Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 12

by Stalker

  “Sorry,” Marge said.

  “My fault,” Decker said. “I’m incorrigible.”

  “Yes, you are,” Rina agreed.

  “Eema?” Sammy cried out.

  “Oh God!” Marge exclaimed. “I left her too long with Sammy. He’s going to kill her.”

  “You’re projecting,” Decker said under his breath.

  They all went back into the dining room. Sammy said, “Maybe you can help. I’ve been explaining to Vega the reasons behind the biblical sacrifices. In Hebrew, the word korban—sacrifice—doesn’t literally mean sacrifice. The root word comes from the word to become close. An offering to God is not for His sake, it is for our sake. God doesn’t need offerings. But by sacrificing to God, it draws us closer to Him.”

  “Killing an animal draws you closer to God?” Marge was dubious.

  “Closer to your insignificance,” Rina explained.

  “I don’t need a sacrifice for that,” Decker said.

  “Poor Dad,” Sammy said. “Are you feeling beleaguered?”

  “Not at the moment, but I’m sure you can change all that.”

  Rina went on. “We don’t butcher our own meat. It’s done for us, and by the time we buy it, everything has been sanitized. That’s not how it should be. You should think about what went into the meat. That something living died so that you could eat it. I think if we had to slaughter our own cows, we’d all be vegetarians.”

  Vega said, “So why does your religion advocate eating meat?”

  “It doesn’t advocate it, Vega, it just allows it,” Sammy said. “It’s not the ideal.”

  “Although it’s very tasty,” Decker added.

  “Mankind was vegetarian before the great flood,” Sammy said. “You know about Noah and the flood?”

  Vega shook her head.

  Sammy said, “We were supposed to be vegetarians. The fact that we’re not is a flaw. But God recognizes man as a flawed creature and allows us to eat meat. But only if we think about it. That’s why there are so many Jewish rituals involved in the slaughtering of meat.”

  Rina said, “When Jews sacrificed to God, there was a covert message that they were thanking God for letting us live. The animal’s life was in their hands just like their lives were in God’s hands. Killing animals for food—even if it’s permissible—is supposed to remind us of our vulnerability. Knowing your own limitations and mortality brings you closer to God.”

  Cindy came back into the dining room. She must have been listening in, because she picked up on the conversation. “It’s true. Being vulnerable does make you reevaluate your significance in this world.”

  Decker gave her a questioning look. Cindy shrugged and said, “She wants to play Fish, Rina. I told her I’d ask you.”

  Rina looked around the table. “Is Jacob with you?”

  Cindy nodded.

  “What is it with that boy?” Rina muttered to herself. To Cindy, she said, “Tell her that Eema says only a few games. No more than that, Cindy, no matter how much she begs.”

  “When she acts up, I’ll give her back to you. That’s the beauty of being a big sister.”

  Vega was squinting, looking very grave. “Sacrifices are very interesting! Perhaps I should take notes.”

  “I find sacrifices disconcerting,” Marge said. “If killing is wrong, why not outlaw it?”

  Rina said, “The Jewish way incorporates human weakness by ritualizing it.”

  “Not all human weakness,” Decker said.

  “Well, not adultery, if that’s what you meant,” Rina said.

  Decker smiled.

  “But there are lots of sexual things that are ritualized,” Sammy said.

  “Like the mikvah?” Decker said.

  “Well, that. But I was thinking about eshet yafat toar—”

  “What’s that?” Decker asked.

  “I’ll explain it to you later,” Rina said. “We’re going way off field. Sammy, go get your brother and finish clearing the dishes.”

  “I will help you clear,” Vega said to Sammy. “I am in the same age range as you. We can discuss this further while I wash the dishes and you dry them. That way Jacob can rest with his sister.”

  “I agree, Eema,” Sammy said. “I’ll pick up the slack. Leave Yonkie alone. He’s wiped.”

  “Why?” Rina asked.

  “He’s studying for the first time in his life.” Sammy handed Vega a bowl of salad. “Take this into the kitchen.”

