Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 03 Read online

Marge said, “Okay. So let’s examine your theory. Luke killed the others, then himself. I could understand Luke being homicidal with Linda after hearing about her reputation. But why would Luke whack his sister and that other dude?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just thinking of the layout—Luke’s on one side, the others huddled together in the middle. I see this big finger just pointing at Luke.”

  “What about the Kleenex fibers found on Katie?” Marge said. “Kid didn’t wipe her own PJs.”

  “Obviously, someone took her away,” Decker said. “Someone dumped her over the hill. The kid couldn’t have walked it by herself.”

  “Pete,” Marge said, “I just thought of something. The kid may have witnessed the whole thing.”

  “Think so?” Decker said. “She didn’t seem traumatized. I’d have thought she might be, after seeing her mother and father murdered like that.”

  “Even so,” Marge said, “don’t you think we should consult someone?”

  “Sure,” Decker said. “Call up a local kiddy shrink. See what words of wisdom he has to impart to us.”

  “You don’t like shrinks, do you?” Marge said.

  “Fifth on that one,” Decker said.

  They rode for a minute in silence. Marge broke it.

  “Our second-guessing isn’t worth too much without all the evidence. Once Ozzie Crandal notifies the family, one of them will no doubt come by for Katie tomorrow. Prelim forensics will have come back by then, also. Crandal will interview the immediate family down there. By this time tomorrow, we should know a lot more than we know now.”

  “Good point, Detective,” Decker said. “So the upshot is, I’m going to go home and try to forget about it until then.”

  “Let me know how successful you are.”

  Decker didn’t answer. Instead, he thought of Rina. If anyone could temporarily obscure today’s ugliness, it would be her.

  He smelled the coals burning before he killed the Plymouth’s motor.

  Shit.

  Rina was barbecuing.

  Even though he was starved, the thought of red meat—rare red meat—made his stomach churn. All he wanted for dinner was a couple of bowls of cereal. Anything that didn’t bleed. But he had to be nice, excited, enthusiastic that she’d taken the initiative to be domestic.

  He parked the car in the driveway, got out, and shouted a hullo as he walked toward the back.

  Rina turned around, her hair pinned up, covered by a kerchief, her face sooty from smoke residue. She looked so earthy, so good, he forgot about his growling stomach.

  “I didn’t know if your grill was pareve or fleishig, so I bought trout. You like trout, don’t you?”

  Fish, Decker thought. God bless her, barbecued trout didn’t sound half bad.

  “Trout is perfect.” He walked over, gave her a short kiss on the lips, and regarded his supper. Five fillets. The fish had been butterflied, the heads removed. Sharing the grill with the fish were two potatoes, the skins baked crackling crisp. The smell activated his salivary glands. “It’s too hot to eat meat anyway.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  She’d covered his slab redwood table with a white paper tablecloth, had set red-checkered paper dinnerware, matching napkins and cups, and plastic cutlery upon the cloth. Gracing the tabletop were a pint of coleslaw, a pint of macaroni salad, a basket of French rolls, and a platter of green grapes mixed with cut canteloupe and watermelon. In a bowl of melting ice were cans of diet cola for her, brown bottles of Dos Equis for him.

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven,” he said.

  Rina smiled. “Doesn’t take much to make you happy.”

  “You make me happy,” he said. “I really needed this.”

  “You certainly couldn’t have timed it better. It’ll be ready in about two minutes. Take a shower, Peter, and put on something cooler. You can’t be comfortable in those clothes.”

  He looked at his wilted brown suit and agreed. He showered quickly, then changed into a polo shirt and a pair of jeans. He would have preferred wearing a T-shirt and shorts, but he knew Rina wasn’t wild about him wearing such informal clothing to a meal. A small sacrifice to make for a waiting meal and a willing woman. He pinned a yarmulke onto his hair and patted his stomach. His juices were flowing now, so much so that he almost managed to push aside the wretchedness of the day.

