Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 12

by Stalker

  Decker turned around and faced her. “I don’t know. We could try, but I won’t promise anything.”

  “Trying is good. Maybe it’ll…loosen you up.”

  “Sex as a muscle relaxant.” He sighed. “How in the world do you stay married to me?”

  “First let’s make love. Then we’ll talk.”

  “I might be too tired to talk afterward,” Decker said.

  “Then we’ll go to sleep. That’s okay, too.”

  Decker thought about it. Sex then sleep. It sounded like a plan.

  In that twilight stage of nocturnal slumber, Cindy heard the knocking, but it took a few seconds before she registered what it actually was. That it meant that someone was at the door. Seconds ticked by before her chest tightened, her heart slamming against her sternum. Maybe it was Dad. (And if it was Dad, did she really want to answer it?) More likely, it was Oliver.

  The knocking had stopped.

  She thought, If you’re Oliver, don’t go away. Hang on a sec.

  Slowly, she swung her legs over her bed and donned her fuzzy pink robe. One eye was open; the other had crusted shut. (Had she been crying in her sleep?) As she walked to the front door, she rubbed the sealed lid with the sleeve of her robe until it sprang open. “Who is it?”

  “Oliver.”

  First she peeked into the peephole. Then she undid the chain that she had just installed an hour ago. She’d been in the hardware section, looking for the batteries, and she saw the flimsy links that were supposed to keep out the bogeyman. She figured why not. Not much in the way of real protection, but a layer is a layer. Finally, she opened the door.

  “Hi. Come in.”

  “You were sleeping.”

  “Were is the correct tense, yes.”

  “I’ll go home.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Cindy admonished him. “Come in means come in.”

  Her eyes were on him as he walked in and sat down on her mangled couch. She liked his jacket and told him so.

  “Yeah?” He brushed off a piece of dirt. “It’s Valentino.”

  “It’s real sharp.”

  “Yeah? Thanks.” He smiled at her. “Nice of you to notice. How are you? How long did you sleep?”

  “About four or five hours.”

  “Then you’re still in sleep deprivation. You need like a good twelve hours.”

  “Yes, I do.” She looked at his eroded face. “What about you?”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You’re far from home. What are you doing here? Checking up on me? They have phones for that, Oliver.”

  “Phones aren’t good unless someone answers them. I didn’t see your dad here, so I figured I…” He threw up his hands and stood up. “Don’t worry about me. It’s Sunday tomorrow. I’m going to stay in bed, eat nachos, and watch the game.”

  “You forgot the beer.”

  “Yeah, I did. Good night.”

  “You want to crash out on the sofa, Oliver? You couldn’t ruin it any worse than it is.”

  “How long is your couch?”

  “It’s a seven-footer.”

  He thought for a moment. “You have clean sheets?”

  “Very clean. You and my dad washed them all.”

  “That’s right.” Oliver started shaking his leg. “I’ll be honest. I’m beat. I spent the better part of the day at the crash site—”

  “Oh God. How was that?”

  “Nothing big, nothing unexpected. But it was dirty work. I did shower off, so don’t worry about me dirtying up your furniture.”

  “Your sweat hasn’t preyed upon my thoughts.”

  Oliver managed a tired smile. “Sleeping here would be nice. If it’s all right with you.”

  “It’s fine with me.” Cindy felt something gripping her throat, making it swell. “As a matter of fact, I’d probably sleep better.”

  Oliver’s smile broadened. “That’d be great.”

  Cindy approached him until they were face-to-face, her hands on his chest. Slowly, she slid them up to his shoulders. “I’d sleep even better if I wasn’t alone.”

  “You’re not alone—”

  “I meant alone in my bed.” She stepped away from him and hit his chest. “You can’t be that dense!”

