by Hangman
“I should have lied. I should have picked out an item at random and told you it belonged to Adrianna.” Her expression was furious. “Stupid of me. Tinsley should be behind bars.”
“Only if he did it.” Decker stopped bagging the jewelry and looked at her. “Kathy, you have to believe me on this one. You don’t want to be responsible for putting the wrong man in jail.”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant.” She smacked her lips. “The way I feel right now, I’d rather have the wrong man than no man at all.”
BACK IN MISSION Control, officially known as Central Security for St. Tim’s, Peter the tech was as mute as ever. But his light eyes twinkled as he nodded to Marge and Oliver, indicating that they were now buddies. Ivan Povich seated the detectives in front of a blank monitor and poured coffee from a glass carafe into four Styrofoam cups.
“Fresh,” Povich said. “Peter just made it.”
Marge took a sip. “It’s good. Is there anything that Peter doesn’t do well?”
The silent tech saluted her.
“It’s Kona,” Povich said. “Less caffeine, less acid. Peter, can you bring up the original tape from the emergency vehicle lot…the one before the enhancement.”
Peter began sorting through the cassettes and slipped one into the machine slot.
“How’d that go?” Marge asked. “Any of the features recognizable?”
“You will see everything for yourself.” Within moments, black-and-white images blossomed onto the monitor. “This is the original.” Povich zeroed in on the lone female figure lurking on the loading dock. With each twist of the dial, she grew in size. “Everything blurs as the image gets bigger, no? Now watch. Peter, put in the enhanced tape.”
When the new images came onto the screen, Marge was delighted. She could see the differences: sharper angles, clearer delineations. “Wow. That makes a difference.”
Povich advanced the enhanced tape until he came to the frame of interest. Again, everyone concentrated on the figure in the corner of the loading dock. He turned the dial until the gray, grainy face came into maximum size and focus.
Marge stared at the screen. “Looks like Mandy Kowalski to me.” She turned to Oliver. “What do you think?”
“Wouldn’t bet my life on it.” Oliver sat back in his chair. “But I’d bet money on it.”
Marge said, “What’s the time on the tape?”
“Eleven fourteen A.M.,” Povich said.
Oliver said, “And Tinsley found the body at one forty-five?”
Marge nodded. “Plenty of time to string up the body at the construction site. St. Tim’s is a hop, skip, and jump away. Ivan, can you back up the tape?”
“How far back?”
“A couple of minutes?” Marge explained, “We’re interested in Mandy because we’re thinking she might have had something to do with Adrianna’s murder and she used the dock to load the body.”
Povich said, “So like you’re looking for a body bag?”
“Body bag, trash bag, a big box…something.” Marge shrugged. “If Mandy or Garth was carting away a body on the sly, he or she would probably be savvy enough to avoid the security cameras. I suppose I’m looking for something less obvious…like a car or a person that doesn’t fit the scene.”
Povich said, “Maybe it would be better to view this in the station house.”
“When can you bring the tape in?”
“You can keep this one. It is a copy. Peter made it for you.”
Marge turned to the mute. “You made a copy for us?”
“He did,” Povich said. “But don’t tell the hospital.” He popped the cassette out. “Here you go. Good luck.”
“Thank you very much, gentlemen.” Marge placed the cassette into her oversize purse. “Thank for the help and the cooperation.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Oliver said.
The two detectives got up and shook hands all around. As they left, Marge gave Peter a firm pat on the back—her silent way of saying “job well done.”
“RIGHT…HERE!” Marge pointed to the rear of a car with its trunk open. “Keep an eye on this because it’s relegated to the corner of the monitor.”
“Now look what happens,” Oliver said.
Decker watched the cassette frame by frame as a man in a gray uniform slid in and out of view. At one point, he was holding a black industrial garbage bag, which he hoisted—with effort—into the open trunk. Then he closed the lid and walked out of view. A few moments later, the car left.
