Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 17

by The Mercedes Coffin

Decker tried to be as calm as he could. He didn’t know which girl Rudy had in his clutches. Not that it mattered. All Decker saw was the terror plastered across a frightened child. “Do whatever you want. For what it’s worth, I think it’s better for you if you let her go. Less chance for something getting fucked up. But you’re the boss.”

  “Fucking A right about that.”

  Decker’s mind was racing with a single thought: how to get the gun away from the girl’s head without either of them getting shot. If Banks got shot, while that wasn’t ideal, Decker could certainly live with that. He could make out the girl’s eyes—dilated and awash in fear. “What’s next, boss?”

  “Down on your knees.”

  That was not going to happen. Decker said, “If you’re going to shoot me, you’re going to shoot me standing up.”

  “I’m not going to shoot you, but how do I know when I let her go, you’re not going to try to swipe the gun away.”

  Decker took five steps backward. “I’m way out of your reach.”

  After what seemed like hours…more like a few moments…Banks let go of the sobbing girl and she ran out of the lobby. Decker was now staring at the barrel of a Glock 11 mm semiautomatic. “Just you and me, boss.”

  “Turn around.”

  Decker said, “You’ve got to keep your eyes on me, but I’ve got to keep my eyes on you. If you get cranky and start peeling off rounds, I need to be able to duck.”

  Silence.

  “I’m not moving on you, Rudy.”

  Banks’s arm was starting to shake. He propped it up with his free hand.

  Decker said, “You’ll notice that we’ve been in here for what…five minutes and no one has stormed the place. It’s still just you and me.”

  Rudy didn’t answer.

  “All I have to do is phone and tell them we’re coming out,” Decker said. “That’s all I have to do. I promise you that none of our people want to fuck this up. Once you’re out of this sketchy situation, you’ll get your lawyer, you’ll get your bail, and you’re home drinking Scotch and watching the game on TV.”

  “I fucking hate sports.”

  “C’mon. You know what I’m saying. You’re a savvy guy, Rudy. You know how to work the media.” Decker tried to keep condescension out of his voice. “Show these stupid kids what badass really is.”

  More silence.

  The gun still aimed at his face.

  Finally, Rudy whispered, “Make your call.”

  “Smart,” Decker said. “Very smart.” He tried to work as quickly as he could before Banks could change his mind. “All set.”

  Banks said, “We walk out slowly!”

  Decker was shivering and sweating at the same time. “You better believe it.”

  “You’re an idiot for coming in and making yourself a human shield.”

  “I’m sure my wife would agree.”

  “I think I’m a bigger idiot for trusting you.”

  “At this point, the only option we have is to trust each other.”

  “Are you going to get some kind of promotion for this?”

  “Maybe I’ll get a bonus.”

  “If we walk out alive.”

  “Yeah, if we don’t, maybe my wife will get some insurance money.”

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! How the fuck did this happen?”

  “I don’t know, Rudy. Hollywood called me down and told me you wanted to talk to me. That’s all I know.”

  “You tell Hollywood that they’re fucking lunatics if they think they can slap me with Ekerling’s murder.”

  “I will relay the message with all your sentiments.”

  Banks exhaled, signifying resignation and/or fatigue. “Okay, let’s get this over with. You go first.”

  “Rudy, you’re going to have to ditch the weapon. If they see the gun, they’re going to get nervous.”

  Slowly Banks lowered the gun. Decker heard himself exhale audibly. “Smart. Put it down on the floor. Don’t kick it over to me. We don’t want anything to go off. Just gently put it down on the floor.”

  Time crawled into second-hand ticks, but eventually Banks complied.

  “Put your hands up and step away from the weapon.”

  “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  “It’s almost over,” Decker soothed. “Raise your hands over your head, and we’ll walk out together.”

  Banks cooperated.

  “Perfectly done. You see, I’m not charging at you, I’m not doing anything stupid. I’m moving very slowly.”

  Rudy didn’t answer.

  Decker said, “You go first, but I’ll be right behind you.”

