"She's not mad enough to prevent you from going."
"That's because you're paying for my schooling." I gave out a nervous laugh. "Anything to save a buck."
"They'll get over it. Let me finish up."
He tousled my hair and went into the bedroom. I rubbed my hands together, then called out to him. He didn't answer. I went into his bedroom. His clothes were neatly piled on his floor shirts with shirts, pants with pants, jackets with jackets, and all of it color-coordinated.
"Chris?"
He kept his back to me. "What?"
"Did ..." I cleared my throat and tried again. "Did you ever keep a ... a playbill... from any of your concerts?"
Still in a crouch, he pivoted around. His eyes met mine and were expressionless. "A playbill?"
I laughed nervously. "Not a playbill." I hit my forehead. "I mean a program ... did you ever keep a program from ... from any of your cello performances?"
He stood, suddenly appearing enormous in bulk as well as height. Chris's beard was gone, but his head was still nearly shaven, reminding me of where he had been just a few days earlier.
"Why do you ask?"
"It's for my grandparents in Chicago . . . remember them?"
He didn't answer me.
"I told them you were this big-shot classical musician. I thought they might get a kick out of... seeing your name in print."
He stood as still as stone. "I stopped collecting them about two years ago. Just too many to bother with. I think I still have some old ones at my uncle's house. I'll try to dig a few up for you when we get back east, okay?"
I felt my heart racing. "But you do have them, right?"
"I'm pretty sure I kept a few of the early ones." He laughed, but his eyes remained dead. "Why is this so important to you?"
"I just want... to impress them. I want them to like me."
His eyes went gentle. "Terry, they'd have to be idiots not to like you."
I felt my emotions crumble. I burst into tears, burying my face in 363
my hands. He came over and drew me to his chest, shushing as he hugged me.
"It's going to be okay," he whispered. "Nothing is ever going to hurt us anymore, Terry." He kissed the top of my head, then caught my eyes. "You know why my uncle changed his mind?"
I didn't answer.
"'Cause he really, really likes you." Chris smiled. "He thinks you're beautiful, he thinks you're brilliant, and most important, he admires your loyalty. Course he'd never tell me that outright. Doesn't want to make me feel too secure. But I can tell. You know what he told me the other day?"
I shook my head.
"He said you'd make me good babies "
"What?" I laughed despite myself.
"'Cause you have big hips."
Again I giggled. "They're not that big."
"They're perfect!" Chris laughed with me. "They're beautiful. I just love to watch them move."
I looked away, embarrassed.
He brought my face back to his. "It's his dumb way of letting me know that he approves of you." He brushed hair out of my eyes. "And don't worry about the baby comment. My uncle's an old-fashioned guy, but I'm not. I know how important your education is to you. I'll put you through college ... through medical school, too. Set you up in practice if you want. Hell, I'll get my uncle to buy you an entire hospital "
"That's not necessary," I said.
"Terry, I'd do anything for you. All I ask is that you love me in return."
I nodded, wiping tears from my cheek.
Chris kissed my lips, then said, "I need to finish packing. You keep standing around me, looking so fine, I'm going to get distracted. Why don't you go and splash a little cold water on your cheeks, baby doll? It'll make you feel better."
"Good idea." I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him passionately. "I love you."
"I love you, too." He extricated himself from my grip. "Go freshen up."
I nodded and went to the bathroom. I turned on the faucet and let it run for a long time. Bathing my face in a baptism of tap water.
It felt good.
Thinking pure thoughts even as his seed swam inside my body. 364
Trying to block out sentences of newspaper print.
Drowning out the potency of the sergeant's words that rang in my brain.
Erasing old memories .. . Chris's beeper going off... leaving his apartment to return the call.
Wiping away new memories, too. The stench of burned leather that once was my old appointment book.
Because the dates matched and I didn't want to think about it.
When I came out of the bathroom, Chris wasn't in the bedroom. I found him leaning against the kitchen counter. My purse was open. He was reading the newspaper clippings that I had stashed in my wallet.
I stopped in my tracks. He looked at my face and held up the articles. "Where'd you get these?"
"Why .. . why were you looking through my purse?"
"You answer my question first.. . then I'll answer yours."
I stood mortified.
He said, "Okay, I'll go first. I went through your purse because you were acting funny and asking me strange questions. Now it's your turn."
I couldn't talk.
"Cat got your tongue?" he said playfully. He pocketed the clippings and sat on his carpet adjacent to his sleeping bag. He patted the spot next to him. I forced myself to walk over and sit. He put his arm around me. "I'm not mad. Just tell me where you got them."
