Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 17

by The Mercedes Coffin

  “When I think about how lucky I was to get out…” He blew out air. “I go to church every Sunday. That’s where I met my wife—in the church choir. Thank you, Jesus, for giving me a good voice.”

  Marge said, “Let’s talk about some of your North Valley friends. How’d they feel about Dr. Ben?”

  He hung his head. “We all thought the school administration was a bunch of idiots. We was just too cool, know what I mean?”

  “But you didn’t drop out. Why’s that?”

  He cleared his throat. “There was parts of school I really liked. I liked being on the basketball team and the football team. I liked orchestra, jazz ensemble, and chorus. And I liked Dr. Ben.” A chuckle. “I just hated everything academic. I didn’t see any purpose to learning, and I had no study habits. In my family, who’s gonna teach me how to study?”

  “What got you kicked out of school?”

  “The first time that Dr. Ben went to bat for me, I got in trouble for spray painting the library. I swore I’d never do it again, I repainted the walls, and that was that. I tried to stay clean, but I had no guidance and I had no money. Of course, there’s always ways of getting money, know what I’m saying?”

  “You sold drugs?”

  His face darkened with shame. “Dr. Ben couldn’t save me from gettin’ expelled, but he did save me from gettin’ busted. I was so damn lucky that he was on my side. And I think also that the school preferred to keep everything quiet. I was real fortunate.” He looked up. “Thank you, Jesus.”

  “How long had you been selling drugs?”

  “Maybe a year or so. I was makin’ money. I was livin’ it up. After I got busted…that’s when my nana sued for child custody.” Again his face had darkened, but this time it appeared from anger. Sweat rolled down his brow. Then he composed himself. “Best thing that ever happened to me.”

  But he still sounded resentful. Marge said, “What about your former peeps? Did any of them have contact with Dr. Ben?”

  “Sure. We all did when we got into trouble. But if you’re thinking that they had anything to do with his murder, you’re going in the wrong direction. None of them gave a damn about Dr. Ben.”

  Marge said, “What are your old-time buds doing now?”

  Arlington let out a gust of air. “I lost contact with most of them. Our lives went in different directions.”

  “How so?” Marge pressed.

  “Some are doing hard time, some are dead, maybe one or two is doing okay.”

  “Can you give me a list of their names?”

  “I will, but I’m telling you, they had nothing to do with Dr. Ben’s death. They didn’t care enough to kill him.”

  “Someone cared enough to kill him.”

  “From what everyone told me, he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “He was at a local civic meeting and was supposed to come directly home. That was the last anyone heard. What do you think happened?”

  “Wrong place at the wrong time. He got ’jacked. He drove a nice car.”

  “How’d a guy like Dr. Ben afford such a nice car?”

  Arlington shrugged. “I wouldn’t know.”

  Too glib? Maybe it was Marge’s imagination. “Did anyone speak to you about the murder?”

  “Yeah, friends told me about it.”

  “Do the names Calvin Vitton or Arnie Lamar sound familiar?”

  “I can’t say…” A pause. “Who are they?”

  “Cops involved with the murder of Dr. Ben. I’m surprised they don’t sound familiar. Detective Vitton called you up and asked you questions about the murder.”

  “He probably spoke to my nana.”

  “He did. His records also indicated that he spoke to you.”

  Arlington stiffened. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

  “You don’t remember being interviewed?”

  “It was a long time ago, Sergeant. I was stunned. If you said he spoke to me, I’m sure he did, but I don’t remember.”

  “Do you know a man named Primo Ekerling?”

  Arlington paused, then shook his head no. “No, don’t know the man.”

  “What about a man named Rudy Banks?”

  A beat before he spoke. “Now he sounds vaguely familiar.” He stroked his chin meaningfully. “Someone in high school…maybe he was in chorus with me.”

  “He’s a music producer.”

  “Okay…so maybe it was chorus.”

  “Rudy Banks and Primo Ekerling were in a punk group called the Doodoo Sluts.”