  They inched their way out of the Sand Dune and stepped onto the porch. They were so close in proximity that Decker could smell Banks’s sour breath, hear his frantic pants with each intake of air. Dawn was palpable. Outside it had turned from black to gray. Visibility was a plus.

  Seconds from victory. Just a few more steps.

  They hadn’t gotten more than two paces forward when the single shot rang out. Immediately Decker dropped, covering his head and neck, trembling like a windblown aspen, not sure if the pain he felt was from the fire of a bullet or from his helmet knocking hard against the cold ground.

  A surge of cops converged on him. He heard his own voice. It kept repeating, “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” He shook off the bodies around him. “I’m fucking okay! Leave me alone!” Trembling from fear and adrenaline, he rubbed his arms and waited for his eyes to focus. He was still viewing his life with rods instead of cones. A slew of paramedics were kneeling on the lawn, working frantically at the spot where he had stood a few moments ago.

  “What the fuck happened?” he heard his voice ask.

  “Someone shot the bastard,” a disembodied voice told him.

  “How the fuck did that happen?” Decker spun around and was staring at Cressly. “I was inches from the bastard. Whoever the fuck shot at him could have gotten me!”

  “It wasn’t one of us—”

  “Then who the fuck was…” It was then that Decker noticed a commotion off to the side. The cops wrestling someone to the ground. He ran to the spot.

  Ryan Goldberg was facedown with a cop on his back, a gun to his head, and twenty cops ready to beat the shit out of him if he moved. His hands had been drawn behind his back and secured with a plastic tie. A pistol lay a few feet away from where he had been tackled.

  Decker was rendered speechless.

  Somehow Liam O’Dell had made it through the yellow tape and over to the scene. He was frantic, waving his arms and shouting over and over: “Why’d you do it, Mudd? Why’d you do it? Why’d you do it?”

  Ryan answered. “Because Rudy is bad.”

  The cops hoisted Ryan to his feet and pushed O’Dell aside. He tripped and almost fell on the ground. As he got up, he shouted. “Fuck, Mudd! Now you’re going to jail. You’re going to jail!”

  Ryan turned around and smiled beatifically. “Irish, I’ve been in jail for the last fifteen years. Wherever I’m going, it’s got to be better.”

  “Oh Christ!” Liam tried to run after him, but the cops held him back, threatening him with jail if he didn’t get the fuck out. He shouted, “I’ll get you a lawyer, Mudd.”

  “Call my brother,” Goldberg shouted back. “He’s a lung doctor.”

  CHAPTER 42

  IT TOOK A full week for Rina to even speak to him, and when she did, her conversation ran monosyllabic.

  “I’m sorry!” Decker told her for the umpteenth time.

  “It’s fine, Peter.”

  “It was stupid. I admit it. It was stupid, stupid, stupid. It’ll never happen again.”

  “I said it’s fine. I know you were just doing your job.” Rina tightened her robe. “I’m very tired. I’m going to bed.”

  He heard the door close a little harder than it needed to. He sat at the dining room table in his pajamas, looking down at his dinner plate. The meat loaf had congealed and the vegeta
bles were wilted. When he looked up, Hannah was looking at him with pity. “Not too hungry?”

  “Not really.”

  “I’ll wash your plate.”

  “No, I’ll do it.” He checked his watch. “It’s almost ten.”

  “Top of the morning,” Hannah said. “She’ll get over it.”

  “Eventually, I suppose she will.” Decker said.

  “She has a point. It was stupid, Abba.”

  “Et tu, Brute?”

  Hannah came over to him and hugged his neck. Decker patted her arm. “Thanks, Hannah, I needed a hug.” When he turned around to look at her, she was in tears. He took his daughter into his arms and embraced her tightly. She was wearing flannel bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt and looked so forlorn and vulnerable. Just when he thought his guilt level had topped out, it went up another notch. “I’m so sorry, pumpkin. I’m so, so sorry.”

  “I was so scared!”

  “I know, pumpkin. It was wrong for me to do something so dangerous.”

  “Weren’t you scared?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “It’s hard to explain, Hannah. The situation just kind of ran away from me. I was so focused on saving those women, I didn’t see anything else.”

  She was silent.

  “I had on a bulletproof vest and a helmet.”

