Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 04

by Day of Atonement

  “The eyebrows?”

  The boy knitted his eyes in concentration.

  “Don’t force it, Yossie,” Decker said. “Just relax. Let it flow. If you don’t remember, that’s okay.”

  “I don’t remember his eyebrows,” Yossie said.

  “Fine,” Decker answered. “His nose—”

  “Big.”

  “Long, wide, bulbous—”

  “Long and big.”

  “Good. The cheeks.”

  “Just cheeks.”

  “Fleshy? Lean? Rosy-colored?”

  “Just plain cheeks.”

  “Okay,” Decker said. “Doing great, kid. Let’s go to the mouth.”

  “Big mouth,” Yossie said. “And a weird smile. Lopsided.”

  “Lopsided? In what way?”

  “I don’t know…just kinda lopsided and weird.”

  “Can you show me?” Decker asked.

  Yossie curled the right side of his mouth upward, leaving the other side flat. “And he’d like…scrunch up his eyes when he smiled, too.” He grimaced again, then started to laugh. Decker laughed too, happy that the boy was loosening up. Relaxed people have better memories.

  “That’s great, Yossie,” Decker said. “Now tell me this. When Hersh talked, was his mouth also crooked?”

  “Uh-uh,” Yossie said. “Only when he smiled.” He looked up at Decker. “It was a real weird smile, made me nervous. That’s why I bought the magazine.”

  “Did he threaten you?”

  “No.”

  “Okay,” Decker said. “Back to the smile. Could you see his teeth when he grinned?”

  “On the one side. They were just teeth.”

  “Big? Yellow? Did you notice any dental work?”

  Yossie shook his head.

  “Okay,” Decker said. “A weird, crooked smile. Let’s go on to his chin. Long? Square? Dimpled?”

  “Just a chin.”

  “That’s fine. Now I want you to move your eyes down from his face to the body. Can you picture his body?”

  Yossie nodded, his eyes still closed.

  “Good,” Decker said. “Take a nice long look at the body. When you’re done looking, tell me if he’s fat or thin or regular.”

  “Thinnish.”

  “Okay. How ’bout his shoulders? Are they wide—”

  “He’s thin but he has muscles.” Yossie opened his eyes. “I remember now. He was wearing this sleeveless shirt—a muscle shirt I think they’re called—and I could see his arms. He looked like he’d been lifting barbells.”

  “Terrific,” Decker said. “Just terrific. Can you tell me anything else about his body? Was it hairy?”

  Yossie shook his head.

  “Wasn’t hairy or you don’t know?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Decker said, “Did he walk with a limp?”

  “No.”

  “His voice. Was it high or low?”

  “Medium.”

  “All right. Did he talk with a stutter or a lisp?”

  “No.”

  “Did he have a Brooklyn accent?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let me rephrase that,” Decker said. “Did he sound like he was a native Brooklyn boy? Did he sound like he was from around here?”

  “Yeah, I think so. He didn’t talk like a Californian or a Southerner.”

  Decker recapped to Yossie the man he had just described. “Does that sound right?”

  “Yeah,” Yossie said. “That’s about it.”

  “You did fine,” Decker said. “Now this Hersh guy was maybe from Crown Heights?”

  “Maybe.”

  “But you think he was a local?”

  “I guess so.”

  “You met him at a liquor store in Crown Heights?”

  “Yes.”

  “In the black area of Crown Heights?”

  “Yeah. It was right past Empire.” He thought a moment. “You know, it might have been on Empire Boulevard.”

  “Hey, that’s great,” Decker said. “You’ve got a terrific memory, Yossie. You can be my witness anytime.”

  The boy smiled.

  “Now you only met Hersh the one time.”

  Yossie nodded.

  “Did he and Noam seem like good buddies?”

  “No,” Yossie said. “Not like good buddies. More like Hersh was a big shot and Noam kinda worshiped him like he was something hot. Frankly, I thought Hersh was a jerk, even jerkier than Noam.”

  “Did you get the impression that Hersh and Noam had met more than once or twice?”

