Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 17

by The Mercedes Coffin

  Oliver thought about that for a moment. “I suppose my ex might even cry if I ate my gun.”

  “God forbid,” Marge said.

  Decker said, “Cal’s sons are coming. The oldest, Freddie, is bringing in his family from Nashville. Cal Junior and his partner, Brady, are also going to make an appearance.”

  “Where’s the shindig taking place?” Oliver asked.

  “Church of the Good Shepherd, wherever that is.” Decker checked his watch again. “I might need a few extra minutes to find the place. And who knows what the parking situation might be. It might be a bit of a crowd.”

  “Sounds like a full house,” Marge said.

  “I certainly hope so. It would be sad to hold a memorial and have no one show up.”

  THE PLACE WAS immense, built at a time when land was cheap and so were construction costs: hand-hewn stone façade, majestic ceilings, stained-glass windows, a pipe organ worthy of Bach. Cal Vitton couldn’t have asked for better surroundings to make a final stand. Good Shepherd was nestled in the foothills surrounded by oak, sycamores, and eucalyptus. The wildflowers—poppies, lupines, daisies—were in bloom but withering fast as the days grew longer and the sun shone hotter.

  About fifty people had shown up, huddled together at the front of the altar, leaving behind a sea of walnut pews. It was immediately clear to Decker, who had been to hundreds of funerals and memorials, that the minister hadn’t known Cal. The eulogy seemed canned and impersonal—something from a clergymen’s cheat book—but it was delivered with a stentorian voice. Afterward was open mike. Anyone who wanted to speak about Vitton could do so.

  Freddie was first at bat. Slim and tan, he had dark curly hair, a round face, and soft features. His emotion seemed genuine, as he stopped several times to compose himself. He spoke about his father’s work ethic, touched on his dad’s sense of justice, and talked about his father’s loyalty to his fellow officers.

  Cal J went next: dry-eyed and stoic. He reiterated many of his brother’s themes, calling his father a great investigator, a tireless worker, and a constant pursuer of justice. The ex didn’t speak, but several of his fellow cops did. Perhaps Arnie Lamar had the most to say and even that wasn’t too much. All of Vitton’s accolades dealt with Cal the cop and not much about Cal the family man.

  The service lasted a little over an hour. Afterward there was a reception in the church’s social hall. Plenty of room to disperse but the group was centered on the food—several tables of pastries, cookies, fruit, and finger sandwiches. The beverages included coffee and tea, but no booze, which almost guaranteed a short-lived gathering.

  Since the Vitton brothers were busy accepting condolences, Decker figured it was a good time to buttonhole Detective Shirley Redkin, catching her just as she popped a piece of pineapple into her mouth. Her dark eyes widened and she held up a finger.

  Decker said, “I hate when that happens. There isn’t a graceful way to chew when you know someone’s waiting to talk to you.”

  Chew, chew, swallow, swallow. “Exactly. I’ve been meaning to call you about the autopsy.” She looked around for a less-populated space to talk. They decided on a corner spot. “The coroner ruled it inconclusive, but his real feeling was that it was a suicide.”

  “What swayed him away from ruling it a suicide?” Decker asked.

  “Nothing at the death scene. Vitton’s hand was tattooed with blood spatter and gun powder and the right amount of stippling for someone who had just pulled the trigger at closeish range. The pills were old, but they still retained enough active ingredients to put him under. There wasn’t anything suspicious in his blood—other than booze and oxycodone.”

  “So I repeat. Why inconclusive?”

  “The circumstances surrounding the death. You had just talked to Vitton about an old cold case, and twelve hours later he was dead. I think the ME wants some wiggle room if other evidence surfaces and we need to reopen the case.”

  “Have you told the family about the ruling?”

  “I did, and they seemed okay with it.”

  Decker said, “Did he leave behind anything of value?”

  “His house and around ten grand in savings split between the sons.”

  “I’m not familiar with Simi Valley. What’s his house worth?”

