Hangman

by Faye Kellerman

  “That’s a good idea,” Marge said. “People are always exposing themselves metaphorically. These days privacy is as quaint as a Victorian swoon.”

  HE PULLED UP at eight-fifteen, noticing that Hannah’s car was absent from the driveway. When Rina greeted him at the door, he said, “Just the two of us?”

  “Make that three. Hannah’s gone, but we’ve got a boarder.”

  Decker frowned. “Where is she?”

  “At Aviva’s.”

  “So why didn’t she take him with her?”

  “I don’t know, Peter. Maybe she needed a little alone time. Why don’t you come in and close the door and we can talk inside. It’s okay to do that because you live here.”

  The two of them walked hand in hand into the kitchen. Decker sat down where his dinner awaited him. It was hot and delicious: a Reuben sandwich complete with nondairy soy cheese, coleslaw, and a big juicy sour pickle. All too quickly, it was gone.

  “Man, that was good.”

  “You want another one?”

  “No, one was quite enough.” Decker heard a lilting melody wafting through the air. He’d never heard electric guitar played so beautifully. “How’s the kid doing?”

  “I fed him. He said thank-you.”

  “Not much in the conversation department?”

  “No, there was a little social banter. I asked him if the school was comfortable for him. If not, I’d look into something else, but he said he was fine with it, especially because everything was temporary.” She laughed. “He told me that it wasn’t all that different from Catholic school.”

  Decker laughed. “How’s that?”

  “Just that the rabbis reminded him of the priests. He said everyone was nice enough. Then he thanked me for the sandwich and started to eat. I told him I had a few calls to make. He said, don’t let me stop you. I figured it had to be a strain for him to make small talk, so I left him alone. When I came back, he thanked me and said the sandwich was terrific. Then he excused himself and has been playing Yonkie’s guitar for the last two hours. The kid has stamina.”

  She poured both of them two cups of coffee and sat down.

  “Have you made any progress finding Terry?”

  “I’d let you know if I had.” Decker sipped coffee. “I interviewed several workers at the hotel where she and Gabe were staying. Everyone told me that the boy plays piano like a professional. Is having him here a strain?”

  “Not really.”

  “Rina, you must tell me. If you get any kind of bad feeling about him, we can send him to his aunt’s apartment. Because we really don’t know a thing about him except that he’s musical.”

  “He seems to be okay. Maybe we should rent a piano for him.”

  “A piano?”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t you think that might be getting a bit overinvolved?”

  “You brought him home.” When Decker didn’t say anything, she said, “Why don’t you talk to him and find out how committed he is to his playing? I’d hate to be the one to stall his progress, especially if he was one of those prodigy kids.”

  “His development is not our responsibility.”

  “It will be if he stays here.”

  “And do we have to stop at a piano? What about a teacher? And what if he needs a special teacher who costs a fortune?”

  “Why don’t we start with a piano,” Rina said.

  “How much does renting one cost?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll find out.”

  “And what do we do with a piano if his mother suddenly shows up, or if his father shows up, or if he decides to pick up and leave?”

  “I took lessons when I was little. I’m not getting any younger. I think it’s time to get reacquainted with my creative side.”

  WHEN DECKER KNOCKED, the music stopped. A moment later, Gabe answered the door. “Hi.”

  “You got a minute?” Decker crossed the threshold and sat on one of his sons’ twin beds. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” Gabe laid the guitar down and kneaded his hands. “Is anything wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, but we haven’t made much progress. We’ve talked to several people at the hotel today. Your mother was a friendly gal, especially to the staff, which might make our job easier.”

  “How’s that?”

  “They remember her.” Decker paused. “Maybe if I talk to enough of them, someone will remember something that you didn’t know about.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like your mother bringing a guest to her hotel room.” Gabe didn’t answer, so Decker said, “Do you remember her making contact with anyone other than family…maybe calling up an old friend?”

  The boy shook his head no. “But I wasn’t always around. She rented a practice room for me at UCLA, so I was gone probably six hours a day.”

  “So it’s conceivable that your mother had a life that you didn’t know about.”

  “Like what are you saying? That she ran off with someone?”

  He was clearly upset. Decker said, “I’m just saying since you weren’t around all the time, she could be hiding things from you.”

  He nodded. “Mom could be secretive. But she wouldn’t just run off. First of all, if Chris found out, he’d kill…he’d be real angry. Probably he’d find her and get her back anyway, so what would be the point? Second, she wouldn’t leave without telling me.”

  “That’s probably true. I’ve heard from everyone how devoted she was to you.”

  Gabe was silent and sullen. Clearly Decker had hit a raw nerve. “I’ll keep you up-to-date. I’m sorry I don’t know more.” The boy was still sulking. “Wow, six hours a day. That’s a lot of practicing.”

  “It’s about average.” Gabe shrugged.

  “Did you practice that much back home?”

  “I only went to school until one.” He paused. “Fine with me because almost all of high school is a total waste.”

  “I think Hannah would agree with you there. Are most kids like you homeschooled?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want that. My father’s a night owl and often sleeps in to midmorning. He’s real sensitive to noise. When he sleeps, he needs quiet, so it was good for me to be out of the house.”

