right, assume Kelley's screwing both."

  Marge said, "Now Kelley screwing Jeffers is no big deal. But Kellcy fucking her own brother... that's heavy stuff. If someone found out about that, that someone would have a hold over both Mike and Kelley."

  "Who's your someone?"

  "Davida," Marge said. "She's the common link among all the victims—Lilah, Kingston, and Donnally. I'm betting she was the one who sent Russ Donnally over to Kingston Merritt's office. She was also the one who sent Kelley over to remove Russ Don-nally's body. Kelley couldn't refuse, because if she did, Davida would expose her incestuous relationship with her brother."

  Decker didn't speak right away. "We've got a bunch of blanks to fill in. First of all, arc you assuming Davida sent Donnally over with the purpose of murdering her own son."

  "I'm not saying that. I'm saying Davida might have sent Donnally over to look for something... her jewels or the memoirs. A small B and E. He was on probation for B and Es, right?"

  Decker nodded.

  "Pete, remember how only the office was trashed? Could be that Donnally was looking for something when Kingston walked in at the wrong moment. Things got out of hand and they popped each other."

  "But why would Davida send Russ Donnally over to talk to Merritt. Why not Mike or Kelley Ness if she has dirt on them?"

  "It's possible she had dirt on Russ Donnally, also." Marge was pensive. "I'm betting Davida has dirt on a lot of people. Could be why Captain Morrison's so hinky about getting the case solved."

  Decker stifled a yawn. Again, something tugged at his subconscious, but he couldn't bring it to surface. Perhaps it was because the discussion was getting far afield. "Could we pick this up tomorrow and get on with your business? I take it you're here to sec me for reasons other than insomnia."

  "Right about that. I'm exhausted!" She sat up, pulled a valise onto her lap, and clicked open the latches. "I've been going over the case—"

  "Which case?"

  "Lilah's rape."

  "That's the one we solved, Marge." Decker closed his eyes. "You loved Totes as the bad guy."

  "In theory, I still do. But let me play devil's advocate for a moment."

  Decker opened his eyes and waited.

  "Pete, I've gone over the evidence collection three times. Fibers, hair, prints—the whole thing. The only physical stuff we have against Totes is what's on the sheets. Nothing in the room, nothing in Lilah—not under her nails or in any of her orifices."

  "Nothing new."

  "I know. Hollander went over the stable today. The only thing he found hidden was an old crumpled picture of Lilah that Totes keeps under his pillow. Nothing connected to the robbery—no jewels, no papers, nothing."

  "Did you really expect him to find something?"

  "No, I didn't. And I really don't have a problem with all the evidence being on the sheets. If he didn't climax inside of her, that's where the evidence would be."

  "So what's bugging you?"

  "I was thinking about the morning interview with Totes. Something's bothering me and I don't know what it is." Marge put her briefcase on the driftwood coffee table. "After listening to the tape, listening to Totes's voice when you asked him if he saw Lilah the night of the rape... I'm sure there was some kind of interaction between them."

  "But you don't think he raped her."

  "No, I don't, but not because of the lack of evidence. I was thinking about the rape and the incident with the horse and Lilah being nuts and all. Maybe she did orchestrate the whole thing."

  "Why would she do it?"

  "I don't even want to consider the why when I can't figure out the how." Marge rubbed her eyes again. "Listen, Totes swore he was in the stable the entire night. He sounded like he was telling it true. Pete, he got tripped up when you asked him if someone came to visit him the night of the rape. Lilah came to him. That being the case, for the life of me, I can't explain his semen on her sheets."

  "Maybe they were screwing."

  "How could they be screwing in her bed if Carl hadn't left the stable?"

  "Maybe they screwed a couple of days before and it was old jiz."

  "Not according to the lab report. They were fresh suckers. How could she get his fresh jiz on her sheets unless she jacked him off in the stable or something and hand-carried it to her bed—"

  Decker hit his forehead. "Oh, shit!"

  "What?"

