“Dr. Carter?” Halpern looked confused. “No. Why? Is he involved?”
“No evidence, but like you said, he and Pallek did hang around a lot. Also, we can’t seem to locate him.”
“Who? Pallek?”
“Pallek’s in custody. He isn’t going anywhere. We also have Snowe on attempted murder charges. But we’d like to ask Hank Carter a few questions and we can’t find him. Any ideas?”
“No . . . nothing. So you’re assuming that Carter’s involved in Delilah’s death?”
“I’m not paid to assume,” Decker said. “I’m paid to prove things. And your testimony will go a long way with that.”
“If I testify, what will I get in return?”
Decker shrugged. “Maybe a lighter sentence and no doubt a clearer conscience.”
Chapter 42
It was around ten in the morning, just as the third batch of cookies was coming out of the oven, when Rina heard a knock at the door. It was a harmless knock, but it set her heart racing, and her breathing quickened. The simplest thing to do was to see who it was by parting the drawn drapes and peeking out the living room window. But doing that would let the person on the other side know she was home. So she remained in the kitchen, vigilant and on edge.
The knocking stopped. But then the doorbell rang.
One ring.
Two rings.
Then several times in rapid succession: impatient and hostile. Then the rapping started up again, growing angrier and louder.
Rina’s heart was hammering in her chest. She was having trouble breathing. Her hands started shaking.
A muffled voice—Carter’s—from behind the door said, “I know you’re in there, Rina! Open up. I just want to talk to you without that goon around!”
She didn’t know if he was referring to Peter or Chris, but it really didn’t matter. She didn’t want to leave the safety of her kitchen, but her cell phone and gun were in the living room.
More pounding.
Thank God for old-fashioned kitchen landlines. She picked up the receiver from the cradle of the wall mount and punched in 911.
She was trembling so badly she dropped the phone just as the operator answered. She managed to pick the receiver up and ask for immediate assistance. She felt better as soon as the responder said the police were on their way. It emboldened her. She went into the living room and retrieved her gun.
“I see you!” he said.
Rina stationed herself between the wall and her front door. If he should somehow manage to get inside, she’d be behind the door when it was flung open.
She held the gun in shaky hands.
He kept pummeling the wood. And then he started screaming.
Vile things that became louder and louder.
She felt tears coming from her eyes—so wet and fast she couldn’t see through the veil of water. She admonished herself. She had the gun. She was a good shot.
He kept on with the vicious words. Through all the noise, her heightened sense of hearing detected a car pulling up in front of her house. She would have thought it was the police but had heard no sirens.
She waited.
“Hey!” It was a male voice, angry but assured. Not Peter’s voice, but familiar. In her anxiety she couldn’t place it. He said, “Get the hell away from there!”
Without warning, deafening gunshots rang out, coming directly from the other side of the front door. She ran to the front window and looked outside. The maniac was shooting at the parked car. With the gun cocked and ready to spit fire, Rina threw open the front door. Before Carter had a chance to fully absorb that she was now visible, she pumped a couple of bullets into his body—his arm and chest. He looked at her wide-eyed, with his knees giving way. As he fell forward, the gun slipped from his hand. In a flash, Rina kicked it into the nearby bushes.
She ran over to the parked car. The driver’s door was still open and the passenger’s door was riddled with bullet holes. She was pale and sick and out of breath. “Everyone okay?”
From behind the driver’s door, an elderly man stood up, knees cracking as he did. Full head of gray hair and dressed in a dapper blue suit with a contrasting red silk tie. “I’m fine, Rina. Call the police.”
Rina stared at him. “Scott?”
“Yeah. Is the guy alive?”
“I don’t know. I’ll go check—”
“I’ll check him out, Rina. You call for an ambulance.”
She did as told. Afterward, she rushed over to Oliver, who was bent over and ministering aid to the man as he lay on his back. Rina could hear horrid groans. “Is he alive?”