  “Punk…” Arlington was pensive. “I wasn’t into punk much—white-boy rebellion. Not my thing.”

  “What is your thing?”

  “R & B. Hip-hop. I play bass. That’s what I played in orchestra. Later on, I switched to electric bass.”

  “Do you still play music?”

  “Once in a while, I’ll fill in a spot in the school orchestra. The kids get a kick outta that. Every so often I think about getting another band together, but with my own kids and my job, there’s no time left over.”

  “You’ve played in bands?”

  Arlington looked down and smiled. “Sure, before I got married.” He laughed. “Singing and playing was always a good way to get the girls. When I first moved in with Nana, she made me join the church choir. I didn’t want to sing in no church choir. I was resentful. But after a while…I really liked it. Being musical separates you from the crowd.”

  “Did you have a band when you lived in L.A.?”

  “Nah, my peeps were more into rap. Wanna know what’s funny? I had more talent than any of them. If anyone could have made it in rap, it woulda been me. Nana hated rap. She called it idiotic doggerel and told me I was too good for that stuff. I still like rap, but now as a parent, I see her point.”

  “But your nana let you play in a band.”

  “Nana loves R & B. She’s got good taste.”

  “By the way, Rudy Banks went to North Valley High.”

  Arlington smiled. “So that’s why I remember him from chorus. The other one…Ekermen—”

  “Ekerling.”

  “Did he go to North Valley?”

  “No, he grew up back east.”

  “So that’s why he don’t sound familiar and Rudy does.”

  Marge nodded.

  But the ages didn’t match up. Marge would check it again, but she had thought that Rudy had dropped out by the time Arlington was a freshman. If there was a reason to reinterview him, Marge would point out the inconsistency at that time.

  THE ONLY REASON Decker heard his cell was because it was still in his jacket hanging up in the bedroom closet. Once again, he’d forgotten to plug it into the charger. But this time it was fortunate. He slipped out of bed carefully, so as not to wake up his wife, and barely made it to the cell before the message machine kicked in. He closed the door to the closet and said hello.

  “What do you want from me this time?”

  It took a moment for Decker to wipe the sleep from his brain. The smooth, albeit irritated voice was instantly recognizable. “What time is it?”

  “Your time or my time?”

  “On either time, you’re up late.”

  “It must be the drugs.”

  “What do you know about a guy named Rudy Banks?”

  A small laugh over the phone. “You throw names at me like I know every sleazeball in the world.”

  “Take it as a compliment. Besides, how do you know he’s a sleazeball?”

  “Who else would you be asking me about?”

  “He’s a music producer. A former partner of Primo Ekerling.”

  “The guy stuffed in the Benz.”

  “Good memory.”

  “My brain may be swimming in booze, but alcohol is a wonderful preservative.”

  “Ekerling and Banks were in a punk group called the Doodoo Sluts in the late eighties.”

  “I was twelve, Decker.”

  “You’re a musician.”

  “Classical musician
.”

  “Ever heard of the group?”

  “Rings a tiny bell. What do you want with Banks?”

  “Banks isn’t returning my phone calls.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t like you.”

  “You have any suggestions as to how I might get his attention?”

  “No.”

  “Do you have any relative in the recording industry that might evoke some reaction in the man?”

  Donatti laughed. “I have friends everywhere. Watch your back.”

  “I could give you the same suggestion. How about a name?”

  Silence over the line. Decker waited him out. “Sal Crane.”

  “Sal Crane,” Decker said as he wrote it down. “What does Sal do?”

  “Sal does a lot of things.”

  “In the music business?”

  “How should I put this?” A long pause. “Sal works in…compensation. For instance, if a group covers a song, Sal makes sure that the original artists get royalties.”

  “Using his name might be helpful then. Would he mind if I used his name?”

  “No, he wouldn’t like it at all. But if you mention him to Banks, I’m betting that he wouldn’t call Sal to verify that you’re a friend. And even if he did, Sal wouldn’t take his call. Sal doesn’t like to be bothered by the little folk. It makes him irritated.”

