'You're welcome. What can I do for you, Lieutenant?'
'Jake gave me permission to talk to you.'
'I know. He called me.'
'Oh, good.' Decker stalled. 'I was wondering if you could help me out with some of his issues... without breaking confidentiality, of course.'
'What in specific?'
Again, Decker paused. 'He's very angry... self-admitted.'
'This is true. He is one pissed-off kid.' The psychologist's voice was not only calm, but conversational. He could have been talking about a plumbing bill.
'What's he pissed off about?' Decker asked.
'Pick a topic,' Gruen answered.
'I think he's worried that he's a sociopath,' Decker told him. 'He asked me if he fit the description of those I have arrested.'
'What did you tell him?'
'No, of course.'
'And that's how you feel?'
'Of course.' But Decker hesitated a little too long.
Gruen said, 'His life would be much easier if he were sociopathic. Then he'd just do his thing, and with his intelligence and good looks, he'd probably be a top corporate raider. Instead, the kid is saddled with an overly developed conscience and a pathological sense of guilt. He's ashamed by his recent behavior - the drug use that he has admitted to you - and is terrified that his mother is going to find out. I've suggested family therapy so he can admit certain things to her in a controlled environment and rid himself of some of the guilt. But he's not ready for it yet. He has a big stake in protecting her. Does your wife have a clue as to what's going on?'
'Much more than he thinks she does.' A pause. 'I don't think she knows anything about the molestation. Jacob's intimated to me that more went on than he had admitted.'
'Uh-huh,' Gruen said.
'Is it bad?'
'That's what we're working on.'
'You can't say anything more?'
'At this point, we're trying to sort out fact from fantasy. Even he's not sure. For instance, one of his recollections is his molester threatening that his mother would die if he told her what went on. That's the one he admitted to you, correct?'
'Yes.'
'I think the threat might have been more like, "If you don't let me do what I want to do, I'm going to kill your mother." '
'He said that?'
'No. This is my interpretation. But put yourself in Jacob's seven-year-old mind. This animal tries to rape and kill his mother. The kid's got to be thinking that it was somehow his fault. If he had let this pederast do what he wanted to do to him, his mother would have been safe. Which is totally false. Now I can tell him, and you can tell him, and the whole world can tell him, that it isn't his fault. That a monster is a monster is a monster. And intellectually, he'll believe you. He'll say, "Of course, it wasn't my fault." But getting rid of the entrenched guilt is a whole nother animal.'
'How does he get rid of it?'
'I'm not sure he can. So I'm telling him not to even bother to assess blame. Instead, he should look at the outcome. Mom is fine. More than fine. She's happily remarried, and has kids she adores. Now maybe she isn't fine. Maybe she's miserable. But that's not the point. If he perceives her as fine, that's good enough.'
'She is doing fine,' Decker said. 'At least, she never hinted that she wasn't fine. Maybe she isn't fine. I'd think she'd be a lot finer if Jacob was happy.'
'Ain't that the mantra of all parents. Anyway, you want my opinion. Behaviorally, Jacob should excel in college. And hopefully, he'll find socially acceptable outlets for all his energy. Emotionally, it would be good if he continued seeing someone when in Baltimore. His problems aren't going to be solved in TV time, before the last commercial break. He's aware of that, too.'
'What should I be doing?'
'He's talking to you. Whatever you're doing, it's working. I've got a patient in two minutes. I've got to go pull her chart.'
'Can I call you again?'
'How about if I call you if Jake and I think I should call you? That way you don't have to keep asking Jacob's permission, and he won't feel you're horning in too much.'
Decker resigned himself to being kept in the dark. 'That sounds acceptable. Thank you.'
'You're welcome. Bye.'
In other words, no news would be good news. Decker's take on it was no news meant less excess stomach acid.
14
The vandalism case stalled, but crime did not. With new homicides, rapes, assaults, burglaries, robberies, domestic disturbances, and car thefts, even Decker couldn't think too much about a once defaced synagogue now freshly painted and restored to its former mediocre glory. The vandal or vandals did succeed in mobilizing community support for interfaith dialogues on hate crimes. Rina had thrown herself into the thick of it, organizing this panel and that panel. It was her way of dealing with the insult. Once in a while, she asked him about the progress of finding more culprits. When he made excuses, Rina didn't push it.
For months, things proceeded apace, Decker's family mercifully going through a quiescent period. His daughter Cindy had completed her second year as a cop, and had done so without major incident. This year, all the bad guys against her were actually felons. Jacob had been officially accepted to a joint program with Johns Hopkins and a local yeshiva in Baltimore. He worked hard without complaint and kept most of his opinions to himself. Decker resisted the parental urge to pry. Instead, he concentrated his energies onto Hannah, who truly wanted his attention.
