Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 13

by The Forgotten

  It was nine in the evening, and Decker had decided that they should meet in an interview room because there was more space. He sat at the head of the table. The left side held Webster, Martinez, and Wanda Bontemps. The right side had Oliver and Dunn. Arranging themselves by partnership rather than by sexes. They were spent, but Decker gave them a great big A for effort. File folders and papers were spread over the table, intermixed with empty paper plates of pizza and lukewarm Styrofoam cups of coffee.

  Waiting for all the initial reports to come in. Ballistics was especially important. All were anxious to see if the bullets that killed Dee Baldwin matched the bullets responsible for the deaths of Ernesto Golding and Mervin Baldwin. Decker had put a rush on it, but a rush only meant something if someone in the lab was willing to speed it up.

  “What are you saying, Scott?” Webster put down his coffee cup. “Disgruntled parents whacked the Baldwins because their kid couldn’t get into Harvard?”

  Oliver said, “Remember that mother who tried to murder a sixteen-year-old classmate of her daughter’s because the other kid made cheerleading squad and her daughter didn’t?”

  “That was extreme.”

  “Well, so is this,” Oliver said. “Someone paid lots of money to Mervin to get little Jimmy into the big H, and the Baldwins failed to work their magic.”

  “So why not return the money?” Wanda asked.

  “What if there was no more money to return?” Oliver said.

  “Maybe the guy was broke,” Martinez said. “He sure spent a lot. One hundred and twenty grand to live in a beach condo while his house was being remodeled.”

  Decker said, “Did the Baldwins owe money?” No one spoke. “So let’s look into it.”

  Webster said, “Could be he owed money. Or could be he owed favors. Sometimes money and favors have a definite connection. You do favors in order to avoid paying money.”

  Wanda said, “So what did poor Ernesto have to do with any of this?”

  “Wrong place at the wrong time?” Oliver suggested.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Decker said. “Ernesto had fallen in with some edgy folk before all this happened. He could have been the target.”

  “I agree,” Martinez said. “You should see these PEI weirdos. Besides, Oliver, you don’t kill just because your kid doesn’t get into Harvard—”

  “Maybe it was Stanford.”

  Martinez turned to Decker. “You agree with me, right?”

  Decker shrugged. “You should have heard Jake talk about what kids are doing nowadays to get into the right colleges.”

  “You should have heard what Maryam Estes said about it,” Oliver said. “You wouldn’t believe it.”

  Marge said, “Prep courses for the entrance exams, prep courses for the prep courses. And this is after they take prep courses to get into the right high schools and middle schools. And of course you have to go to the right elementary school to even be considered by the right high schools. Which leaves us with pre-school. You know that kids have to apply for these hoity-toity nursery schools.”

  Wanda made a face. “How do you test kids for nursery school? They can’t read.”

  “Shapes,” Marge answered. “Counting to ten. Colors.”

  “Well, what if your child is two and still sucks her thumb?”

  Marge said, “According to Maryam, if your child gets rejected, it’ll be an uphill battle.”

  Wanda said, “Maryam sounds idiotic.”

  “I don’t disagree, Wanda, but thems are the facts,” Oliver stated. “Twenty grand a year so you can brag that your kid can tell the difference between a triangle and a square.”

  Decker spoke to Martinez. “Apparently the parents are very cutthroat about this kind of thing.”

  Martinez said, “So who’d you bribe to get Jacob into Johns Hopkins?”

  “Jacob did it on his own. And even he claims that he got help…that his mother got him in by pushing the right buttons.”

  Martinez said, “But the fact remains that you didn’t need Baldwin.”

  “I might have hired him if I cared about the Ivies,” Decker said. “The fact is I’m basically a blue-collar-type guy, and my wife is Orthodox. She cares more about how many nice religious Jewish girls there are on campus rather than the IQ of the student body.”

  “Where’s Sammy going?” Marge asked.

