The Garden of Eden and Other Criminal Delights

by Faye Kellerman

  “A good place to start.”

  “You think so?” Decker smiled at his wife in the dark. Rina was anxious to help, but there was always a flip side to do-gooding. “You know, once I start this process, I’m going to find out things. Does she know she may learn information that could be very disturbing to her? Does she know that once the facts are out in the open, she can’t take them back? And do you know that you may get blamed for everything if this turns into a mess?”

  Rina took in his words. “Why don’t you talk to her?”

  “How did I know that was coming?”

  “Because you’re prescient,” Rina answered. “Just hear her story. Then you can make an informed decision.”

  “Suddenly you’re out of the picture?”

  “I’ll bring her in.”

  “You bet you’ll bring her in. And I’d like you to stay during the interview.”

  “Don’t you think it would be better if you talked to her in private? You’d probably get more out of her.”

  “Rina, the woman is disturbed, possibly a nutcase.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Decker shook his head. His wife was so naive. “I’ll need a witness during the interview. Tag, you’re it.”

  “It wasn’t like I woke up one day and didn’t know who I was. It was more . . . gradual.”

  Silence.

  Decker nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”

  Eve wrinkled her brow. “It was like I was returning from a deep sleep. Things drifting in and out, then slowly coming into focus. I found myself in a strange apartment.” She looked down and took in a deep breath. “I must have ordered lots of take-out food, because there were empty pizza boxes, Chinese-food cartons, empty McDonald’s wrappers.”

  Eve was pale, and her hands were shaking. Rina took her hand. “You’re doing great,” she said. The young woman gave her a grateful smile.

  Decker persisted. “And you didn’t have any ID on you?”

  “No, sir.”

  “No traces from your past?”

  “Nothing. Even the clothes in my closet had been recently purchased. The price tags were still on.”

  “You don’t remember buying them?”

  “No, sir.”

  Calling him “sir,” Decker noted. Respectful. “You must have had money to buy food and clothes.”

  “Yes, I must have had.” Eve averted her eyes. “I don’t have anything now except what I earn from my job.”

  “You work?”

  “Yes, sir. I do invoicing for Anya’s Accessories. It’s a midsize manufacturing company. They make all kinds of small leather goods, things like wallets, key holders, belts.”

  “She’s been working at Anya’s for three months,” Rina added. “They love her down there. She’s already gotten her first raise.”

  That was Rina—everyone’s mother, Decker thought. He said to Eve, “You’ve worked there for three months. And how long have you had the memory lapse?”

  “As far as I can tell, I’ve been like this for around six months.”

  “So what were you doing before you got your job?”

  “Trying to adjust.” She let out a mirthless chuckle and clasped her hands tightly. “That’s a joke. How do you adjust to something like this? But the will to survive is great. I needed to live. And to live, I needed money.”

  The will to survive is great. To Decker’s ears, she sounded as if she was quoting somebody. “How’d you manage to get a job, Eve?” he asked. “You had no ID—no driver’s license, no Social Security number, no credit cards, no past job history. Most companies ask for references. How’d you fool them?”

  Eve bit her lip and remained silent.

  “Did you invent a job history?” Decker asked. “Maybe even pay someone for bogus ID?”

  Eve looked up at the ceiling. “Are you going to arrest me?”

  Rina stepped in. “Eve, you came to me to discover the truth. If you still want that, you have to tell Lieutenant Decker everything.”

  There was a long pause. Then she said, “I was a person with no identity. I knew I had to survive. I knew I had to be somebody—to have a name and an ID. I went to one of those gigantic bookstores that have information on everything—on how to disappear, on how to reinvent yourself to avoid creditors or irrational ex-boyfriends . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “I followed the procedure step-by-step. You go to a county registrar’s office and look up death certificates of people who would have been your age. Then you pretend you’re that person and apply for a birth certificate, saying you lost your original one. I found the name Eve Miller and decided to use it because . . . I don’t know, it sounded familiar. Then, once I had a birth certificate, I got a Social Security number and a passport.”