By school's end, in June, Ernesto Golding had completed of his ninety days of community service. From time to time, he had dropped in on Decker just to shoot the breeze, speaking at length about therapy, and how he was finally getting it together. And how good community service had been for him: to get out
and not be so spoiled and see what was happening in the real world. Because he sure as hell knew he didn't live in the real world. And he was glad that Ruby was out of his life because although she was a good lay, she was very bad for him. She had filled his head with all sorts of weird ideas. And now he wasn't even so sure about his grandfather being a Nazi, and maybe he made it all up in his head because Ruby had messed with his brain.
In three weeks, Ernesto was off to the Baldwins' nature camp.
'I'm glad you're doing well,' Decker had found himself saying.
'I guess.'
'You're satisfied with Dr Baldwin?'
'Actually, I think I talk more to you than to either one of the Baldwins. I think you should start billing my parents for your services.'
Tempting, considering the Baldwins were making around three hundred an hour. He was making around three hundred a day: good money when he didn't compare it to anything else.
'I'd like to talk more, Ernesto, but unfortunately, I have a meeting in about ten minutes.'
'I know you've got to go. Look, I'm graduating in two days. If you aren't doing anything, maybe you could come to the ceremony. I wouldn't mind.'
'What day of the week is it on?'
'Friday at six.'
Saved by the bell. Decker said, 'It's the Sabbath—'
'Oh, yeah. Right. Anyway, I'm off to Brown. Pretty good for a felon, huh? Thanks for saving my butt, by cutting me a deal and keeping it all quiet. Thanks for giving me another chance. I'm going to do better. You'll see.'
'Are you looking forward to the nature camp?' Decker asked the teen.
'I don't think I need it anymore, but it was part of the deal. What the hell? It'll teach me good survival skills. The main instructor is a former Marine. Sounds like fun, huh?'
'A riot,' Decker said.
Ernesto rolled his eyes. 'It'll be okay. I'll be okay. How's Jacob?'
'Fine.'
'He's got one more year to go, right?'
'Yes, but he's going back east actually.'
'Really? Where?'
'He's in a joint program with Johns Hopkins University and a local Jewish high school.'
'That's cool,' Ernesto said. 'That's real cool. Say hello to him for me. I
know he doesn't hang with my buds from Prep, but you know, that's okay. Tell him I said hi.'
'I will'
The young man's smile turned into a grin. 'I'll write you from the wilderness. Send you a postcard by carrier pigeon.'
Decker laughed. 'Good luck!'
After he had left, Decker realized that he almost liked the boy. And he did wish him well. Which was why he felt sickened to the core when he caught the call.
15
It was a short hop from residential real estate to woodlands, from homes and civilization to what once was the dominant terrain of Southern California mountains. Hills abloom with early summer wildfiowers - a palette of deep lilacs, sun-kissed yellows, and a spectrum of greens. Mervin Baldwin ran his back-to-nature camp a few miles into the region where the knolls segued into rocky peaks and the unruly vegetation was lush and thick through endless wilderness. The solidly built, teenage boys whom Baldwin claimed as his clients could walk back to the strip malls in just a few hours, and often they did. Eventually, they were found, reclaimed, and given even more duties to make up for their truancies. Mervin Baldwin found it exhilarating as well as redeemable that these boys could negotiate and navigate their ways from foreign territory back to home base.
He would exhilarate no more. Mervin Baldwin, along with Ernesto Golding, was dead.
The sun had just jumped over the horizon, but was still low enough to cause that blinding postdawn glare. It was a little past six in the morning, and Decker had already finished a thermos of coffee. Usually, he depended on a brisk workout on the treadmill to get the heart started, but today it was a chemical rush that kicked the system into action.
He drove a Jeep Cherokee, once black, but now turned charcoal thanks to a layer of fine-grained dust. Driving up a gravel road until it dead-ended, he then switched into four-wheel drive and took the Jeep off-road up the stony incline. The SUV
bounced and bumped, the motor straining as it neared the Baldwin campsite. Within moments, official vehicles and uniformed people came into view, their vehicles taking up the precious level ground. Decker maneuvered the Jeep about fifty yards to the left where he found a relatively clear patch to park, but it left the wheels at a slant. He got out with great caution. Below him was a hundred feet of rock, not a sheer drop, but if he were to fall, he'd get pretty banged up from rolling downward.
The actual stomping ground was a mesa, fronted by a panoramic view and surrounded by a moat of deep drops and gorges. Not a whole lot of room to square-dance, but it did allow the camp officials to do roll call with a sweep of the eye. Off to the left, two large canvas huts had been erected. The rest of the flattened ground was covered with sleeping bags. Eleven dazed teenagers - Decker had counted them - were seated on the ground, resting, staring or playing cards using sunflower seeds as money. They were in various states of dress - from pajamas to jeans and an undershirt. None of the kids made eye contact as he walked by, but Decker could feel them watching his back with suspicious, hardened eyes. It took an act of will not to look over the shoulder.
