“Who killed your brother?” Marge asked.
“Talk to Mother. Kingston implied she was involved in the theft. I’m sure she was involved in his murder.”
“Who else might have been involved?”
“Mother has managed to create quite a following—Michael, Kelley, even Freddy. After all, he did take me out the night the theft occurred. Any one of them is a potential errand boy for her.”
“Do you have any idea how someone broke into your inner safe?”
“No idea.” Lilah suddenly looked sheepish. “You are going to drop the charges against Carl, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“I told you he didn’t rape me.”
Marge didn’t answer.
“Are you going to bring charges against me?”
“That’s not up to me,” Marge said. “You know, in your eagerness to keep the case alive, you probably did more harm than good. We were out looking for a rapist when we should have been looking for a thief.”
“At least you were out looking for something.” Lilah regarded her hands, then smiled smugly. “No harm done if charges are brought against me. As a matter of fact, the publicity will be enormously beneficial to the spa’s business. The more notorious, the better.” She leaned over and whispered, “The rich just love a delicious dish of dirt!”
Marge folded the cover of her notebook and stowed the pen in her pocket. “This probably isn’t the last of my visits.”
“Ask whatever you want. At this point, I have nothing more to hide.”
“Then let me ask you this,” Marge said. “Where are your mother’s jewels?”
The blue eyes suddenly set in stony hatred. “Not to worry, Detective, I have them. And I’ll return them when I fucking feel like it.”
Decker thought, File this one under things that make you groan: a Testarossa shaped into abstract sculpture. The passenger’s side was a gray crater of primer and blood-red paint, the door held shut by electrical tape. Its nose had been blunted, both its bumpers denuded of chrome and trim.
Goldin stood on the curb and watched Decker gaze at his junk heap. He tucked his T-shirt into his jeans and stuck his hands into his back pants pockets. “You look like you’re ready to deliver a eulogy.”
“How can you stand driving it in that condition?”
“I’m making a statement, Sergeant.”
“What kind of statement!” Decker snarled. “That it’s too bourgeois to restore a thing of beauty?”
“No, actually it’s more like I can’t afford the thirty thousand bucks to fix her up properly.”
“Do it yourself.”
“Me?” Goldin laughed. “I don’t know a carburetor from a radiator.”
“Testarossas don’t have carburetors.” Decker’s eyes remained on the car. “They’re fuel-injected.”
Goldin patted Decker’s back. “It only hurts if you look. Let’s go. Greta’s expecting us.”
Slowly, Decker turned away from the Ferrari and followed Goldin up a slight incline to an entrance to the grounds. The apartment complex was three blocks long—a series of one-story bungalows resting on yards of green hillocks shaded by wizened trees. Dozens of meandering pathways crisscrossed over the knoll, many of them diverging only to dead-end into copses of brush. But Goldin seemed to know where he was going.
Since the weather was warm and sunny, many seniors were outside visiting with their neighbors. Plump women nursing iced teas, sitting spread-kneed on lawn chairs, nylon stockings rolled down to their ankles, feet shod in orthopedic whites. Old men whose waistlines were now wider than their shoulders held green hoses, sprinkling water on the grass or flower beds. Laughing and talking. The place gave the appearance of a retirement village except the acres of complex were in the middle of prime Valley real estate.
“A real anachronism,” Goldin said. “I don’t know who owns all this land, but they’re sitting on a gold mine. Maybe someone feels preservation of people is more important than another office building.”
Decker smiled. “That’s wonderfully optimistic.”
“Yeah, that’s me. I’m an ideological bulldog. I’ll never give up. Greta lives around the corner.”
He led Decker to a stucco cottage freshly painted bright yellow with white trim. The mailbox outside said G. MILLSTEIN. Without hesitation, he turned the knob and walked in. Decker remained on the threshold.
The woman who greeted Goldin had a wide, toothless smile. Her face was as wrinkled as a discarded sheet of paper, her mouth caved in, giving her a very pronounced chin. Her hair was thin and white, her eyes dark brown and holding an impish twinkle. She wiped her hands on her apron and locked Goldin to her overstuffed bosom. Her voice was musical and tinged with a German accent:
“You don’t change at all, my friend!”
