Faye Kellerman

by Street Dreams

  “So are you saying that David is dead?”

  “No, not at all. I suppose I was hoping you had heard from him.”

  His expression turned a mite hostile. “I haven’t.”

  “He hasn’t called at all?”

  “I said no.”

  “No other kind of communication? A letter perhaps?”

  “Are you accusing me of holding back?”

  I was taken aback by his vehemence. I said, “Sir, all I’m trying to do is get some information on David Tyler’s whereabouts.”

  “And I’m telling you I haven’t heard from him.”

  “Fine,” I said coolly. “We can leave it at that. But there is another point to this little tête-à-tête. The baby that Sarah Sanders gave birth to. I think she’s David Tyler’s offspring.”

  That gave Paxton pause.

  “I know that there was money in a trust fund for David. Should it be determined that something happened to David, the money should go for the care of the child. The funds are legally hers—”

  “Wait a minute! You come in with this fantastic story of crime and then lay a baby on top of it? Who are you?”

  “Would you like to see my badge again?”

  “What is this to you, Detective …”

  I didn’t correct him. “Decker.”

  “Detective Decker, where is the proof of this rape story? Where is the corroboration? And then how do you know that this child is David’s offspring? What is this to you?”

  “Just doing my job. So there’s been no request for funds from David?”

  “No. I told you I haven’t heard from him!” Paxton got up and went over to the coffee table. Out of nerves, he poured himself a cup.

  “So his money is still in the trust?”

  He spun around and glared at me. “Of course, his money is still in the trust! Are you implying some illegality on my part?”

  “Absolutely not. I’m just trying to be brought up to date.”

  He stared at me. “I did this as a personal favor to the Tylers. All I take out of it are small processing and conservator fees. And I wonder if you’d be grilling me so extensively if I were one of the big shots from Frisby, Mathews, and Young.”

  “I didn’t realize I was grilling you, and truly I don’t understand what you’re driving at, Mr. Paxton.”

  “Deny what you will, Officer, but I know intimidation when I see it.”

  “Intimidation?”

  “You know what I mean. I know how you people feel about minorities!”

  I jerked my head back in shock. “You people” being the police. He thought I was riding him because he was black. Man, was he off target. I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to shout: I’m not a racist, you jerk! I’m just trying to do a job! I’ve dated black guys!

  Actually, it was a black guy—in the singular—but that didn’t sound as good.

  I softened my tone, trying to get him on my side. “You’re entitled to be compensated for the paperwork. If you think I’m implying any wrongdoing on your part, you’re mistaken.”

  It mollified him, but not by much.

  I pressed on. “What would happen to the money if there isn’t any offspring and David doesn’t surface?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.” He sat down again. “If David passes on before I do, the money is supposed to be distributed to various charitable institutions. Of course, if there is a legitimate offspring, that would change everything.” He regarded my face. “But I would need proof, Detective—a blood test, a DNA test. I hope you understand this. I can’t give away hundreds of thousands of dollars based on some disabled girl’s fantasy.”

  Hundreds of thousands of dollars. Sarah had chosen well. “That’s going to be hard to do with David missing.”

  “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what choice I have.”

  “Maybe if you saw the baby, you’d change your mind. She’s half black and the mother’s white. She’s a mosaic Down’s syndrome. I understand David had the same genotype.”

  He stared at me. “Did you go to college?”

  Now who was letting his prejudice show? “Columbia University.”

  “And you’re a cop?”

  “Excuse me?” I replied.

  I couldn’t swear, but I thought I saw him blush.

  “You know, it is possible that David’s genetic profile has been mapped,” I stated. “Maybe at a hospital. Mosaics are rare. Maybe we can determine paternity based on some previous medical results.”

  “We’re getting way ahead of ourselves. At this point, I’d say you’re stepping into personal territory. I’m not saying I wouldn’t permit it, but this is all too premature.”

  “Not really. There’s an infant out there who could use some money.”

  “Who has the infant?”

  “The mother, but the baby is under the care of Sarah’s older sister. Would you like to see her?”

  “Perhaps eventually, but not now. Not until we determine other things. If you want David’s medical information, you’re going to have to come back with a warrant.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to make sure that this girl isn’t scamming me to get money.”

  “I don’t think she has the mental capabilities to scam.”

  “You’d be surprised.” He checked his watch. “It’s been over five minutes.”

  “Yes, it has been. Thank you.” I stood up and gave him my card. “You will call me if you hear from him?”

  “Yes, of course. And I expect the police to call me as well.”

  “Yes, I will.”

  He read the card. “It doesn’t say here that you’re a detective.”

  “I never said I was. You did.”

  “Talk about scamming.” He gave me a critical look. “Now if you’ll excuse me …”

  Dismissed again.

  Getting it from all sides.

  In civilian clothes, on my way home from my shift, I saw her rooting through the garbage. I pulled my Lexus to the curb, got out of the car, and called her by name. She looked up with that stunned deer-in-the-headlights look. She was wearing layers on layers, the top stratum being an old gray knitted sweater filled with holes. When she recognized me, she visibly relaxed and went back to her Dumpster. I took out a ten-spot, flicked it with my fingers, and pulled her aside. Her focus glommed on to the money with feral eyes. Her mouth spread into a gap-toothed smile.