  “Your job isn’t supposed to be dangerous enough to need those kinds of things.”

  “Mostly it isn’t.”

  “Except when it is.” She broke away from him and folded her hands in front of her chest. “You were already shot twice. What are you trying to prove?”

  Decker sighed. “I’m not proving anything. Like I said, the situation just got away from me.”

  “That’s no answer,” she harrumphed. “Well, it is an answer, but it’s a lame answer.”

  “It is a lame answer, but it’s the only one I have.” Decker tried out a smile. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

  Her face softened and the anger melted away. “I love you, Abba. I know that sometimes I can be difficult.” Her lip quivered. “I do appreciate you.”

  “I know you do, Hannah, I know you do.” He held out his hands and she fell into his arms again. “Love you, pumpkin pie. Can I tuck you into bed?”

  “I’m not ready yet. I have to sign off, I have to organize my backpack, I have to brush my teeth and hair and put on my acne medicine.”

  “Tell me when you’re ready.”

  “It may take a while.”

  “I’m not all that tired. I’ll wait.”

  DRESSED IN A coral silk blouse, a white pleated skirt, and white sneakers sans socks, Genoa Greeves looked a step away from the tennis court. Her legs were bare, her calves strong and muscular. Again, she had her laptop and took notes as Decker recounted the probable trail of events.

  Ryan Goldberg had fallen madly in love with Melinda Little. Egged on by Rudy Banks, Goldberg had decided to be a man and confront Bennett Little. But being as Goldberg wasn’t quite right in the head even back then, he had asked for Rudy’s help—could he arrange the meeting and also come with him just to make sure things didn’t get out of control?

  Decker said, “Ryan made a lot of mistakes…falling for the wrong woman…the wrong women. There were others. But this was a real bonehead thing to do.”

  “Like inviting the fox into the henhouse,” Genoa said.

  Decker continued.

  Rudy arranged the meeting, but he knew that Bennett Little would never have agreed to meet with him. Little didn’t trust him, didn’t like him. As a matter of fact, Little had been so angry at Rudy Banks because of Darnell Arlington’s expulsion that he wouldn’t even talk to Banks on the phone.

  “That much we got out of Goldberg. This is where conjecture comes in. I think Rudy did some improvising.”

  “Go on.”

  “If I had to lay out a scenario, it would probably be this. Rudy Banks called up Leroy Josephson, promising him a career as a rapper if he would just waylay Ben Little and bring him to a spot where Goldberg could talk to him. When Josephson asked how to do that, Banks probably gave him a gun and told him to use his imagination.

  “Now, Little would never have met with Banks, but Little couldn’t resist a student in trouble. Just after he had phoned his wife to tell her that he was on his way home, I’m thinking that Leroy Josephson flagged Little down just as he exited the civic center parking lot. Probably Little stopped for him, they talked, and eventually Leroy got into the Mercedes. Maybe Leroy was invited into the car, maybe he forced his way in. Then Leroy pulled the gun on Little.”

  “Why do you assume that?”

  “Why else would Little have driven all the way out to the foothills? That was the designated spot where Ryan Goldberg and Rudy Banks were waiting for them. Also, Leroy had the gun drawn when he and Little got out of the car.”

  “That’s awful.”

  Involuntarily, Decker rubbed his neck. “Goldberg told us that all he had wanted to do was to talk to Little, to find out if Ben loved Melinda as much as he did. He told us that Little was patient with Goldberg’s pleas. He also remarked that Little didn’t seem surprised by the affair, he didn’t even seem upset by it. In the end, Little told Goldberg that it was up to Melinda. He couldn’t make that decision for her.”

  Decker shifted in his desk chair.

  “This part is where Goldberg’s memory got murky. Rudy was telling him things and Leroy was telling him things and Little was telling him things.”

  “What things?” Genoa asked.

  “Something like…are you just going to take that? Come on, Mudd, show him who’s boss.” A pause. “It appears that Rudy wanted a confrontation between two guys who weren’t anxious to fight. But words got heated. Mudd remembered someone coming after him, and he threw a punch. The next thing that Mudd remembered was Little lying on the ground. Rudy went over to Little and felt for a pulse. He told Mudd that Little was dead.”