  “Definitely.”

  Decker clapped his hands. “You did a great job. If you knew how important your information was to me, you’d really feel good about yourself. We want to find Noam, Yossie, before he gets into big trouble. You may have helped him more than anyone else.”

  The boy lowered his head, holding back a grin. Very slowly, he reached into a hidden cubbyhole in his closet-room and pulled out a magazine.

  “Here.” He gave it to Decker. “I should have thrown it away a long time ago, but I was too nervous someone would see me throwing it out. Every time my mother comes in here, I get nervous that she’ll find it. Can you get rid of it for me?”

  Decker flipped through the well-used rag. The kids sure knew the difference between Playboy and the real thing. He stuffed it in his jacket. “No problem.”

  The kid let out a sigh of relief. “Boy, do I feel better. Thank you very much.”

  “You’re very welcome,” Decker said.

  “Is Noam in big trouble?” Yossie asked.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  “He gets into trouble a lot. I just hope he’s not over his head. He’s kind of a jerk, but he isn’t evil or anything like that. I’d feel real bad if something happened to him.”

  “I understand.” Decker stood and helped the teenager up. “You’re a good friend, Yossie. Thanks for the help.”

  Yossie nodded gravely. Decker put his hand on the boy’s shoulder and extended the same offer he gave the Greitzman boys. Yossie’s spirits seemed to perk up immediately.

  Good ole Disneyland—the ultimate kid picker-upper.

  15

  Another sundown, this one signifying the end of the Jewish New Year. Decker dropped off Shimon Levine, then headed for the Lazarus house, thinking how the first two days of his honeymoon had been spent in emotional upheaval.

  Dusk was blanketing the neighborhood. A thick gray fog had settled upon the rooftops, obscuring chimneys and rain gutters as if the houses had been set in badly cropped photographs. Decker turned up his collar. Black-garbed shadows whooshed past him on their way to evening prayer, their shoes making clopping noises against the sidewalk. He took a deep breath, then exhaled, blowing out a stream of warm air. Just how far did he intend to take the case?

  It was hard to come up with rational decisions because he was tired and hungry. He hadn’t eaten breakfast because he’d overslept. With an empty stomach and puffy eyes, he had rushed off to morning services. Afterward, he’d bolted down a small lunch because he knew a full stomach would make him sleepy. He had wanted to be in top form for the interviews. The most insignificant thing might prove to be important; a kid’s life could depend on how alert he was.

  The interviewing had gone well. Good old Yossie Weinstein had provided a crack in the vacuum.

  Decker thought about the kids who lived here. The ones he’d spoken with seemed remarkably well adjusted. Even those who had strayed a bit from “the path” knew the difference between curiosity and trouble. The boys he’d interviewed had thought of Noam as an oddball at best, a bad apple at worst. But all agreed he seemed lonely.

  A lonely, naïve boy somewhere in the city. Frightening. He looked at Noam’s picture again. There was something cocky about his expression.

  His mind flashed to Jonathan’s first assessment of his nephew.

  Kid smiles a lot but never looks happy.

  And what Yossie had said about Hersh.


  He has a weird smile—lopsided.

  Mentally, Decker rummaged through his past case files: thousands of problem kids. Some were actually redeemable. But then there had been the others—the real badasses destined to do hard time if they lasted that long. They had many common attributes, but the one that was sticking in Decker’s mind was their affect—always out of sync with what was happening to them. No matter how much trouble they were in, they just sat there with these eerie smiles plastered on their faces, grinning as if you’d just told them a dirty secret.

  He stifled a yawn, his only wish—to pump something bulky and nontoxic into his stomach and close his eyes.

  Rina was waiting for him at the front door of the townhouse. She came out and gave him a bear hug.

  “All right!” Decker threw his arms around her. “To what do I owe this burst of affection?”

  “I love you. I realized it’s been a long time since I’ve told you that.”

  “Love you too, kiddo,” Decker said. “I’m beat.”

  Rina said, “We’ve got a full house inside—”

  “Christ—”

  “No one expects you to make chitchat. Everybody knows how hard you’re working. Just say hello, then go upstairs. I’ll bring you some dinner.”

