Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 04

by Day of Atonement

  After the thirteenth ring, Decker slammed the phone down.

  Where in the bloody hell was Rina?

  It had been almost an hour since MacPherson was to have picked up the fliers. If he hadn’t seen her, he would have radioed something back.

  Calm down, Decker told himself. Taking a deep breath, he asked the radio operator to patch him through to MacPherson. The voice on the other end of the line was hoarse and thick with sleep.

  Without introducing himself, Decker said, “Paul, were you sleeping?”

  There was silence on the other end of the line. Then: “Pete, let me explain—”

  “I can’t get hold of Rina. Did she go to the airport in your place?”

  “I think so—”

  “You think so,” Decker repeated quietly. “Buddy, I’m going to deal with you later. Now, I’m going to rush over to L.A. International and hope to God my wife is okay.”

  MacPherson said, “Pete, I’m sure she’s—”

  Decker hung up on him. He grabbed his keys, jumped into the unmarked, and gunned the engine. His gut was a mixture of fury and anxiety. He was mature enough to know that there were always a few trouble spots in a marriage, but he hadn’t expected them to surface so soon. Rina was pushing him beyond the pale, as if she got a charge out of driving him crazy.

  The honeymoon was definitely over.

  For the seventh time tonight, Rina explained to a security officer the purpose of her visit. This time she was at TWA, the domestic terminal farthest from the entrance to the airport. The place was eerie in the wee hours of the morning, not deserted but lots of open space for very few travelers. Footsteps echoed, voices rang out even if you spoke at normal volume, so Rina began to whisper. People were scattered around the gates, some dozing in their seats, fingers tightly clutching the handles of their suitcases. Others were awake, scanning the room with glazed eyes that never quite focused on any single object.

  The woman manning the security checkpoint was big-boned and black, agreeable but not really helpful. She took the flier, gave a quick glance at the printed faces, then asked if these guys were so bad, why hadn’t she heard about it through official channels?

  Rina had no answer. She hadn’t any idea what the procedure was for this kind of thing. She wasn’t even clear on the details about what had happened in Hollywood. But she couldn’t tell the security lady that, so she mumbled something about things like this taking time.

  Her lack of success and lack of sleep were dragging her spirits down. She should call Peter, tell him what she was up to. But she knew how he’d react and wasn’t in the mood for his temper. Not that Peter was temperamental, but he could be very parental. Lecturing her all the time…

  Well, what did she really expect when she married a man twelve years her senior? Wasn’t that what she wanted after all these years of living alone? After having sole responsibility for her children, didn’t she want someone to lean on?

  Peter had been sent to her by Hashem, her special gift for surviving that terrible ordeal. From the beginning, Peter had been nurturing and reassuring, his physical presence so formidable she’d felt instantly safe whenever he was around. Over the last two years, he had rebuilt her sense of self, and now, thanks to him, she was strong and self-reliant.

  She was fine, but Peter was having a hard time adjusting to her independence. What bothered her most was that he didn’t trust her judgment.

  Not that her judgment was so wonderful. Admittedly, she seemed to have a knack for putting herself in vulnerable positions. But she refused to be a hothouse flower. Noam was out there, kidnapped by a maniac. She wasn’t about to try heroics, but if she could help by passing out fliers, why not? Even if that meant going down to the airport at three in the morning. Over and over she thought: What if it had been one of her sons…?

  She pumped herself up with renewed determination, tucking the remaining fliers back into her folder, preparing the speech for her next stop. As she walked, she heard heavy, rapid footsteps behind her and spun around.

  The look in Peter’s eyes. She felt her shoulders sag. She was about to explain her intentions, but he spoke first.

  “At least you could have had the courtesy to leave me a message!” He dropped his voice a notch. “What the hell gets into you, huh?”

  Rina didn’t answer, but did manage to make eye contact. His face was filled with tension, but his body drooped with fatigue.

  He started to speak again, but stopped himself. He ran his hands over his face, looked at her and said, “Why waste my breath? You don’t listen anyway. Did you find out anything interesting?”

