By this time, Louise was bright red. After all she’d gone through, I decided to give her a little solace. “Everyone makes judgment calls, Louise.”
“I’m just trying to keep her safe. …” She let out a mirthless chuckle. “I haven’t done a very good job.”
“Walk a mile in my shoes,” I said.
She laughed loudly. “You should have been a therapist.”
Sarah said, “Is my baby okay?”
“The baby is fine,” I told her.
“Can I see her?”
Louise said, “We’re working on it, Sarah.”
I said, “Louise, is it possible for you to bring Sarah down to the Hollywood Station tomorrow just to make a statement? That way we could get something going.”
Louise said, “I don’t think so, Officer Decker.”
“No mug books,” I told her. “Just let her repeat her story to Detective MacGregor, because he’s in charge. We’ll worry about identifying the perpetrators later on.”
Her sigh was heavy. “Lunchtime—twelve-thirty. I’ll give you twenty minutes. Then I have to get back to work.”
“Thank you so much,” I said. “I’ll clear it with Detective MacGregor and call you if there’s a change in plans.”
“Your cooperation will be favorably looked upon by the judge,” Decker told her. “This is not for pressure, Ms. Sanders, just to let you know.”
“Right.”
The sarcasm was evident. We all stood except Sarah. Dad extended his hand to the girl. “Thank you for talking with us, young lady. Tomorrow, Louise is going to bring you to the police station to talk with Detective MacGregor. Do you remember him?”
Sarah nodded.
“You’ll need to tell him exactly what you told us.”
“Okay …” Sarah was tentative.
“Don’t worry,” Decker said. “It will be easier the next time you talk. I promise. You’re a very good girl, Sarah.”
“Mr. Man?”
We all smiled. Louise said, “His name is Lieutenant Decker.”
“I thought her name was Decker.”
“We both are Decker,” I told her.
“Oh … you’re married.”
“Father and daughter,” Dad explained. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”
She nodded.
“What, honey? Tell me anything you want.”
“Are you sure it’s okay to tell bad secrets?”
“Positive.” My father regarded her face. “Do you have another bad secret you want to tell me?”
“No.” But Sarah responded way too quickly.
“It’s okay,” Decker soothed. “If you want, you can whisper it in my ear.”
“Is David dead?” she asked.
“I don’t know, Sarah,” I told her. “I’m going to find out.”
“Will I get into trouble?”
“No, sweetie. It’s okay. You did the right thing by talking to us.” Decker gave her his card. “Anytime you have a bad secret, you can call me, okay?”
She nodded. I followed the Loo’s example and gave her my card as well. We exchanged good-byes and walked back to the car.
I strapped myself in and turned on the ignition. “Is Sarah sitting on something?”
“Definitely.”
“So what do we do about it?”
“Nothing.”
17
Staring out the window of his daughter’s apartment, Decker organized his thoughts. His gaze shifted onto Cindy’s face. “This is the deal. It would be a good idea to type up your notes for when you talk to MacGregor. That way, you not only have something organized to look at, so you don’t have to grope for words, but also you have something concrete to hand him after you’re done. You don’t want to overwhelm him with detail. It’ll make you look like a hot dog and it’ll irritate—” Abruptly, Decker stopped talking. “Are you listening?”
Cindy’s eyes went from her lap to his face. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening.”
“Then can you stop playing with the fringes of your couch pillow and look like you’re paying attention?”
“I am paying attention. Why are you chastising me like I’m five years old?” She jumped up. “I’m going to make some fresh coffee. Would you like some?”
Decker rubbed his aching temples. After a pause, he told her yes he would like coffee. As his eyes skipped over the place, he noticed how stark her apartment had become. Once the decor had been homey, almost girlish, as if her room as a teenager had been moved in toto. Now it bore the scars of its rape. He stood up and walked into her small kitchenette. It could barely contain both their bodies. “You can’t have it both ways. I can’t be a father and a lieutenant at the same time. So take your pick.”
She poured water into the machine. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, and I expect you to be totally honest. Are you pissed because Koby is black?”
“No.”
She turned to face him. “So why are you still pissed that I didn’t mention it to you?”
“Mention it to me?” Decker regarded her dubiously. “Cindy, you deliberately withheld it from me!”
“What difference does it make?”
“It’s descriptive. You went out of your way to tell me he was Israeli—”
“He is Israeli.”
“No, Cindy, he lived in Israel. He is a self-described Ethiopian. All you had to do was tell me that. Instead, you caught me off guard.” A pause. “I probably acted like an idiot.”
“You were fine.”
“Well, I didn’t feel fine, I felt uncomfortable. That’s my problem, not yours. But you could have helped me along. What were you afraid of? Do I make you that nervous?”
“Yes.”
Decker sighed. “Well … then I’m sorry. That’s never my intention.”
“I know. It’s all right.”
Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, he stared at her blank walls. Just once he’d like to end their time together by congratulating himself for a parenting job well done, instead of walking to the car feeling like a failure.
“I’ll try to do better, Cin.”
“You don’t have to do better. You’re great, Daddy. I love you.”
“I love you, too.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I should be mellowing with age. Instead, I’m more on edge … more frantic.”