“So far.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Besides trying to keep this guy from bleeding to death?”
“How can I help?”
“Put pressure on this spot.” Oliver directed her hands over a leaky bullet wound. “I was hired to keep an eye on a guy named Carter. Looks like I found him, yeah?”
“Yes, that’s him. You saved my life.”
“No, actually you saved my life because he was shooting at me, not you.” Blood was oozing from between his fingers. They could both hear several sirens. “Do you have a permit for your gun?”
“Yes.”
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“And it’s up to date?”
“I think so.”
“If there’s any doubt, I’ll take your gun and claim that I shot him.”
“Scott, I have a permit and I’m pretty sure it’s current. Carter’s been stalking me for over a week. Let’s just tell it as it happened.”
“The truth is usually easier to remember, I’ll give you that. I’m just saying that if you need it, I’ll fall on the sword.”
“I appreciate the chivalry.” Tears were streaming down her face. She started trembling uncontrollably.
Oliver regarded her pallid face. “Sit down, Rina, and catch your breath, honey. I’ve got this one.”
The ambulance had arrived. Seconds later, Hank Carter was surrounded by paramedics. As Rina sat on the front porch steps watching and wiping her eyes, a car zoomed up into the driveway. Decker and McAdams jumped out and rushed over. Sitting down next to his wife, Decker pulled her to his chest as she sobbed deep, thick inhalations that were filled with tears.
He whispered, “It’s okay. You’re safe now.”
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” she kept repeating. Her hands were wet and sticky with blood. Mucus was pouring from her nose.
“I know,” Decker whispered. “I can see that you’re just fine.” He took his jacket and wiped her face. He kissed her cheek. “You’re fine.”
Oliver came over to them, wiping his hands on a paper towel. He looked at Tyler and said, “Hey, kid.”
“Looks like you showed up just in time.”
“I didn’t do anything.” He regarded Decker, who was holding his wife. “Rina says that she has a permit for the gun.”
“She does.”
“Then I’ll tell you what happened. I had just pulled my car up when I saw this dude pounding on her door. I got out of my car, but didn’t approach right away, using the car for a shield. I shouted at him to leave and without warning, he opened fire. At that point, Rina saw my life was in danger. So she opened the front door and shot him out of fear for my safety, and fear for her own life. And that’s all she wrote.”
“Great timing, Scott,” McAdams said.
Decker was still stunned. All he could say was, “I thought you were coming in later in the day.”
“I made good time,” Oliver said. “I might have been speeding. If I get a ticket from one of those machines, I’ll send it your way.”
“Not a problem.” Decker felt his throat clog up. “Thanks for . . .”
“Thanks for what?” Oliver smiled. “For showing up? Easiest money I’ve ever earned. Unfortunately, someone will have to pay for the rental car damage. I didn’t take out insurance for bullet holes.”
Rina smiled through her copious tears.
The EMTs worked for several minutes on Carter as he lay on the ground. Eventually they took out the gurney to load him up. Decker bolted from the porch step. “I’ll be right back.”
Oliver stared at him. “What’s that about? I hope he isn’t thinking of doing anything stupid.”
“I’ll go check on him,” McAdams said.
“No, you stay here with Rina.”
Oliver went over to Decker, who was talking to one of the medics. On the gurney, Carter lay on his back. His shirt had been ripped off, and his chest was bandaged and patched and leaking pools of blood. There was an oxygen mask over his face and an IV in his vein.
Decker was still talking to the EMT. Pleading with him. “It’ll just take a sec. I just want to peek at his back.”
“And I’m telling you, we need to get him in stat.”
“I know but this is a police matter.”
“And we have a medical matter.”
Oliver said, “In the time you two are talking, it could have been done. This guy just tried to kill me. Do what he asks, please?”
Again, the medic frowned. But he slowly lifted his right shoulder. Decker peeked underneath. “The other one?”
The left shoulder was lifted.