  “What?”

  I crushed the bill in her dirty hands. Her hair was soiled and greasy but not matted. “Nothing. Go buy yourself something decent to eat.”

  She stared at her good fortune. “And you don’t want nothin’ for it?”

  I held up my hands. “See. There is such a thing as a free lunch.”

  Alice Anne didn’t get the joke.

  “I don’ like sompin’ for nothin’. Makes me nervous.”

  “I could take it back.”

  She shook her head and deposited the bill between her pendulous breasts. “Wanna know anythin’?”

  “Want to tell me anything?”

  This time, she shrugged.

  I thought a moment. “Gangs, Alice Anne. Mixed-race gangs. What do you know about gangs who jump their marks in Mac-Ferren Park, specifically in the bathrooms?”

  “Lotsa gangs, Officer Cindy.”

  “I know that, honey.” It seemed they changed every week. You cleaned up one gang and then another moved in to take its place. When you cleaned up that group, the original gang moved back to its original turf. “I was just wondering if something came into your head. Mixed races, Alice Anne: white, Hispanics, maybe Asian. One white guy has lots of pimples; another is bald or has a shaved head—”

  “Lotsa shaved heads.” She wrinkled her nose. “You mean gangs with whites and Mexicans together?”

  “Yes.” Alice Anne didn’t subscribe to political correctness. “I’m looking for two Mexicans who hang around a white bald guy and a white guy with pimples. The bald guy might be the leader
. Any ideas?”

  “Lotsa ideas.”

  “Share with me, Alice Anne.”

  “There’re lotsa gangs working MacFerren, sure.”

  “Do you have any names?”

  “They bother me, too, Officer Cindy. Once they took my shopping cart.”

  “Did you report it?”

  Alice Anne smiled. “Aaahhh, now you’re jokin’.”

  I smiled to show her I was. “So now we both got problems with these people. Names?”

  “I seen a gang … Mexican and white … some Orientals, too.”

  “Blacks?”

  “No blacks. They don’t live here no more. But there’s more than four of ’em … mebbe like twelve of them shootin’ off guns at night. I stay away.”

  “Well, these guys that I want, they could be part of that gang. Tell me about it.”

  “Part of the BBs.”

  Blood Bullets. I didn’t think they operated this far west—a recent development.

  Alice Anne said, “I knowed one boy. They call him Hermano.”

  “‘Hermano’ means brother in Spanish, Alice Anne. That could be like, you know, ‘Bro.’”

  She stared blankly.

  “‘Hermano’ is not necessarily a name.”

  “Maybe it was Hermando.”

  Herman in English. In Spanish, it was Germando, the G pronounced as a soft guttural H. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Thanks.”

  “He has this”—she scrunched up her face as she talked—“has this big tattoo of a tiger on his neck. Open mouth … teeth showing. You can’t miss it.”

  “Okay.” I nodded. “That’s good, Alice Anne. Anything else?”

  Her head bobbed up and down. “I seen him around.”

  “Where? At MacFerren Park?”

  “At the park, yeah, but also at the coffee shop. Late at night. Sometimes twelve, sometimes one. Sometimes even later. I seen him ’cause I check the garbage there. Twenty-four hours, so lots of fresh garbage.”

  “That makes sense. Which coffee shop?”

  “Boss’s.”

  “The place about five blocks down on the corner?”

  “That’s the one. I seen Germando there. Lots of times. He likes the banana pancakes.”

  26

  Someone was hitting me over the head, just pulverizing my brains to dust. In horror, I could see the tissue flying around, splattering on the ground, but still the pounding wouldn’t stop. It took several minutes before I could translate the repulsive nightmare into sound. … Someone was knocking on my door. When I opened my eyes, I felt my heart racing, smelled the sharp odor of sweat that was evaporating off my skin. Shaking from cold, I wiped the wetness off with my damp sheets. I knew I had a breakfast appointment with Hayley Marx, and I wondered if I had overslept and it was she. But checking my alarm, I still had a half hour to go. Ordinarily, I would have been angry at being awoken prematurely, but it was a relief to bury the evil specter.

  Street dreams, they’re called, all too typical for new cops. First-year med students dreamed of a bleed-out from Ebola; first-year lawyers dreamed of arriving in court dressed only in underwear. So far as I knew, only cops dreamed of getting their heads blown off. I got up, my stomach in a knot, and threw on my terry-cloth robe.

  Then, on the off chance that it might be Koby, I took off the terry robe and put on a silk one. I took a few quick moments to preen in front of the mirror; then I quickly brushed my teeth and rinsed out the bad taste with some no-name brand of electric green mouthwash. I was still mad at him, sure, but I wanted to look decent and smell good.

  I checked through my peephole.

  It was Oliver.

  I was disappointed on so many levels, I couldn’t even begin to analyze my feelings.

  I opened the door and tried to keep my face neutral. He was wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and gold tie. He had shaved and smelled nice—a fresh scent without the cloying sweetness common in most men’s cologne. His silver-streaked black hair was slicked back, but a chip was falling across his forehead. “I’m meeting Hayley Marx for breakfast, Scott.”