  Rina felt ashamed. “I should have left you a message—”

  “Forget it,” Decker said. “Got any new information for me?”

  “Nothing,” she said quietly.

  “You’ve done all the terminals on the left side of the airport?”

  Rina nodded. “I’m sorry—”

  “I said forget it! This is what we’re going to do, Rina. We’ll cover the other terminals together.” He walked away from her. She had to run to keep up with him.

  “Can you stop for a moment?” she asked.

  Decker halted so abruptly that Rina overshot him. She backed up and said, “I’m not making excuses. But I came here out of deep concern for Noam. Peter, every time I think of that child, I feel I have to do something. Paul MacPherson was as sick as a dog and I was worried he’d do a shoddy job. Besides, if Noam was here, I, more than anyone, could recognize him.”

  Decker said, “That’s precisely what I was worried about. How do you think Hersh might have reacted had you confronted Noam? Think he would have said, ‘Sure, little buddy, go on home and I’ll just continue the murders on my own’? And what makes you so sure that Noam’s an innocent victim? He might have reacted violently himself.”

  Rina didn’t speak.

  Decker said, “Rina, the body left behind had been eviscerated. Does that scare you? It scares me.”

  Rina remained silent.

  “Then I find out you’re out here all alone, like some friggin Pollyanna.” Decker pulled out a cigarette and stuffed it into his mouth unlit. “Your little stunt scared the shit out of me.”

  “I understand—”

  “No, you don’t understand a whit. ’Cause if you did understand, you wouldn’t be here!” He yanked the cigarette out and pointed it at her. “You want to stay married to me, you stay out of my business. We are not partners. You do not pick up my slack, because you don’t help me when you do. You are hindering me. I get so goddamn nervous trying to baby-sit you, I can’t do my friggin job.”

  “After this, no more.”

  “I’ve heard that before.”

  “I promise, Peter, no more. It’s just that Noam is a special case.”

  “He’s my special case, not yours. Rina, I hate talking to you like this, but I feel that unless I do, nothing’s going to get through.”

  “It’s okay, I’m not upset. See, I’m smiling.” Rina smiled. “See, I’m happy.”

  The smile looked as if it was going to crack her cheeks. Decker had to laugh. He sighed and hugged her fiercely. “You’re such a pain in the ass. But I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” Rina hugged him back. “Sorry for worrying you. It was stupid, but all I could think about was Noam. And Paul looked so sick.”

  “You think he’s sick now, wait until I’m done with him.”

  “Don’t take it out on him,” Rina said. “I wouldn’t let him have the fliers.”

  “I don’t expect him to be able to reason with you.” Decker put the cigarette back in his pocket. “Lord knows I can’t. But he should have told me what you were up to.” He grimaced, then looped his arm around her shoulder. “C’mon, let’s finish up and go home.”

  Rina said, “Peter, if Hersh is a suspect in such a horrible murder, why aren’t there other people looking for him?”

  “Because we really don’t know where Noam and Hersh are. This is just a guess, a p
recaution. In case they decide to leave the city. Marge is checking out the bus terminal and the railroads. I did find the motel where they’d been staying. They checked out in a hurry. The clerk had no idea where they were headed.”

  He glanced around the gates. They were all closed, the next flight out an hour away. A male body was stretched out over a row of chairs, a newspaper over his head. From under the comics came deep grunts and snorts. A Hispanic janitor, dressed in navy-blue coveralls, was mopping the floor. Muzak was being piped through the loudspeakers.

  They walked for a moment in silence. Though bone-weary, Decker found a current of energy in Rina’s touch, her arm around his waist, her fingers tucked into his seat pocket. He hugged her shoulder as he walked, almost lifting her off her feet. Then he stopped abruptly.

  “What is it?” Rina said.

  “No big deal. I was so nervous about you, I left my beeper in the car.”

  “You want to go back for it?”

  “Nah, I’ll just call in. See if Marge has come up with anything.”

  He slipped his hands into his pocket, pulled out a handful of silver. The phone booths were at the back of the terminal. After getting through to Central Dispatch, he asked to be put through to Marge. A moment later, he heard her voice on the line.

