Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 07

by Sanctuary

  “Rina, I don’t expect us to engage in fiery passion in a pile of hay. So just relax, okay? Tell me about Honey.”

  A clap of thunder cracked through the sky. Rina startled, then cuddled deep into Peter’s broad chest. At this moment, it was wonderful to be with someone so big and protective.

  Decker held his wife, kissed her forehead. “I hope Hannah doesn’t wake up. Did you bring the intercom?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Rina dragged her wet slicker forward, fished through the pockets and pulled out a hand-held intercom. She turned it on. “So far so good. All quiet.”

  “Tell me about Honey.”

  “She finally convinced her kids to go to the zoo with her this afternoon. Convinced Minda and Mendel mainly. Mendel didn’t want to leave his sepharim, Minda didn’t want to leave the TV.”

  “Aren’t most game shows over by the afternoon?”

  “Minda discovered the Home Shopping Network.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Anyway, Honey did finally round them all up. I begged off, saying I wanted to watch Hannah because she just had her shots. It was the truth.”

  “Go on.”

  “I got through to Honey’s village. It took me a while to get hold of the Rebbe because the only number I had was for the local bakery. The village doesn’t have a lot of phones.”

  “The Rebbe actually talked to you?”

  “I claimed it was an emergency. And yes, he spoke with me. He took his time, too. He’s very…otherworldly. As I spoke with him, I felt I was talking to someone who had a direct line to the heavens. I can understand why he has so many devotees. He’s very charismatic.”

  “What did he say about Honey?”

  Rina looked pained.

  “That bad?” Decker sat up, keeping Rina on his lap. “What?”

  “According to the Rebbe, Honey’s assessment of her life was pretty accurate. Gershon was always a…different type of man. Very devout. The type of guy who refused to sit during any portion of davening. You know how long the Sabbath prayers can be.”

  He did know. Even for the most no-nonsense of minyans—prayer gatherings—it would take at least an hour, hour and a quarter to say all the required verses. If someone wanted to add cantorial singing, the service could easily be stretched to two or more hours.

  He said, “She isn’t running away from a guy because of that, is she?”

  “No. I’m just trying to give you some background.”

  “Go on.”

  Rina cleared her throat. “Now I’ve known people who stand during the entire service. But Gershon went beyond that. On Shabbos, for instance, he’d attend both the early minyan and the regular minyan. And he’d stand through both of them.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. There is certainly no halachic basis for it. You don’t get brownie points for saying the same prayers twice.”

  “So the guy’s a fanatic. Some people would call us fanatical.”

  “There’s more, Peter. About a year and a half ago, something very traumatic must have happened to Gershon. Like Honey said, he won’t speak about it, but it must have been pretty bad. Because he changed drastically. He was never a friendly sort of guy, but he’d say hello or shalom aleichem. He was polite. Abruptly, he stopped talking to people, Peter. He stopped caring about his appearance. He stopped bathing—”

  “How would the Rebbe know about his bathing habits other than through Honey?”

  “Because Gershon started wandering the streets at night, talking to himself.”

  Decker made a face. “Great. And we’re letting these people stay in our house.”

  “Can you let me finish, please?”

  Decker smiled. “Continue.”

  “The Rebbe said that if anyone ran into him and asked him what he was doing all alone, talking to himself, he would say he was just trying to work things out. He was…coherent when you talked to him. But his behavior…” Rina bit her lip. “No one, including Honey or the Rebbe, was sure what exactly he was trying to work out.”

  “Does he hold down a job?”

  “Yes, he’s a diamond dealer—”

  “That’s right. And he’s still functional as a diamond dealer?”

  “Apparently,” Rina said. “They’re not millionaires, but the Rebbe says he does okay.”

  “The Rebbe knows his income?”

  “Gershon tithes twenty percent to charity. To the penny. He shows the Rebbe his tax statements, then makes out a check for twenty percent of the gross. By law, you only have to give away ten percent. But Gershon took it a step further. The Rebbe wouldn’t tell me how much he makes of course, but he did tell me that he makes money. That’s not the problem.”