  Pretty savvy for such a young woman, Decker thought. What was she running from? “Why not a driver’s license?” he asked.

  “I don’t have a car, sir.”

  “But you know how to drive.”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  “Why’d you get a passport? Were you planning on going somewhere?”

  Eve opened and closed her mouth. “I really don’t know why I applied for one. I just thought I should be prepared.”

  Prepared for what? Decker wondered.

  Eve shook her head. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe any of this. It sounds wild to my own ears. But I’m telling you the truth.”

  Decker scribbled more notes. “You do invoicing. What software do you use?”

  Her answer was immediate: “QuickBooks.”

  “What other programs do you know?”

  “Microsoft Word. I can also do spreadsheets.” She smiled, allowing herself a bit of crowing. “I think that’s why they hired me. I was versatile with the computer.”

  “How’d you learn to use a computer?”

  Eve hesitated and blinked back tears. “I don’t know.” She wiped her eyes. “You can’t imagine what this feels like! I’m sure something . . . traumatic must have happened to me. But I don’t know what. Please help me!”

  “You need to see doctors, Eve—a medical doctor and a psychologist. They can help you more than I can.”

  “I know that, Lieutenant Decker. And I swear I will get medical help. But first, I need to know who I am. Can you help me?”

  Decker closed the door to his office and handed his wife a Styrofoam cup of coffee. “No Eve Miller popped out of the Missing Persons Network computer,” he said.

  “That would have been too easy.” Rina took a sip of coffee. It had been three days since Peter interviewed Eve. “It took you all this time to find that out?”

  “I was working on the problem from several other angles. Because once I get started, I find it hard to stop.” Decker sat down in his desk chair. “During the questioning, she kept talking about how ‘the will to survive is great’ and about ‘the need to be prepared.’ Something like that. You remember her saying those words?”

  Rina frowned. “Vaguely.”

  Decker smiled. “See, that’s why I take notes. If I had to trust my memory, more felons would be walking the streets. Anyway, her language set off warning bells. She was acting as if she were running from something. So I began to punch the permutations on the name Eve Miller into some of the crime databases. I’d start with Eve Miller, then Eva Miller, then Ava Miller, and so on.”

  Rina’s stomach lurched. “Is she wanted for something?”

  Decker took in a breath and let it out. “Eve Miller isn’t a wanted woman, but Ava Mueller is.”

  “Ava Mueller.” Rina bit her lip. “She’s German?”

  “Yes, Ava Mueller is German, and not a nice one. During World War Two, Ava Mueller was a Gestapo guard at the Ravensbrueck labor camp. I took the liberty of calling up the Holocaust Center to find out about the camp’s history. It was basically divided into two sections—subversive women detained by the state and Jewish women in captivity. There was a universe of difference between the two camps—thei
r living quarters, their clothes, the treatment, the food. Namely, the non-Jewish contingency had edible food, whereas the Jewish unit survived on turnip soup and moldy bread. Ava worked as a guard in the Jewish bunkers. Afterward, she was wanted for Nazi war crimes because she was considered to be personally responsible for the deaths of over three hundred women.”

  “Oh my God!” Rina blurted out. “Do I even want to hear the rest?” Though sickened, she knew she had to listen. “Go on.”

  Decker heaved a sigh. “I asked the center if it had any postwar records on Ava Mueller. One of the librarians told me that Ava had somehow made it into the States using false papers, and had disappeared. This was about 1949.”

  He finished his coffee and continued, “Thirty-five years later—in 1984—one of Simon Wiesenthal’s Nazi hunters in New York got a tip on Mueller’s whereabouts. She was now a doting grandmother, living a quiet life as a Mennonite in Indiana. Makes sense. The vast majority of Mennonites are either German or of German heritage. Many of them speak Palatine Dutch, a German dialect. And religious sects are very forgiving. They also tend to be isolated, generally don’t mix much with the secular world. What better place to hide?”