Marge turned on the lights and removed the cassette. Today she had dressed in a navy sweater and tan slacks. “While this guy was schlepping the bag and hauling it to the car trunk, we have Mandy popping into view at eleven fourteen. Then the car leaving around two minutes later. Unfortunately, it’s impossible to get a license plate. We have a good shot of the trunk. I’ll visit some car dealers and see if someone can identify the make and model.”
Oliver said, “The guy in the uniform appears to be about the same height and weight as Garth, but that’s as close as we can come to identifying him.”
“Get some pictures of Mandy and Garth and go back to the people who were working the emergency dock on Monday. Ask them if they remember seeing either or both of them.” Decker rubbed his temples. “Anything else?”
“Not right now,” Marge said. “You okay, Pete?”
“Yeah, I’m fine…” He raked his hand through his hair. “Maybe it’s just turning sixty. Anyway, I sent Wanda Bontemps down to Ranger’s Deli to see if I can find anyone who could corroborate Chuck Tinsley’s story. She found a waitress who knows him. She says he eats there all the time. She thinks he was there on Monday around twelve-thirty, but she can’t be sure.”
Marge said, “Maybe Tinsley’s telling the truth. That someone found his business card in Adrianna’s pocket and set him up.”
“Could be.”
Oliver said, “You don’t like Tinsley, do you?”
“He calls in the body, and he met her for the first time the night before. He doesn’t tell us about it. No, I don’t like him.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Something’s off with that guy. If he were locked up, I’d feel better. But he’s not in custody and I’m missing something.”
“It’ll come to you.”
“Yeah, it will. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come too late.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
THE DECKER HOUSE was much smaller than Gabe’s home in New York, and with everyone coming in and out, the space had become crowded. The brothers had called up a bunch of their old friends, and within hours, dudes were occupying every inch of usable space. The cramped conditions and the noise were making him nervous. When he tried to take refuge in the kitchen, he found it a mess of pots and pans, although the cooking smells were wonderful. Rina was wearing an apron, her forehead moist with sweat. Out of politeness, Gabe asked if he could help. He was relieved when she declined the offer.
“In that case, maybe I’ll go out for a walk.”
“It’s pretty insane around here. Even I’m not used to it anymore.” Rina handed him notepaper and a pencil. “Write down your cell number just in case. And put my cell number into your phone. You should have it in case of an emergency.”
“I’ll do it, although I think I’ll be okay.”
“What if your mugger comes back for revenge?”
Gabe took out his iPod and smiled. “I still have my right hand. Can I pick up something for you while I’m out?”
“No, I’m covered.” Rina tousled his hair. “Don’t get lost in your music.”
“Actually, it seems like a perfect thing to get lost in.”
He left the hubbub and hadn’t been gone more than ten minutes when he felt the vibration of his phone against his leg. He retrieved the phone, looked at the window, and saw that the number was restricted. He knew that the Deckers’ landline phone was unlisted. It was probably Rina checking up on him. He debated letting it ring, but she’d probably keep calling until he answered. He took out
his left earbud, clicked the green on button, and said, “Hi. I’m still alive.”
“That’s good to hear. What happened to your hand?”
The deep voice on the other end wasn’t Rina. “Chris?” Gabe started shaking. “Where are you?”
“Answer the question. What happened to your hand?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Then why’d you go to a hand surgeon?”
The man had eyes in back of his head. “It’s nothing, Chris. It isn’t even worth talking about.”
“Talk about it anyway.”
“I got in a fight. It was a little sore. It was fine, but Rina…Mrs. Decker insisted I go to the doctor. How’d you know about it? Where are you?”
“You got into a fight?” The line went quiet. “You’re the most nonconfrontational person I know. What the hell happened?”
“Someone tried to grab my briefcase. I fought him off.”
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because I had all the stuff you gave me in there.”
“Gabriel, all that shit is replaceable. Your hands aren’t. Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“Well, I didn’t know how replaceable the stuff was, seeing you’ve been hard to reach lately and you get very piqued when I bother you.”