  Decker hopped up, grabbed his coat, and began feeling the pockets for his notebook. He pulled it out, flipped pages, and began reading. "Damn my handwriting... should have practiced my loops." He scanned his notes furiously, then clapped his hands. "Oh, man, sometimes you get lucky! Totes's clothes were dirty, but his sheets were clean, kiddo!"

  "I'm not following, Pete."
>
  "How about this, Marge? How about Lilah paying Totes a call and jacking him off. How about Lilah taking his dirty sheets and replacing them with clean sheets? How about Lilah using those dirty sheets to fake the rape?"

  "How about Totes just washing his sheets?"

  "He washed his sheets but not his clothes?"

  Marge frowned. "Why would she set Totes up, only to bail him out?"

  "Because she never thought we'd get this far," Decker said. "She wanted to fake a rape, not screw up her ranch hand. Hey, I'm just playing out your thoughts. If we accept Lilah faking a rape, we have no trouble buying that Lilah drugged her own horse. Like we said before, she, more than anyone, had access. She just miscalculated the effect the PCP would have on the animal."

  "And the bruises on her body—bruises you saw?"

  "She could have done that to herself. Some superficial cuts, whip herself a couple of times with a belt and get some nasty lacerations. Bang into a wall and that explains the lump on her forehead. Margie, we've seen women do mutilating things to themselves just for attention. And now that I think about it, she looked bad, but her grip... man, I had to pry a finger lock off my arm. I should've picked up on it."

  "Hey, you see a rape victim, who's thinking self-inflicted wounds?" Marge said.

  "My antennae should have been raised. We've seen stuff like this before. Just last month we had a lady who shot herself and

  blamed it on imaginary robbers. Had CAPS spinning their wheels for days." Decker slapped his notebook against his palm.

  "The lady who shot herself wanted workman's comp. Why would Lilah fake a rape and a near-fatal accident? What could she possibly get out of it?"

  "Attention," Marge said.

  "Lilah has never lacked for attention. Why would she want such embarrassing notoriety?"

  "Beats me." Marge waited a moment before talking. "Think she might have staged the robbery, too?"

  "I would say yes except Kingston Merritt and Russ Donnally are dead. And like you said, that points to Davida."

  "Maybe Lilah and Davida staged everything together."

  The phone rang. Decker pounced on it, thinking, Please God, no more bad news.

  "Rina?"

  "No, it's Dr. Elias Kessler, Sergeant. I'm sorry if I woke you."

  He caught his breath. Kessler, the doc who'd done the pelvic on Lilah. Business call. His family was okay.... "I was up anyway. Doc. What can I do you for?"

  "I was just finishing up a midnight delivery at Sun Valley Pres when I happened to see the latest admittance sheet. Lilah Brecht—"

  "Jesus, wha..." Decker felt his throat go dry. "Is she all right?"

  "She's stable. I don't know all the details because it's not my case. A floor nurse said she ODed on Seconal—"

  "Oh, shitl" Decker refrained from hitting the wall. "But she's okay?"

  "So far as I know. Poor kid. I guess that sometimes happens with rape survivors, huh?"

  "Not often, but sometimes. Doc, do you think she's too sleepy to talk right now?"

  "I think you'd have much better luck in the morning. I just called because I thought you might want to know."

  "Thanks, I did."

  "Look, if you need any help from a forensic point of view, don't hesitate to call."

  "I won't. Thanks for calling."

  "You bet."

  Decker hung up and leaned against the wall. "That was Kessler,

  the doc who did the rape swabs on Lilah. Apparently she tried to kill herself tonight."

  "Oh, Christ!"

  Decker shook his head and filled Marge in on the details. "What a mess!"

  "Attempted suicide," Marge said. "That's drawing attention to yourself."

  "It's also what you do if you're extremely despondent—like if you've been raped and beaten. Or if you feel guilty about your brother dying."

  The quiet that followed was oppressive. Finally, Marge said, "How about if I go by the hospital tomorrow? See if I can't get something out of Lilah?"