  “I’d say around four hundred grand. By the time you’re done with commission and taxes and this and that, the boys will only clear around a hundred grand each.”

  Decker raised his eyebrow.

  “I know,” Shirley told him. “People have been killed for shoelaces, but I did a little preliminary investigation on the brothers. Freddie clears six figures, and Cal J has steady work as a set designer.”

  “Do either of the brothers have any vices?”

  “Not that I’m aware of, but I hadn’t really pushed the money motive. From everyone’s standpoint, Cal Vitton was bitter and very depressed. Suicide still is everyone’s number one choice. But I’ll keep my ears open for contrary evidence.”

  Decker said, “Maybe I should start thinking about what drove Cal Vitton to suicide rather than if it was a suicide or not. Thanks for your help, Detective Redkin. And if you do hear anything, please let me know.”

  “Not a problem.” Shirley checked her watch. “As fun as it was, all good things must end.” A smile. “See you later, Lieutenant. Or maybe not.”

  Decker watched her go, then stopped by the food table. He was grabbed by Arnie Lamar, who offered to introduce him to his group of retired detectives. In rapid succession, Decker met Chuck Breem, Allan Klays, Tim Tucker, and Marvin Oldenberg—men, like Arnie, with veined hands, liver spots, and varying degrees of baldness. Their eyes were still sharp, though, taking in everything, forever wary.

  The first five minutes were spent listening to “the way it was back then.” The next ten minutes consisted of war stories with the usual suspects—dealers, thugs, bums, pimps, and hookers. Decker had heard it all before and didn’t make much of a pretense of being interested. He blatantly checked his watch, his eyes shifting between Freddie Vitton and younger brother, Cal J. Lamar took the hint.

  “Hey, guys, I’m gonna introduce the big man to the boys,” Lamar said. “Keep the meter running. I’ll be back.” He steered Decker toward Freddie and when the time was right made the introduction. Vitton’s eyes sized him up. “You were a friend of his?”

  “No, I came to his house to talk about one of your father’s old cases.”

  “Bennett Little,” Lamar chimed in.

  Vitton’s eyes drifted. “Bennett Little. We all knew him as Dr. Ben. The one that got away. That’s what Dad used to say.”

  “Did your father talk about the case a lot?”

  “No, he didn’t. He didn’t talk much, period. It’s not that I was estranged from my father, but we respected each other’s privacy. We saw each other maybe once or twice a year for holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and birthdays. Overall, and Arnie can back me up on this, Dad wasn’t a chatty guy.”

  “One hundred percent,” Lamar said.

  “I gathered that from your eulogy,” Decker said. “You spoke very well.”

  “Thank you. What new information did you have about Little?”

  “Nothing,” Lamar broke in.

  Decker said, “Arnie, I think your friends are missing you. They keep making some obscene gestures behind your back.”

  “I get the hint,” Lamar said. “See you in five, Freddie. We’re still on for dinner?”

  “Absolutely.” The son turned to Decker. “I’m surprised Dad agreed to talk to you about Little. After he retired, he was through with police work.”

  “He didn’t want to talk to me. I had to press him. But he did agree to see me. That’s why I was so surprised to find him…gone.”

  “Do you think there’s a connection between your phone call and his death?” Freddie let out a soft chuckle. “Of course you do. Why else would you be bringing it up? Do you think Dad was murdered? Is that what you’re saying? The death was ru
led inconclusive. That means they’re not sure, right?”

  “It means he may have been murdered but they don’t know for certain. I’m wondering if there’s something about the Little case being reopened that might have driven him to suicide.”

  “What specifically were you trying to find out from my dad?”

  “At that time, I was just gathering information. Since then I’ve come across a few things. Does the name Rudy Banks ring a bell?”

  “Of course I know Rudy Banks. He’s a con artist. He rips off everybody, and when they protest, he makes their life miserable and sues them. Everyone in the industry hates him. But I also have a personal vendetta. Rudy spent four years torturing my brother. If it hadn’t been for Dr. Ben’s intervention, I think Cal J would have killed himself.”

