Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 01 Read online

  “Same,” he answered.

  She left, chuckling to herself.

  “The woman packs a mean wallop,” Decker said massaging his back. “I’d pit her against any man in the precinct.”

  He stopped talking and appeared to be thinking.

  “Maybe Fordebrand could give her a run for the money.”

  “Who’s Fordebrand?”

  “Homicide detective. He’s shorter than I am by a couple of inches, but must outweigh me by at least sixty pounds of pure muscle. Naturally, his wife is this tiny little bird. Fordebrand also has phenomenally bad breath.”

  “He’s sounds lovely, Peter.”

  “It was a kick working with him.”

  “You worked Homicide?”

  “Seven years.”

  “Why’d you transfer?”

  “I thought it might be nice to work with the kids.” He felt his shirt pocket for cigarettes and grimaced when he came up empty. “The kids I’ve worked with have been worse than the adults. Somehow, I’ve never had the wonderful experience you see on the boob tube. You know, cop befriends down-and-out kid. Conflict. Tough talk. Kid keeps messing up, but cop persists. The final scene shows the kid giving the valedictory at Harvard. His life has been rough, and he wouldn’t have pulled through except for the one man who believed in him—the cop.”

  Decker shook his head.

  “In real life, the kid who’s as tough as nails on the outside is chromium-plated steel on the inside.”

  “You sound cynical.”

  “Not cynical. Realistic. I had my shot at parenting with my own kid. And she turned out terrific. But there are Cynthia Deckers and there are Cory Schmidts. Fact of life.”

  He smiled at her.

  “You want to hear more, I can go on for hours.”

  “It’s a little late.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Shut up, Peter.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Let’s get the statement over with. You look like you could use some sleep.”

  Rina threw the towels in the dryer and started it. She’d fold them tomorrow. They headed for the door, but Decker stopped abruptly, suddenly alert.

  “What’s wrong?” Rina asked, alarmed.

  Decker put his fingers to his lips and listened intently for a minute. Then noticing the frightened look on Rina’s face, he felt like a jerk.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” he said. “I’m listening to the dryer.”

  “The dryer?”

  “For another case I’m working on.”

  “What case?”

  “I’ll tell you all about it after I make a collar.”

  “So don’t worry my pretty little head about it,” she answered dryly. But she was greatly relieved.

  Decker smiled, placed his hands on her shoulders, and looked her in the eye.

  “Do I look like a chauvinist pig?”

  She nodded.

  He burst into laughter. He wanted to do something impulsive and lighthearted—tickle her or throw her over his shoulder. And she’d show mock outrage and pummel his back. Then they’d wrestle to the floor, and finally, exhausted by their joust, they’d curl up and make love.

  Fantasy.

  He let his hands drop to his sides and walked over to the dryer. Big industrial type—a Speed Queen. He listened to its whir for another moment, then said, “Okay, we can go now.”

  “Learn anything?”

  He shrugged.

  As they left, he gently slipped his arm over her shoulder, letting his fingers rest at the tip of her collarbone. She turned around, smiled, and pulled away.

  As he’d thought—fantasy.

  “What happened with Cory?” Rina asked as they walked across the grounds.

  “He’ll get off with a slap on the wrist. By the way, he ratted on his friends, so we’ve recovered your pen. Here it is.”

  She took it absently; she was aghast.

  “That’s the best they could do? A slap on the wrist? The kid held a knife to my throat.”

  “Fortunately, you sustained no bodily injuries. Plus, he’s a juvenile with a basically clean sheet. And they plea bargained him down to the lesser charge of malicious mischief in exchange for the names of his friends. Old Cory’s going to walk.”

  She buried her head in her hands.

  “I can’t believe this.”

  “Don’t fret too much. It’s just a matter of time before the kid messes up again. Eventually, he’ll dig himself a grave.”

  Decker took a deep breath and let it out.

  “Rina, I got him to admit the vandalism: breaking the temple windows, spray-painting the walls with swastikas, dumping the garbage on the lawn. When I questioned him about the rape, naturally he said he didn’t know anything about it. And, of course, he doesn’t remember what he was doing the night of the incident.