  By the time he was outside, Rina was putting the trout on a serving plate.

  “You can wash if you want,” she said.

  “I’ll wait for you.”

  Rina put the trout on the table and wiped her hands on a napkin. “Okay.”

  They ritually washed their hands outside from a bucket of water that Rina had set up, then broke bread. Rina heaped three trout and mounds of salad and fruit on Decker’s paper plate as he sat there, a stupid grin on his face, thinking, I could get used to this. She poured him a beer, then served herself a half-piece of trout, half a baked potato, and fruit.

  “Now I remember how you stay so thin,” Decker remarked. He noticed his voice had a slight lecherous tone. He gobbled down his first trout in three bites, and went to work on number two. “But I’m not complaining,” he continued. “More food for me. Although I wouldn’t mind if you’d fatten up a bit.”

  “You think I’m too thin?” She opened up a can of soda.

  “When I met you, you seemed a little more curvacious.”

  “I was ten pounds heavier.”

  “I didn’t mind,” Decker said. There it was. That same horny tone. He finished off half of his baked potato.

  Rina smiled and speared a piece of watermelon. “Should I ask about your day?”

  Decker shook his head.

  Rina said, “Can I just ask if you found that little girl’s parents?”

  Decker winced. “Yeah, we found them all right.”

  His voice had tightened. Rina said, “Erase the tape. Forget I asked.”

  Decker took a swig of beer and asked, “You visit your parents?”

  “Erase that tape, too,” Rina said.

  “So much for conversation,” Decker said, laughing.

  “Well, I’ve got something interesting to tell you,” Rina said.

  “What’s that?”

  “I met an old friend of yours, today.”

  “A friend of mine?”

  “Abel Atwater,” Rina said.

  Decker’s fork froze midair. He tried to keep his voice casual. “Really?”

  “Yep, as you might say,” Rina said.

  “How’d you meet him?” Decker asked. He lowered his fork.

  “He was working in your barn, fixing the flooring, I think. He said he was in the army with you. I didn’t know you were in the army.”

  Decker didn’t answer right away, rolled his tongue inside his cheeks. Then he said, “And how long did you talk to him?”

  Rina stared at him quizzically. His eyes had gone hard. At first, Rina thought she detected jealousy, but a second later she decided it wasn’t that at all. “Gee, I don’t know…five, ten minutes. Is something wrong?”

  “Well,” Decker laughed, “I don’t know. I just think it’s kind of strange that you’d carry on a conversation with a man you’ve never seen before, given your previous experiences with men.”

  Rina was shocked into silence. Decker went on.

  “I mean, really, honey, this guy could have been anyone.”

  “He mentioned your name before I did….”

  “So he knew my name. I’m a cop. Thousands of jackasses out there know my name, and any one of them could have had a personal reason for being here, and I don’t know how in hell you talked to this guy—”

  “Peter, I—”

  “What you should have done the minute you saw some unknown jerk in the barn was rush into the house, lock the door, and call me. What the hell were you thinking when you talked to this dude? Rina, I have put a lot of bad men behind bars. Now, it’s unlikely that one of them could have turned up for the big get-even, but it’
s a possibility. So unless you know who’s who, you don’t go around being Miss Congeniality.”

  “Peter—”

  “I mean, let’s face facts, honey. Your former friend-turned-rapist, your asshole brother-in-law, you seemed to have a knack for attracting weirdos.”

  Rina took her napkin off her lap and threw it down on her plate. “Doesn’t say much for you, does it?”

  She stormed into the house.