“You need glasses, Greta. Look at all the gray in my hair.”
“You call dat gray, Perry, you need glasses.” She took his arm and looked at Decker. “You come in, too. I don’t bite.” She smacked her lips together. “No teets.”
“Teeth,” Perry translated.
“Dat’s what I said. Sit, Perry. You sit too. Your name, please?”
“Peter,” Decker said.
“Ah, Peter. I have a son-in-law who’s Peter. Is a real son-of-gun. I don’t like him, but my daughter? She is happy. Dey married tirty-two years. I keep my mout shut and we all are happy.”
She disappeared inside the kitchen. Decker took a seat on a faded green velvet couch and Goldin leaned back in a BarcaLounger, feet level with his head. The living room was hot and stuffy and dark and Decker loosened his tie. Greta came in a few minutes later with plates of strudel dusted with powdered sugar and three empty teacups.
“You bring in tea for me, Perry?”
Goldin got up and retrieved a silver tea set from the kitchen. Upon returning, he set down the tray, pulled the curtains back, and opened a window. Hot, perfumed air immediately swept away the stale smell of old age.
“You’re not running a funeral home, Greta,” Perry said. “Why do you keep it so stuffy in here?”
“I get scared, Perry.” She poured the tea. “People walk around at night. People I don’t know. I hear noises.” She stopped and rubbed her arms. “I get scared.” She handed a teacup to Decker.
“What kind of people?” Decker asked.
Greta shrugged. “I don’t look too close. Dey hire mens to protect us, but dey are never around the same place as the noises. But…” She handed Goldin a cup of tea. “It is not bad here. I stay here until I die.”
“Your children still visit often?” Goldin asked.
“Oh ya, dey visit me all de time. Mary comes one a week, Stephen comes one a week, Elaine come one or two a week.” Greta turned to Decker. “She’s married to Peter.”
“The son-of-a-gun.”
“But I don’t say a word.”
Goldin smiled. “If you had been my mother-in-law instead of Davida, I might still be married to Lilah today.” He made a face. “A very disturbing thought.”
“How is Lilah?”
Goldin cocked a thumb in Decker’s direction. “He’d know more than I would.”
Greta faced Decker. He said, “She’s in the hospital—”
Greta gasped and put her hand to her chest.
“She’s fine,” Decker quickly added.
“I thought you said she was out of the hospital,” Goldin said.
“This is separate from the first incident.”
“You say rape,” Greta said. “Perry tell me what happened first. What happened now?”
Decker said, “She was admitted last night after attempting suicide.”
Again, Greta gasped.
“She’s okay, Mrs. Millstein,” Decker said, quickly. “My partner just went in to see her. If there was a problem she would have beeped me by now.”
There was a long pause.
“Why?” Goldin asked.
“I don’t know,” Decker said.
“A c
ry for help?” Goldin asked.
“Maybe,” Decker said.
The room was silent. Greta said, “You tink it’s a cry for help?”
“I think Lilah’s depressed,” Decker said. “And when you’re depressed, you can do irrational things.”
“Someting more happened to her, ya?” Greta said.
Decker didn’t answer.
Greta said, “My heart is strong. You tell us.”
“Well…” Decker cleared his throat, repositioning himself on the couch. It didn’t help. He was uncomfortable and the seat cushions had nothing to do with it. “Kingston Merritt was murdered a couple of days—”
Goldin dropped his teacup in his lap. He jumped up, swiping at his pants, the cup and saucer tumbling to the ground. Decker handed him a napkin and picked up the china.
“God, I’m sorry, Greta. I spilled tea all over your carpet.”
“Don’t worry—”
“At least I didn’t break anything.”
“Is okay, Perry.” The old woman gently dabbed his wet pants leg with her apron. “I understand how you feel. I feel sick, too. Dat’s horrible!”
Decker nodded. “You burn yourself, Perry?”
“Nah, I’m okay,” Goldin said. “Just gotta catch my breath, that’s all.”
Decker turned to Greta. “Are you all right?”
“I not going to die, but I don’t feel so good. It’s bad news for me.” Her eyes suddenly moistened. “It makes me feel very sad.”