  Decker gave himself a moment to breathe in the information. He took out his notepad. “Torturing him because he was gay?”

  “Of course. But also because Rudy could get away with it. Not when I was in North Valley. Rudy was a few classes behind me, and the one time he tried to bully my brother when I was around, I cleaned his clock. After that, he had to wait until I graduated to start his reign of terror. He’s a shithead.”

  “He’s missing,” Decker said. “He moved out over the weekend and no one has heard from him since.”

  “He’s not really missing then. He probably messed with the wrong people and now he’s running away.”

  “Was he physically as well as verbally abusive with your brother?”

  “He punched him, he kicked him, he shoved him, he tripped him: that was just the warm-up. I believe the most treacherous thing he ever did was throw acid on his lower back in PE.”

  “Jesus! Was he arrested?”

  “My brother wouldn’t press charges. Cal was lucky. He had turned around at the last moment. I think you can figure out where the acid was supposed to land.”

  “What did you father do about it?”

  “Nothing, because my brother never told my father.”

  “Surely your father knew something was wrong.”

  “I’m sure he did, but Dad wasn’t a person who delved into emotions. Even if Cal J said something, I could see my father telling him to ‘take it like a man.’”

  “There’s a difference between exchanging punches and getting acid burns.”

  “You’re right. Maybe Dad would have done something about it if he had known about that specific incident.”

  “Did your dad know that Rudy was bullying Cal?”

  “Don’t know. I found out about the acid incident after the fact. I came home from college break and saw the burned skin. My brother said he had an accident. When I pressed him, he told me the truth. I was ready to confront Banks and beat the shit out of him, but my brother begged me not to. He said that Dr. Ben was handling the situation. I respected Dr. Ben. Lucky for Rudy. Otherwise I would have sliced his balls off.”

  He was kneading his hands.

  “Look, I know you’re here to find out information, but please don’t bring this up with Cal J. It took him forever to get over the trauma. Not only Rudy, but coming out to my father. He seems all right now. He’s got a good job and a nice boyfriend. I don’t want to see him in any more pain. I mean, who’d want to talk about that?”

  Decker nodded. “I heard Rudy left high school in eleventh grade.”

  “He was expelled.”

  “Because of your brother?”

  “That and probably a million other reasons.”

  “Who kicked him out? Dr. Ben?”

  “Probably the entire administration. What does this have to do with my father’s death?”

  “I think Rudy’s involved in Little’s death, but I can’t figure out how or why. This is compounded by the fact that Rudy had been out of the school for at least five years before Little was murdered, so why would he wait so long to murder Little? Did your father ever suspect Rudy in the Little case?”

  “My dad didn’t discuss that case with me. I was gone by then. But if there had been a reason to arrest Rudy, I’m sure my father would have done it. He hated Rudy and not just because of Cal. Rudy was always getting into trouble.”

  Decker said, “So you’re saying that Banks probably didn’t have anything to do with the Little case. Otherwise your father would have arrested him right away.”

  “Maybe he suspected him, but he didn’t have the evidence. All I’m saying is, if there had been evidence, Dad would have gone for the jugular. He hated Rudy.”

  “And Rudy hated your dad?”

  “Rudy hated everyone.”

  “Including Ben Little?”

  “Most certainly Ben Little. Little was always on his case, for good reason.”

  “The murder had the earmarks of a professional hit. Any way that Banks could have arranged it?”

  “Sure. Banks used to run drugs in high school. He’d have a lot of access to unsavory people.”

  “Did he have money to pay for it?”

  “When Little was murdered, the Doodoo Sluts had some big hits. He would have had money.”

  “I understand most of that money went up his nose or in his lungs. That’s what one of his bandmates told me.”

  “I’m sure some of it did. I wouldn’t know.”

  Decker’s brain started clicking. “How do you know Rudy used to run drugs?”

  “People I knew used to buy pot from him.”

  “Did you ever know a boy named Darnell Arlington?”