  “I’m sorry, Peter, but I don’t see the Mennonites randomly welcoming in a former Nazi.”

  “I’m sure Ava Mueller didn’t tell them about her past. Or maybe she had some Mennonite relatives. Lots of people, present company included, have a skeletal relative or two in the closet. For me, it’s Great-uncle Ray, the Alabama Klansman.”

  Rina smiled. “And I have Great-aunt Bessie the Stalinist. Even on her deathbed, she insisted that Josef meant well. He was just misguided.”

  Decker let out a laugh, then the room fell silent. Rina tried to break it but couldn’t find the words. Finally, she said, “What happened after Ava Mueller was discovered?”

  “She, her husband, and her family left the conclave and were lost again.” Decker shrugged. “Maybe this time they ventured into the city. If so, Ava’s granddaughter, Eve, or whatever her name really is, would have been about five or six. If the family had chosen to settle in a more urban neighborhood, then Eve would have gone to a more urban school and learned things like how to operate a computer or how to drive. That scenario would explain why Eve knows the Bible so well—her early upbringing—and why she also has some contemporary skills.”

  “This is all just speculation.”

  “Of course.” Decker tried to be gentle. “But it does help explain some things.” He formulated his thoughts. “Suppose, as a girl, Eve didn’t know about her grandmother’s dark history.”

  Rina nodded.

  “Then let’s suppose that around six months ago, as an adult, she discovered her grandmother’s evil past and was horrified by it. Suppose she confronted her grandmother and demanded answers. You’ve implied that Eve is a deep thinker and doesn’t accept explanations by rote.”

  “Yes, that’s correct,” Rina said.

  “What if her grandmother tried to rationalize her behavior, tried to make Eve understand Ava Mueller’s state of mind. Maybe she spoke about how the will to survive is great and how you had to be prepared. Maybe Grandma gave her details on how she disappeared and reinvented herself. To me, that would be logical. Because I never bought the story of Eve going to a bookstore and carving out a new identity by reading texts. It just sounds too rehearsed, too . . . TV.”

  “‘The will to survive’ . . . ‘be prepared’ . . .” Rina thought for a moment. “Eve was subconsciously parroting her grandmother’s words.”

  “Not only parroting her words—reliving her story.”

  “But Peter, if Eve was horrified by her grandmother, why would she take on her name and story?”

  “Because this time, Eve decided to reinvent Grandma as a good person, a kindly person who not only likes Jews but wants to learn more about them. It’s no accident that she showed up at your class, Rina. And it’s no accident that she chose to confide in you.”

  Rina felt weak. “How do we break it to her?”

  Decker shook his head. “We don’t. Even if it’s true, neither one of us is equipped to deal with it. Eve needs to find a psychiatrist who’s familiar with these kinds of traumas. Then we tell the psychiatrist what we found out, and leave it up to his or her professional judgment.” He grinned at her. “Which was what I suggested in the first place.”

  “I know, I know.” Rina managed a tepid smile. “Thanks for helping.”

  “Are you okay? You don’t look well.”

  “I don’t feel well. I know you told me this could happen. I was forewarned.” She sighed. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t forearmed.”

  Eve had eagerly agreed to an initial round of therapy—six sessions, one per week. During the first session, the psychiatrist started the slow process with an intake and history, leaving Eve unsatisfied. She needed her identity now! She needed hypnosis! But the doctor refused to rush the therapy.

  So she dropped him and went to someone else—not a psychiatrist this time, but a hypnotherapist. As far as Rina was concerned, he was not qualified to handle Eve’s delicate situation, and she wanted no part of it. But Eve begged her to accompany her to the appointment, and Rina relented.

  As the session progressed, Eve broke into tears, sobbing bitterly. But she divulged little except to say that her name was Sarah Miller. Twenty minutes later, Rina insisted the hypnosis be stopped. Eve was too emotionally wrought to go on.

  Afterward, Rina walked her home, staying with her until Eve/Sarah insisted she was all right. The next day Rina went to check on her, but it was too late. There was no answer at the door. The apartment was empty. The young woman had packed up and left.