And there it was: a six- to seven-inch gash that had been healed over into a keloid scar.
By five in the afternoon, Carter was out of surgery and out of danger. He was listed in guarded condition. The two bullets had missed major blood vessels, but he was suffering from a collapsed lung and pleural bleeding. He had tubes coming in and out of his body and was high on Demerol. But for some odd reason, in post-op he asked to talk to Decker and to Decker only. Because Carter was in such a compromised state, anything he’d say was automatically suspect. He couldn’t be Mirandized because he really wasn’t in a state to give consent. But Decker figured that if Carter asked for him, it was better to hear him than to ignore him.
By the time Decker made it to the hospital, Carter had been transferred to a room. Angry eyes greeted Decker when he walked in. Carter was surrounded by his wife, Lydia Urbana—a petite woman with a helmet of curly hair and smoky eyes—and two teenaged boys who had inherited their mother’s hair and eyes.
“I’ll come back later.”
Carter started talking from behind the oxygen mask. No one could understand a thing. He yanked it off and called out to Decker. “Stay . . .”
Decker turned around. He looked at the family. “Can we have a minute?”
“So you can take advantage of him?” his wife said. “Go to hell!”
“Dr. Urbana, he asked me to come. So I came. What do you want me to do?”
“Stay . . .” Carter said.
Decker said, “You probably shouldn’t be talking, sir.”
He grimaced. “I thou . . . was tha maniac. He’s . . . gonna kill me.”
“You thought that man in the parked car was Christopher Donatti?”
“Yah . . .”
“Okay. Good to know. But you can’t randomly shoot at people based on a hunch. You really should rest, Dr. Carter. We’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”
“No . . .”
“It’s okay, sir. Rest.”
Carter took Decker’s arm. “Never kill . . . befor . . .”
“Okay. I believe you.”
“No one.”
Decker put the mask back over his face. “Rest.”
But Carter held on to his arm. “Sit . . .”
“Hank, stop that,” Lydia said.
Again, he took off the mask. “Fu . . . you.”
Lydia winced at the words. “Anything he tells you won’t stick because he’s drugged up.”
Decker said, “Five minutes. That’s it. I don’t want to push him any more than you do.”
Without answering, Lydia left with the boys. Carter said, “Fu-ing cun . . .”
“Dr. Carter you really shouldn’t be talking.”
“Didn’t kill anyon . . . just help . . .”
“I understand. You’re just helping, right?”
He nodded.
Decker put the mask back on. “I hope you recover really soon.”
Carter smiled and then he closed his eyes.
Over the phone, Decker said, “We’ve got Carter for attempted murder. He isn’t going anywhere. All Erin has to do is testify that he’s the guy who tried to bury her alive.”
Marge said, “She didn’t see him clearly enough.”
“So just get her to say she whacked him on the back.”
“And she’s going to say, unless you have Diaz wrapped up with a bow, she’s not going to want to testify against anyone.”
“But I can’t get him wrapped up with a bow without her testimony.”
“Pete, I’m trying my best. I took her out for coffee yesterday and talked to her, but I’m not pushing. I can’t push. You know how these things work. She’s like a turtle. She’s not going to stick her neck out if I keep prodding her.”
“Just tell her that we have Carter in custody. And that we have Diaz’s DNA along with her DNA on the necklace. I’m going to push for Carter’s medical records to see if he got the gash sewn up on the night Erin disappeared. If I can get that through, we’ve got a very good chance of putting Diaz away. I’ll convince both of them—Diaz and Carter—that they’re pointing the finger at each other. If she doesn’t testify, I have to spring Diaz tomorrow.”
There was a long pause over the line. “Charge Diaz with murder,” Marge said.
“Now how is that going to stick? And if it doesn’t stick, I’m going to have a real hard time making it stick the next time I charge him.”
