Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 19

by Hangman

  “How do you know? Who is this guy?”

  “That’s what we aim to find out.”

  AFTER THE DOCTOR’S visit, Rina took Gabe shopping. He insisted on paying and she didn’t argue. He was happy about that. Rina had a way of making him feel calm but not smothered. She didn’t try to parent him. She let him make his own choices, but if he had questions, she’d offer advice. She also had a great sense of humor. She was kind of like your favorite teacher. By the time they were finished, Gabe had two bags of clothes and two new sets of sneakers. She told him that she had stuff to do at her school, so she dropped him off at the house, giving him his own keys.

  He went into the room and started to straighten out the closet again, emptying a few shelves for his meager things. It wasn’t like he was moving in, but he was trying to make himself a bit more comfortable. Afterward, he read until his eyes felt strained. He tried to sleep but to no avail. Bored and lonely, he picked up the guitar, knowing that he shouldn’t be fingering a fret board with a sore left hand.

  WTF…just a few little bits won’t hurt. Just don’t overdo it, he told himself. Restraint…something he never lacked.

  If anything, he needed to infuse his music with as much feeling as technical prowess. That’s what Lettech used to tell him.

  An ear worm was coursing through his brain, a song they’d heard on the radio. “Crossfire”—a blues song made immortal by Stevie Ray Vaughan. He liked Stevie Ray. Not only was he a great guitarist technically, he was incredibly tasteful and could milk a note like no man. He loved the way Vaughan used his guitar as a response to his singing, as if he were having a conversation with the instrument.

  He had jacked up the amp. The instrument was a piece of crap, but the amp was decent quality and somewhat compensated for the tinny electronics of the guitar. As the song repeated in his head, he began to copy Stevie Ray note by note until he had the fills to the vocals down pat. Now it was just a matter of the solo. He was so absorbed in his music that he didn’t hear the door open. When he did look up, two guys in their twenties were staring at him. He didn’t know who the sandy-haired one was, but the dude with the black hair and blue eyes was the image of Rina.

  Dude said, “Do I know you?”

  Sandy Hair gave Dude a look. “I’m Sam, he’s Jake—”

  “Yeah, we live here,” Jake said.

  Sam said, “And you are…”

  “Gabe Whitman.” He knew he was blushing. He stood up, turned off the amp, and put the instrument on the bed. “Sorry about messing with your stuff.”

  Jake said, “Are you kidding? My guitar never sounded so good. Certainly not when I played it. You rock, kid.”

  “Especially compared to us,” Sam added. “This family doesn’t have a musical bone in its body.”

  Jake threw his duffel on his bed and opened the closet. “Clean and organized.” He looked at Gabe’s clothes and held up a pair of cargo pants. “Definitely not my size.”

  The boy was still red. “I’ll move my stuff.”

  “Nah, you don’t have to do that,” Jake said. “The question is, what’s your stuff doing here in the first place?”

  “It’s a long story. The short version is your parents have been nice enough to let me stay here.”

  “How long have you been here?” Jake asked.

  “About five days.”

  “And how long are you staying?”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  Sammy said, “We’re just in and out for the weekend. Just keep your stuff where it is and we’ll work around you.”

  “Uh, last time I counted, there were only two beds,” Jake said.

  “I can sleep on the couch,” Gabe told him.

  “Yonkel, you know that there’s a trundle,” Sam said. “We can squeeze in for a couple of days.”

  “I’m not sleeping on a trundle,” Jake said.

  “I’ll sleep on the trundle,” Gabe offered. “Or I can give you guys some privacy and sleep on the couch. Or I can sleep on the floor.”

  “Nonsense,” Sam said. “Jake and I will flip for the trundle.”

  “What?”

  “You know that Eema won’t let him sleep on the couch. Stop postponing the inevitable. Rock, paper, scissors. If you don’t play, you forfeit and automatically sleep on the trundle.”

  “Since when do you make all the rules?”