The wilderness was unincorporated area, co-manned by Decker's substation, the conservatory park rangers, and the Sheriff's Department. Usually, homicides up in the hills were taken over by the Sheriff's, but since Mervin Baldwin and Ernesto Golding were locals, someone had been smart enough to phone him up. Decker hoped that the call indicated interdepartmental cooperation instead of a macho-uniform pissing contest. He wanted the case and the other agencies would give it to him if he treated all involved with respect. He smiled first and then flashed his badge, approaching one of the park rangers. Her name was Landeau, and she was a big woman with thick wrists. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and sweat dotted a protruding forehead. It wasn't that hot, so Decker surmised that the perspiration came from physical exertion.
She said, 'The crime scene's the bigger of the two shelters.'
Her voice trembled as she spoke. 'There're about a dozen officers combing the area.'
Decker stared at the view. 'What are they looking for?'
'Pardon?'
He turned to face her. 'What are the officers in the mountains looking for?'
'Oh. The perpetrator, of course.'
Which meant the area was already trampled upon.
Decker said, 'Do they know who the perpetrator is?'
Landeau stuttered, 'N-no... I mean I don't know... maybe someone else does.'
Decker didn't say anything. He looked around, his gaze taking in the boys, then skipping over to a man dressed in battle fatigues, being questioned by two uniforms. In the background, he heard the strain of more vehicles making their way up the mountain.
Decker pointed to the combat guy. 'Who's that?'
'Corporal Hank Tarpin.' She consulted her notes. 'Formerly from the USMC. He calls himself the Chief Nature Master - the camp coordinator in charge of the day-to-day activities. He found the bodies and identified them.'
'As Golding and Merv Baldwin.'
'Yes.'
Decker nodded. 'I'll go talk to him.'
'Yes, sir,' Landeau answered. She was clearly glad to get rid of him.
Tarpin was over six feet and built with a broad chest and very big arms suggestive of an iron pumper. He had a remarkably small head for the thick frame. Or maybe it just looked smaller because his scalp was shaven clean. Deep, brown eyes, prominent nose, thick lips, and a big chin. He reminded Decker of the t-shirted genie on the household liquid cleaner, only without the earring.
The officers looked up and Decker flashed his badge, making sure Tarpin took it in. The man's face was emotionless. Not hostile or defiant, just a total blank. It could be shock; it could be
a controlled effort not to give himself away. Decker introduced himself.
'Lieutenant Decker.' Tarpin's voice was muted. 'Good you made it down so quickly. I know you had some prior dealings with Ernesto, because the kid told me.' A pause. 'He liked you. I thought you should know that.'
"Thanks for telling me.' Decker regarded the khaki-clad sheriffs. They were clearly below him in rank, but didn't like being usurped. From the stripes, Decker could tell that the smaller man was a sergeant. 'I had prior experience with the deceased minor. That's why I'm here.' Decker's eyes fell upon the two domed huts, waterproof and colored neon orange. 'That's the crime scene?'
'Yes, sir,' the sergeant answered.
Tarpin said, 'It's unspeakable in there. Not that I haven't seen bodies in Serbia and Rwanda, but... it's been a while. And I knew them... shook the hell out of me.'
That's what his words said. But Tarpin's face was still empty.
'You identified them as Ernesto Golding and Mervin Baldwin?' Decker asked.
'Yes, sir, it's them.' Tarpin looked away, his nose wrinkling for a split second - as if he smelled something rotten.
'When did you discover them?'
'When I got up... around five in the morning.'
'And you immediately went into the tents?'
'The closest hut is where the provisions are kept. The farther shelter belongs to the Baldwins. I went to get breakfast going, and... something didn't smell right. If you've ever been in combat and had a whiff of the stench, you just don't forget it.'
Decker took out his notepad. 'What did you do?'
'Lifted the flap to Dr Baldwin's tent.' He averted his gaze. 'God help them now... He's the only one who can.'
'And you knew right away that they were both dead.'
'Yes, sir. No doubt about that.'
'Look for a pulse?'
'Of course... nothing.'
'Were the bodies warm?'
He waited a moment. 'I don't recall.'
Decker thought a moment. 'So Ernesto Golding was in Merv Baldwin's hut.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Doing what?'
Once again Tarpin wore an enigmatic expression. 'Therapy. That's where Dr Baldwin does therapy with the boys.'
'At five a.m.?'
'I beg your pardon?'
'You said you fou
nd them at five in the morning. They were already dead. Does Dr Baldwin do therapy in the wee hours of the morning?'
'He does therapy twenty-four hours a day, Lieutenant. That's what makes him remarkable. I hope you're not implying something.'
'No, I'm just asking questions.'
'Then you should start asking questions about the other Dr Baldwin - Dee Baldwin. I can't seem to reach her. She's not answering her pager or the phone. I'm concerned.'
Faye Kellerman - Decker 13 - The Forgotten Page 13