  “It’ll only take a minute.”

  I hesitated, then let him in. He walked past me, so I closed the door. He glanced around my living room as if it were foreign territory to him. It wasn’t, of course, but it was a lot barer than when he had last seen it. I had taken away all my personal effects, intending to pack up and bid the place good-bye, but I had never got around to the actual jump. The atmosphere was about as warm as Motel 6.

  “You’re moving?”

  “No.”

  “A fan of the minimal look?”

  “What do you want, Scott?”

  “How are you doing, Cin?”

  “I’m doing lousy. Why is none of your business.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Accepted. I have to go—”

  “Can you give me a minute?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Maybe because you owe me?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He stuck his hands in his pockets. “You know, you should have called me, Cin.”

  I stared at him. “What?”

  “I said”—his eyes bore into mine, but his voice got softer—“you should have called me.” A pause. “You know, last year after it all happened. I must have left fifty messages. I left those messages because I cared about you. Surely you could have found the time to return just one of them.”

  We maintained eye contact.

  He said, “You don’t want a relationship with me, fine. I’m a big boy. No prob. But you could have just been nice about it. You know how that works—asked how I’m doing, how my cases are going, was Daddy giving me a hard time. You know … chitty-chatty. You never had trouble talking to me when you wanted to talk.”

  He dared me to respond. I didn’t accept the challenge.

  “I was there when you needed me,” he said softly. “I was good to you. You owed me civility.”

  “I wasn’t uncivil to you, Scott.”

  “You weren’t uncivil, no. You weren’t anything to me. As far as you were concerned, I was a fucking nonentity.”

  A good defense was a well-placed offense. “Nothing I did compared to how vile you were to me Sunday night. I was in shock … in severe shock … and your wretched selfishness just about put me over.”

  He broke eye contact and turned away. “You serious with this guy?”

  “Not in the least,” I said.

  “Then what’s the problem? So I’m a racist. I’m not a nice person. But I was nice to you. I never kissed and told, and believe me, I had lots of opportunity for that.”

  I gave out a sarcastic laugh. “I don’t think it would have been good for your career.”

  “Your father can’t do a thing to me so long as I do my job well. And I do my job very well. I could have made you look bad, Cindy. I could have made you look bad and your father look even worse. You know gossiping is a cop’s pastime. It would have enhanced my image to brag about nailing the boss’s daughter … made you both look like clowns. But I didn’t because I cared about you. So all I’m saying is … is … I’m saying you could have called.”

  I started to answer but then checked my psychological armor. When I stopped a moment, I didn’t like what I felt. I thought how hurtful Koby’s silence had been and I had only known him for a little over a week. I’d known Oliver for a very long time and he had come through for me. He had been there when I needed a shoulder to cry on, when I needed a warm, strong body to get me through some terrible nights. He had tucked me into bed and fixed me breakfast in the morning … made sweet love to me.

  He was a jerk, but I’d been one, too.

  My eyes watered. “You’re right. I should have called. My state of mind wasn’t too great right after … and then … I don’t know … I just didn’t bother. I apologize.”

  He gave me the strength of his eyes. “Rather formal … but accepted.”

  He deserved better. I swallowed dryly.
“Scott, I am so very, very sorry.” Tears streamed down my cheeks. “I really am.”

  “Hey …” He came over to me. “Hey, it’s fine.” He put his hands on my shoulders, then drew me to him. I sobbed on his white shirt. Everything came crashing down: this dreadful, stark apartment, the shock of the accident, my horrible first year on the force. I clutched his shirt as I wept on his chest. He wasn’t the one I should be crying to and I was very resentful. He threw his arms around me. “Hey, the score’s settled, old girl. It’s fine.” He patted my back. “I mean it. It’s fine. Stop that!”

  I sniffed. “Thanks for not gossiping about me.”

  “Thanks for not gossiping about me. I’m certain I had a lot more to lose than you did.”

  I laughed and so did he.

  “Are you all right, Cindy?”

  “No.” I wiped my tears. “But I’ll be okay.”

  He was still holding me. It felt good, but it wasn’t what I wanted or needed. I kissed his cheek and broke it off. “You’ve been a good friend and I don’t have many. I should keep that in mind.”

  He nodded. “Thanks. That was nice.”

  “I really do have to meet Hayley.”

  “Have time for a cup of coffee tomorrow?”

  “Scott, that wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  “Maybe not for you. For me, it would be a great idea.”

  “You’re dating one of my good friends.”

  “I’d take you back in a heartbeat.”

  “It wouldn’t work, Oliver.”

  “I’m not so sure.” He approached me from behind, slipped his arms around my waist. My robe was loosely bound, and his hands started to touch skin.

  Again I pulled away. “You’re good, Oliver, but I’m trying to be better.”

  “That’s no fun.”

  “I’m trying to pull my life together. Please? Please, please, please?”

  He frowned. “At least, tell me you were aroused.”

  “I was aroused.”

  “You fuck him?”

  My face got warm. “Stop it.”

  “Is it true what they say about bla—”

  “Oliver, get the hell out of here.”