  He took her into his arms, pressing her body into his own, as the inseam of his pants became restrictive. He embraced her tightly, his legs so weak he could barely remain upright. The stress of the day combined with the wind of lust. She was such a kid, the same age as one of his sons. She was somebody’s daughter, somebody’s little girl. But the main thing was, she wasn’t his little girl. To him, Cindy was a young fireball of red hair with a perfect tight ass. That’s the way he had to think about it. Because if he thought about her—the person—he’d wither to dried fruit. “I just want to make sure that you know what you’re doing.”

  “Do you know what you’re doing?”

  “No.”

  She said, “Well, it’s comforting to know you’re not an expert on everything.”

  Considering how nervous he had been, he thought he did real good. She seemed to like it. At least, it knocked her out cold. She was breathing with deep, luscious breaths. He envied her, sleeping the sleep of youth. After his sons were born, he was cursed with an overactive “wake” center that never entirely shut down, even during the dead of night.

  This wasn’t one of his better decisions…being with her. But he made so many bad decisions in his life, this certainly wasn’t one of the worst. It did complicate things. What made it bad was that he liked her. He was going to want to do it again. And she seemed to like him. She’d probably want to do it again, too. Then…if they did it enough times…that would mean they were in a relationship. And that would be very complicated. Decker wouldn’t like it, but Decker didn’t like him anyway. So that wouldn’t change things much.

  No, that wasn’t true. It would change lots of…

  “You awake, Oliver?”

  The sound of her voice startled him. “Yeah. Sorry, am I moving too much?”

  “You’re not moving at all.”

  “Oh…” He took in a breath and let it out. Maybe she hadn’t been sleeping. Maybe he didn’t knock her out. Maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he’d been. “What’s up?”

  She said, “Hayley Marx was over here earlier.”

  The sound of that name tweaked his stomach. He hoped she wasn’t going to go all emotional on him. “Yeah?”

  “We talked quite a bit.”

  Uh-oh, Oliver thought. This can’t be good news for my ego.

  “Actually, she suggested that maybe…maybe this thing was like an in-house joke.”

  “What?”

  “Breaking into my apartment,” Cindy said. “That maybe some of the guys at the station did it as a prank.”

  Oliver sat up in the bed and drew the sheets over his knees. Okay, so maybe she and Hayley didn’t talk about him. So maybe he wasn’t on her mind at all. She was still back on the break-in. He should have felt relieved that he just wasn’t all that important. Instead he was crushed. Well, if he couldn’t dazzle her with his sexual prowess, maybe he could bowl her over with his finely honed skills as a detective. “What is Marx suggesting?”

  “How did she put it?” Cindy turned over and sat up alongside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “That this was maybe like a hazing thing—”

  “Come again?”

  “Like the guys at work were testing my mettle.”

  “By putting shit on your bed?”

  Cindy was quiet. Though dark, she could make out his profile—the straight line of his nose, the crisp angle of his chin. “What do you think?”

  “What do you mean?” Not a swift comeback. Not at all dazzling. “Are you asking my opinion?”

  “Yeah, I’m asking your opinion. Do you think the break-in could have been a prank done by some of the guys at the stationhouse?”

  This time she had phrased it very clearly. Oliver finally understood that she wanted help, a
nd that this wasn’t a theoretical discussion. “Some of the guys on the force are assholes. And some of them are real assholes to women, especially women rookies. But anyone who’d leave shit on your bed has problems.”

  “So you don’t agree with Marx.”

  “Cindy, the guy who did this wasn’t fooling around. He didn’t teepee your house or…or short-sheet your bed. He trashed your place with malice and forethought. The jerk who did this was angry and violent and holds either some kind of personal vendetta against you or harbors some psycho sick sexual fantasy with you as his costar. For Marx to suggest this was a male cop fraternity prank is making light out of something very serious. Frankly, it makes me wonder about her judgment. It makes me…a little suspicious of her actually.”

  “Why? Do you think she’s behind this?”

  “I don’t know. Could she be?”

  “I don’t see why she would be.” Cindy sat up straight. “Unless she thinks that I…I took you from her or…I don’t know how’d she find out about you and me…” Her voice got hard. “Unless you said something—”

  “C’mon.” Oliver frowned. “Even I’m not that big of a putz.”