  “Now Cory is a very skillful liar, so I’m going to check him out. But my own personal opinion is that he had nothing to do with it. An experienced rotten kid like Cory would have come up with a pat alibi immediately. The kid looked honestly puzzled.”

  He loosened his tie and unfastened the top shirt button. Goddam heat refused to break.

  “But that’s just a hunch, and hunches don’t take the place of good old footwork. So I’ll check it out.”

  She said nothing.

  “If that kid ever comes within fifty feet of you, tell me, and so help me God, I see to it personally that he wished he hadn’t.”

  “I hope it won’t come to that.”

  “Same here.”

  When they got to her house, she paused before opening the door.

  “My parents are baby-sitting tonight. I told them about this morning. They were pretty upset.”

  “I don’t blame them.”

  She hesitated, then placed the key in the doorknob and let Peter inside.

  It was hard for Decker to imagine the sophisticated couple in front of him as Rina’s parents. The mother was taller than her daughter and as lithe as a cattail. She looked around fifty; her face bore some wrinkles, the complexion was pale, but the features were fine and delicate. Her makeup job was meticulous, perfectly accenting her bright blue eyes and full lips without being gaudy. Her jet black hair was a nest of soft curls that framed an oval face. She wore a pale blue silk shirt, navy gabardine slacks, and lizard-skin shoes. Around her neck was a braided gold chain that held a heart-shaped diamond solitaire.

  The father was shorter than his wife by about an inch, but his build was muscular. His eyes looked tired, with drooping lids, and his nose was full, with wide nostrils partially obscured by a thick gray mustache. He had a prominent chin bisected by a deep cleft and a thick thatch of gray hair that was crowned by a small, knitted yarmulke. He was dressed casually but expensively and smiled when the two of them entered the room.

  “You were late,” the woman said. Her accent reminded Decker of Zsa Zsa Gabor.

  “I said I’d be here at ten-thirty, Mama,” Rina answered. “It’s around ten-thirty.”

  “It’s a quarter to eleven.” She brought her hand to her breast. “I was starting to get worried.”

  She looked at Decker.

  “Is this the policeman?” she asked.

  “Yes. This is Detective Decker.” Rina turned to Peter. “These are my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Elias.”

  “How do you do?” Decker said.

  The woman looked at him and shook her head. “Horrible thing that happened to my daughter.”

  “It’s a shame,” Decker said.

  “Terrible, terrible thing when you go to the store and you can’t be safe.”

  “Mama, I’m fine.”

  “Why do you live here? It’s not safe here, Ginny. You can’t just think of yourself. You have to think of the boys, too.”

  Rina said nothing.

  “Do you have children, Detective?” asked Mrs. Elias.

  “A daughter, ma’am.”

  “And if this were to happen to her, how would you feel?”

 
“Very angry, ma’am.”

  “That is how I feel. Very angry and very scared. She is a single woman, Detective.”

  “Mama, I’m all right.”

  The woman spoke to her in a foreign language.

  “Mother, crime is everywhere.”

  “You know your mother, Regina,” the man spoke up. “She is a worrier.”

  “Why don’t you spend the weekend with us?” the mother asked. “You never bring the kids over anymore.”

  “They have camp—”

  “First it was school, now it’s camp,” she sighed. “The kids need a summer, too. I never sent you kids to camp. You had so much school during the year, I didn’t think it was good to have camp also. And you let them stay up too late, Ginny. They didn’t go to bed until ten-fifteen. Young boys need sleep.”

  “They nap in the afternoon, Mama. They’re not tired at nine.”

  “They’re too big to nap.”

  “Mama, can we discuss this later? It’s very late, and I still have to give the detective a statement.”

  The woman looked at Decker. “It’s not a good area here, no?”

  “We have our share of crime,” he replied.

  “It’s safer in Beverly Hills, no?”

  Rina was fighting to maintain control.