  “Finally,” Marge said. “Where have you been?”

  Decker said, “I’m at the airport. I don’t have my beeper.”

  “That’s obvious,” Marge said. “An urgent call came through for you about ten, maybe fifteen minutes ago. A Frieda Levine from New York. She was so frazzled when the operator couldn’t get hold of you, she didn’t leave her number. I’ve tried Manhattan information, she isn’t listed.”

  “She lives in Brooklyn,” Decker said, “I’ll call her. Thanks.” He cut the line and called out to Rina. “You have Frieda Levine’s phone number?”

  “No,” she said. “But they’re listed. Her husband’s name is Alter Levine, Brooklyn’s area code is seven-one-eight.”

  Decker slammed the door shut and popped another quarter into the phone slot. After getting the number from information, he pulled out the phone card and gave the operator the Brooklyn exchange. Frieda picked it up on the first ring.

  “It’s Sergeant Decker, Mrs. Levine.” He paused a second, realizing how cold that sounded, and softened his tone of voice. “What’s up?”

  “I heard from him,” Frieda said. She was breathless. “Someone was with him…I could hear another voice. Noam didn’t speak more than a minute. He was worried the line was tapped. He sounded…” She had to pause to find her voice. “He sounded hysterical, in terrible trouble. Is he, Sergeant?”

  “Call me Akiva,” Decker said. “Yes, I think Noam’s in trouble. But first things first. I want to know exactly what was said during the conversation. I’m going to ask you a lot of questions, so just try and relax and we’ll take it from the beginning.”

  “I can do better,” Frieda said. “I set up a phone machine like you told us to do after he called Miriam. I have it on tape. I’ve played it back and it recorded. I’ve just got to rewind…”

  Decker told her to take her time, thinking: Hallelujah! Someone heeded his advice. He said, “I’m going to pull out my notebook.”

  “Okay,” Frieda said. “All right. I’ll turn it on. If you can’t hear, shout ‘Louder.’”

  “Gotcha,” Decker said. He stuck his finger in his free ear and listened. He heard the click of the machine, realizing it had started recording in midsentence. Frieda had probably turned it on as soon as she heard Noam’s voice. The woman was on top of it.

  Frieda:…are you, Noam?

  Noam: I can’t tell you that. I can’t see you again. I want to say good-bye.

  A lot of static.

  Frieda: (desperate): Noam, don’t hang up, don’t hang up. I love you. I want you to know that I love you.

  Noam: (crying): I love you too, Bubbe.

  Frieda: Noam, no matter what you’ve done, I don’t care what you’ve done. I love you. We love you. We want you back here. We don’t care…(crying)…we’ll help you. No matter what you’ve done.

  Background voice (low, guttural): Thirty more seconds.

  Noam: (still crying): I can’t talk much longer. In case the phone is tapped.

  Frieda: It isn’t tapped, I swear, Noam. I swear on the Chumash.

  Background voice: Twenty.

  Bad static.

  Noam:…Abba and Eema, I love them too.

  Frieda: Noam, come home to us. Please.

  More static.

  Noam (pause): I can’t come home.

  Frieda: (more crying): Yes, you can. I love you, darling. I don’t care what…(crying)…just come home.

  Noam: Don’t cry, Bubbe. Please, don’t cry.

  Background voice: Ten.

  A giant rumble, drowning out the voice. Then Decker heard Noam’s voice but he couldn’t make out the words.

  Frieda:…come home. We all love you so much.

  Background voice: Five.

  Static.

  Noam: I gotta go now. Slachli—Please forgive me. Please do that. Ask everyone to forgive me. I love you all.

  The line went dead. Frieda came back on the phone, her voice so soft, Decker had to ask her to speak up. She cleared her throat and said, “I…I couldn’t think of what to say other than I love you.”

  There was so much pain in her voice—in her grandson’s as well. Noam might be big for his age, but his voice was still tuned to a child’s timbre. A soft, adolescent lament so full of despair. It was gut-wrenching to hear him speak.

