Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 12

by Stalker

  “Eeeeeeuuuuu!” Her bloody knee temporarily forgotten, Hannah was holding her nose. “Peeeeeyeuuuuuw! It stinks!”

  “That’s enough, Hannah!” Rina took back her tote bag and pulled out a packet of wipes.

  Marge snatched the wet towels and muttered, “This is fu—perfect! Just perfect!”

  “Can I help?”

  “Not unless you want to clean my shoes!”

  “I’ll pass—”

  “What kind of friend are you?”

  “Eeeeeuuuuu! Gross!”

  “Cool it with the commentary, kid,” Marge snapped.

  Rina smiled. “How about if you clean yourself off and I take Hannah to the car. We’ll wait for you there.”

  “You know what I hate about athletic shoes?”

  “All the grooves—”

  “Exactly! Ick! What a fu—what a mess!”

  “Vega’s coming over. Maybe you can get her to clean your shoes?”

  “Yeah, right!”

  “Eeeeuuu—”

  Rina clamped her hand over Hannah’s mouth. The little girl giggled. She was clearly delighted at being disgusted and grossed-out. With the stench growing stronger, Rina figured it was a good time to make an exit. She picked up her oversized tote. “See you in a moment.”

  As she trudged her way to her Volvo, she realized how heavy Hannah was. A ring of sweat was sitting behind the collar of her shirt and her back felt a twinge. Hannah was still the youngest, but she wasn’t a baby.

  “Sweetie, I have to put you down.”

  “Please?” Hannah begged. She tightened her legs around her mother. “My knee hurts.”

  With the dog stuff gone as a distraction, Hannah had gone back to her earlier wounds. “My back hurts,” Rina explained.

  Reluctantly, the girl slid down. “I’m sorry, Eema.”

  “Thank you, sweetheart.”

  Hannah used to call her Mommy. Since starting first grade, she’d switched to Eema, to be big like her older brothers. The first-grader said, “I’ll help you carry the bag—”

  “It’s okay. I have the bag.”

  “No, I’ll help you.” She began yanking the straps. Since Rina didn’t want to play tug of war, she ceded the sack to the victor. She watched Hannah struggle, her red curls bouncing as she walked unsteadily. Her eyes caught the sun, reflecting back a deep olive color. She looked like she should have been a Colleen or a Megan.

  Rina said, “Can I give you some help?”

  “No, I can do it.” Grunt, grunt. Moaning and sighing, she was in top-notch form, doing her best imitation of Sarah Heartburn. “I…ugh…got it.”

  All of her kids were so different. Her sons, born from the same mother and father, were diametric opposites. Shmuel was serious, Yonkie was lighthearted…at least he was until he reached the magic sixteen mark with his hormones kicking into high gear.

  They reached the curb to cross the street. Rina bent down and picked up one of Hannah’s soft little hands. She took the bag with the other. “C’mon,” she said.

  Together, mother and daughter, they crossed the street. Rina reached inside the bottomless pit of the bag and fished out her keys. She opened the hatch door to her station wagon and immediately Hannah climbed in the back.

  “Hannah,” Rina scolded. “Come around the right way. Stop climbing over the upholstery.”

  “Please, please, please?”

  Rina sighed. “Get out of the way so I don’t slam this on you.” She shut the hatch with force, kicking up dust from the dirty carpet. She sneezed loudly as Hannah disappeared into the bowels of the Volvo. Walking to the driver’s door, she started excavating the bottom of her purse for a tissue.

  Simultaneously, as foreign fingers grasped her right arm, something cold and hard dug into her backbone. Instinctively, she knew what was pressing against her spine. She realized what was happening even before he spoke.

  “You scream or you move, then I kill you.”

  The voice was raspy…accented. Rina stood in place as the gun pushed deeper into her back. Unlike the other carjack victims, she knew the drill. She knew what he was going to do. But that was neither here nor there because she was immobilized by fear.

  The voice said, “You listen or you’re dead. You walk to other side of the car, and open the door. Do it!”