  As soon as the table was free of kids, Marge slumped in her seat. She said to Rina and Decker, “She exhausts me! I’m not cut out for heavy conversation. It’s too spooky.”

  “No argument there,” Decker said.

  Marge sighed. “I’d better supervise in the kitchen. I wouldn’t want her to tire Sammy.”

  Rina said, “Marge, I have to fix dessert anyway.” She started stacking dirty dishes. “You stay and talk to Peter. I insist.”

  Marge knew she should get up and assert her role as mother, but she couldn’t bear the idea of talking about God again. “Actually, it would be nice.”

  Rina locked eyes with her husband. “Besides, Peter is dying to talk about work—”

  “No, no, no!” Decker took Rina’s pile of dishes and stood. “Don’t blame this on me.” He carried the china to the kitchen, then returned to the dining room. “All’s peaceful for the moment.”

  Rina had an armful of serving plates. “I can take it from here.”

  Decker watched her disappear into the kitchen, then said, “Tell me about Bartholomew.”

  Marge recapped her afternoon interview. Talking about suspects, she was on firm ground. It amazed her how she could be so professionally competent and so parentally incompetent.

  “He wouldn’t let you speak?”

  “Not a word.”

  “His manner, or was he hiding something?” Decker asked.

  “I think both,” Marge said. “I don’t know if he had anything to do with Crayton’s death, but I’d betcha what he did with Crayton businesswise was shady.”

  “What was the business? Land flipping?”

  “Maybe…in an obscure place called Belfleur—off the 10 near Palm Springs. I wanted to ask Bartholomew about it, but I never got that far.”

  “Didn’t Bartholomew break business ties before Crayton died?”

  “Only a few months before,” Marge answered. “I’m thinking that if someone was seeking revenge against Crayton—and Dex had been involved—then maybe that someone would also seek revenge against Bartholomew. But he couldn’t get to Bartholomew because he was too well protected. So he took his revenge via the wife by jacking her car.”

  “If he was only out for monetary revenge, there are easier ways than carjacking.”

  “So he was out for more than monetary revenge,” Marge replied. “Steal the car and freak out the wife. You know, nothing gets to a man like freaking out his wife. Although I have a feeling that Dex doesn’t give a shit about his wife. But that doesn’t mean a guy like Dex would put up with someone else messing with his wife.”

  “Weren’t we supposed to interview Elizabeth Tarkum?”

  “Scott’s been trying to set one up, but she hasn’t been available. He’s not home, but I left a message on his machine to call me when he gets in. But knowing Scott, that may be a while.”

  Cindy walked into the room. “A while for what?”

  “For Scott to get home tonight,” Marge said. “I want to find out if he interviewed Elizabeth Tarkum.”

  “The jacked red Ferrari,” Cindy said.

  “The very one,” Decker said.

  Cindy felt her nerves jump. “Why? Did another jacking go down?”

  “Lord, I hope not,” Decker said.

  Cindy tried to be casual. “So this is just follow-up?”

  Decker regarded his daughter’s face, going from being concerned to suspicious. “You seem tense, Cindy. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

  “No,” she lied.

  Sile
nce.

  Decker said, “Because if something was amiss, you would tell me.”

  “Dad, it’s been a hard week. You should know.”

  Decker did know. He also knew that this was more than the usual “hard week.” He hoped it was only personal problems.

  Cindy said, “Hannah’s asking for you. She wants you to tuck her in.”

  Without a word, Decker got up and left.

  “Talk about being tense,” Cindy stated. “I think Dad’s the one who looks drained.”

  “The jackings are taking their toll on him.”

  Cindy lowered her voice. “Marge, does the name Roseanne Barkley ring any bells?”

  Marge narrowed her eyes. “Why are you asking?”

  “Don’t get overly excited.” Cindy had been planning her cover all night. “On the way over here there was a red Camry driving erratically. I called in the plates and they were stolen. When I tried to pull the car over, the Camry rabbited. Rather than chase it in a civilian car, I called it in to the RTO. Very professional of me, don’t you think?”