  Vitton shook his head. “That name isn’t familiar. Who is he?”

  “He went to North Valley, but he’s younger than you by a lot. He was one of the black kids voluntarily bused into the school. He was one of Ben Little’s charity cases.”

  “Sorry. I never heard of him.”

  “He also ran drugs. Maybe he knew Rudy Banks. Was Rudy still pushing drugs after he graduated?”

  “Honestly, Lieutenant, I don’t know if he was or if he wasn’t. I got the hell out of Dodge and never looked back.”

  CHAPTER 27

  BETWEEN THE MEMORIAL and his impromptu meeting with Genoa Greeves and all of his other regular duties, Decker was a bundle of nerves; his mind was whirling with ideas and theories combined with worries about scheduling problems as the months marched into summer vacation time. When he reached home, all he wanted to do was strip his clothes off, take a hot shower, eat, and go to bed.

  Rina, on the other hand, was dressed up—a short-sleeved pink sweater and a brown suede skirt. She had put on jewelry and makeup. But the tip-off was the kitchen. It was aroma free and dark.

  “Hannah’s sleeping over Aviva’s. I thought we’d go out.” She regarded him. “Or maybe I can whip something up.”

  “No, no, no.” Decker managed a smile. “We’ll go out, and we’ll go somewhere nice.”

  Rina smiled back. “I made reservations in the city, but if that’s too far, I can change it.”

  “No, I don’t mind driving. I’ll take a shower and then we can go.”

  “You’re being a good sport about this. You really look tired.”

  “A good cabernet and a steak will wake me up.”

  “More like put you to sleep.”

  “Then you can drive home.”

  WHAT WOKE DECKER up was hearing about Rina’s day—the kids, the school, her gardening, her latest seed acquisitions, a new dish she was planning on making for Shabbos, Hannah’s choir practice, Sammy’s applications to medical school. Decker enjoyed hearing the melody of her voice. He loved looking at her. He savored her touch as they held hands across the table. Being other-directed prevented his brain circuits from going into overload.

  After working through a sushi roll appetizer, he realized that he was genuinely hungry. He ordered a thick-slab prime rib cooked on the bone and prepared medium rare and it went down very well. They passed on dessert but took their time sipping tea.

  Rina eyed him through the steam of her chamomile. “What’s new with you?”

  “Nothing much.”<
br />
  “That’s a fib.”

  “Yes, it is.” Decker rubbed his forehead. “Well, this morning I was greeted by a spontaneous visit from Ms. Moneybags Genoa Greeves.”

  “The tech billionaire who got the ball rolling.”

  “In person. She proceeded to tell me that because my office was small, I was probably incompetent.”

  “No!”

  Decker smiled. “Something along those lines. We spoke a little and she thawed—but only slightly. By the time we were through talking, she promised to update our computer system for free.”

  “The charmster at work, you sly fox, you. What did Strapp have to say about that?”

  “He was as political as ever.”

  “Figures. How’d you get her to do that? I’m assuming it was you and not Strapp.”

  “That’s correct. Honestly, I think she appreciated my candor. She tried to offer me money to solve the case, and I told her she could offer but it wouldn’t help.”

  Rina chuckled. “You had to say that.”

  “Pretty moronic, huh?”

  “You’re a man of integrity.”

  “A man of stupidity.”

  “How was the memorial?”

  “Sad.”

  “Did you find the information you needed?”

  “I found out that Rudy Banks used to torture Cal Vitton’s son.”

  “The music producer in Nashville.”

  “No, that’s the older son. Banks used to bully the gay one.”

  “I didn’t know Cal Vitton had a gay son. What did Rudy do to him?”

  “Aside from the usual bullying, the worst thing Banks did was throw acid, aimed at the kid’s genitals, but he missed and instead the acid landed on Cal Junior’s back.”

  “That’s monstrous!” Rina was aghast. “I hope he did some jail time.”

  “Nope. Nothing. Cal J never told his old man.”

  “But surely his dad knew something!”