  “Will you eat with me?”

  Rina smiled. He looked like a puppy begging for table scraps. She pinched his cheeks. “Of course I’ll eat with you.” She slid her arm around his waist and led him inside, gently pushing him through the throng of women—all of them wishing him their best. They would have asked him more—Decker saw curiosity etched into their faces—but Rina was a skillful guide. She whisked him into their room upstairs, then helped him off with his jacket. She pointed to the folded-down bed and said, “Sit down and I’ll take off your shoes. And I’ll even rub your feet.”

  Decker eyed her. “Are you doing this to keep me on this case?”

  Rina said, “Are you assigning ulterior motives to my wifely behavior?”

  “Your behavior isn’t wifely,” Decker said. “It’s…geisha-esque.”

  “That’s not a word, Peter,” she said. “Would you like me to take off your pants?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  Rina laughed. “No argument about that one.”

  “In fact—”

  “The boys will be home any second.”

  “I’ll be quick and I’ll be quiet.”

  Rina looked upset, regarded her watch.

  Decker said, “I was just kidding, darlin’.”

  “You don’t mind waiting until tonight?”

  “Honey, it’s a necessity unless you’re into necrophilia.”

  Rina smiled, then stared at her feet. Decker knew what questions were coming. Might as well preempt them, get it over with.

  “The interviews went well,” he said. “If the kids take me up on my offer, we’re going to have to rent a bus.”

  “What?”

  “To show my appreciation for their cooperation I promised them all trips to Disneyland if they come out to California. And Pete Decker does not break his promises.”

  “Did you find out anything substantial?”

  “Nothing to make me do a handstand,” Decker said. “But I got a new lead. I’m going to follow it up tonight.”

  “What kind of a lead?”

  “A liquor store and the name of a kid—a twenty-year-old, rather. His name is Hersh.” Decker described him. “He sound familiar?”

  Rina thought awhile, then shook her head.

  Decker said, “He didn’t sound familiar to Shimon, either. The kid I interviewed said Hersh might be from Crown Heights. I’ll check out Empire Boulevard. If I don’t get anywhere, I’ll canvass Crown Heights tomorrow.”

  “I thought you wanted out,” Rina said. “I had this whole elaborate speech prepared to defend your decision.”

  Decker collected his thoughts. “I do want out. And if I could find an Orthodox investigator, I’d gladly bid the whole clan adieu. But I have a feeling religious PIs are hard to come by and I can’t send average PI Joe into Crown Heights. I may not be ready to be ordained, but at least I have inklings as to what makes these people tick. An ordinary PI ain’t gonna know zilch.”

  Rina gave him an uh-huh.

  “And,” Decker went on, “I suppose, as a cop, I can communicate to the local police better than a PI could.” He glanced up at Rina. She was grinning. “Rina, I’m not being noble, just practical.”

  “Of course,” she said. “And also being practical, I think I should help you canvass Crown Heights.”

  Decker gave her a dubious look.

  Rina said, “Peter, I can talk to the women better than you can.”

  “Forget it.”

  “What are you going to tell me, Peter? It’s too dangerous? Some irate Lubavicher Chasid might curse me to death?”

  “I don’t work with my wife.”

  Rina stared at him. “That is so ridiculous. I’m not going to respond to it.”

  Decker smiled. “Your prerogative, darlin’.”

  “We both want to find Noam,” Rina said. “It’s also my honeymoon that’s being affected. I don’t see you a lot. You work long hours. At least let me ride with you so I can remember what you look like.”

  Decker said, “Now she’s trying guilt.”

  “I’m in the room, Peter. You don’t have to talk about me in the third person.”

  “Okay, okay.” Decker paused a long time. “All right, you can ride with me. Truth be told, I’d love to have your company. But if things start getting hairy, promise me you’ll back off.”

  “I’ve been through horrible situations before,” Rina said. “I think I’ve survived quite well.”