  “As long as there are cars, Mama, no area will be free of crime. Beverly Hills has plenty of crime.”

  “Not teenage punks throwing eggs over the head.” Mrs. Elias turned again to Decker. “Beverly Hills is safer, no?”

  “They have a lower crime rate, statistically, but unfortunately, things like this can happen anywhere.”

  “But it’s less likely to happen in Beverly Hills, no?”

  “Statistically, that’s true.”

  “Mama, it’s very late.”

  “Come this weekend. The boys had a wonderful time visiting with us. Come this weekend.”

  “I’ll call you and let you know,” Rina said.

  The woman kissed her daughter’s cheek. “It’s only because I love you that I worry about you. Come this weekend.”

  “I’ll see,” Rina said, fighting back tears.

  “We love you, Ginny,” the old man said. “We love you, and we love the boys. We miss you, you’re so far away from us.”

  “I appreciate your coming tonight.”

  “We could come more often if you lived closer,” her mother broke in.

  “Mama, please. It’s really very late.”

  “Too late for a single woman to be working.” The older woman turned to Decker. “Thank you for helping her. She said you were very kind. Tell her this is no place for a young woman with small children.”

  The man got up and kissed his daughter. He took his wife’s arm and they left, whispering in Hungarian.

  Rina’s eyes were wet.

  “Have a seat, Peter.” Her voice cracked. “Would you like something to drink?”

  “How about if I get you something?”

  She buried her face in her hands and tried to prevent the onslaught of tears. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “It’s been a trying day.”

  “You don’t have to do this now, Rina. Come down to the station tomorrow morning, and I’ll get a statement from you then.”

  She looked up. Her cheeks were streaked. “No, I’m fine.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Rina. The kid’s probably out by now anyway. Do it tomorrow.”

  She sat down on the sofa, and he sat next to her.

  “You know, living here hasn’t been easy, Peter. This isn’t an appropriate place for a woman in my position. This is a high school and college of Jewish studies for boys. The women here are the wives of the rabbis or wives of a special group of scholars studying in the kollel. That’s what my husband used to do. He used to learn in the kollel. That was his job. I worked as a teacher so he could study. That’s considered honorable. This place has no role for a single woman.

  “I’m not afraid of living on my own. I don’t live in the lap of luxury here, so struggling and working hard aren’t things I’m afraid of. But I know as soon as I pack my bags and step off these grounds, I’m going to get swallowed up by that woman you just met.”

  She started to cry.

  Decker knew it wasn’t just her parents. It was this morning and the events of the past month. It was the culmination of everything. He’d seen it lots of times, victims at the breaking point. He put his arm around her heaving shoulders and, much to his surprise, she snuggled in closer.

  “You want to know my opinion?” he said. “I think any woman who can knee-drop her attacker couldn’t be swallowed up by anybody.”

  She laughed weakly and leaned her head against his chest. She could hear his heartbeat; the slow, steady rhythm had a hypnotic, calming effect on her nerves. Bringing her arm over his chest, she embraced him. She felt her own body being enfolded by his arms, his fingers playing against her spine. He removed the kerchief from her head, loosened a few hairpins, and a thick black wave of hair cascaded down her shoulders and back.

  “How far do you want to take this?” he asked softly.

  “Not very.”

  He cupped her chin, lifted her face, and locked eyes.

  “Don’t you find this frustrating?”

  “Of course I find it frustrating. But sex isn’t the quick and easy solution.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  He kissed the top of her head and stroked her hair.

  “If I get objective about the whole situation, I have to admit it’s kind of nice. I feel like I’m back in high school. In the olden days, you used to have to beg for everything.”

  He grinned and put his palms together.

  “Please, please, I swear I’ll be gentle.”

  She slapped him playfully and pulled away.

  Decker straightened up.

  “Worked about as well on you as it did on the girls in high school.”

  “Maybe it’s time to change your technique.”

  She cleared her throat and tried to sound casual.

  “By the way, what did you think of my parents.”