  “Yeshiva University,” Decker said. “No shortage of gray matter floating around there. Still, my kids have friends who are pushed by their parents. Which to me is funny because my generation was supposedly the do-your-own-thing generation.”

  Martinez laughed. “Yeah, aren’t we a bunch of old hypocrites.”

  “I take exception to the word ‘old,’” Oliver replied.

  Decker said, “Supposedly, even if you go to the right high school, you need people like the Baldwins to assure you get into the right college.”

  “Exactly,” Oliver said. “Now you’re a parent, you invest all this money and time and effort into little Timmy getting into Harvard—”

  “I thought it was little Jimmy,” Wanda said.

  Oliver glared at her.

  Wanda smiled back. “Go on.”

  “And then, little Timmy or little Jimmy doesn’t get in,” Oliver said. “I can see some unbalanced person taking his frustrations out on Dee and Mervin Baldwin.”

  “What can people like Dee and Mervin Baldwin actually do for a kid who just isn’t all that with it upstairs?” Webster said. “No matter how much you drill the kid, if he doesn’t have the raw matter, it isn’t going to help.”

  Decker said, “They can practice test-taking with the kid. I’m sure there’s some holdover from one test to another. If you practice enough, maybe you can raise your score a few points.”

  “A few points, yes,” Webster said. “But not several hundred points. I know enough about these entrance exams to know that much. As a matter of fact, if you take the SAT, then take it again and improve too much, it looks suspicious.”

  Decker said, “But maybe being psychologists, the Baldwins knew how to take the tests to maximize results. Also, since psychologists usually design the IQ tests, I’m betting the Baldwins had a pretty good idea about the contents.”

  Webster said, “How could they know better than anyone else? The tests are guarded secrets until they’re posted.”

  “I’m not saying that the Baldwins did know. Just that if test-taking was their specialty, they may make it a point to know.”

  Oliver blurted out, “Or maybe he actually did know.” He grinned. “Inside info, ladies and gentlemen? It’s happened before.”

  Webster said, “It would kill the Education Testing Service’s reputation if an errant test was leaked prior to release date.”

  “So Baldwin paid someone off,” Oliver said. “The man was minting money, doing course preparation. I can see that college is big business. And that’s what it always boils down to anyway. Business.”

  “It would have to be more than just a payoff,” Webster said. “It’s not like the tests are posted on the Internet. The center’s computers have their own nerve center not connected to any service provider. And I’m sure very few people have access to the pass code.”

  “C’mon, Tommy!” Oliver barked. “Computers aren’t fail-safe. Look at this ‘I love you’ virus back in 2000. Apparently, it was pretty damn amateurish and it shut down…what was it? Three major net providers?”

  “He’s got a point,” Marge said.

  Martinez said, “FYI, wasn’t Ricky Moke under FBI investigation for hacking?”

  “Interesting,” Decker said. “But what does Moke have to do with the Baldwins?”

  “A connection through Hank Tarpin?” Martinez suggested.

  Decker sat back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. “We’ve gone from the Baldwins as hapless victims to the Baldwins as white-collar, high-tech criminals with Moke as a fugitive neo-Nazi cohort. I think we need to back it up.”

  “I think we need
to get a warrant to search the Baldwins’ office,” Oliver said. “So what’s up with that?”

  Decker said, “I’m hoping to get it first thing in the morning. It took a while to find someone who was even willing to listen. Rifling through the files of current, ongoing patients violates confidentiality agreements. You can shout Tarasoff as precedence, but since there’s no immediate danger, I had to fudge a bit. I found a judge willing to go out on a limb, but he wants to sleep on it.”

  “What should we do now?” Marge asked. “The banks are closed, so we can’t examine finances.”

  Oliver said, “We don’t have a warrant, so we can’t investigate the Baldwins’ files.”

  Webster said, “By the time I got over to the PEI, Holt was gone.”

  “How about Liu and the autopsy?” Decker asked.

  Martinez said, “I just checked. He hasn’t even begun. Logjam. He hopes to know something by tomorrow.”