Goldin took the old woman’s hand and patted it.
She gave off a teary smile and said, “So sad.”
“Did you know King, Greta?” Goldin asked.
She wiped her eyes with a napkin. “Just as boy. I work for Davida when she live in Germany. I work for her tree, maybe four years. Den Hermann died and Davida go back to America. When I know him, King was unhappy boy.”
Decker said, “What kind of work did you do for Hermann and Davida?”
“Not Hermann, just Davida. I make dresses for Davida…what you call in English?”
“Seamstress,” Perry said.
“Ya, I was seamstress. I make good dresses.” She pointed to her brow. “I have good eye. No one can tell difference—my dresses or de ones from Paris. Davida…she has lots of money, could buy the real dresses. But she says mine were just as good.” Greta gave a toothless smile. “Dey were.”
Decker smiled. “I’ll bet. How many dresses did you make for Davida?”
“Lots. I sew fast and my daughters help me. I make lots of dresses for her ’cause she has lots of parties. Davida knows everybody. She was very nice for famous woman—famous American! Most Americans tink all Germans are Nazis.”
Greta’s eyes suddenly toughened, her posture turned stiff.
“I’m not Nazi. During war, I take my Jewish friend’s daughter and I tell Nazis she’s my niece. I keep her and raise her like mine. I tell her when she was older who she was. I save for her pictures of her parents. I love her like she is my own blood. I don’t say a word when she marry a son-a-gun. I’m not Nazi!”
“Of course you’re not, Greta.” Goldin stood. “Let me pour you some tea.”
“Dat’s a good idea, Perry. You always have good ideas.” She sat on the couch next to Decker. “Davida was more different den most Americans. She speak a little German and make big parties and invite everyone—big people, little people, me, my children. I come dere only one, maybe two times…lots of food, lots of drink—strong lager. Very, very rich for us. Most Germans den still very poor from the war.”
Goldin handed Greta her tea. “It didn’t sound as if Davida was suffering.”
“She don’t suffer, but she don’t like Berlin. She told me dat all the time.”
“So why did she live there?” Goldin asked.
“Because West Berlin is home for Hermann. It was no good marriage. Davida likes parties, Hermann don’t like any of it. He stands by himself and don’t say a word to no one.”
Her description of Hermann Brecht was consistent with the account John Reed had given them of Lilah’s birth party. Decker thought about Reed’s story: Hermann as a depressive drunk. No wonder there’d been strong lager at the parties.
“He hated parties.” Greta set her teacup down on the coffee table. “He and Davida were no good together.”
“Did you ever see them fight?” Decker said.
“Dey fight all de time.”
“Could you hear what they fought about?”
The old woman let out a sigh. “Dey speak in English mostly, but I know what dey fight about. Hermann running wit de young girls. Why not he run wit young girls? He was a young man—twenty-one, twenty-two when dey marry. Davida was too old for him. She should have let him go.” She began to knead her hands. “She should have let him go.”
“He wanted a divorce?” Decker said.
Greta shook her head. “Davida has all de money, so Hermann don’t get divorce. Davida give Hermann lots of money to make his movies. Ach…” Greta waved her hands in the air. “Only movies important to Hermann. Silly ass!” The old woman’s eyes grew wet. “He cause himself heartbreak. He cause me more heartbreak!”
Decker waited.
“He has affair with my daughter, stupid ass!” she blurted. “My daughter…she was stupid, too. I tell my girls over and over, stay away from the family…we are only one ting above de servants. We say or do de wrong ting, Davida find some otter seamstress. My otter daughters, dey listen. Heidi don’t listen. We fight all the time. That’s why I don’t say notting when Elaine marries son-of-gun.”
“Elaine had an affair with Hermann Brecht?” Goldin asked.
“No, no, no!” Greta said. “I mean I keep my mout shut. I tried to talk to Heidi. She was so stubborn, so…” Greta tightened her face. “A mule!” Her eyes clouded. “A sweet mule…everyone take advantage of her. She believe everyone but me cause I’m her modder.”
Decker said, “Is she dead, Greta?”
The old woman nodded.
“How?” Decker asked.
“Dey say suicide.”