  Decker had not expected easy resolution, and Eve’s behavior came as no surprise to him. Rina hadn’t expected much, either, but still, she was sharply disappointed. For months, neither of them talked about Eve. Then one night, just as Rina was drifting off to sleep, Decker said out of the blue, “I wonder what she’s doing. Whether she really has any memory of what happened.”

  Rina turned to face him. “I’d hate to think of her flitting around in one confused mental state after another,” she said. A pause. “Maybe she’s gone home to make peace with her grandmother.”

  Decker said, “How would you feel about that?”

  Rina didn’t answer right away. “I don’t know. It’s a terrible position to be in, to love a woman who once was a monster. Still, even though Ava Mueller would be an old woman now, perhaps even frail, she has innocent blood on her hands. She ought to be held accountable for her actions.”

  Decker ran his finger over the rise of Rina’s cheekbone. “Maybe that’s why Eve came to you in the first place.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if you, as a Jew, were capable of forgiveness.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive. Eve didn’t do anything wrong. Even my parents, who are camp survivors, don’t believe in collective guilt.”

  “Not to forgive her, to forgive her grandmother. Could you have done that if Eve had asked you?”

  Rina thought about it, then slowly shook her head. “No, I couldn’t have forgiven Ava Mueller, because I’m in no position to grant that forgiveness. The only people who can do that are long since dead.”

  “I know. But it’s sad to think of Sarah going around with this burden. Do you think she’ll ever make peace with her guilt?”

  “I don’t consider guilt a burden,” Rina answered. “To me, guilt is the police department of the human soul. No offense, Peter, but cops can be pains in the neck. But think of how bad we all would be if they weren’t around.”

  “Maligning my profession?” Decker laughed.

  “Not at all. I’m complimenting it.”

  “Yeah, right! Let’s go to sleep.”

  She kissed her husband good night and then stared up at the darkened ceiling. As her mind free-associated, Rina thought not of Sarah Miller but of a crime more than half a century old, and of those lives taken prematurely.
She said a prayer for the deceased, and her words comforted her. As she fell asleep, Rina wondered if Sarah Miller would ever find words to comfort herself.

  The STALKER

  “The Stalker” deals with the double-

  edged sword of idolization and

  adoration. This is a case of obsession

  and compulsion gone horribly wrong,

  until it reaches its terrifying

  conclusion.

  IT WAS HARD FOR HER TO FATHOM HOW IT ALL WENT so sour, because in the beginning the love had been sweet. The roses and candy that had been sent for no occasion, the phone calls at midnight just to say “I love you,” the amorous notes left in her mailbox or on the desk at work, his stationery always scented with expensive cologne. The many romantic things that he had done during their courtship were now a thousand years old.

  Somewhere buried beneath rage and hatred lay the honeyed memories. Julian telling her how beautiful and alluring she was, how he loved her lithe body, her soft hazel eyes and silken chocolate-kissed hair. Bragging to his friends about her rapier wit or whispering in her ear about how her lovemaking had made him weak-kneed. The last compliment had always been good for giggles or the playful slap on his chest. How she had blushed whenever he had raised his brows, had given her his famous wolfish leer.

  The evening of his proposal had been the pinnacle of their fairy-tale romance, starting off with the Rolls-Royce complete with a uniformed driver. The chauffeur had offered her his arm, escorting her into the back of the white Corniche.

  The most fabulous night of her life. And even today, steeped in righteous bitterness and bottomless hostility, she would admit that this sentiment still rang true.

  There had been the front-row tickets at the theater. The play, The Fall of the House of Usher, had been sold out for months. How he had gotten the seats had only added to Julian’s aura of mystery and intrigue. Following the drama had been the exclusive backstage party where she had met the leading actors and actresses. They were all renowned stars, and she had actually talked to them. Well, truth be told, mostly she had gushed and they had murmured polite thank-yous. But just being there, being part of the crowd . . .