  Rina translated, He’s telling me to walk over to the passenger’s side. You know what’s going to happen. Use it to your advantage.

  She looked out at the park, at the distant people and a distant Marge, who was still messing with her shoes.

  For God’s sake, look up at me! she shrieked inside her head.

  But Marge was completely absorbed in her task.

  Rina was on her own. She thought of the memorial service of Yizkor, a prayer she still said for her late husband.

  Man is like a breath, his days are like a passing shadow…

  Don’t think about that now!

  If she screamed, she would probably get shot. But it might be worth it because Hannah was in the car.

  “You go now!” he whispered vehemently. “You go or I shoot you dead!”

  Hannah was in that car!

  Dead or not dead, she wouldn’t let him have the car when Hannah was inside!

  Slowly, Rina started to move toward the passenger door, again turning her head toward Marge. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Vega looking in her direction, the two of them locking eyes for just a millisecond. But it was enough, because the teen began tapping Marge’s shoulder. The gun burrowed itself into her muscles until she winced in pain.

  He growled. “You look straight. Go!”

  Do something!

  Okay, Marge. I’ll make a deal. I’ll do something, if you do something. And, God, it wouldn’t hurt if you helped things along.

  Rina let her keys fall from her hand until they dropped to the ground; the kerplunk was audible.

  “What you do—”

  “I dropped my keys—”

  “What!”

  With all her weight, Rina fell to the ground, breaking contact with the muzzle of the firearm for just a moment. Perhaps a moment would be enough. She curled up in a compact ball, holding her body tightly packed with her knees against her chest, her forearms covering her ears. She couldn’t hear Marge’s voice saying, “Police! Freeze!” But she could hear the deafening pop of gunfire and feel the wind of whizzing bullets. She drew herself inward and started to sob as something big and smelly slammed onto her back, oozing hot, wet liquid down her neck. She screamed, shaking off the intruder with jerky, uncontrolled movements. She was still screaming even as Vega put her arms around her. Still screaming even as Marge brought her up to her feet and hugged her tightly.

  “You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay!” Marge was telling her.

  Shaking uncontrollably, Rina couldn’t speak. She could barely support her own weight.

  “You’re fine,” Marge assured her as she rocked her back and forth. “You’re fine, you’re fine, you’re fine!”

  A sudden energy bolt of maternal instinct shot through Rina’s veins. She pushed Marge away and breathed out, “Hannah!” Rushing over to the back door, she threw it open. The little girl was jumping on the bench seat. She saw her mother’s face, saw her sickly pale complexion and the tears running down her cheeks. The little girl retreated inwardly. “Eema, sorry I jumped on the seat. I’ll put on my seat belt now. Don’t be mad. Please don’t be mad!”

  She burst into tears.

  Completely oblivious as to what had just happened.

  People began rushing over. Marge displayed her badge, telling everyone to step back. Such authority and calm in her voice. Just a minute ago, Rina had been conversing with just another insecure mother. The two versions of Marge didn’t seem to match, but wasn’t that the way it was with people? Using Marge’s professional confidence as a springboard, Rina managed to find her own voice. “Hannah, come out of the car this instant!”

  “I’m soorrrrry, Eema!”


  “Get out!” Rina yelled, pulling her daughter forward by the arm. The little girl slid across the seat on her belly and was weeping hysterically by the time she was liberated from the car. Rina longed to hug and kiss her, because, as a mother, that was what she needed to do. What Hannah required was swift removal from the scene before any of its grisly nature sank in. She turned her daughter from the gruesome sight and barked orders to Vega. “Take Hannah across the street, back to the park, and play with her until you hear from me!”

  “I want to stay with you!” Hannah wailed.

  “Go!” Rina commanded Vega.

  The young teen, having been raised in a cult, was good at following orders. She picked up the squalling child and ran with her across the street. When they were out of sight, Rina buried her head into the welcoming folds of her palms, weeping so hard her shoulders were moving. People were talking to her, but all she heard was white noise. After a few moments, she admonished herself for lack of control, told herself to get a grip on it. She was alive and safe: Hannah was alive and safe. What more did she want? She should be thanking Marge, thanking Vega for spotting her, thanking Hashem for making it come out all right!

