Decker regarded the letters—three of them and no return address. The postmarks were from Oakland, dated five, three, and two months ago. “Do you mind if I read them here? Every minute matters.”
“Sure, go ahead.”
Decker started with the earliest one—dated right after the vandalism episode. No date on the letter itself. He read.
Hey Italian Stallion:
Believe it or not, the discipline queen has a few misguided feelings, one of them includes missing you on some carnal level…specifically your delicious cock. Just thinking of it makes me all wet and ready, not to mention the fact that I just adore a man in a uniform. I wonder what little Lisa would think of my sucking and slurping with copious amounts of cum on my face….
Decker scanned down until he found something of substance.
Hope Dee Bee and hubby aren’t being their usual sanctimonious assholes. If they give you any kind of ’tude, just remind them that you’re the favorite of Ruby’s boy toys, and that should shut them up. Since I know the system, lover boy, I am a dangerous person. You should remember that. What we do in the sack is one thing. Outside the physical, it’s each body for itself.
The letter was unsigned. But it had the advantage of being handwritten, rather than typed or taken off E-mail. If Alice Ranger had copies of Ruby’s handwriting, they could do an analysis to make sure it matched. Also, they had a post-mark—not a recent one—but maybe it would help locate the errant woman.
He said, “Have any idea what system she’s talking about?”
“No idea,” Karl said. “But she mentions it several times. Obviously, Ernesto knew what she was talking about because she didn’t explain it. Read on.”
Decker did. The next letter was postmarked two months later…about a month before Ernesto was due to graduate.
Congrats about getting into Brown—as if I didn’t know you’d do it. Lucky for you that your daddy had influence and bread to pay off the judge and seal the fact that you are a very, very nasty boy who likes doing very, very nasty things.
Then she began to get explicit again, describing sex acts in gross detail. Decker had seen the most outrageous of things. But even so, the sheer sexual content—its rawness and rudeness—made him squirm. He knew that he’d have to read it all to see if something was encrypted in it. But for now, he skimmed the smut until he hit the last paragraph.
I cannot believe that you are actually thinking of going to that camp. It’s only been two months and already you’re softening like butter in the sun. Are you out of your mind? Influence is only good, lover boy, if you use it. You know you can get out of it. If you just hint at knowing the system, they’ll fold like a bad poker hand. I’m not saying you tell them outright…that could be tricky. But surely, a guy with such a terrific prick and all that debate team experience should be able to be subtle enough about it. They’ll know the score. The camp is pure shit, and Tarpin is a fucking Marine, for God’s sake! You can’t be weakening that fast. Maybe I’ll have to come down and give you a tune-up. Just suck you dry until you remember that you make the rules, not them. If you firmly ascribe to that, you will get places. If you don’t, you’re sunk. And that would be a waste of a glorious set of six-pack abs, not to mention a fine specimen of a cock.
Again it was unsigned. Decker folded the paper and put it back into the envelope. “What do you know about the Baldwins?”
Karl shook his head. “I was never in therapy with them. I’ve never been in therapy, period. I’m just Karl…the dumb jock who doesn’t cause any problems. Ernie was the golden boy. Brilliant but screwed up…like a good genius is supposed to be. Me, I’m simple. I’m starting eleventh grade. If things progressed like they were supposed to, I would have seen the Baldwins for college counseling in a year. All the twelfth graders at Foreman Prep see the Baldwins. It’s like a ritual.”
“A ritual?”
“It’s getting with the program, Lieutenant Decker. We all go to the same schools, do the same activities, play on the same soccer teams, go to the same summer camps, go to the same parties, make it with the same girls, and when it’s time, we all see the Baldwins. It’s like the parents are afraid to break rank. Because that means that maybe someone else’s kid has an edge over your kid. I love my parents. I think they’ve got a lot of…you know…”
“Integrity?”