  “Well, you’re the only thing she could hold against me.”

  “Hate to admit it, but I don’t think I’m that important to her.” Oliver felt his entire body stiffen except for his dick, which was as limp as wilted celery. “The night wasn’t charged with passion.”

  She snuggled against his chest. “I’m sorry.”

  “Like hell you are.” He pushed her away. “In answer to your original question, no, I don’t think this was a cop prank. I know what cops are capable of doing. I’ve done a few nasty things in my day. But I’ve never attacked anyone’s furniture, and I’ve never even considered leaving dog shit on anyone’s bed, including my ex-wife’s!”

  Cindy felt deflated. For some reason, she had hoped it had been a fellow officer. It struck her as less menacing than some anonymous pervert. Yet she knew how deadly cops could be. For one thing, they always carried guns. “Then, I’m out of ideas. How about you?”

  “The old brain has shut down for the evening.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Cynthia, maybe we should try to…I don’t know…enjoy the moment.”

  The room fell quiet. “Then again, maybe not.” Oliver glanced at her bedside clock: three-twenty. “Maybe we should just try to get some sleep.”

  “You go ahead.” She grabbed a paperback off her nightstand. “I need to wind down—”

  “All right, all right.” Oliver took hold of her fleeing arm and brought her close to his body. “Like father like daughter—all business. Tell me Marx’s words of wisdom, as close to the real thing as you remember.”

  Cindy rubbed her eyes. “She said it might be a kind of hazing ritual. For me to prove myself.”

  “What’d she base it on?”

  “Pranks that were played on her.” She went over Marx’s car stories. “Those kinds of things happen, right?”

  “Yes, those kinds of things happen.”

  “Credible, correct?”

  “Completely credible.”

  “It’s disgusting.”

  “And stupid, and very dangerous.” He looked down. “Like I said, I plead guilty to my fair share of moronic practical jokes. But never dumping shit on someone’s personal effects. If for no other reason than who the hell wants to handle it? What else did you two talk about?”

  “Just who might have done it. Coming up with a list of candidates.”

  “Who’s tops on the list?”

  “Tropper.”

  “The sergeant you outsmarted.”

  “That’s the one.”

  “What about the other guy? Lopez?”

  “Yeah, we talked a little about him. Man, she really dissed him last night. He was acting moronic to me, and Hayley gave it to him. It was nasty. She went over later and had a heart-to-heart. I think she actually apologized.”

  “Why was Lopez giving it to you?”

  “He was trying to be funny. He’s also imitating his partner—a guy named Tim Waters, who’s a real jerk.”

  “Don’t know him.”

  “Hayley tells me that Waters is a pussy hound.”

  “Most cops are. What other things did Marx lay on you?”

  Hayley had said a lot of things now that Cindy thought about it. “She told me that Bederman didn’t like me. Specifically, she said the guy had a hard-on for me, and not the sexual kind. Though for the life of me, I wouldn’t know why. I’ve maybe had ten minutes’ worth of conversation with him.”

  “Bederman, Bederman…” Oliver mulled the name over in his brain. “He sounds vaguely familiar. What’s his first name? Rich or something like that?”

  “Rick.”

  “Yeah, he was coming in just as I was leaving. Came in as a first-or second-year vet. This must have been about ten years ago. What is he? Around thirty-five?”

  “About.”

  “A real swaggerer. I remember not liking him. Could be I was jealous and viewed him as competition, though.”

  “Honest of you to admit that.”

  “What the fuck do I got to hide? I’m beyond it now. Why does she think he doesn’t like you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What kind of contact have you had with him?”

  “I told you. Ten minutes’ worth of conversation, including last night.”

  “You talked to him last night?”

  “Yeah, he and his partner were sitting with Marx when I walked into Bellini’s.”

  “What’d you and this guy talk about?”