"From..."
"Go ahead. From where?"
His voice was soft like a faraway echo.
"From Sergeant Decker."
"When did you see him?"
"About a week ago. He came to my house."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
My eyes started getting misty. "I don't know why."
"He spook you, Terry? Spook you about me? Truth now."
I paused, then nodded.
"Do you know why he did that?" Chris flipped hair from his eyes. "Because the prick hates my guts. This is his final revenge on me."
"He got you out of prison."
"No, you got that wrong, angel," Chris stated. "He got me out of prison to save his own ass. Because he screwed up the first time around. If he hadn't done something, my lawyers would have brought incompetency charges against him and sued the entire LAPD." 365
I looked down and said nothing.
"Did he tell you I had something to do with these murders?"
I started crying. Chris pulled me close. "Terry, I need you to tell me the truth. Did Decker tell you I had something to do with these murders?"
I blurted, "He just told me he thought it was funny that you were out here going to high school. And he thought that your cello gigs didn't make any sense "
"How did he know about my cello gigs?"
My voice got small. "I guess I told him about them. In the beginning. When he first interviewed me. Like why I tutored you... you know, to explain why you missed so much school."
"You talk a lot, don't you?"
I looked away and didn't answer.
Chris said, "We'll have to work on that. But first, I want you to listen carefully. Did he say anything about investigating these murders?"
"He said he didn't have any proof about... about who did them. That even if he... if he investigated them, he'd probably come up empty. Because these guys take care of each other."
Chris closed his eyes, then opened them. "Terry, look at me."
I did.
Chris crossed himself. "I swear to Jesus, I didn't have anything to do with this shit. Decker told you things to discredit me."
"But why would he do that?"
"I told you why. Because I fucked up his investigation by being innocent of Cheryl's murder. He had to go back and retrace his steps and hope that my lawyers didn't catch on. To save face, he tried to snow you with this garbage. And that's what it is, Terry. It's garbage!"
He fished the articles from his pocket and ripp
ed them to shreds.
"I don't kill people, Teresa. If we're going to make this thing work between us, you can't doubt me. Because I don't want to have to spend the rest of my life proving that I'm not Joseph Donatti."
I didn't react.
"Look at me, Terry."
Again, I looked at him.
"Do you believe me?"
I averted my eyes. He picked my head up. "Nuh-uh. You can't run away from me now. Do you believe me?"
"I... I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"Look at me, dammit! I went to prison for you!"
I looked at him, my eyes swollen with tears. "I know you did. I'm sorry, Chris. I'm sorry about everything."
"What does that mean?"
I looked away, stared at my lap, and couldn't speak.
Chris let out a soft laugh. "Oh .. . now I get it. You need another break from me, right? A temporary separation, right? Just like the first time you blew me off. I'm not perfect so that gives you a right to rip out my heart."
Anything I said would have angered him. We sat in utter silence, my eyes glued to my lap, until I heard something click. I looked his way. My mouth dropped open.
A gun in his hands. It must have been tucked away in his sleeping bag. He showed it to me, then pressed it against my temple.
I was trembling so hard, I bit my tongue. But Chris's hand was steady a flesh extension of his weapon. His face was as dead as if he were embalmed. He said, "They were bad men, Terry. You believe that, don't you?"
Icy rills were running down my cheeks. I felt faint, but managed to keep conscious.
"Answer me," Chris said, quietly.
"Yes, I believe you."
"Very bad men dealers, murderers, extortionists. Got in my uncle's way. Just . .. bad men killing bad men. No concern of yours .. . unless you get in the way."
Chris's voice turned very soft.
"I'm not stupid, Terry. I know you don't believe a word I say. And you shouldn't, because I'm a pathological liar. All you had to do was fake it... minimally fake it. Why didn't you do it?"
I hugged myself to prevent the spasms from overtaking me.
"You hurt my feelings," Chris said.
"I'm ... sorry," I whispered.
"I'm sure you're very sorry now. Look at me."
I did, the gun moving from my temple to between my eyes.
His eyes were red and moist. "Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you. I love you too much. Except right now I hate you an awful lot. You know why, don't you?"
I nodded.
"You keep quiet about all this, you hear me?"
"Yes."
"Very quiet. You talk, you're dead. Understand?"
Slowly, Chris lowered the firearm and rested it on his lap. My eyes stealing a glance at the hunk of metal, shocked to see such a little weapon, almost comical-looking because the barrel seemed to be wrapped with Brillo. Looking at the ceiling, he said, "Let me ask you a philosophical question."