“But you don’t believe them.”
She bit her lip and shrugged. “I don’t ask questions. Maybe yes, maybe no. First Heidi, den Hermann. Now you tell me Lilah. Maybe it runs in the family.”
Runs in the family…
Decker said, “Your daughter was Lilah’s mother, wasn’t she, Greta?”
“What?” Goldin said.
Greta lowered her head.
Goldin said, “Are you saying Davida isn’t Lilah’s mother, Greta?”
“Lilah is mine,” Greta whispered. “My granddotter. And Frederick is my grandson. Davida offered to take de baby and Heidi says yes because she is so young—only fifteen when Lilah was born. Davida promise to give de baby a good, rich home. I have so little ’cause I am a widow. I work and work, but de money…five children. Dey eat, dey need clothes.”
She made a fist, then slowly released it.
“But den Heidi get pregnant again with Frederick. Hermann should have married my Heidi. He was good to us, gave us money. But he was a weak man. He loved my Heidi but he don’t marry her, silly ass! Heidi try to take care of her little son, but it’s too much. So Davida was nice and offered to take him, too. She told everyone he was adopted.”
Again, the room became still. From the outside came the noise of bird songs, the sound of distant chatter.
“I don’t believe…” Goldin shook his head. “Davida used to make this big deal out of Freddy being adopted.”
Decker felt his stomach tighten.
Goldin went on. “She was so mean to him. And she never said a word about Lilah. I’ll lay money that Lilah doesn’t even know.”
“No, she don’t know,” Greta said. “I know she don’t. When we met…it wasn’t only luck we met. One day I see her as the teacher of arts for seniors. Oh my goodness, I knew! She looks essackly like my Heidi.” Her voice grew small. “I sign up for her class. Slowly, we start to talk after class. We ta
lk and talk and it’s like talking to Heidi all over again. My sweet little baby—only eighteen when she die.”
Goldin took her hand and squeezed it gently.
“Lilah stops visiting me,” she said, “I feel like I lose Heidi again. But not as bad. I know Lilah and Frederick are still alive.” She kissed Goldin’s hand. “You are a good boy.”
“What happened between you and Lilah, Greta?” Goldin asked. “Why’d she stop visiting you?”
“It’s very hard…”
“Do you want some more tea, Greta?” Decker asked.
“Ya, dat’s good idea.”
Goldin poured her another cup of tea and wiped his damp pants with a clean napkin.
“You want to change, Perry?” Greta asked. “I put your pants outside to dry.”
“Nah, I’m just a little clammy. I’ll live.”
Decker moved closer to the old woman. “What did happen between you and Lilah, Greta?”
“It’s my fault. I rush, rush, rush and Lilah’s not ready.”
“You told her you were her grandmother and she didn’t believe you,” Goldin said.
“No, Perry, I’m not dat stupid.”
Goldin blushed. “I didn’t mean to imply you were.”
Greta’s lips formed a smile around a gaping hole. “I know. I give you a hard time because all dis is hard.”
“I’m sure it’s very painful,” Decker said.
“Ya, painful. Painful to lose Lilah.” Greta sipped tea and held the cup in her lap. “Everyone knows dat Frederick was adopted. But no one knows his parents, no?”
“Except Davida,” Goldin said.
“Ya, except Davida. But she knows Hermann’s dead and Heidi’s dead and there’s no one to tell de trut. She tink I’m dead or in Germany. I come to America maybe twenty year ago. I’m very happy I come. Dey let me in because I have sister in St. Louis, Missouri.”
“It’s nice to have family,” Decker said.
“Ya, she tell dem she will give me job. So dey let me come. I move to California because it’s warm here and I like warm. But Davida…she never knows I’m here.”
Decker nodded and waited.
“So I talk and talk to Lilah. Den one day, I tell her maybe I know who Frederick’s parents are. And she says, who? And den I say, maybe Frederick is my grandson.” She placed the cup and saucer on the table. “Oooo, dat is bad ting to say! She gets so mad at me. She says I was only being nice to her to see Frederick. Not true! She is mine too. I just test her with Frederick. But it’s too late! She goes out of my house and will never talk to me again. She says I betry her.”
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