  Silently, she said the prayer of Gomel, thanking God for delivering her from harm’s way. After she was done, she felt a bit calmer. It felt good to be doing something. She peeked through her hands and saw Marge gesticulating as she held her cell phone.

  You have a cell phone! Rina told herself. Page Peter!

  Marge was somehow managing to maintain order while speaking at a machine gun pace into her phone. Rina wiped her eyes and picked up her tote, spilling out most of its contents, including her cell phone. But it had been built well, humming beautifully after she pressed the power button. With trembling hands, she punched in the correct numbers and managed to page her husband.

  Waiting for the return call…

  Marge was still directing piles of people traffic. “Back away! Back off!” She glanced at Rina, yelling out, “Where are the kids?”

  “I sent Hannah with Vega back into the park. I don’t want them to be a part of this.”

  They’re already a part of it, Marge said to herself. At least Vega was. Thinking about Rina’s words: Crises happen to everyone sooner or later.

  In retrospect, dog shit seemed pretty damn benign.

  “Are you okay?” she asked Rina.

  “Yes, I’m okay.” Rina managed a scared smile. “I know that because you told me I’m okay!”

  Marge reached out her arms to Rina. Putting aside her duties as cop, because she was, first and foremost, a person. They embraced, hugging each other with the knowledge and appreciation that each body was whole.

  “Thank you,” Rina whispered.

  “Thank Vega. She was the one who saw you.”

  “Well, thank you for not shooting me.”

  “Thank you for dropping down and giving me a clear shot.” Marge was breathing heavily. “Look, do Vega a favor and take her to synagogue again.”

  “Absolutely.” She held back tears. “I could use a little God myself.”

  Marge continued to hold her tightly, as much for her own sake as for Rina’s. Then she realized things were getting out of control. Reluctantly, she stepped back from Rina, and started shooing the lookie-loos away from the crime scene.

  A crime scene that she created! Well, she didn’t create the crime scene. More like she redirected it. More like, Rina directed it. Her improvisational pratfall gave Marge a clear view of the perp…a clear angle.

  Marge looked over to Rina and gave her the thumbs-up sign. “You did good, kid! You did real good!”

  Despite her best efforts, Rina started to cry, an unbridled wellspring of emotions pouring forth—joy, anger, fear, relief, an appreciation for every breath she took.

  Thank you, Hashem, she said to herself. Thank you for saving me.

  And maybe, just maybe, it was her emmunah—her faith—that had allowed her to think clearly, that gave her some kind of plan.

  In the background, she heard the undulating wails of approaching sirens. It almost drowned out the ringing of her cellular.

  Peter calling back from her page. Answer the phone.

  But she hesitated, unwilling to let go of this overwhelming wind of gratitude. How lucky she had been. Thank you, God—the creator and director of life—for saving her. And thank you, dear Margie, for playing one heck of a starring role.

  She pressed the On button. Peter’s deep, sweet voice came through the receiver. For a moment, Rina couldn’t speak.

  And then she did.

  29

  Someone had brought her water; another had offered a Tylenol. Since Peter was prone to headaches, Rina always carried Advil in her purse. She declined the Tylenol, but used the water to swallow the Advil. Not that the analgesic would help much. She couldn’t stop shaking. A squadron of police black-and-whites had encircled the area like wagons around a camp, the beacon lights atop their cruisers flashing intermittently. Officers had cordoned off a wide band of curbside with yellow crime scene tape. Rina was in the thick of it, leaning against the backside of her Volvo, just yards away from the dead body. A pair of paramedics waited for the coroner’s wagon, while a duo of uniforms held vigil over the corpse. A white-and-red ambulance stood several yards away reminding her of the tenuous nature of life.