“Yeah, integrity. But even they fall into traps. They say it’s because they want the best for us. That’s true, but also, they don’t want us to look dumb to their friends. It would be embarrassing if we failed. So that’s where the Baldwins come in. They prevented parents from being embarrassed. We usually got into the schools we picked, because the Bees had this knack of matching the right kid with the right school and making everyone feel happy about it. That was the point of seeing them for counseling.”
“Anyone ever hint that they did illegal things to get the kids in the right schools?”
“No. These letters were the first I’ve heard of it. But let’s face it. People look the other way if they get what they want. What kind of illegal things do you think they might be doing?”
“Maybe they had some kind of jump on the SAT.”
Karl looked blank. “Jump?”
“Insider’s information. Maybe they knew the SAT questions in advance?”
“Beats me,” Karl answered.
Decker said, “I’m just wondering if that’s the system that Ruby’s talking about. That they have inside information.”
“You’d know more about that than I would,” Karl repeated. He lay back down on the bed. “I’m real tired.”
Decker knew he should leave. But this was a onetime opportunity. He tried a different approach. “You mentioned going to the same parties. Did Ernesto ever take you to any of the parties he went to?”
“You mean the rages?” Karl blew out air. “Sure. Unless you were a nerd or a wuss, everyone at Foreman went to the rages. I’d go just to be seen. But I don’t like them. I don’t do drugs. If you don’t do drugs, there’s nothing to do. It’s boring to watch people getting stoned or cracked.”
Karl wasn’t the dumb jock when it came to important things. Decker said, “Did you ever meet any of Ruby’s friends?”
“Ruby didn’t come with her friends. I don’t even think she had friends. I only saw her a couple of times with her brother, Doug the pothead.”
“So she wasn’t a regular?”
“Nope. But she sure attracted attention when she came. She was really hot looking. I didn’t like her, but I understand why Ernesto did.” He shook his head in wonderment. “If she did half of what she writes about, I’d cut off my left nut to spend a night with her.” He scrunched up his brow. “Well, maybe not my nut.”
“I understand what you’re saying.”
“All the boys had the hots for her. Only Ernesto was brash enough to go up to her and attempt conversation. Like really talk to her. Mostly, she just talked and guys listened. Like hung on her every word…” Abruptly, Karl stopped talking. His eyes went to Decker’s face, then he averted his gaze.
Decker said, “I know that my son went to some of the parties.”
“Not for a long time.” Karl couldn’t look at him. “Really. I haven’t seen him in about a year. He was real smart, you know. All the girls liked him.”
“Except Ruby,” Decker said.
“Oh.” Karl blushed. “He told you about that?”
Decker nodded.
“Yeah, it was pretty nasty. It was Ruby’s fault. She kept sticking it to him. And Ernesto was kinda pushing her on. Finally, Jake had enough. He got her good, but it was real ugly. Actually, I think that was the last time I saw him.”
Consistent with what Jacob had told him. Decker had one more letter to read. “Just let me finish this letter off and then I’ll leave you in peace.”
“All right.”
The poor kid sounded so tired! Decker skimmed the contents of the letter, noticing that the tone had changed—more veiled warnings than se
x.
If you’re going to be part of the cabal, you’ve got to know what you’re doing. If it’s obvious that you’ll break, it’s not going to carry weight. You need to walk the walk as well as talk the talk. It probably would be best if I came down for a show and tell. In the meantime, you shouldn’t talk because people might take it the wrong way. The Bees can be had, but they’re not total morons. You’ve got to tread gingerly, or not at all.
The more I think about it, the more I think I should come down. It’s getting boring up here. I’ve run through about twenty men—all of them rich dot-com nerds and over forty. It’s nice because they take me places, buy me meals, and I get all the pills and ciggies I can jack. But I miss your young, studly prick. I need it inside of me. So yeah, maybe I’ll come back down and we can work the details out before you’re shipped off to Auschwitz West. Because it’s clear to me that we need to talk.
Decker reread the last two paragraphs. Now it appeared that Ruby was in Los Angeles. Or maybe at least, she had been in Los Angeles. He looked up at Karl. “Ernesto was up to something.”