  “It could be the problem if he owes money to the wrong people.”

  Rina paused. “I wouldn’t know. The Rebbe didn’t mention any threatening phone calls.”

  “But Honey did.”

  Rina nodded. “Maybe it’s true. Maybe it’s on Gershon’s mind. Or maybe it’s all in his mind. There’s more to my tale.” She sighed. “About six months ago, he declared himself a Nazir.”

  “What’s a Nazir?”

  “Remember Samson of Samson and Delilah fame? He was a Nazir. That’s why his hair was so long. You’ve heard of Jesus of Nazareth?”

  “Slightly.”

  “Some say Jesus was a Nazir—a Nazirite, I think they call it in English. If I remember correctly, Nazirites take this vow which is: They don’t drink wine or alcohol, they don’t shave or cut their hair, and they don’t defile themselves by contacting dead bodies—”

  Decker laughed.

  “What?”

  “I’m listening to you thinking: Hey, I could manage the alcohol and hair part, but I’m not so sure I could take that ban on dead bodies—”

  “No joke. You couldn’t do what you do and be a Nazir, Peter. You come into contact with dead bodies on a regular basis.”

  Decker paused. She was absolutely right.

  “The ban on dead bodies also means that Nazirites can’t visit cemeteries or hospitals—anyplace where a person might have died.”

  Decker held her at arm’s length. “This is for real?”

  Rina nodded. “Wait, it gets weirder. Gershon not only took the vows to be a Nazir, he separated from his wife.”

  “Ah, so they are in the process of a divorce.”

  “Oh, no. I didn’t mean that kind of separation. I meant a physical separation. The Rebbe wouldn’t come out and say it, but I think he meant sex. I think Gershon refuses to have sex with his wife. Now, I’m no expert on Nazirites—you’ll have to ask Rav Schulman for the specific details—but I never remember anything about Nazirites not being allowed to have sex with their wives.”

  Decker stared at her. “You know, I meet a lot of strange people in my line of work. But I do believe you’ve introduced me to the strangest.”

  “Peter, it isn’t funny. The Rebbe says that Honey is really suffering. She doesn’t know why he’s doing this to her—to himself. Because he refuses to talk to anyone.”

  “Did she tell the Rebbe about the strange phone calls?”

  Rina nodded.

  “What’d the Master say?”

  “The Rebbe said that they should be careful.”

  “Profound.”

  “Peter, I don’t know what to do.”

  “What to do?” Decker smiled. “That part’s easy. We’re doing enough by letting this woman and her kids stay with us. We’re not obliged to do anything more.”

  “Peter, that sounds so cold.”

  “I’m not saying kick her out. I’m just saying don’t be her shrink, okay?”

  Rina didn’t answer.

  Decker looked her in the eye. “Okay, Rina?”

  “I shouldn’t listen to her problems?”

  “No, as a matter of fact, you shouldn’t. She came out here to be entertained, so entertain her. Take her to Disneyland or Universal Studios—”

  “I’d rather listen to her problems. It
’s easier.”

  Decker laughed, then lay back down in the hay. “I don’t mean to sound callous, Rina, but you’ve got your health and your family to think about. She sounds like bad news—”

  “Troubled news.”

  “It’s not what you need right now. It’s not what your kids need.”

  “It’s not what you need,” Rina said.

  “You’re right about that!” Decker said. “I’m working on five simultaneous cases, one I’m doing on my own time. Because my own lieutenant can’t justify my hours working on a scene with no bodies.”

  “You can’t go over his head?”

  “No, no, no,” Decker said. “No, you don’t go over your Loo’s head. Not without losing your own. LAPD is a military organization, honey. You either play by the rules or you’re a very lonely person.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  Decker laughed at her flat assessment. “No, it’s not. But thems the breaks. Anyway, tomorrow at dawn, Marge and I are going for a walk in the mountain passes to hunt for bodies. All this and we’re not even getting paid for the pleasure.”