“So I get piqued. It’s better than ruining your life. Don’t fuck around with your hands, okay?”
“I didn’t do it on purpose. Where are you?”
“I’ve got to go.”
“Decker thinks you’re innocent.”
Donatti gave out a mirthless laugh. “He’s feeding you shit. He wants to fry me.”
“Maybe. He wants you to come down and take a lie-detector test.”
“Fuck that.”
“He thinks it’ll clear you. He said you could pass it even if you did murder Mom.”
This time, Donatti’s laugh was genuine. “He’s right about that. Tell him to fuck himself.”
“How about if I say you’re not interested. He’s going to know about this phone call. He checks my phone records. What do you want me to tell him?”
“Whatever you want.”
“What’s going on with Mom?”
“Ask your pal Decker. He’s been following in my footsteps. What else has he been telling you?”
“Lemme think…” Note to self: pretend to think. “He knew you were in town on Tuesday. He said you’re both on the same path, only he’s a couple steps behind you.”
Silence on the other end. “Go on.”
“Decker thinks that maybe he’s found Mom’s car. He said you were looking for it at the same spot as he was.”
“And?”
“The car he found wasn’t registered to Mom. So maybe it wasn’t her car. He’s looking into that. Did you find Mom?”
“No, Gabriel, I have not found her. What else did he say about the car?”
Note to self: try not to sound rehearsed. “He said that the car was owned by some Indian guy. Indian Indian. He told me the name but I forgot it.”
“Atik Jains.”
“Yeah, that’s it.”
“Name sound familiar?”
“I don’t know the guy. What about you?”
“No.” Donatti paused. “So you never saw Mom with an Indian man? You were with her a lot more than I was.”
Here was the part where he really needed to sound convincing. “I didn’t see her that much. I was either in school or locked up practicing. The only reason we saw each other at all was because my lessons were in the city.”
“Interesting, Gabe, but you didn’t answer the question. Did you ever see her with an Indian man?”
“I don’t remember Mom being with any man, let alone an Indian,” he lied. “I mean I’m sure I saw her talking to men, but nothing that sticks out as weird.”
There was a long pause. “Okay. If you find out anything, you’ll let me know, right?”
“Of course,” Gabe lied again. “Are you in L.A.?”
“No. I’ll call you if I find your mother.” Donatti was silent. For a moment, Gabe thought he’d hung up. Finally, Chris said, “You okay where you are?”
“They’re real nice for perfect strangers.”
“When the dust clears, you can come live with me. If you want to go back to New York, I’ll get you a housekeeper. Personally, I think you’re best off where you are.”
“I agree mainly because I found a teacher.”
A pause. “Who?”
There was real curiosity in his father’s voice. He and Chris had only two things in common: Mom and music. Both were dominant factors in their lives.
“Nicholas Mark.”
Again, Donatti was silent. “How the hell did you wangle that?”
“His doctor is the hand surgeon that saw me. By accident, he heard me play and afterward he agreed to take me on for a few lessons. I’m hoping my dedication will convince him to take me on permanently. I’ll need someone of his caliber if I have any hopes of doing the Chopin International in five years.”
“What’d you play for him?”
“Fantaisie-Impromptu and ‘La campanella.’”
“You played ‘La campanella’ with a sore left hand?”
“Yeah. I made mistakes but it wasn’t too bad, considering. I was relaxed. I didn’t know I was playing in front of Nicholas Mark. The main thing is he agreed to give me a few lessons.”
“Maybe you’re finally reaching your goddamn potential. I always told you if you quit fucking around, you could be one of the greats.”
“Thanks for the compliment—I think.”
“Don’t be a snot nose.” A pause. “Guys like Mark can’t come cheap. If you need more money, call up one of my places and I’ll put more cash in your accounts. As nice as it’s been to chitchat with you, Gabriel, duty calls. I’ve got to go.”