  "Fine."

  "Should I run our clean-sheets theory past her?"

  "Hell, it's probably stupid. Play it by ear." Decker let out a big yawn and looked at his watch again. "It's close to one. We both need sleep to think. If you want, you can bunk down here for the night... sleep in the guest room... while it's still the guest room. It's going to be the baby's room if I ever get around to putting up the wallpaper. Rina's so mad at me, she's ready to hire someone to do it."

  "What's so bad about that?"

  "Oh, man..." Decker shook his head. "You're a good cop, Margie, but you're a lousy good ole boy. You don't let some dick come into your house and charge you a fortune for something you can do yourself. That's being a wuss."

  "Pete, how much is your time worth?"

  "Forget it, Marge, you're sounding not only like a broad but a white-collar broad at that. The guest bed's all made up. Towels are in the bathroom. Good night."

  Marge watched him trudge off to bed, muttering something about not being a wuss for any broad. It was times like these she was glad she wasn't married.

  Carrying four heavy bags, Rina managed to insert the key in the front door and push it open with her feet. She was surprised to find the house so quiet. She'd noticed the Honda and had expected to see Peter and Marge conferring over coffee. The stillness

  stopped her from yelling out a hello. She tiptoed into the bedroom, saw her husband's form in a jumble of sheets, and left.

  It must have been a long evening.

  Dragging the bags to the kitchen, she put up coffee, then began to unpack groceries. A few minutes later, she heard footsteps too light to be Peter's. Marge was dressed in wrinkled clothes, her hair messy, her eyes heavy-lidded.

  Rina smiled. "Coffee?"

  "Thanks, I'd love a cup." Marge yawned. "What rime is it?"

  "Eight-thirty."

  "That's not too bad." Marge stretched and rolled her neck. Rina heard the cracking sounds. "Guest bed a little small, Margie?"

  "Only 'cause I'm as big as a horse."

  "No, you're not!" Rina patted her stomach. "That honor belongs exclusively to me. Sit. You look like you could use some TLC."

  "Boy, you know it." Marge sat down and leaned her elbows on the cherrywood table. "Where'd you go last night?"

  "I took the kids and slept over my parents'." She pulled out a mug and filled it with black coffee. "Peter didn't want us home alone after what happened with Lilah last night."

  "Yeah, he told me. Well, you won't have to worry about her tonight. She's in the hospital. Attempted suicide."

  "What?"

  "I'm going to see her today. Maybe if I'm lucky, she'll even talk to me. Find out what the heck is going on."

  "That's..." Rina rubbed her arms. "She... she must be in terrible pain. I'm sorry to hear that."

  "Yeah, she must be one unhappy lady."

  "Poor Peter." Rina placed a cup of coffee in front of Marge. "I hope he isn't feeling guilty."

  "He probably is. You know your husband. He feels guilty about everything."

  "Yes, he does, doesn't he? Would you like some toast or a bran muffin? I just came back from the bakery."

  "Bran muffin would be great."

  The phone rang. Before Rina could answer it, Decker caught it in the bedroom. He came out ten minutes later, dressed but barefoot. His hair was wet and he'd shaved. He kissed Rina on the lips. "When did you get in?"

  "About fifteen minutes ago. Who was on the phone?"

  "Station house." To Marge, he said, "Perry Goldin left his number. That's Lilah's ex. I haven't the foggiest notion what he wants."

  "You want some coffee, Peter?" Rina asked.

  "Thanks, darlin', that would be great. How are you?"

  "Fine."

  "Boys in school?"

  "Yes. It's a half-day today. I've got to pick them up at twelve. Some sort of teachers' conference."

  "You want me to swing by and retrieve them?"

  "No, that's all right. I can do it." She ser
ved Peter a cup of coffee and a plate of toast. "I was sorry to hear about Lilah. It's very sad."

  "Maybe now she'll get some help." Decker took the phone from the dining-room breakfront and brought it to the table. "She sure could use some." He turned to Marge. "Are you going to see her today?"