  “Yadda, yadda, yadda. Are you in or out?”

  The two guys sat on the bed and did the first RPS. Jake’s paper lost to Sam’s scissors.

  “Two out of three,” Jake told him.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “C’mon.”

  The next time Jake’s rock lost to Sam’s paper.

  “Shit. Three out of five.”

  “I’ll sleep on the trundle,” Gabe insisted. “Actually, you don’t have to bother. I can just stay with my aunt for the weekend. It’s not a problem.”

  “Who’s your aunt?”

  “Who’s my aunt?”

  “What kind of a question is that?” Sammy said to Jake.

  “It’s a reasonable question. Maybe she’s a felon and that’s why he’s not staying with her in the first place.”

  “Her name is Melissa and she’s not a felon.”

  “So why aren’t you staying with her?” Jake asked.

  “Yonkel, are you trying to torture the kid or are you just nosy?”

  “Both.”

  Gabe was still red. “She’s going to Palm Springs for the weekend with a group of her girlfriends. She invited me to come, but I begged off.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? She and her friends are party girls. I’m fourteen.”

  “And the problem is…”

  “As tempting as it sounds, it’s not for me.”

  “How old is your aunt?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Is she cute?”

  “She’s very cute.”

  “I’ve got a great idea,” Jake said. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll go with Melissa.”

  Sammy hit him. “Help me move the lamp and the nightstand.”

  “I’ll do it.” Gabe unplugged the lamp and lifted the stand with the lamp still on it. “Where should I put it?”

  “Put it in the corner,” Sammy said. “Let’s get this sucker out.”

  The two brothers bent down and yanked at the trundle that was stowed underneath one of the twins. When they liberated the apparatus, the frame and mattress popped up with a vengeance. Jake swiped at the top. “Relatively clean.”

  “Get the linens,” Sammy said.

  “You get the linens,” Jake told him.

  “I rented the car, you get the linens.”

  Gabe couldn’t help himself. He just started laughing—first time in over two months and it felt good. “You know, I do know how to make up a bed. Where are the linens?”

  “I’ll get ’em,” Jacob grumped, and stormed off.

  “I know,” Sammy said. “We’re ridiculous. I’m getting married and graduating from med school in two months, he’s got a degree in neuroscience. We go home and we’re ten and twelve again. Guess who the oldest is.”

  “No question about that,” Gabe said. “Where do you go to med school?”

  “Einstein. That’s in New York.”

  “I know Einstein. I’m from New York. My mom is a doctor.”

  “What’s her specialty?”

  “Emergency room medicine. What are you going into?”

  “Radiology. Are you interested in medicine?”

  “No, thank you. I don’t want anything to do with people.”

  Sam laughed. “That eliminates a lot of jobs.”

  “Not music.”

  “Yeah, Jake wasn’t lying. You sound really pro on that thing.”

  “I’m actually a pianist. Uh, that sounds pretentious. Piano is my main instrument.”

  “We don’t own a piano.”

  “I know. I think your mom might be getting one on loan for me.”

&
nbsp; “So you’re here for a while?”

  Gabe felt his face go hot. “I really don’t know. Your parents are very nice people.”

  “Actually, they’re gems.”

  Jake came in and threw the linens at Gabe’s chest. He caught them and started to make up the trundle.

  Sammy said, “He’s a pianist.”

  “Really?” Jake asked. “Are you any good?”

  Gabe shrugged. “Not bad.”

  Jake sprawled out on his bed. “Seriously, kid, what are you doing here?”

  Gabe stopped. “My mom is missing and your dad is looking into the case.” No one spoke. “Your father thinks that my father might have killed her. I don’t think he did. Your dad wants to talk to my dad and my dad isn’t making himself available.”

  “Wow,” Jake said. “Sorry I asked.”

  “It’s messed up, but I’m used to that.”

  Sammy said, “So how did you get here…with my parents?”