“Yeah, he got in over his head, the dumb fuck!” Karl closed his eyes. “I loved my brother, you know.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“I admired Ernie a lot. But he had this way of being arrogant…it could really make you feel small. Ruby was the same way. Do you think she did it?”
“She certainly hasn’t been ruled out,” Decker said. “Any idea where she might be?”
“No. She never talked to me, Lieutenant Decker. Never said anything nice to me, never said anything mean to me. She didn’t even waste her time sticking it to me like she did Jake. I was just this…nothing to her. As far as she was concerned, I didn’t exist.”
29
We finally tracked down Darrell Holt’s old man,” Martinez said. “Philip David Holt. He just got back into town about three hours ago, according to his private secretary, but he’s willing to meet with us. He lives in one of the high-rises in the Wilshire Corridor. His unit takes up the entire twelfth floor.”
“What does he do?” Decker asked.
“Investment banking/money manager,” Martinez answered. “His main offices are in Encino and Beverly Hills. Does the name Holt Investments sound familiar?”
“No, but I’m not in the league where I need a money manager.”
“You probably wouldn’t know him even if you were in the league. He runs one of the largest West Coast mutual funds for African-Americans. He manages assets of close to a billion dollars. That’s a billion…with nine zeros.”
“Okay, I’m impressed.” Decker shifted the cell from one ear to the other. “Does his clientele imply that Mr. Holt is African-American?”
“Darrell says he has black blood in him, so I’d say that’s probably a good assumption.” Martinez paused. “He didn’t really look African-American to me. Darrell’s lighter than I am! And I’m not all that dark.”
“When did he say he’d meet with you two, Bert?”
“I told him we’d be there in about an hour. We’re still in the Valley.”
“So he’s home now.”
“Yes, he’s home.”
“Okay,” Decker said. “This is the deal. I’m already on the 405, almost at Sunset.”
“So you’re right around the corner,” Martinez said.
“Yes, I am. Give me the gentleman’s phone number and I’ll give him a call. In the meantime, since you did such a good job with locating evasive people, I want you to go back and pump Alice Ranger. I need to find out where Ruby is.”
Silence on the line.
Then Martinez said, “I really don’t like that girl.”
“You’re not alone. But this isn’t about congeniality. Just do the job.”
First, Decker had to get past the doorman whose uniform resembled that of a bandleader. Then he had to get past a desk clerk in a three-piece suit. Then an elevator operator—uniformed as well as white-gloved—took him up to the twelfth floor. The doors parted, and Decker stepped into a hallway that snaked right, then left. He walked about fifty feet until he came to a set of brass doors. He rang the bell and a tuxedoed butler answered the chimes. Once the man had been tall, but age had stooped his shoulders. He was hollow-cheeked with milky gray eyes and a complexion the color of a dull penny. His head was bald except for the curly pewter hair that neatly ringed his scalp in back—from one ear to the other.
Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony could be heard in the background. Decker held out his badge. “Lieutenant Decker from the LAPD. I believe Mr. Holt is expecting me.”
The butler moved aside. “Yes, sir. Come in.”
Upon entering, Decker was immediately hit with a sense of flying, then falling, because he faced a wall entirely constructed from glass. With no framework around the panes, it appeared as if he were stepping directly into the ethers of city lights. The great room’s ceiling was high—at least twelve feet—with coffers and carved beams. The floor was polished black granite, covered with Persian rugs that had enough wear on them to look valuable. The furnishings, upholstered in lamé fabrics of bronze and silver, were sinuous shapes, oversized enough to fill the space, but not bulky enough to overpower it. A floor-to-ceiling granite fireplace took up a second wall, and a third was hung with enormous oil canvases—de Kooning’s squiggles, Motherwell’s abstracts, Bacon’s distorted bodies, and a single Jackson Pollock number that dripped red.