  “This has nothing to do with your ability to survive, hon,” Decker said. “Let’s just say I’m being selfish. My home—our home—is my refuge, a place where I can leave my work behind. If you’re in the field with me, Rina, I can’t do that. You understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, I do,” Rina said. “And I know how you feel about discussing your cases with me. If you don’t want to talk to me about work—if you’re afraid of burdening me or defiling the sanctity of our household, I understand. And that’s fine. Thank God you have Marge for catharsis.

  “But this is a special situation. I know the family. I’m personally involved. But more important, there’s something else going on. This whole Frieda Levine situation: It has to be affecting you. And except for me there’s no one else for you to confide in. I just want to be near you in case you need someone to lean on.”

  Decker gave her a weak smile, then averted his eyes. Goddamn, the woman was perceptive. Those walks with Ezra and Shimon, the talks with Jonathan: They had opened a Pandora’s box he’d never realized he’d owned. Whenever he seriously thought about it, he became dizzy, sick. Then he’d chastise himself for feeling that way. He had parents, he had a brother—what the hell did he care what these strangers thought of him? Yet the feelings of kinship had pierced his skin as subtly as a pinprick.

  He reached out to Rina like a poor man begging for alms. She was his heartbeat, the steady rhythmic pulse that gave him life. In her embrace, he found a place he would forever call home.

  Even accounting for getting-lost time, Decker figured Crown Heights to be no more than a twenty-minute car ride from Boro Park. It took him a half hour to realize he’d been assuming “L.A. Driving Time” instead of “New York Driving Time.” The streets were narrow and potholed, crowded by rows of double-parked cars and pedestrians who didn’t believe in red lights. At least Jonathan’s car had ample stretching room because Jonathan—like him—had stilts for legs. Kid had been kind enough to let Decker borrow the car again.

  A full hour later, after battling several traffic jam-ups, taking three trips around Prospect Park, and overshooting himself to Eastern Parkway, Decker managed to find the elusive Empire Boulevard. It didn’t appear to be a thoroughfare by L.A. standards, but it stretched about two miles. It w
as also a line of transition. The street gave occupancy to several Jewish storefronts but many more secular establishments—a doughnut luncheonette, a pizza parlor, a small mart called the L.A. Special which didn’t typify L.A. or seem special. But it did sell candy and cold beer and soda and felt these items were noteworthy enough to advertise. Empire Boulevard also had several video sales and repair centers—places not meant for the Crown Heights Jews because they—like the Boro Parkers—didn’t own TV sets. And as in Boro Park, many of these discount setups were run by ultra-Orthodox Jews.

  At nine P.M., with most of the commercial stores closed, the sidewalks didn’t harbor a large population. The pedestrians he did see were black. After cruising the street twice, he wrote down the names and addresses of the liquor stores—three—and the places that served alcohol—eighteen, counting all the restaurants and bars. Though Decker was sure that Yossie Weinstein hadn’t met Hersh in a bar, it was possible that Hersh had frequented saloons alone or with others.

  Decker consulted his list.

  The first candidate was the Empire Liquor House, a small storefront no more than six hundred feet square. There was a Doberman guarding the door, the dog’s head as big as a toaster oven. It appeared to be sleeping, but Decker noticed its ears perk up when he crossed the threshold.

  The store was a little larger than a cubicle, the area on his immediate right crammed with gondolas full of cheap wine and whiskey. On the left was a counter manned by a black in his mid-forties. He was as thin as a drinking straw, had a face sprinkled with salt-and-pepper stubble, and had a circle of shiny mocha skin on the crown of his head. Behind the counter were the expensive potables. If someone wanted to steal some class he’d have to jump the barrier to get to it. Tucked into a corner was the cash register.

  The thin man said, “What do you want?”

  His voice was high. The question had not been posed as a true inquiry. Rather, it asked: Why the hell are you hassling me?

  “I’m not with the NYPD,” Decker said.

  Thin Man didn’t answer.

  Decker said, “Did you ever sell some hooch to a boy named Hersh—”

  “Don’t know no Hersh.”

  “Let me describe him—”