“That means you’re vital, Dad.” Cindy took her father’s hand. “That’s a good thing. And I wasn’t being fair. Most of the time, you don’t make me nervous, just when you bark orders at me. I know it’s not personal, especially because I dragged you into this. When you chide me, it sets off something primal. But that’s my hang-up.”
Decker rolled his tongue in his cheeks. “He’d better treat you right or I’ll kill him.”
“Don’t commit homicide on my behalf. I barely know him.”
“He likes you—a lot. Make sure you’re moving at the same rate.”
“That’s my business, Dad.”
“Fair enough. Shall we go on with our business?”
“You were saying I should type up my notes.”
“Why don’t you do this—after you’ve organized your thoughts on paper, e-mail or fax them to me and I’ll go over them.”
“That would be great. Thank you very much.”
“You’re welcome, Princess. Keep your sentences simple, Cin. The average detective has maybe a few years of college.”
“I know.”
“Any questions?”
“No, not really.” She looked at her nails, bitten almost to the quick. “So you don’t think I should ask around about gangs in my area? The fact that these bad boys were a mixture of Hispanic and non-Hispanic narrows it down.”
Decker waited a beat. “Cindy, you are not a detective yet. You have to wait for Russ MacGregor to call the shots. Tell him what you told me and see what he says.”
“It’ll be junked in the circular file. What would be wrong with asking my street contacts a couple
of questions?”
“You’re goading me.”
“I’m trying to give an old rape case some CPR.”
“Cynthia, listen to me.” A pause. “Are you listening?”
“Yes, Dad, I am listening.”
“Okay. Here goes. Every day you put your butt on the line. That means you need backup on occasion. And that means you have to be a team player. Besides, you don’t know who these punks are, so you don’t know what you’re dealing with. You ask the wrong people the wrong questions, your body winds up with homemade air-conditioning.”
“Very funny.”
“I’m not laughing, Cynthia.”
She looked at her watch. “You’d better go. Otherwise, you’re not going to make a two o’clock movie with Hannah Banana.”
“I’ll go. But you have to promise me not to get involved unless asked to do so.”
“I promise I won’t do a thing without Russ MacGregor’s explicit permission.”
“That was even better than I expected. Thank you.”
Just then, a chime dinged. Cindy said, “Coffee’s ready. How about one for the road? I have a travel cup.”
“Why not?”
She went into her kitchenette and poured the steaming liquid into a thermal cup. She closed the lid tightly and handed the cup to him while formulating her thoughts. “I like him, too, Daddy.”
“Great.”
“I think that despite all the superficial differences, we have a lot in common.”
Decker waited.
“Our jobs, for instance. We both love our jobs. And our jobs have lots in common.”
“A nurse and a cop?”
“Yeah, when you think about it. Most of the time, our jobs deal with routine. Lots and lots of routine. But when it isn’t routine … man, that’s when the adrenaline starts pumping … flowing full throttle. Boy oh boy, that’s what separates wheat from chaff. And if we’re good … really good … it’s in the clutch when we shine.”
He awoke with a crick in his neck, his nostrils piqued by the smell of barbecue, his ears hearing the whir of a kitchen fan. Rina was grilling indoors, and despite his drowsiness, his stomach rumbled as the aroma translated its signals to his brain. He lowered his feet from the ottoman, then got up, stretching his too-tall frame until he was steady enough to walk. His mouth was dry and parched. He went into the kitchen, spotting a hunk of roast with grid marks, bathed in onions and mushrooms, sizzling in the skillet.
“Have a good nap?” Rina asked him.
“Very good. Hannah is a great kid, but she’s exhausting.”
“The feeling must be mutual. She’s been a zombie since she’s been home.”
“Well, that makes me feel a little better.” He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and gulped it down greedily. Rina was wearing an apron over a black knee-length knit skirt and black sweater. She had socks and sneakers on her feet and her hair was tied back in a high ponytail. She looked like a bobby-soxer. “Man, that smells good. What is it?”
“Flanken.”
“Beef on Sunday? What’s the occasion?”
“The boys are home. We’re healthy. Hannah’s not grumpy. Take your pick.”
“Where are the boys?”
“They’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so.” She took the cast-iron grill pan from the stovetop and slid it into the oven. “Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”
“Medium rare?”
“Absolutely. We all dislike shoe leather.”
“You’re incapable of serving shoe leather.”
“Thank you very much.” She wiped her hands on a napkin and turned to face him. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like you to scan my grandmother’s file.”
“Goody.”
“Don’t get cranky. The papers are on the dining-room table. I’ve done homework for you.”
“Like what?”
“I got you a map.”
“It’s a start.” He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and splashed water on his face. He glanced at the coffeepot. “I’ll need fortification.”
“I will make coffee.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead. “First you have to deal with Cindy. Then Hannah. Now me. And this is supposed to be your day off. I’m not without sympathy.”
Decker slipped his hands around her waist, her hair smelling of garlic powder and soy sauce. “All I want is a little appreciation. Having gotten it, I will be happy to help you out.”
“Thank you.”