  Decker sat there for a minute, calming down. It took him around a minute to realize that he had completely blown it. He heard Marge’s voice: So how do you manage…

  He rubbed his face, took another bite of trout, then stood up and headed for the house. He found her in his bedroom, sitting on his red-quilted bedcover, arms folded across her chest. She’d made the bed, polished his bedroom furniture—as if it were worth polishing. Just some knotty pine he’d slapped together for a dresser and a couple of nightstands. But she had told him how impressed she was, how talented he was. The afternoon sun was pouring through the window, casting a white spotlight upon the dresser. She’d polished the wood with care, rubbed it until it gleamed. He sat down beside her, his stomach in a knot.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She stood up and began to pace. She thought about what had happened to her, about a man she had thought was a friend who had tried to rape her. The horrible nights that had followed, how Peter had been there for her. His calming words, reassuring voice. Then, in a heated moment, he had unraveled her confidence like a run in a stocking.

  “I don’t believe you said those things,” Rina choked out. “You spent almost an entire year convincing me that…that…that incident was not my fault, that it could have happened to anyone, that I did nothing to encourage you-know-who, nothing to lead him on…that the guy was a mental case. Now, you say I have a knack for attracting weirdos.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Well, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Then what did you mean?”

  Decker thought a moment. His head had begun to throb. “I meant you’d attract any man, weird or not, because you’re so beautiful, and you shouldn’t be talking to someone you don’t know.”

  Rina paused, then asked, “Was Abel who he said he was?”

  “Yes, but you didn’t know that.”

  “Except I knew he knew you. He showed me pictures of the two of you together. You can’t fake that.”

  “What kind of pictures?”

  “Army photos. He let me keep this one.” She fished it out of her pocket and handed it to him. “I told him I’d make a copy and give the original back to him.”

  Decker stared at the picture for a long time, his face as still as stone. Little Petie Decker, a dumb-ass grin plastered on his face, smiling as if he were about to go to a birthday party. Ready for action, ready for the Big Times. God, what a jerk he’d been. And to think he had enlisted, his dad had been so proud of him…. And Abel, looking just as stupid and a hell of a lot healthier. Decker wondered why he’d keep such a morbid reminder of a time gone forever.

  Abruptly, he tossed the photo onto the bed.

  “For all I care, you can burn it. I don’t like living in the past.”

  He sat down and buried his face in his hands. A full-blown headache had seeped into his temples. Rina sat beside him, pocketed the picture, then slipped her arm around his shoulder.

  “Now, we’re both upset.”

  Decker was silent.

  “Bad memories?” Rina whispered.

  “Not as bad as Abel’s,” Decker said.

  “Is he weird?”

  Decker thought for a long time. What would be the point of telling her that she’d made chitchat with a possible rapist, making her feel even dumber than she probably felt already? She’d probably never see Abel again. Probably one of those flukey things. He just happened to show up, forgetting Decker’s request to stay away. Abel was like that. Things went through him, although he could have a memory like an elephant when he wanted to. Decker would call him up tomorrow and remind him to get lost—again.

  Finally, he said, “He’s just one of those unfortunate vets who never made the adjustment back to civilian life.” Decker wondered if he’d ever made the adjustment as well. After all, in police language there were two classes of people—cops and civilians. He looked at Rina and said, “I’m not comfortable with him, or any guy, hanging around you when I’m not around.”

  “Peter,” Rina said, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain. I wasn’t as stupid as you thought—”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid,” Decker said. “Rina, I just love you so damn much, I get scared at the thought of anything happening to you.”

  “I’m still nervous myself, Peter. You don’t have to convince me to be careful.” She stopped speaking a moment, then said, “I had my gun with me.”

  Decker stared at her for a moment. “What?”

  “My Colt thirty-eight Detective’s Special. I’ve continued to take lessons in New York.”

  “It’s against the law to carry a concealed weapon without a permit.”

  Rina’s eyes widened. “So arrest me.”

  “You brought your gun with you from New York?”

  “In my packed luggage.”

  “Why?”

  “To protect myself. You speak as though it’s an affront to your masculinity.”

  “Rina—”

  “I’m just as scared about myself as you are. I thought you were in the barn, and when it wasn’t you, I immediately reached in my purse and pulled a gun on this Abel Atwater. And let me tell you something. It made me feel a lot more secure than running into the house and locking the door.”