“Don’t spring him, Pete. Hold him on murder. If I can get Erin to show up and talk, you can reduce it to attempted murder. With Carter now in custody, I’ll see if I can use that and work some magic. If I tell her that Diaz has been arrested and charged, and it won’t go through without her, maybe she’ll cave. It’s our best shot. How long can you hold him if you charge him?”
“If I say I have a witness . . . maybe three days.”
“So that’s by Friday. Can you stall it until Monday?”
“I think so. If I charge him tomorrow, I don’t think Diaz has enough money to hire a private lawyer. So maybe we can stall getting a county defense attorney for a day or two. And then maybe another day for defense to prepare for the arraignment. I’ll do my best, but if Erin doesn’t show by Sunday for Monday-morning arraignment, I’m cooked. I don’t have enough evidence to take to a grand jury. I’ll have to let him out and he’ll bolt to Mexico where I’ll never find him.”
“Let me make a few phone calls. I’ll get back to you.”
“When?”
“When I have something to tell you. Pete, I want this felon as much as you do. And I certainly don’t want to make you look like an ass. Just . . . give me a little time and space and we’ll both hope for the best.”
“Thank you, Margie. That’s about as reasonable as one can expect.”
“On another note, how’s Rina?”
“She drowning her anxiety in cooking rice pilaf and noodle pudding for about a hundred kids. Rosh Hashanah is this weekend. She’s invited a million kids over.”
“I remember the holidays very well. I don’t think I ever left a meal at your house where I didn’t feel like a stuffed goose.”
“Where are my manners? I don’t think I ever thanked you for that wonderful meal and all the trouble you went to. That was way beyond, Margie. I really do appreciate it.”
“Rina sent me a thank-you card.”
“Of course she did.” Decker paused. “You know you’re always welcome here. Free meals and enough birds to occupy even the most avid of watchers.”
“I know. Thanks.”
“Marge, don’t worry about Erin Young. I don’t want to traumatize the poor girl. She’s already been through enough.”
“Giving testimony will be traumatizing. It’s always traumatizi
ng. But it also can be liberating and empowering. Maybe she’s tired of living in a shadow. I hoping there’s a part of her that would love to see the sun again.”
Chapter 43
Three days had passed without a word from Marge. During that period, Decker sent McAdams back to school, Oliver went back to Miami, Snowe and Pallek were charged, Carter was still alive, and Diaz was arrested on murder charges. So all was not lost except maybe Diaz, and Decker, in a career spanning well over three decades, had dealt with a lot bigger blows.
In that seventy-two-hour period—as Decker waited for Marge to call—Hank Carter had been recuperating nicely. He had become more awake and more coherent and had asked to speak to Decker again. As soon as Decker walked into the hospital room, the professor shooed away his family with a wave of his arm. Carter was aware enough to hear his rights, aware enough to waive the right to an attorney, and aware enough to sign the Miranda card and allow himself to be recorded.
He had a story to tell.
He insisted he had never murdered anyone. Quite the contrary: he was a do-gooder, just helping people out. He always had been a people person, oriented toward social causes. Look at his foundation, how many people he had helped overcome adverse circumstances. With that self-serving prelude out of the way, Decker said, “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
It was still painful for the professor to talk, but the oxygen mask was no longer over his face. Instead, he had two little tubes feeding the gas into his nose. His arm still held an IV, but his bleeding was controlled. He was clearly on the mend because the doctor was talking about discharging him over the weekend. His hair was greasy and his complexion was wan, but his eyes were open and he spoke clearly. “What beginning?”
“I think it starts with Yvette Jones. What do you know about her murder?”
“You’ll have to talk to Michael for the details, but it’s all going to come out anyway, so . . .” His breathing was shallow. “I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Please.”
“Michael called me in a panic. The guy always left ruin in his wake and he was always calling me to clean up his messes. On top of being a jerk, he can’t keep it in his pants.” A shrug. “But what can I do? He’s family. His wife and my wife are sisters.”
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