  Decker said, “So how about…we finish up the paperwork and call it a night.”

  Everyone seconded the motion. Oliver even thirded it.

  22

  A mother’s sleep was eternally light, a quick dash into never-never land, where the conscious lay dormant, rousing to action at the wail of a hungry infant or the moans of a sick toddler. So ingrained was the reflex that even after the children had grown to independence, Rina’s slumber remained permanently altered; the reason she awoke as soon as the bedroom door opened. It was not much more than a mere crack, but she sensed it even if she didn’t hear it. It wasn’t light yet, although the sky had turned from black to gray in anticipation of dawn. According to the nightstand clock, it was five twenty-eight. Sammy stood at the door. She put her finger to her lips and waved him away, not wanting to wake up Peter. She didn’t know what time Peter had come home, but she had gone to bed at midnight.

  Quickly, she slipped on her robe and quietly closed the door behind her. She squinted as harsh lamplight seized her eyes, blinking several times as she tried to clear her thoughts. Sammy was dressed in street clothes, the leather straps from his small black prayer box—the tefillin shel yad—coiled around his right arm. On the widow’s peak of his sand-colored hair sat the other prayer box—the tefillin shel rosh. Tall and handsome, her elder son cut an imposing figure.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he replied. “I’m just jet-lagged. I’ve been up learning since four in the morning. Then I saw a hint of daylight and decided to daven. I’m not the problem. There’s some guy at the front door who wants to see Dad—”

  “What? Now?”

  “Yeah, he says it’s important. He seems very agitated. I didn’t know if I should wake Peter or what.”

  “Did he give you a name?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t get it totally. Something Gold—”

  “Oh my goodness!” Rina slapped her hand to her breast. “Carter Golding?”

  “Yeah, yeah. Who is he?”

  “His son was murdered—”

  “Oh no! He’s the one?”

  Rina nodded. “I’d better go see what he wants—”

  Sammy stopped her. “Don’t you think you should wake up Dad?”

  “First let me see what he wants.” She hesitated before she opened the door, then made the commitment. The man facing her was small and thin, his features blurred by lack of light and by facial hair. He was in constant motion, rocking on his feet, kneading his hands together, his eyes jumping about.

  “I’m so sorry,” he coughed out. “I thought that maybe…that your husband…that maybe he wasn’t sleeping…I’ll come back—”

  “No, no, please come in, Mr. Golding,” Rina pleaded. “Please.”

  He crossed the threshold of the door, stepping in just far enough to let Rina close the door. Wrinkled and disheveled, it was clear that he’d been wearing his clothes for a very long time. His movements were jerky, spasmodic—like a pinball confined to a very small machine. “I shouldn’t have come here.” Breathless. “Waking you like some madman. I’m not a madman!”

  “Of course you’re not—”

  “Your husband is still asleep? Don’t wake him. I’ll come back—” He stared at Sammy, then pointed at him with a shaking finger. “What’s on his arm…his head?”

  Rina looked over his shoulder. “Tefillin…phylacteries.”

  “My father had them. I don’t know what he did with them. But I know he had them.” A pause. “I wonder what became of them?” Golding began to pace, throwing his arms behind his back. Groucho Marx on methamphetamines. “You’re the one who sent out the flyer for the hate crimes council at the synagogue. We sent you some money, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you.”

  “You sent us a thank-you card—a nice one considering it was Ernesto who trashed the place.” Tears welled up in the man’s eyes. “He wasn’t a bad kid, you know.”

  “Of course—”

  “He used…” Golding coughed to hide a sob. “He used to talk about your husband. Did your husband tell you about that?”

  “No, sir, he keeps his business confidential.”

  “They used to talk…your husband and Ernesto. Ask him. Ernesto wasn’t a bad kid.”

  “I know—”

  “No, you don’t know!” Golding grabbed her arm until he and Rina were almost nose to nose. “You don’t know. But I’m telling you the truth. He had his problems, but he was a good kid!”