  Oddly, she felt protected. Few dared to approach her for fear of messing up evidence. Also, she had a clear view of Hannah on the swings. Her little daughter had a serious expression on her face as she pumped her legs. It said, Eema had given her the assignment of playing and she was going to play. Vega stood nearby, her eyes fixed on the child. Not once had she approached Marge for help; it would never have occurred to Vega to ask.

  Rina stared at her bloodstained dress. She should have asked Peter to bring her a change. First off, forensics might want her clothes, though she wouldn’t know what they’d do with them. More important, it made her sick to be wearing someone’s life forces. But she couldn’t dwell on that now. She needed to ready herself for the eventual onslaught of questions.

  Uniformed officials flitted like mosquitoes. Some seemed to be gathering witnesses, others appeared to be taking statements. And there were several groups still waiting for orders. The randomness suggested that no one had taken charge. That would change when someone from Homicide came onto the scene.

  The irony was that Marge was from Homicide, but obviously she couldn’t lead the investigation because of her involvement. Rina felt for her. An officer-involved shooting meant a probe by the Officer Involved Shooting team. Not that this should be a problem, as her actions were justifiable. And she had lots of witnesses to back her up. Still, taking someone’s life, even in a rightful situation, was an onerous burden.

  Rina continued to shiver even though some kind soul had given her a denim jacket. She hugged herself as she rocked on her feet. She looked around, making eye contact with a uniformed officer. He hesitated, then sidestepped the yellow tape, and swaggered over to her, pad in hand. He had a dense build to match his dense mop of black hair. Brown eyes stared at her with ferocious intensity.

  He started his spiel. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  In a toe tap, Marge was at her side. She flashed her badge. “She does mind. She’s waiting for her husband, Lieutenant Decker. Please give her the courtesy of a little privacy.”

  Red-faced, the uniform backed away, muttering some apologies.

  Marge put her hands on her hips. “How are you holding up?”

  Rina rubbed her arms. “I could ask you the same question.”

  “I’m all right.” Marge chewed gum and surveyed the area, trying to appear casual. “This kind of thing is familiar territory.”

  “Familiar territory with a twist,” Rina said.

  “A big twist…thank God, that’s Webster’s Audi. You stay here.” Marge jogged over to the car. Tom got out and smoothed down his jacket. He had returned to his usual s
elf—from frazzled expectant parent to super dude in super duds, sporting a white shirt, khaki pants, and a black linen blazer—slightly wrinkled to give it that perfect look. “Your timing could have been a mite better,” he drawled out. “My wife just gave birth to a perfect little girl about six hours ago.”

  “Congrats! Still, there’s nothing more you can do for her. I’d say my timing was exquisite.”

  Webster put his arm around Marge. “Are you okay?”

  “Been better.” She bit her lip and clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. “Not looking forward to all the bureaucracy. Do you know who’s coming from the OIS team?”

  “So far, we got Hodges and Arness. Being as it’s Sunday, it takes a while to find everyone.”

  Marge nodded. “Hodges and Arness are good guys.”

  “Yeah, it’s going to be fine, Margie. You want to tell me what all happened?”

  Marge gave him a quick rundown. Then she said, “I’ve been trying to give the Blues some direction, but I’m hogtied because of…of what happened. No one knows what’s flying.”

  “Bert’s due out here any moment. We’ll all handle the investigation of the body, let the shooting team handle you. Where’s the corpse?”

  “It’s sprawled against Rina’s Volvo.” Marge began walking him over to the spot. “I did everything by the book, Tom. But ask me anyway.”

  “Did you warn the perp?”

  “Yes.”

  “People heard you?”

  “I hope so.”

  “Was there imminent danger?”

  “Yes. He had a weapon, and he pointed it at me.”

  “Did he fire?”

  “I think so, but I couldn’t swear to it because it happened so fast. It would firm up my case if he fired.”

  “It would help. You didn’t touch anything, right?”

  “Nothing. The gun’s right where he dropped it. Looks to be a .38 Colt revolver.” She coughed. “I posted a couple of uniforms to guard it and the body.”

  “How many rounds did you fire?”

  “Three.”

  “You checked your gun then?”