  Decker lowered his head. Too much input in one day. He said, “I didn’t know you were taking shooting lessons in New York.”

  “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d be upset. I know how you feel about guns, but frankly, I’m going to carry one. So why don’t you be supportive of me and finally get me that carry permit I asked you for about a year ago?”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Oh, come on! You could pull strings if you wanted to.”

  “Honestly, Rina,” Decker said, “I can’t do it. Anyway, why do you need to be armed with me around?”

  Rina said, “Witness this afternoon: You’re not always around. And knowing your past schedule, you’re not around a whole lot, period. But I’m not complaining. I don’t mind being alone, I’ve been on my own for over three years now. Peter, I’ve got the boys to think about. I’m going to carry a gun whether I’ve got the permit or not, and you’re not going to convince me otherwise.”

  “I can’t get you a carry permit,” Decker insisted. “I think the last civilian one was issued to Sammy Davis, Jr., back in the sixties.”

  “So I’ll break the law,” Rina said. “I can live with that.”

  Great, he thought. He couldn’t control his own woman; how could he presume to control felons? Just drop the point. Pick it up on a better day. They sat in silence. Decker decided to ask, “So what did you and Abel talk about?”

  “We agreed you were tight-lipped.”

  Decker said nothing.

  “Like you’re being right now,” Rina said. “Peter, why didn’t you ever tell me you were in the army?”

  “I didn’t consciously make a decision not to tell you, Rina. You never asked and I don’t like to talk about it.”

  “Abel said you were a medic.”

  “Yes,” Decker said. “What else do you want to know?”

  Rina paused a moment, realizing how cruel it was to make him relive something so ugly just to satisfy her curiosity. She smiled and said, “Good. You can teach me CPR.”

  Decker picked his head up, his lips turning upward into a grin. “We can start right now, if you want.”

  Rina blushed. “What about the trout?”

  “It’s probably cold by now.” Decker kicked off his shoes and said, “Yo
u shouldn’t do CPR with your shoes on.”

  Rina said, “I never heard that one.”

  “Oh, it’s true.” He took off her kerchief and unpinned her hair. A sheet of black silk rippled down her back. “And it’s very bad to do CPR with pins in your hair. Might fall into the victim’s mouth.”

  “All sorts of little things to remember.”

  Decker fingered the kerchief and said, “I see you’re covering your hair again.”

  “I’m feeling a little more religious.”

  Decker smiled. “That’s good.”

  She smiled back. “I thought you didn’t like me so religious.”

  “Rina, I love you just the way you are.”

  Rina felt her throat suddenly constrict. She touched his cheek, then looped her hand around his neck and lowered his mouth onto hers. He eased her into a supine position while kissing her, drinking her in.

  “This isn’t CPR,” Decker said, a moment later.

  Rina said, “I know.”

  15

  Decker walked into the squad room at 9:00 A.M., his phone ringing as soon as he crossed the threshold. He jogged over to his desk and, still standing, picked the receiver up. Marge was on the other end.

  “Got a pencil?”

  “Hold on, I just got in.” He kicked his chair out and took a pen from his shirt pocket. “Let me find something to write on. Where are you?”

  “Morgue. Been here for a while.”

  “Great way to start the day.”

  “At least no one here gives me lip.”

  Decker fished through his desk drawer and pulled out his notepad. Pen poised, he said, “Shoot.”

  “Prelim forensics,” Marge said. “Rigor was gone, M.E. said the bodies were at least forty-eight hours old. That clicks with the maggot development. Entomologist found maggots in varying degrees of development—oldest eggs having been laid around two—three days ago. Mostly housefly, blowfly, and blue-bottle maggots, the latter two most common among bodies left outdoors. But the windows were left open, so those kind of flies had ready access to the bodies.”

  “Okay,” Decker said. He was scribbling as fast as he could. “Got it.”