He kissed her soft lips, then sat down at the dining-room table. Rina had laid it all out for him—a neat little stack of papers in a folder, an empty notepad, a pen, a pencil, and a good street map of Munich. In all honesty, he was happy to be occupied. His mind abhorred a vacuum because that meant that sooner or later it would fill with images he’d rather forget.
He picked up the folder and opened it.
Regina Gottlieb’s body was found in a tangle of foliage inside the Englischer Garten—a long stretch of parkland that ran parallel to the Isar River but was separated from it by several city streets. From the map, it looked like the two areas intersected in the northern neighborhood of Schwabing. But then the garden ended and the Isar broke away.
Decker sat back, visualizing his morning jog through the parklands that abutted the Isar—a hint of the indigenous Bavarian wilderness—the area so long that it went under city streets. The cement pillars that supported the roadways above had been stamped with graffiti that was—not surprisingly—written in German, the same crude epithets as in America no doubt. He recalled his body washed with numbness as his face hit the frigid air at six in the morning. Jet lag had been playing games with his diurnal clock, and at that hour it was still black outside, dawn at least an hour away. It was dangerous for him to be out so early, but he took a perverse pleasure in flirting with peril, daring anyone to try to mug him. The leafless trees had dripped gelid moisture, the ground wet and muddy in spots, filled with detritus from the nighttime Munich rains. The air reeked of moss, mold, and rotting flora. The Isar was roiling after the storm, bubbling over with water and spray, boisterously shouting as it rolled over rocks and boulders that lined the riverbed.
Toward the end of his jog, a gray light shrouded the city. Decker’s mind flashed back to the upscale neighborhoods on either side of the river. All around had been imposing stone buildings constructed with perfect proportions and mindful of detail.
He wished he had paid more attention to his surroundings. The trip was lacking the sharp, defined angles of clear retrospection, like reading the paper in bad light. Although he had passed many landmarks, he had no idea where they were in relation to one another. Then again, how was he to know that his sight-seeing might be crucial in solving this long-buried, unsolved case?
Looking at the city as a whole entity—not just a road map to chart where the hell they were in relationship to the hotel—Decker discovered that the Englischer Garten was located in Munich’s northeast corner. He and Rina had stayed at a hotel on Maximilianstrasse, a thoroughfare that housed great restaurants, five-star hotels, and most of the designer boutiques. When he was there, the distance between the hotel and the garden didn’t seem very far at all. On the map, it looked much more distant.
Rina had also provided him with a detailed map of the garden, vast with long stretches of lawn and lakes and lots of walking paths. The rebuilt Chinese Tower lay in the center, a bronze-colored, spire-shaped piece of architecture that approximated a pagoda. Next door was one of the many Munich biergartens, a summer gathering spot filled with tables and chairs, where people sat around, drank beer, and enjoyed the open space. The concession stands were closed in the wintertime, naturally.
The garden also contained Munich’s Cricket Grounds, and along the northern perimeter, there was an area called Aumeister, which featured an early-nineteenth-century hunting lodge. Those landmarks failed to jar loose any recollections. What he viscerally remembered was empty copses of trees in steel-cold air, wetne
ss, and the smell of decay.
It was probably his mood.
Rina came in with a cup of coffee and set the mug in front of him. “Anything?”
He glanced at his watch. “I’ve been here for four minutes.”
“I expect miracles.”
“Wait in line.” He sipped coffee. “Wow, this is good. Thanks.”
Rina sat down and placed her hand over his. “Take your time. Seriously.”
“I’m trying to picture the geography. The Englischer Garten is big. Your grandmother was dumped in the northern end. So that brings several questions to mind.”
He picked up a pencil and wrote on the notepad. “First, what was she doing there? From the guide books and my own pitiful memories, that area is and was very ritzy. Your omah wasn’t aristocracy. She wasn’t even petite bourgeoisie. She didn’t go on daily strolls through the park, twirling her parasol in a silk-embroidered gown. Your grandmother was a poor Jewish woman. She probably worked from the moment she woke up until she went to sleep. What was she doing in the area?”
“Maybe she wasn’t in the area. Maybe she was just dumped there because the park was big and a good place to hide bodies.”
“So then the murder wasn’t a random killing. Someone brought her over there with the specific purpose of killing her or at the very least, dumping her there. Now these other two women—Marlena Durer and Anna Gross—they’re different stories. They lived near the garden, so they could have been random rapes and homicides—in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“So why did the other guy include Omah with Gross and Durer?”
“What other guy?”
“This one. Kriminalpolizeiinspektor Axel Berg.” She smiled. “That’s a tongue twister. I think all the homicides might be related. Did you read all of Inspektor Kalmer’s notes?”
“No. Why?”
Rina flipped through to his interview notes. “Read this. You’ll find it interesting.”
Decker’s eyes scanned over the writing until he came to the sentence in question. He backtracked and read it carefully: An interview with Julia Schoennacht was conducted. The victim, Regina Gottlieb, was in Frau Schoennacht’s employ for three months, with Frau Gottlieb’s employment ending after her services were no longer required. He looked at Rina. “Your grandmother worked outside the home?”
Faye Kellerman Page 14