But Gabe wasn’t ready to hang up. “Aren’t you worried about this call being traced?”
“They trace cell calls by relay towers. And towers can get scrambled if you have the right equipment.”
“If you find Mom, please don’t hurt her.”
“I’m not going to hurt her. I’m done with that.” Said more to himself than to Gabe. “I’m pissed as hell, but I’m not without insight. I’m impossible to live with. If she needs to get something out of her system, I can handle it. I want to find her mainly because I love her. But also all my businesses are in her name. I’ve got taxes coming up and she’s got to sign papers or I’m screwed.”
“Why don’t you forge her signature?”
“I do that all the time. That’s not the problem. The problem is if she’s officially missing—not dead, just missing—she can’t sign anything. That means everything she owns is in limbo until there’s a legal resolution. I’d rather have her alive. But I’d rather have her dead than missing. If she was dead, you’d own everything. I could deal with that. If you need something, call up one of my places in Elko, okay?”
“What do you mean, I’d own everything?”
“You’re her legal heir, not me.”
“But it’s not mine, it’s yours.”
“But legally it would be yours.”
“So like do I have to sign something to hand it over to you?”
“Gabe, I can’t own brothels and casinos. I’m a felon.”
“I thought you were pardoned.”
“I was let out of prison but I still have a record. I’m not worried about my assets being in your name. You’re not going to steal from me. That would be really stupid. If you need money, it’s the one thing I can give you. Take care of yourself. And lay off the fighting.” A pause. “I can’t believe you fought off a mugger. That’s so unlike you.”
“Maybe I’ve got more Whitman in me than either of us thought.”
“Maybe.” Chris was silent. “So maybe you actually are my kid.”
Gabe laughed. “You have doubts?”
“You’re the only carelessness that led to an accident and I’ve been car
eless all my life.”
“Thanks for relegating my existence to a fluke.”
“Stop being such a wuss. I support you, don’t I?”
“Take a paternity test, Chris. I’m willing.”
“Maybe you are, but I’m not.” A pause. “You have blood relatives, Gabe. You got a mom and an aunt and a grandfather. You have a father—whoever he is.”
“You know you’re being ridiculous—”
“Who knows?” Donatti continued. “I’m betting that in the future, your mom will conceive a kid from someone else and you’ll have a sister or a brother. Even more so, unlike me, you’ll probably have your own children.”
“You know that I’m commonly called your son—”
“Me? I got no one. I got no mom. I got no dad. I got no brothers and no sisters and no grandparents. Both my parents were only children, so I have no aunts, uncles, cousins. I have no known blood relationships except you.
“If I found out that you weren’t mine, that your mother had cheated on me and fucked some other guy while I was penned up, I’d say adios and eat a gun. To me, it’s better to die than to live out life as an extinct species.”
MARGE KNOCKED ON the open door sash, then walked into Decker’s office. “From what the dealers say, it’s a 2004 Honda Civic. Same car that Garth drives.”
Decker pointed to the seat across from his desk. “We’ve already got a BOLO on it in California. Call up Vegas Metropolitan and ask them for help. Tell them it might be part of a crime scene.”
“Already done.” Marge sat down.
“Were they cooperative?”
“Not too bad. I think that Detective Silver would take us more seriously if we went down in person. I’ve talked to Oliver. We’d like to drive down and hunt around over the weekend.”
“Fine with me. I’d go with you except that my whole family is in town and I’ve got to go to Adrianna Blanc’s memorial service tomorrow.”
“Pete, if you want, we can drive down later and I can go to the service. I know how you feel about working on Shabbos. And how often do you have all your kids in one place?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have to go. If I don’t show up, Kathy Blanc will be pissed at me, and she’s pissed enough as is. It’s at eleven o’clock. I’ll have plenty of time with my family in the afternoon. Besides I’ve got this irrational scintilla of hope that maybe Garth or Mandy will show.”