  “My mother knew your father from like when she was a teenager. So when the two of us came out to California, she left me his cell phone number in case of an emergency. When my mom didn’t come home last Sunday, I called him. It was late at night and I didn’t have anywhere to go, so he took me to his house. They’re letting me stay here until one or both of my parents show up. My dad definitely knows I’m here. I suspect my mom’s alive and she knows that I’m here, too.”

  “What about living with your aunt?”

  “I love Melissa, but she doesn’t have the same standards of cleanliness that I do. I have a real hard time living in messy surroundings.”

  “Another compulsive.” Jake high-fived Gabe. “Maybe you can help out our sister? I can’t go into her room.”

  “Neither can I,” Gabe said. “It makes me anxious.”

  Sammy said, “We’re going out to get a pizza. You want to come?”

  Gabe was hungry, but he declined. “I’m okay. I’ll unpack your bags, if you want.”

  “No one touches my things,” Jake said.

  “Sorry,” Gabe said. “I won’t play your guitar anymore.”

  “I’m ribbing you.” Jake jumped up from the bed. “You can have the guitar. I mean that. I never play it anymore. Never really played it much to begin with. Come with us, kid.” He gently whacked Gabe in his hollow stomach. “You look like you can use a couple of extra calories.”

  Gabe felt his skin grow warm. “Thanks. Can I ask why you’re here?”

  “Other than the fact that I live here?”

  Sammy said, “We came in to surprise our dad.”

  “Technically, he’s our stepdad. But after enduring all of the grief I gave him, he has earned the title of Dad.”

  “The Loo is turning sixty on Sunday,” Sammy said. “We’re surprising him and our mother and sister. We’ve got a massive dinner planned at the station house today at seven. The only one who knows about it is our stepsister and her husband.”

  “That’s Cindy and Koby, right?”

  “You sure made yourself at home in a short time,” Jake said. “As long as you’re here, you can help us pick up the food.”

  Sam said, “We ordered enough to feed the entire station house. We’re picking it up at five. What time is it?”

  Gabe checked his watch. “Two-thirty.”

  “Any idea where our mother is?” Jake asked.

  “I think she’s at school. She said she’ll be home around four.”

  “Perfecto,” Jake said. “We should be home just in time. Are you coming with us for pizza or not?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Gabe got his wallet and stuffed it into his pants. “That’s cool. I didn’t know that the Loo was that close to sixty.”

  Then again, why on earth should he know?

  He kept forgetting that he was a stranger.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  OVER THE MONITOR, the detectives saw Chuck Tinsley fidget and twitch, his meaty right leg bouncing up and down. He was also muttering, his thin lips making sounds that didn’t quite articulate into words. Although he had come in willingly—the cops had used the ruse that they needed his help—his facial expression said: Lemme outta here. Dark eyes set into a seamed face swept the room, failing to focus for more than a second or two. His muscular arms and chest were covered in a gray T-shirt. Faded jeans and athletic shoes completed the outfit. A lightweight black nylon jacket rested on his lap.

  “He’s nervous,” Decker said to Oliver and Marge. “Like he’s guilty of something. Hang tight in case I need reinforcements.”

  “We’re not going anywhere.”

  As soon as Decker left, Oliver said, “When is the food for his party coming?”

  “Around six-thirty. We were supposed to get him out of the station house by six.”

  “It’s four now. You think he’ll be able to wrap this up in a couple of hours?”

  “Don’t know how hard he’ll be to crack. Let’s hope that the Loo is at the top of his game.”

  TINSLEY’S COMPLEXION WAS almost as green as the first time Decker had seen him. Maybe he should have brought in a barf bag. “Thanks for coming in.” He placed a cup of coffee in front of the foreman, along with some whitening powder and a couple of sugars. “Thought you could use something to do with your hands.”

  Tinsley picked up the coffee. “I look that nervous?”

  “More like you have better things to do with your time.”