  Decker said, “You did what you could.”

  “You don’t know where he is?”

  “As of five hours ago, he was in Los Angeles,” Decker said. “He may still be, I don’t know.”

  “He’s in bigger trouble than the last time?”

  “Yes, he is.” Decker sighed. “Mrs. Levine…”

  Again, he paused. Mrs. Levine? Well, what else should he call her? Sure as hell she wasn’t Mom. “Mrs. Levine, I want you to play me the tape again. I was listening to the conversation and there were some background noises I was tuning out. Now I’m going to tune them in.”

  “Certainly,” Frieda said.

  She rewound the tape and pushed the button. Again, Decker was struck by how young Noam sounded, how despondent he was. He wondered whether suicide was one of the boy’s options and listened carefully, his ears trying to hear beyond the static.

  The other voice was deep and spoke with a Brooklyn accent. More was mo-ah. In the background were the steady whooshes of cars going past. They must be near a freeway again. There was nothing else of interest until that one big rumble.

  Unmistakable.

  A low-flying airplane.

  They were near an airport.

  Only two major airports serviced the Los Angeles area. L.A. International and the smaller domestic terminal—

  Hollywood-Burbank. Decker knew from experience that Hollywood-Burbank shut down around one, two in the morning. So did most of the charter airports.

  Unless Hersh and Noam hightailed it over to Orange County and took off from John Wayne International, he was probably right on top of them.

  When Frieda came back on the line, Decker asked her when she received the call.

  “Six-eighteen,” Frieda said. “I looked at my digital clock.”

  Three-eighteen our time, Decker thought. What was landing or taking off at three-eighteen? He asked her to hold on and checked the television monitors inside the TWA terminal. No activity here at 3:18. He checked his watch—3:47. “Mrs. Levine, I’ve got a lot of work to do. I’ll call you back in an hour.”

  “Please keep me informed, Akiva,” Frieda said. “It’s not knowing that’s so hard.”

  “I understand. In the meantime, if you haven’t already done it, you must call up Ezra and Breina. Let them know you’ve heard from Noam…that he’s alive.”

  “Baruch Hashem,” Frieda whispered. “I haven’t call
ed yet because I wanted to keep the line open for you. I’ll phone them right now.”

  “Good. I’ll keep in touch.” Decker hung up and came out of the booth. He gave Rina a rundown as they hurried down the escalator, jogged down the long corridor toward the baggage exit. “I’m going back to my car and contact all the remaining LAX terminals. I can do it faster with my radio than I can by phone.”

  Rina was running to keep up with him. “They’re somewhere at the airport?”

  Decker couldn’t tell if Rina’s breathlessness was excitement or overexertion. He slowed his pace. “I don’t know if they’re in the airport. I’m pretty sure Noam didn’t make the call from inside a terminal. You can’t hear freeway noises when you’re inside those booths.”

  They walked outside the building. The night was cold and misty, the air around them humming with generator sounds. They stopped at the curbside. Decker listened a moment, then said, “Can you hear the freeway?”

  “A little bit.”

  “Well, I heard it clearly,” Decker said. “Heard it over the static of a long-distance call and a cheap phone system. And I didn’t hear that drone in the background either. They didn’t make the call from inside the airport. I’m positive about that.”

  “So they’re not here,” Rina said.

  Decker said, “They weren’t here as of a half hour ago. But they may have slipped in. Or they may be planning to come here later.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “I’m going to call Marge, have her cover the airport while I go hunting around the area.”

  “Want me to stay with Marge?” Rina asked. “I’d recognize Noam better than she would.”

  Decker stared at her. “You don’t get involved. Remember?”

  “I just thought—”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” She tucked in loose strands of hair under her kerchief. “What are you going to do?”

  “Check out the local sleep-joints. They had to have gone somewhere.”

  They resumed walking.

  The huge expanse of blacktop parking was by no means empty. He wondered what all the cars were doing in the lots if the terminals were nearly deserted. Then he thought of all the businessmen on overnights. They parked their cars in the lots and picked them up the next morning.