  Rina’s watch suddenly beeped. “Jeez, it’s midnight. If you’re going out at dawn, you need your sleep. Do you really have to get up so early?”

  “’Fraid so.”

  “Then I’m sorry I kept you up so late.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” He pulled Rina on top of him. “Of course, you can make it up to me.”

  “Here?”

  “The household is asleep and we have the intercom to Hannah’s room. Why not?”

  Rina laughed to herself. “I don’t know if I can do it in front of all the animals.”

  Decker grinned. “Just close your eyes, sugar. I guarantee you they won’t mind a bit.”

  “Your dog’s driving me nuts,” Marge complained.

  Decker adjusted his backpack. “You’re just sore because you forgot your hiking boots.”

  “Hell with the boots. I need cleats, it’s so damn muddy.”

  “You’d make a poor foot soldier, Margie. Colonel Dunn wouldn’t approve.”

  “The word ‘approve’ isn’t in the colonel’s vocab list.”

  Ginger turned in circles, sniffing each morsel of ground as if it were fine wine. They had been walking for over two hours in three different secluded areas, and still the setter showed no signs of tiring. It was literally a field day for her.

  Decker said, “It’s the rain. It brings up all sorts of interesting smells. It drives her nuts and she gets confused. You’ve got to remember their brains are about the size of a pea.”

  “Really?”

  “Maybe a large pea.”

  Marge took out a plastic bag. “Then maybe we should let her sniff the clothes again.”

  Decker nodded. Marge gloved her hand, then took out Dalia Yalom’s white blouse and bra along with Arik Yalom’s pants and undershirt. “Here, girl,” she said. “You’re not interested in every single turd that has ever been dropped. You’re only interested in finding these people.”

  Ginger raised her head, eyed Marge quizzically, then nosed the clothing. Once again, she was off. Decker had to trot to keep pace with her.

  “Does she know what she’s doing?” Marge asked, breathlessly.

  Decker shrugged.

  “Orit Bar Lulu is going to be pissed if we come back with nothing, especially after waking her up at five in the morning to get the clothes.”

  “She’ll just have to live with the pain.” Decker tugged gently on the leash. “Slow down, girl. Give an old man a chance to enjoy the scenery.”

  The mountainside was wet and soggy, the mud seeping out from under their shoes. The air was nippy and smoky with dew, but morning sunlight was beginning to filter through the fog. Decker had on a red-plaid flannel shirt, brown chino pants, and an Englishman’s cap given to him by his father-in-law, the expert on caps. Maven was the word Rina had used. Marge wore a cable-knit sweater under a down-filled vest, corduroy pants, and high-top sneakers. She hated jackets. They limited her mobility.

  “You ever hunt when you were a kid?” she asked.

  “Yep. Alligators and ducks.”

  “That’s right. You were born in Florida. Did you like it?”

  “Florida’s okay.”

  “Not Florida, Pete. Did you like hunting?”

  “I thought it was silly. Grown men getting up at four in the morning to hunker down in the trenches and quack aloud. Alligators are mean sons of bitches. Sneaky little suckers with eternal smiles. But the way they’re slaughtered used to get to me. You can’t shoot them outright because you’ll ruin their hide. You’ve got to pith their brains out with a special type of blowgun.”

  “Lovely. Further nauseate my queasy stomach.”

  Ginger abruptly stopped, her posture freezing in the mist of the morning.

  “She’s found something?” Marge asked.

  “I don’t know.” Decker tugged on the leash. “Come on, girl.”

  Ginger refused to budge.

  “Does she know what she’s doing?” Marge asked again.

  “I’ve never taught her how to hunt,” Decker said. “But the instincts are there.” He lowered his backpack onto the wet ground. “I trust her, Marge. I say we dig.”

  Marge slipped her knapsack off her shoulders. “At least we don’t have to worry about destroying evidence. The rain helped us in that department. I sure hope your dog isn’t smelling a dead possum or something.”

  “It could be she is. Although she seemed to sniff the clothes with interest.” Decker smiled. “Listen to me. I’m psychoanalyzing a dog.”