  “From a single punch?’

  “Mudd was a big guy. Rudy also could have been lying. Rudy told Mudd to put Little in the trunk of his car and he’d take care of everything. Mudd complied. Then shots rang out. Mudd claims he didn’t know who did the shooting. Just that Little was dead.”

  “Hmmm…sounds like a convenient time to forget things.”

  “Could be Mudd’s lying, but remember also that Mudd wasn’t too focused to begin with. He admitted being stoned. He was always on one kind of drug or another.”

  “That seems convenient, too.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Go on.”

  “Mudd said he went crazy after the shooting. Rudy managed to calm him down and get him into his car, but before they left, he remembered Rudy with his hand on Leroy’s shoulder, talking to him. Goldberg couldn’t hear what he was saying. Ryan also seemed to remember that Rudy gave Leroy money. That would fit with Wenderhole’s version of Leroy carrying around a lot of cash. What I think happened was that Ryan and Rudy went home while Leroy drove Little’s car to Clearwater Park. Then he called up Wenderhole to pick him up.”

  “I see. And Goldberg just let the incident go without a protest?”

  “Apparently he did. Mudd must have read about it in the papers. He must have been scared. But he swore that after that night, he never talked about it again…except to tell Melinda that he didn’t kill her husband.”

  “But you’re not so sure about that.”

  “No, I’m not. What I am certain about is that for fifteen years, Mudd lived with the guilt.”

  Genoa said, “But if Mudd lived with the guilt for fifteen years, why did he suddenly snap?”

  “Again, no one knows for sure,” Decker answered. “This is my theory for what it’s worth. When I visited Mudd that one time, he said he called up his old bandmate, Liam O’Dell, to ask questions about why I was there. Liam made the mistake of telling him that I was looking for Rudy, probably in regards to Ekerling’s murder. I think my investigatio
n unleashed something inside of him. He told his doctors that he suddenly wanted to find Rudy himself and take care of something that should have been taken care of a long time ago.”

  “How’d he find Rudy?”

  “Not by any brilliant deductive powers. The standoff made the news. Somehow Mudd managed to find a secret spot with a good view of the Sand Dune’s front lawn. He waited for Rudy to come out, and from there, we all know what happened. I thank God every day that Goldberg was an accurate shot.”

  “How’d he do that? Wasn’t it pitch-black outside?”

  “It was actually light gray. The sun hadn’t come up, but it wasn’t nighttime.”

  Genoa said, “I can’t understand this. If Rudy was involved in Primo Ekerling’s death, and you think he was…”

  “Definitely.”

  “Then why did he dispose of Ekerling’s body in the same way that he disposed of Little’s body? Didn’t he think that someone would put two and two together?”

  “We were dealing with two deaths, fifteen years apart, in different parts of L.A. The principal investigators on the Little case had retired. Banks probably thought that no one would notice.”

  “I did.”

  Decker smiled briefly. “Yes, you did. And maybe Banks thought that even if the cops did realize the similarities, we’d blame the murders on Ryan Goldberg. He was the one who was unbalanced.”

  “But Ryan had nothing against Primo Ekerling. Primo was his friend.”

  “You’re right, Ms. Greeves. I can’t answer that question well. I don’t know what went through Rudy’s head.”

  “All right.” She clicked on her laptop. “That’s not a completely sufficient answer, but I suppose it’s the best you can do.” She typed away. “That’s taken care of. Now what about Cal Vitton? Why did he commit suicide? Or was it murder?”

  “We’ll never know for certain. I think it was suicide.”

  “Why?”

  “Okay, let me see if I can make some sense. Phil Shriner had passed along Rudy’s name to Cal Vitton as a suspect in the Little murder. Shriner knew that Melinda had had an affair with Rudy and he thought that Rudy looked like a pretty good candidate for Ben Little’s murder. But Vitton never followed through. Maybe he forgot about the tip or maybe he chose to forget about it. I think Vitton didn’t want to antagonize Rudy because Banks knew that Vitton’s younger son was gay.”