  “So how serious are you with your music?” Decker said.

  The boy took off his glasses, wiped them on his shirt, and put them back on. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

  “Do you want to be a professional musician? Are you a professional musician?”

  “I think you’re asking me if I want to be a concert pianist. That’s an interesting question. You should probably ask my teachers if I have the chops.”

  “Who were your teachers?”

  “I went into the city three days a week at Juilliard. You know, with regards to the whole thing of where I should live. I could apply to Juilliard in the fall. My last teacher is a professor there and told me I could come whenever. I could probably squeeze in this fall. That would take care of my housing problem if this thing doesn’t get settled.”

  “Is that what you want?”

  “I’d like it better than living with my aunt, that’s for sure.” He drummed his fingers. “I was kinda hoping that I could go to a regular college—like Harvard or Prince ton. It’s too late to apply for next year, but I know they take younger kids with special talents. I’d have to take the SAT, I suppose.”

  “Have you taken the PSAT?”

  He nodded.

  “How’d you do?”

  “Two hundred ten, which is okay, but irrelevant in my case. I could get into one of the Ivies on a music scholarship. I’ve won enough of the petty competitions to look impressive and know how to audition to look like I play better than I do. I’m real good at flash.”

  Decker said, “How would you feel about living alone at sixteen?”

  “I’ve lived alone most my life, so it’s no biggie there.” Gabe paused. “That’s not entirely true. My mother has been a factor in my li
fe.” His eyes watered. “I miss her. Anyway, in answer to your original question, I’m good enough to be a professional classical musician. I could play chamber music and small companies. But that’s very different from being a concert-quality pianist. My teacher in New York wanted me to enter the Chopin competition in Warsaw when I’m old enough five years from now. I love Chopin and happen to interpret him very well. But it would really help if I had a teacher.” He laughed. “It would help if I had a piano.”

  “Rina and I were talking. She asked me if you think we should rent you a piano.”

  “Man, I’d love that!” His face lit up. “You wouldn’t even have to pay for it. I have all that money from my mom. I’ll pay if you were willing to put one in the house.”

  Decker looked at him. “Gabe, I didn’t ask you at the time because it seemed too intrusive. But I’m going to ask you now. I’d like to see what your mother left behind in the safe.”

  “It was just some cash and papers.”

  “I’d like the see the papers.”

  The boy grew nervous. “Okay, but it isn’t much. Just my birth certificate and my passport and maybe some bank accounts.”

  Resistance. “What about her birth certificate and her passport?”

  “I don’t know, Lieutenant. I just separated the cash from the rest of the stuff and put it away for safekeeping.”

  “I’d like to see what papers you have. Bank accounts would tell me a lot.”

  “Uh, sure.” Gabe stood up. “Give me a few minutes to find them and I’ll bring them out for you.”

  In other words, get out of the room while I do this.

  Decker stood up. “I’m not trying to pry into your finances, but how much cash did she have in the safe?”

  “Around five thousand dollars.”

  “That’s a lot of cash considering she paid most of her bills with credit cards.”

  Gabe shrugged.

  “Do you have a credit card?”

  He nodded.

  Dragging information out of him. “Are you the primary card-holder?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who pays the credit card bill? Your mother or your father?”

  “Chris pays for everything.”

  “Okay. Your mother worked, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So she had some money of her own.”

  “Probably.”

  “Did she give her money to Chris?” A shrug. The kid was stalling. “Would you mind if I looked at your credit card receipts?”

  “I haven’t charged anything except a couple of cups of coffee and some books.”

  “I just want to see the pathway. I’m still trying to locate your father, and if he pays for everything, maybe the bank might have some information on him.”

  Gabe looked down. “Lieutenant, it might be better to leave my dad out of it. If he didn’t have anything to do with it, why bug him and get him all pissed? And if he did do it, I wouldn’t want to know about it.”

  “So that would be a no about into looking at your credit card receipts?”

  Gabe cringed. “Can I think about it? I don’t like Chris, but I wouldn’t want to send him to jail or anything like that.”

  “Even if he murdered your mother?” The boy was quiet. Decker said, “Look, you seem to be a little hesitant about the papers. For all I know, your father’s contacted you and has given you instructions on what and what not to do.” He paused and regarded the kid as his cheeks pinkened. He was putting the boy in a bad position. “Gabe, I’m a cop. I’m going to ask. But you don’t have to do anything that’ll make you sorry. Just think about it. I want to do what’s best for your mom. You do, too.”

  “I’ll think about it. Thanks for being understanding.”

  “Who says that I’m understanding?” Decker tousled his hair. “Your dad is on my to-do list and nothing’s going to dissuade me from finding him. But you’re not me and you don’t have to give him up. I understand split loyalties.”

  His smile was angry. “Story of my life.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  WEDNESDAY MORNING, EIGHT A.M., Decker was in his office, sipping cappuccino courtesy of an espresso maker and Marge’s recent barista skills. She had brought in the machine about a month ago and squad-room coffee has never been the same. Currently, she held the number one spot as the most popular detective. She was the only one who knew how to froth milk.