  “Sal’s got a temper?”

  “Don’t we all.”

  CHAPTER 17

  RINA POURED THE coffee. “Who were you talking to in the closet last night?”

  Decker hid his face behind the newspaper. “What are you talking about?”

  “I heard you get up, close the closet door, and speak in low tones.”

  Busted. “A snitch.”

  Rina grinned. “Sure you weren’t playing virtual life behind my back?”

  “Check my computer,” Decker said. “If there’s anything racier on it than the Porsche Turbo convertible, I plead guilty.”

  Rina sat down. “First of all, why would you be speaking to a snitch? And second, why was your snitch calling you so late?”

  “In answer to your first question, I’m working on an actual homicide instead of doing paperwork like a normal lieutenant. A lot is riding on a solve and I need help. Second answer is, snitches don’t keep banker’s hours.” He looked at her and smiled. “Any other questions, Ms. Curious?”

  “Just one. Do I have to be careful?”

  Decker looked at his wife’s face—a mask of concern. “About what?”

  “About weird people showing up on our doorstep.”

  “No. The snitch lives three thousand miles away, and there’s not a chance in the world that he’ll hurt you.”

  “Oh…” A pause. “Him.” Rina tried to appear calm, although she wasn’t. She couldn’t imagine why he’d be using Donatti as a source of information. She changed the subject. “Cindy called. They’re coming over for Shabbos. She also said for you to phone her when you get a chance.”

  “Like in right away?”

  “Like in when you get a chance…which could mean right away.”

  He checked his watch. “Do you mind if I give her a buzz now? Maybe I can get her before she starts work.”

  “Of course not. I’ll wake up Sleeping Beauty. Can you take her to school?”

  “Sure. If you have time for lunch, I could probably get away for an hour.”

  “I think that’s a go.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave her husband a peck on the cheek. “Give me a call if you don’t get swamped with work. And please, please, please, be careful. Your snitch may be able to provide you with a wealth of information, but it also means you’re swimming with a great white.”

  Decker didn’t answer right away. Rina was swift in the logic department, but then again how many sources did he have three thousand miles away? “I’m always careful,” he reiterated. “I know whom—or what—I’m dealing with.”

  “I hope so.” She bit her lip. “Just make sure that if anyone is chopped-up chum, it’s him and not you.”

  Decker gave her a confident thumbs-up. As soon as she left the kitchen, he dialed his elder daughter’s cell. “Hey, I heard you called.”

  “I did. Hold on.” The line went quiet but not dead. In the background was the roar of traffic. “Can you hear me?”

  “You’re outside. Are you at the station house?”

  “Yes, so I’ll make this quick. Rip Garrett got wind of your poking around the Ekerling case. He and Tito are grumbling. Thought you might like to know.”

  “Are you getting flack?”

  “No, because I’m acting like I’m on their side. When they pointedly asked me what was going on—and you knew that I was going to be called on this—I immediately offered to call you up and ask what you were doing. Of course, I knew what you’re doing. Later I told Rip and Tito that you said you were working on a cold case, but you were playing it close to the vest. Then I said something like ‘That’s my dad’s style, sticking his nose into everything. Is there anything you’d like me to say to him?’ And then they said something like, ‘Tell him if he has questions to give us a call and stop hotdogging it.’ Hence the call.”

  “There’s nothing in the file that I couldn’t have gotten from Marilyn Eustis.”

  “Who, by the way, is the one responsible for your grief. She contacted Rip and told him you were looking at suspects other than Geraldo Perry and Travis Martel. She wanted to know what was going on. It didn’t settle well with him.”

  “I’ll call Garrett and Diaz to let them know what I’m doing. Thanks for the heads-up. I’m sorry I got you involved in this mess. I’ll take it from here.”

  “I sure hope so. I’ve got to work with these guys. If some sleazeball holds a gun to my head, I don’t want to wonder if my partner likes me or not.”