  In the background, Rina could see Sammy walking toward the bedroom. Rina shook her head ever so slightly. Instead of pulling away, she placed her hand atop his. “A parent knows his child better than anyone; I believe you, Mr. Golding.”

  The man’s face crumpled, his chin quivering as a tear fell down a cheek. He let go of her arm, leaving behind fresh finger marks. “Thank you!”

  “Please sit down—”

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he whimpered. “Bothering you—”

  “Please sit down, Mr. Golding. Let me get my husband for you.”

  “You’re being very hospitable…especially after what Ernesto did to your synagogue.” Then Golding broke down, crying out dry, heavy sobs.

  A few tears escaped from Rina’s eyes. “I’m so sorry. Let me get Lieutenant Decker. I know he’d like to see you.”

  “No, he wouldn’t!” The man continued to sob. “I yelled at him yesterday! I insulted him!”

  “I’m sure you did nothing of the sort,” Rina said softly. “Besides, I yell at him all the time and he still talks to me. I’ll get him for you.”

  She started toward the bedroom, but Golding jumped up and grabbed her arm again. “Please, I don’t want to put you out.”

  But Sammy had already gone into the bedroom. In a flash, Decker appeared, still bare-chested underneath a terry-cloth robe. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair was a red nest of tangles, and his skin felt as if it was on fire. Part of that was the adrenaline rush, his heart beating as fast as a jackhammer.

  “Oh God!” Golding exclaimed. “I woke you up!”

  “I’m fine, Mr. Golding.” Decker noticed Sammy staring, his big brown eyes agape.

  The boy said, “Uh, I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  “I’ll come with you.” Rina started to leave, but Golding grabbed her arm again. Decker moved in, but Rina held him off with the palm of her hand. Golding was too distraught to even notice Decker’s defensive stance.

  “Please stay,” Golding sobbed. “You were so nice to write such a thank-you card.”

  She looked at her husband, then said, “Of course I’ll stay.”

  “Thank you!”

  Again Rina patted his hand. No one spoke for a few minutes, the only sounds being Golding’s choked tears. Wordlessly, Rina extricated herself from his grasp and fetched a box of Kleenex. She handed it to him. “How about a glass of water?”

  “No, I’m all right.” He blew his nose into a tissue. “I’m…” Another blow. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” Rina said. �
�Why don’t we all sit down?”

  When he didn’t respond, Decker said, “Please, Mr. Golding. Have a seat right here.”

  Decker sat him down in his special place—an oversize leather chair-and-a-half stuffed with down, complete with ottoman, his reading sanctuary whenever he was home. The rest of the furniture was feminine and frilly, upholstered with lots of blue gingham checks and blue-and-white paisley prints. Lacy pillows and doilies abounded. A sweet little hand-loomed rug sat under an old-fashioned white rocker. Decker’s chair looked like the fat sheik in the middle of his harem. He perched himself next to Rina on the couch.

  Golding said, “I’m sorry to have woken you up like this.”

  “No, no,” Decker said. “It’s no bother, sir. Can we make you a cup of tea?”

  “Don’t bother.”

  “It’s no bother.” Rina was up. “Herbal maybe? I have cinnamon, orange, chamomile, lemon—”

  “Chamomile.”

  “Sugar, lemon?”

  “Plain.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Golding whispered out a “thank you,” then turned his attention to Decker. “You must think I’m crazy.”

  And how could the man be anything less than crazy after what had happened? Golding had on a light gray, coffee-stained sweatshirt and jeans.

  Decker said, “Is there something specific on your mind, Mr. Golding, or did you just need to talk…or ask some questions maybe?”

  He played with his beard. “There is something I want to talk about. I just don’t know how…” He swallowed back pain. “Do you think you’re going to find this monster?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you have some ideas?”

  “You’ll be the first one to know when I have something definite.”

  “When do you think that will be?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Soon? A week, a month, a year?”

  “Every case is different. Right now, this case is top priority.”