  Marge opened her satchel and took out an array of tools. “I always wanted to be an archaeologist.”

  “Don’t think you’re going to find Cro-Magnon man here.”

  “I’ll settle for anything that doesn’t move when I exhume it.”

  Decker smiled, then lowered himself onto his knees, feeling the ground with a gloved hand. Within moments, he had sunk a couple of inches into the slime. He knee-walked backward until he felt the ground wasn’t going to swallow him up. “I think Ginger’s on the money. Feel the ground right in front of me. See how soft and muddy it is compared to where I’m kneeling.”

  “You’re right.” Marge sighed. “Dirt over here is much looser.”

  “Like it was dug up and turned over and tamped back into place.”

  “I didn’t see a mound.”

  “Rain could have evened out the topology. I’m telling you, this is turned-up soil. We’ve got a grave here.”

  “Should we call in the experts?”

  Decker said, “Maybe we should try it ourselves first. Could be as innocuous as someone having a funeral for their pet.” Decker felt the ground again, trying to outline the perimeter by touch. Just by quick feel, the soft area seemed around four by four. Who knew how deep. Maybe someone buried a mastiff. “Give me the trowel. I’ll start out slowly.”

  Marge handed him the trowel.

  Carefully, Decker started unearthing the mud. As soon as he dug out earth, the depression filled with silted water. It was like digging sand at the seashore.

  “I need a siphon.”

  “I can get us some straws at the local Jack-in-the-Box.”

  “Did we bring a hose?”

  “No such luck.”

  Decker tried to bail out water with his hands. “I can’t see a fucking thing.”

  Marge pulled off his cap. “Why don’t you sacrifice this to the cause?”

  Decker looked at her, at the cap. He took it and began scooping muddy water from his hole. He dug, he removed water, more water came to take its place. Twenty minutes later, sodden with sludge, he stopped.

  “My hands are freezing. My fingers are numb.”

  “My turn to slime fish.” Marge knelt and stuck her hands into the icy slosh. “I feel something down there.”

  “There’re lots of rocks.”

  “Yeah, maybe that’s what they are. Give me the pail.”


  Decker handed her the cap. She attempted to bail water from the hole. It was a losing proposition. Disgusted, she tossed the cap and dug blind. When she felt she had removed a substantial amount of mud, she lowered her arm into the quagmire of frosty, wet earth. Soon her shoulder was touching the ground. She fingered her way around, then tried to pull her arm out and was met with resistance—as if she were freeing an animal trapped in tar. She finally liberated her limb, wiggled her fingers. Her sweater sleeve was encased in brown slime. “Something is definitely down there.”

  “More than rocks?”

  “More than rocks. Jesus, my arm’s frozen solid.”

  “Move it around,” Decker said. “Does it feel like dog bones or cat bones or…what?”

  Marge attempted to wipe the mud from her forearm. She had a pained look on her face. “I wouldn’t swear to it, but I think I just shook hands with someone.”

  15

  Davidson scratched his nose. “Looks like you found a body. At this point, I’m sure you’ll take any corpse you can get.”

  Marge looked at him. Now how do you respond to that? She said nothing, regarding the two lab men who were unearthing the contents from the makeshift grave. One wore a yellow slicker; the other chose a full black raincoat that Dracula could have used in a pinch. Both of the garments were caked with mud.

  She lifted her eyes to the surrounding areas. The mist had evaporated but the sky was still gray. Now and then the sun appeared in a cameo role, but it added little light and warmth. Three police dogs were sniffing out the mountainside. Ginger hadn’t liked the interlopers, had barked furiously and distracted the professionally trained canines from doing their jobs. Or so had complained their handlers. Decker had been forced to take her home, but not before recommending Ginger be cited for fine police work.

  It was after eleven in the morning, Davidson having taken three and a half hours to get all the papers in order. Marge still felt Tug was a schmuck, but at least he was responsive, immediately assigning Decker and her to the case and allotting them the needed hours. Davidson watched the lab men dig.

  “Don’t envy their job.”