  “I’m reserving judgment,” Marge answered. “Have you called back to find out if anyone’s spotted the car?”

  Cindy nodded. “No luck.” She swirled her finger in the pile of bread crumbs. “I’ll call again when I get home. I don’t want to do it here. They don’t use the phone on their Sabbath. I don’t want to be disrespectful. So you’ve never heard of Roseanne Barkley?”

  “Never said that,” Marge answered. “Barkley was one of our first jacking victims—six months ago roughly. She was assaulted in an underground parking lot. Pushed down and kicked, but otherwise okay. She had been with her kid. They were returning from the pediatrician.” She examined Cindy’s face. “Okay, kiddo. Your dad isn’t here. So what aren’t you telling me?”

  “You think I’m holding back?” Cindy acted indignant. “I have to defend my actions to my superiors, not to my friends.” She regarded Marge. “At least, I thought we were friends—”

  “Don’t divert the issue with platitudes about friendship,” Marge said. “If something serious is going on, I should know about it. Your father, too.”

  “And if something serious is going on, I’ll tell the both of you.”

  “Were you planning on telling your dad about the Camry?”

  “Eventually. I decided to ask you first because you react without anxiety or rancor. With Dad, nothing is ever simple.”

  “So what can you tell me about the Camry?”

  “At least five years old. Dent on the right-hand side. Faded red paint job.”

  Decker came back into the dining room. Marge stood up. “I’m going to go into the kitchen and make sure Vega hasn’t bored your wife and son to tears.”

  “While you’re there, tell Rina to go say good night to Hannah. She’s waiting for her mommy.”

  “Will do. I also have to make a phone call. Is that okay?”

  “Of course,” Decker said. “What’s wrong?”

  “Ask your daughter.”

  After Marge left, Decker looked at Cindy. Using a nondescript voice, she related her Camry story. It took her around thirty seconds. By the time she was done, her father’s eyes had darkened. Rina chose that moment to pass by. She took one look at her husband, another at her stepdaughter, then shook her head. “I’m not even going to ask.”

  Decker forced out a smile. “Everything’s fine.”

  Rina said nothing, happy to flee to the safety of Hannah’s room. As soon as she left, Decker said, “A bravura performance, Cynthia. Now try the truth.”

  “Nothing to add. Sorry. I could embellish—”

  “Cut the crap,” Decker whispered fiercely. “Rina told me your car was smoking badly. That, in conjunction with what you just told me, you know what that says to me?”

  Cindy felt her stomach churn, but she didn’t answer.

  Decker said, “One of two things: Either you were chasing the Camry or the Camry was chasing you. I hope it was the first scenario, that you overestimated your ability as a cop and decided to apprehend the car single-handedly. But then you lost the car. Being as you’re a rookie, you were too embarrassed to admit it. See, that’s what I’m hoping it was. But if it was the second option, that someone was chasing you, you damn well better tell me right now. Not only because you’re my daughter but because it’s your duty as a cop. Because this may have relevance to the jackings that are going on.”

  He was glaring at her…downright smoldering. Cindy tried to maintain her composure. He had touched upon the truth, but hadn’t quite nailed it down shut. The Camry wasn’t technically chasing her…just tailing her.

  “This is why I don’t talk to you,” Cindy remarked.

  “Because I know a bullshit artist when I see one?” Decker ground his teeth together. “Okay. You’re pissed at me, I’m pissed at you. That’s not going to change. But you are going to tell me what really went down before I lose it, right?”

  Cindy averted her eyes, hoping they weren’t watering. She said, “The car was driving erratically. I was following it at a safe distance, doing all the things I was taught.”

  “So you didn’t call the plates in—”

  “Will you let me finish?”

  “Go on.”

  “I was about to call in the plates, but the car bolted. Obviously, my tail stank, and I gave myself away. Once I was going at high speeds, I couldn’t call it in. I didn’t have a radio transmitter mike, only my cell phone, and who the hell punches numbers on a handheld cell doing eighty-five?”