  “We didn’t talk until Marx left the table to make nice to Lopez, who had stalked away in anger. Bederman told me that I shouldn’t sleep around with married men like Marx did. It screwed her up.”

  “He’s absolutely right. But it’s weird for him to be telling you that. You say something like that when you want a piece of tail. You know, you’re Mr. Sincere with the friendly word of advice. Meanwhile he wants to dive in your pants. You put him down or anything?”

  “No, not at all. I listened, but I thought he was out of order considering I was with Hayley. Then after he left, his partner, Sean Amory, started making veiled passes. By now, I was getting fed up. So I told him I was out of commission as far as dating cops was concerned, and I also told him to spread the word. We left it at that.”

  In the dark, she felt her face go hot. Lucky that Oliver couldn’t see it. “I guess that was a premature statement being as I’m here in bed with you.”

  Oliver let out a small chuckle. But clearly his thoughts were elsewhere. “You have any professional contact with either of these subspecies?”

  “We’ve—we being Graham and I—we’ve assisted Bederman and Amory on a couple of calls. I think they assisted us a few times. Bederman used to be Graham’s partner. They’re still friendly, according to Bederman—”

  “Really?”

  A pause. “Obviously, you find that significant.”

  “I find it interesting. What’s Graham’s last name?”

  “Beaudry.”

  “Yeah, what does Beaudry think about Bederman?”

  “Graham doesn’t talk about Bederman. But Bederman told me that Graham thought I was smart…this is so provincial! He likes me, but she doesn’t like him and they like her…blah, blah, blah.”

  “Why aren’t they partners if they still like each other?”

  “It just didn’t work out.”

  “Who asked for the transfer?”

  “Bederman.”

  “Ask your partner why he’s still friendly with him if Bederman wanted out.”

  “What should I expect to hear?”

  “Probably not the truth,” Oliver commented. “You ask for a transfer from a guy, it’s supposed to mean you don’t get along.”

  Cindy was quiet. “The rumor is that Bederman asked for the transfer because Graham is slow.”

  “Slow?”

 
; “A slow runner, slow physically. In foot pursuits, Bederman was doing all the heavy work while Graham made a big show of slapping on the handcuffs.”

  “Have you found that to be true?”

  “Beaudry wouldn’t set any Olympic records, but I don’t think he’s malingering.” She thought back to her encounter with the drunk Russian just a couple of days ago. She was the one who had been doing all the sweating.

  “But the rumor has merit?” Oliver asked.

  “It really isn’t that bad—”

  “You spread a rumor like that about your ex-partner, it isn’t going to sit well with him.”

  “Graham’s an easygoing kind of guy—”

  “No, Cindy, that doesn’t explain squat. He’s not gonna put up with that kind of crap without a rumor of his own. And if he isn’t doing it, that says something. I know the way the uniforms work. Something’s not right.”

  Cindy was quiet.

  Oliver said, “You stay friendly with a guy after the transfer, it says to me, you two have to split up from each other because it’s dangerous to stay together.”

  “I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about.”

  “They did something dirty together, Cindy. They got away with it and wanted to split up before people started sniffing around them as a unit.”

  “No, I don’t think you’re right.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I know Graham. He’s not dirty.”

  “How do you know?”

  Cindy stalled but couldn’t come up with a response.

  “How long have you been with him?” Oliver asked. “Six months? Eight months? That’s nothing, Decker. Nothing at all. I was once with a guy for two years before I realized he was on the take.”

  “What’d you do?”

  “Requested a transfer. But I’ll tell you something. We didn’t remain friends.”

  “When was this?”

  “In my early days at Hollywood. Back when I still believed in truth, justice, and all that crap.”

  “Did you fink on him?”

  “Nope! He was stealing from drug busts. Not a good thing, but it wasn’t murder. You see cash on the table and wind up pocketing a twenty. Then it’s a fifty or a hundred. No one knows. No one gets hurt. It’s tempting. I was tempted. But I didn’t do it. That’s the difference.”