I waited.
"Suppose you have a pit bull a good specimen. Strong, quick, and a real fast learner. Suppose it gets in the hands of the wrong owner. If it listens, it gets rewarded. If it doesn't, it gets the shit kicked out of it. The owner teaches it to attack. And it attacks. And it does it real well. Matter of fact, it gets rewarded big time because it does it so well. Is it the dog's fault he's like that?"
"No."
"Terry, I'm not going to hurt you. Answer me honestly! Is it the dog's fault?"
No, it isn't the dog's fault. Still, it's a vicious animal and should be destroyed. I said, "We're people, Chris. We can walk away."
"Not true," he said. "Just maybe ... maybe I could hide from my uncle. But I could never hide from the entire organization. I'm stuck." He looked at me. "Do you see that?"
I told him I understood, praying the pit bull wouldn't turn on me.
"God, how I love you," he whispered. "Love you enough to give you a head start. So get out of here, Terry. Run out of here! And don't let me ever see your face again. Because if I do, I swear to Jesus, I'll blow your head off and give you a mirror to watch."
Slowly, I stood up on shaky knees and managed to get to his door. I opened it, was about to leave. Instead, I turned to him. "You didn't kill Cheryl Diggs, did you?"
In a flash, Chris fired off shots in my direction soft, zvitt sounds that sent clouds of steel wool in the air and made me jump and gasp. Two bullets flew over my left shoulder, two over my right. All of them hit the wall, but left me quivering. I almost dropped to the floor. But some inner strength kept me upright.
"Perfect double taps." Chris smiled eerily. "I'm a real pro. Don't work unless I get paid. And I didn't get paid with Cheryl." He clicked the gun. "Next set won't miss, Teresa. Go before I change my mind and never let you go."
I closed the door and ran all the way home.
The autumn flower arrangement practically covered his desk, the card in it congratulating Decker on his new promotion. The entire squad room had signed it, but he knew that Marge was behind the whole thing.
He started unpacking, settling himself into his new office. His official duties would begin five days from now, on Halloween. He had considered coming to work dressed up in costume but a) Halloween wasn't a Jewish holiday, b) dressing in costume wasn't him, and c) with his new position, he already felt like an imposter.
Because along with the position came the title Lieutenant Decker.
The one thing he would sorely miss was working in the field every day with Marge. Not that he couldn't work with her directly on the big cases actually, he could work with anyone on any cases he wanted but that wasn't his main job anymore.
Everything that went down in the Detectives department was now his responsibility. Being the kind of person he was, he knew that would mean a major personality adjustment. His obsessive nature made him focus on detail. One of the reasons he was such a good detective. Rarely was something overlooked.
Now he'd have to approach everything with a broader outlook, a bigger lens. But that was okay with him.
Because nothing ever stayed the same.
First thing up was the picture of the wife and kids. He smiled at Rina's face, wondered how she'd put up with his miserable moodiness 369
the last couple of months. Ah, well, maybe the increase in his paycheck would make up in part for his grumpiness.
Next came the picture of the boys riding bareback in the woods, followed by a snapshot of Hannah on her swing. Lastly, Cindy's senior picture. She had moved back to the campus dorm. Last time Decker had spoken to her she had sounded depressed. Things hadn't worked out between her and the boy. So she'd be going it alone for a while longer.
Alone.
Nothing new on the shopping-bag rapist. The bastard had taken his own summer break. Every time Decker talked to his daughter, he reminded her that the madman was still out there, lurking around, just waiting .. . waiting. By now, Cindy was probably growing weary of the lectures. But Decker wouldn't ever let up until the bastard was caught.
Someone knocked.
"Door's open," Decker said aloud, arranging the pictures on his desk.
Wanda Bontemps stepped inside his new office. She was dressed in civies a gray suit offset by a white blouse with a frilly collar. She wore makeup and had had her hair done.
"Have a seat," Decker said. "You don't mind if I keep unpacking, do you?"
"Not at all." She regarded his working space, looked at the empty walls. Then she sat in one of the two folding chairs. "I just stopped by to congratulate you on your promotion."
Decker stopped working and smiled. "Well, that was nice of you."
The room went quiet.
Wanda said, "I got a promotion myself Detectives."
Decker offered her a handshake. "Congratulations."
"Thank you. You didn't know about it?"
"May have heard something floating around. Anyway, that's great. Good luck!"
"It's in Van Nuys."
"Quite a commu
te for you."
"Yes, but that's okay. That's where the opening was."
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