  “That’s true.” Tinsley took a sip of coffee, made a face, and then added the whitener and the sugar. “I don’t know what I could tell you now that I didn’t tell you the first time. Tell you the truth, I don’t wanna remember.” He lowered his head. “It was horrible. How do you do that, day in and day out?”

  “I like getting bad guys off the streets.” Decker took the chair next to him. “You’re a little calmer than the first time we met. Maybe some details might come back.”

  “What kind of details?”

  “I don’t know.” The Loo took out his notebook. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

  “Like when I got to work or when I first saw her?”

  Tinsley had given Decker an opening. “Well, let’s start with when you first saw her.” A noncommittal smile. “When was the first time you saw Adrianna Blanc?”

  Tinsley cleared his throat. “I came to the site around one forty-five. I noticed the body around five minutes later.”

  “Tell me exactly what happened?”

  The recitation came by rote. He got to the Grossman project around one forty-five. He wanted to clean up before the inspector came later in the afternoon. He started picking up trash, noticed a spot with a lot of flies, saw the body, dropped the garbage bag, and heaved. Lastly, he called 911. His story—from start to finish—lasted five minutes.

  Good and fine except Yvette Jackson had ID’d Tinsley from a six-pack as the man Adrianna was talking to at Garage. It was now almost four o’clock. Decker didn’t know how long they would dance around the truth, but he knew that Tinsley would crash sooner than later. The Loo stared at his prey for a few seconds, trying to unnerve him.

  “Mr. Tinsley, I didn’t ask you for the first time that you saw Adrianna’s corpse. I asked you when was the first time that you saw Adrianna Blanc.”

  Again, Tinsley cleared his throat. “I don’t understand. I saw her hanging up there about five minutes after I came onto the property.”

  “I’m not arguing with you. I’m sure you did see the body hanging from the rafters at about one-fifty in the afternoon. But that’s not what I’m asking. Listen carefully.” Decker leaned over. “When was the first time you saw Adrianna Blanc?”

  “At around one-fifty that Monday afternoon.” Tinsley’s leg was going a mile a minute. “I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

  “Why do you think I’m getting at something?”

  “’Cause you keep repeating yourself.”

  “That’s because you’re not answering my question. When was the first time you saw Adrianna Blanc?”


  “I am answering your question. Around one-fifty in the afternoon.”

  “And that’s your story?”

  “Whaddaya mean that’s my story?” His hands were shaking. “That’s the truth. I thought you wanted my help.”

  “I do want your help. That’s why I asked you to come in here.”

  “So I came in. Now why are you giving me a hard time?”

  “I don’t mean to give you a hard time, but we have a little problem.”

  Tinsley looked stricken. “What kind of problem?”

  “Let me start with another question. Where were you the previous evening?” Decker gave him the date to refresh his memory. “It was Sunday night. Do you remember where you were between seven and ten P.M.?”

  Without hesitation, Tinsley said, “I wanna lawyer.”

  “We can get you representation.” Decker stood up. “Or you can get your own. In the meantime, you’ll be booked and printed—”

  “What do you mean booked and printed?”

  “You can have your lawyer meet you here. The arraignment will probably be sometime tonight—”

  “Arraignment for what?”

  Tinsley bolted up. Decker was bigger than the foreman, but a physical confrontation was that last thing he wanted. “Could you please sit down, sir?”

  The foreman looked around as if he hadn’t realized he was on his feet. “What the fuck is going on? What’re you charging me with?”

  “I have a number of choices: obstruction of justice, lying to the police, maybe murder—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tinsley shot back in his chair, a horrified look on his face. “Wait just a fucking minute! I didn’t murder anyone!”

  “I’m not saying you did. You just asked what I was going to book you for—”

  “You’re not going to frame me for this bullshit!” He was panting and sweating. “I didn’t have nothin’ to do with her death.”

  “You can’t speak to me, Mr. Tinsley. You asked for your lawyer.”

  “Just let me say something—”

  “You asked for a lawyer,” Decker repeated.