  MARGE WAS NOTHING if not efficient, having downloaded her notes from the airport in Ohio at six in the morning EDT. By the time she arrived at Decker’s office, he had already read them twice and had made his own marginal notes. He looked at his favorite sergeant clad in a blue jacket, vanilla top, brown slacks, and flats. Her face was clean and bright, and she appeared downright perky for someone who had been up since one in the morning PDT.

  “I slept on the plane,” she explained. “I took two Benadryls as soon as we took off and didn’t wake up until we were landing. Drugs have their purpose…legal ones.” She pointed to the notes. “What do you think?”

  “Several things come to mind.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Why did Darnell say that he was in the school’s chorus with Rudy Banks when their time in high school didn’t overlap?”

  “An obvious blip in the man’s honesty radar or a simple mistake.”

  “And you’re sure your dates are correct?”

  “No, I’m not positive, so I’m rechecking everything. As it stands, Rudy dropped out a year before Darnell entered high school.”

  “Is it possible that they were in a community choir together?”

  “Darnell didn’t mention anything about a community choir. The second thing that mars Mr. Arlington’s good citizenship record is a little white lie. How could he not remember Cal Vitton?”

  “And it’s a really stupid lie because the interview is in the case files.”

  “Clearly, he wants to really distance himself from the murder.” Marge scribbled some figures. “According to my math, Ben Little was murdered about five years after Rudy dropped out. At that time, Arlington was a senior, living in Ohio, and Rudy and Primo were in L.A. cutting albums as the Doodoo Sluts.”

  Decker said, “If Darnell said Rudy Banks’s name sounds familiar, he damn well knows the guy. Being in high school chorus was the first thing Darnell could think of. So we’ve got to ask ourselves how the two really are connected and what, if anything, it has to do with Little’s murder.”

  “Maybe music, maybe drugs, and maybe both,” Marge said. “Arlington admits selling drugs. Maybe he was a runner for the industry and that’
s how he met Rudy.”

  “But where’s the connection to Little?”

  “Little knew Darnell was pushing. Maybe Little was going to expose the operation, leaving Rudy without his main supplier. So Banks had Little whacked.”

  “Arlington was already gone when Little was whacked. Surely Rudy could have found another source.”

  Marge mulled over the words. “Okay, how about this? Darnell was the pusher at North Valley, which is why he didn’t drop out of school. Let’s say Darnell got busted. Little managed to hush up the bust and get Darnell out of the picture. But then let’s say a few months later, Rudy takes over Darnell’s former turf and starts selling. Little finds out and gets in the way of Rudy’s operation.”

  “That’s a leap—from buyer to seller.”

  “Not really,” Marge said. “From what we’ve found out, Rudy’s pretty damn entrepreneurial.”

  “Okay. For argument’s sake, let’s say you’re right. That would explain a connection between Banks and Arlington. How does Primo Ekerling fit in?”

  “Maybe Ekerling and Banks were in it together. Maybe eventually conscience caught up with Ekerling. He hated Banks. Maybe he finally decided to do the right thing and report Rudy. So Rudy whacked him as well.”

  “Fifteen years later?”

  “Yeah, that doesn’t make any sense at all. Nor does it explain why Cal Vitton decided to commit suicide right after you called him up to ask about the Little case.”

  Decker said, “While you were gone, Oliver’s been working on Little’s financials.”

  “And?”

  “He owned a lot of toys—a Mercedes, a small boat, a trailer, a camper…plus, he had a little money in the bank and there was a college fund for each of the boys. That might have come from insurance…or from other sources.”

  “Ah…” She digested the new information. “So you’re thinking that maybe Little was running drugs?”

  “We have no indication that he was anything but a straight shooter.”

  “But we do know that his wife developed a big gambling problem after he died…meaning she probably had a little gambling problem before he died. Maybe Little needed some disposable income. A few hundred here or there can add up, especially since the income is unreported.”