Inside, the music had become louder…loud, actually. The symphony was still on the first movement, and Decker could picture little satyr centaurs chasing nubile female centaurs. As a young man, he had taken Cindy to see Fantasia at least twice.
“This way, this way.” The butler beckoned.
Down a foyer, passing another room that was almost identical to the first one. Same ceiling and floor, the same suspended wall of glass. But this spacious region held a smaller fireplace that shared the wall with a space-age entertainment unit. A built-in wet bar serviced the thirsty on the opposite side of the territory. In the center stood a grand piano, hood up and gleaming black.
Opposite the entertainment room was the dining room that held a black lacquer table with seating for eighteen. The same all-glass view except it was a different part of the city. The table had been set, complete with layers of dishes, shiny silver, and crystal stemware for white and red wine as well as for water. Not a speck of dust marred the table dressing. It was as if Holt were expecting the dinner party any moment, except there were no kitchen smells, no sign of life, period.
The butler bade him forward until the hallway ended in double brass doors. The butler pushed a button and they were both buzzed in.
The master bedroom suite appeared to be a thousand square feet, having the same views and more artwork. A self-contained unit, it had its own mini-kitchen complete with fridge and stove as well as its own entertainment unit. It had couches and chairs and loveseats and chaises. But its centerpiece—literally in the center—was a platform king-size bed topped with a brown suede cover. King-size suede pillows leaned against an ebony headboard. Against the pillows lay Holt, clad in blue silk pajamas. They hung on his thin frame. His mocha-colored face was small and round, the skin stretched over prominent cheekbones and a wide-bridged nose. He had dark brown eyes and black hair that was cropped close to the scalp. Fuzzy socks were on his feet. Around him were piles of papers, two laptop computers, several cell phones, one plugged-in land phone, and an electronic ticker-tape machine—neon green symbols flying past Decker’s eyes.
“Foreign markets.” Holt typed as he spoke. He also had to scream because the music was so loud. “God made twenty-four time zones so that there would always be some stock market to watch.” He looked up and smiled. “I’m being humorous. Have a seat, Lieutenant Decker. You don’t mind if I work while we talk? I’m quite adept”—type, type, type—“at juggling multiple tasks. Besides…” A cell phone rang. He answered it, whispered orders, then hung up. “I don’t think we’ll have a lot to talk abo
ut.”
“I can barely hear you.”
“I can hear you just fine.”
The man had no intention of turning the music down. Decker yelled, “Can I sit on the edge of the bed?”
“Certainly.”
Magically, the music dropped a notch. Surprised, Holt looked up and saw the butler a few feet from the entertainment area. Holt was about to speak, then thought better of it.
The butler said, “Anything I can get you, sir?”
“Uh, yes, George. Two teas…” To Decker, “Is tea all right?”
“It’s fine.”
“Earl Grey, George. Decaf please. It’s late-ish, isn’t it? I have no idea what time zone I’m in. But I see it’s almost dark. What time is it?”
“Eight-thirty, sir.”
“Throw in a couple of butter cookies.” Holt continued to type on his laptop. “Tea and butter cookies. Excellent.”
“Very good, sir.”
The double brass doors opened, then closed.
“No, I don’t know where…” Holt typed vigorously. “Yes! Let me…” Again he typed and waited. “Just a moment. I want to make sure this order goes through…There. Very good. I don’t know where Darrell is, Lieutenant. I’ve completely lost track of him. I haven’t seen him in a good three to four years. At one time, he did have a trust account, so I could suggest tracing him through the bank. But I believe he had gone through it as of a year ago.”
“So you last had contact with him four years ago?”
Holt took another phone call, turned, whispered, clicked off that cell, then took another call. Whisper, whisper, whisper. He typed, called, then whispered, then typed some more. Several minutes later, he said, “Yes, I believe it was that long ago. Right when he came back to Los Angeles from up north. When he started getting involved with that ridiculous supremacist group.” A laugh. “Darrell is a light boy by African-American standards. But the child is not white, that’s for certain.”
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