  “You lost sight of the Camry.”

  “I did.”

  “Where’d you lose him?”

  “North Valley, near your old house.”

  “On the surface streets?”

  “No. In the mountains near Angeles Crest. I was too spooked to go it alone up there.”

  “So you pulled back. That was smart. So why didn’t you call it in as soon as you pulled back?”

  “Because I was embarrassed by my incompetence, if you must know. Besides, I was very unnerved by the incident, my car was overheating, and I was alone. My main goal was making it to your house without breaking down. As soon as I got here, I called it in. That’s when I found out about the stolen plates and this Roseanne Barkley woman. Now you’re up-to-date. I have nothing to add, and glaring at me won’t help.”

  Decker let out a deep sigh. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” Cindy’s voice was flat. “Just hound dog from my ineptitude. I’ll tell you what I know about the car. But I don’t want to discuss me.”

  “Fair enough.” Decker attempted a conciliatory look. “Friends?”

  “Always, Dad.”

  Decker said, “We should find out if someone’s spotted the Camry.”

  “Marge is calling the stationhouse.” Cindy licked her lips. “I’m sorry I lied to you. But even if I hadn’t lied to you, that isn’t a promise to tell you everything that goes on in my life.”

  “Your personal business is none of my business—”

  “Can I quote you on that?”

  “I just want to know you’re safe,” Decker said. “Like when you were sixteen and first started driving…you’d come home late at night. I wanted you to call me—”

  “I’m not sixteen anymore, Dad.”

  “Okay. So it was a bad example—”

  “It was a telling example. You love me, I know you want me to be okay all the time—”

  “Not okay. Just safe.”

  “That’s impossible. Especially considering the field I chose for myself.”

  Marge walked in from the kitchen. Her expression was flat. She said, “Think Rina will mind watching Vega?”

  Decker stood. “What is it?”

  “They found the Camry,” Marge answered. “More like they found the license plate. The car is now toast.”

  19

  She’d expected their common professions to bring them closer. Instead it appeared to be driving a wedge between them. Cindy stared out
the window from the backseat of Rina’s white Volvo V70 station wagon. Marge was driving, Dad sat shotgun. The car had been a recent purchase and not a cheap one. Cindy supposed that between Dad’s new house and all the remodeling, his bank account wasn’t being fully funded. If you added the jackings to empty wallet syndrome, Dad had to be completely stressed out. He certainly was acting like an obsessively driven man, underscored by the fact that he was with them, working on his Sabbath, when nothing really demanded his presence.

  She continued to sit with her nose pressed against the glass.

  If Rina had objected to Dad’s decision to work on the holy day, she did so in private. Probably an unwritten law between them: Dad’s work lay entirely within his domain, and his decisions regarding his job were immutable. When Rina had kissed him good-bye, she didn’t seem angry. But then again Dad was trying hard to work within the letter of the law if not the spirit. According to their beliefs, turning electricity on or off desecrated the Sabbath. So Marge had opened the car door to prevent Dad from turning on the interior auto lights. It was probably the reason she was driving now.

  They were now at the base of the mountains, heading into Angeles Crest National Park.

  Decker turned his head to face her. His eyes were focused and intense. “You followed the Camry up this particular road?”

  “Yes.” But Cindy was less than positive. There were many pathways into the mountains and at night the roads looked different, more isolated and forbidding. Darkness in the woods was more than just lack of light; it was something tangible. It enveloped and smothered. “I lost him farther up.”

  “How much farther up?”

  “I’d say about a mile, mile and a half. After the road turned steeper.” She tried to sort out her thoughts. “It was so strange, Dad. I know I lost visual contact with the car. But I was behind it the entire time. I wasn’t going much slower than he was. Then the road dead-ended, and the car wasn’t anywhere in sight. A Camry’s not an off-road vehicle. Where could it have gone?”

  “Over the ledge of the mountain,” Marge said wryly.