  “They seemed caring. Very protective. But, then, you were attacked this morning…. They were much more modern than I’d have imagined. You didn’t grow up yeshiva religious, did you?”

  “We were modern Orthodox. Which is to say I grew up with a strong Jewish identity. My mother was far less strict with the rules than my father. That led to a lot of fights. So in keeping with Freudian psychology, my oldest brother—the doctor—married a girl much less religious than he, and I married a boy much more religious than I. We all marry our parents, don’t we?”

  Decker reflected. His former wife, his mother, his biological mother. Maybe it was programmed in the genes.

  “On the other hand,” she continued, “my middle brother—I’m the youngest—was a lost soul. My parents didn’t know what to do with him, so he was shipped off to Israel. The Chasidim got to him, and now he’s at a Satmar yeshiva, the most religious of the three of us.”

  “Two out of three ended up in a yeshiva. That’s an interesting track record.”

  “Only my brother’s Chasidish. That’s the kind of Jew they depict in The Chosen and Fiddler on the Roof, the ones with the long black coats and the mink hats. This yeshiva is Misnagid, a totally different philosophy from the Chasidic yeshivas. You want to see a man emit smoke from his nostrils, call Rav Aaron a Chasid.”

  “Is that the ultimate ethnic put-down?”

  “For Rav Aaron. Misnagdim and Chasidim are like the Hatfields and the McCoys. Never the twain shall meet.” She thought. “It’s not that bad, but the Chasidim think the Misnagdim lack human emotion, and the Misnagdim think the Chasidim are a bunch of ignoramuses.

  “Rav Aaron was born in a small village but went to yeshiva in Minsk—a major city in Lithuania. He’s a Litvak through and through, and Litvaks pride themselves on being very urbane and intellectual. That’s why he had a fie
ld day with Yitzchak. Rav Aaron couldn’t get over my husband’s raw gray matter, his ability to learn and retain all that was taught to him. His ability to reason.

  “Chasidism, on the other hand, gained popularity in the small villages. Its followers, back then, were generally less knowledgeable about Torah and the outside world. So the Chasidim appeased their constituency by saying Judaism is primarily in the heart, not in the brain.”

  She looked at him.

  “To you and the rest of the world, we must look like a bunch of crazy Jews.”

  His face grew serious.

  “Rina, I wish you wouldn’t lump me and billions of other people into one gigantic category. I’m more than just a gentile.”

  She touched his cheek, but quickly pulled her hand away.

  “Of course you are. I’m sorry. I get chauvinistic. I’m very proud to be a Jew.”

  “I can see that.”

  “You know, your daughter is considered Jewish, don’t you?”

  “Yes. And she considers herself Jewish. About five years ago she liked what she saw in the religion, and that was fine with me. She made up her own mind. No one crammed it down her throat.”

  He saw the look on her face and knew he said the wrong thing.

  “I didn’t mean it to come out that way.”

  “It’s okay,” she said coolly. “I’m ready to give a statement.”

  “Don’t sulk. I think it’s great that she’s Jewish. Some of my best friends are Jewish.”

  She laughed.

  “It’s nice to see you smile.”

  “Yes, I do that every once in a while.”

  She folded her hands in her lap.

  “I’m really not a fanatic, Peter. There are other yeshivas far more restrictive. We’ve got radios, the kollel families have TVs, we can subscribe to secular newspapers and magazines. Some of the yeshiva boys are enrolled at UCLA and Cal Tech. We’re considered comparatively liberal.”

  Decker said nothing.

  “One of the men from here even had the audacity to take me to the movies.”

  “You don’t see movies?” Decker asked.

  “It’s considered nahrishkeit—foolishness. I think the one we saw was with Steve Martin.”

  “How did you like it?”

  “The movie was okay, but the boy I was with…” Rina rolled her eyes. “What a weirdo! He wouldn’t dare touch me, of course, but he threw me a lot of lecherous looks. It was when I first started dating, a year after Yitzy died. I was eager to go out. A couple of rotten dates and I went back into hibernation.”