  “You looked at all the cassettes?”

  “I did.” She sipped and gave herself a milk mustache, which she licked off with her tongue. “I was getting eyestrain toward the end. Povich said we can keep them for another day, so I’ll look through them again.”

  “You saw her go in, but you didn’t see her go out.”

  “Like I told you yesterday, there were lots of unidentifiable people. That’s why I’d like to see them again.”

  Decker said. “What about Garth Hammerling?”

  “Didn’t notice him if he was there, but ditto on lots of unidentifiable people.”

  Oliver walked into the open door. “Smells good. I’d love one of those.”

  “I’ll make you one, but only if I can teach you how to do it,” Marge said.

  “I’m inept when it comes to coffee.”

  She made no attempt to move. “I was just telling the Loo that we didn’t see Adrianna after she left her car and came into the hospital Sunday night.”

  Oliver pulled up a chair. “Yeah, all that eyestrain and I wasn’t even watching porno.”

  Marge said, “I had a dream last night.”

  “Was I in it?”

  “No, you weren’t, but Adrianna Blanc was.”

  Oliver took the coffee cup out of Marge’s hand. “Pretty please?”

  “Finish it. I’m on cup number two anyway.”

  “Your dream?” Decker asked.

  “Yeah, my dream. All night long, I kept seeing the tapes—grainy black-and-white people walking through the frames…then I jerk myself awake with something sticking in my brain. I’m not even sure if it’s real or a ghost from a bad night’s sleep.”

  Oliver sat up. “What’d you see?”

  “Was there a series of frames where we saw a woman in scrubs go outside from the main entrance about six in the morning? She was looking down at her cell phone, and then she took out something from her pocket that looked like a second cell phone, then went back inside.”

  Oliver scrunched his brow. “Yeah…you think that was Adrianna Blanc?”

  “It stuck with me. Why didn’t we think it was her?”

  “We didn’t rule her out, Marge, we just couldn’t see her face. Also Adrianna was in the hospital until around eight-fifteen. So even if it was her, it doesn’t help us much.”

  “I’d like to see the cassette again,” Marge said. “I’m wondering why someone would leave the hospital and then immediately turn around and come back in. And why would she be carrying two cell phones?”

  Decker said, “She might have gone outside to make a call on her cell because she works in a dead spot in the hospital.”

  “Okay. That would explain one cell phone. Why two cell phones?”

  “Maybe the second cell phone was a pager and she looked at the number and returned because she was needed.”

  Marge nodded. “I suppose the sensible thing to do would be to find out if Adrianna was paged at the time.”

  Oliver said, “She didn’t have any outgoing call on her cell before eight-fifteen.”

  “Something distracted her. Who would she call so early in the morning?”

  Decker shrugged. “Maybe she was about to make the breakup call to Garth, but she got paged and had to go back in.”

  “But why make the breakup call at that time?”

  Oliver said. “She had a few minutes and she wanted to get it over with.”

  Decker said, “What’s on your mind, Marge?”

  “I’m wondering if she didn’t meet someone at Garage who finally gave her the courage to break up.
And then maybe she and Mr. Right hooked up the following morning and that’s who murdered her.”

  “But how would she hook up with someone when we didn’t see her leave the hospital?” Oliver asked.

  “She had to come out. We just missed it. If we can enhance that woman who keeps running through my brain, we could at least see what she looked like the day she was murdered.”

  “Give it a try,” Decker said.

  “The murder is weird,” Marge said. “The killer made no attempt to hide the body. Instead it was presented in a dramatic way…like shown off. And it sounds planned. She didn’t seem to struggle. It just doesn’t sound to me like an argument between girlfriend and boyfriend gone south.”

  Oliver said, “You’re really into this deadly hookup thing.”

  “Just want to find out who Adrianna was talking to the night before she died.”

  “Go back to Garage and work the crowd for an ID,” Decker said. “You know I’ve said this before. It’s possible that you didn’t see Adrianna on the tapes because she never left the hospital alive. My guess is that she was sedated or poisoned before she was strung up. Go back to St. Tim’s. Get a more precise time frame. That will tell you a lot.”

  Marge said, “She had to leave at one point, Rabbi, because we found her dead at the construction site.”

  “Corpses are removed all the time from hospitals by funeral-home cars, hearses, and coroner’s wagons,” Decker said. “Could be someone took her out in a body bag.”

  OVER THE PHONE, Eliza said, “I got a hit for Donatti. One of the tickets had a 2009 Lexus with a paper plate that came from Luxury Cars and Vans in Westwood. It’s about a fifteen-, twenty-minute ride from the hotel. The rental contract was filled out by Donatti. According to his parking ticket, he came in at twelve-eighteen and left at two forty-seven. Donatti returned the car to the rental office at three twenty-seven in the afternoon.”

  “Great job.”

  “The bad part is the trail gets cold after that. He needed some form of transportation from the rental company to wherever he went. I called up the local cab companies. The closest pickup the company had on the books was about a half mile away at four-oh-five. I’m trying to get hold of the cabdriver. See if he remembers Donatti. But the pickup may not have been him. And I don’t see him taking the bus.”