by Stone Kiss
“I’m a very good friend of Chief Merrin’s,” Decker persisted.
“I’m glad to hear that, sir, but that’s completely irrelevant—other than the ten-percent discount. Which I’m happy to extend to you for any of our massage therapists.”
“So that’s what they’re calling themselves nowadays.”
Abruptly, her eyes turned gelid, a very familiar expression, though he couldn’t quite place it. And then, in a flash, it came to him—that “Of course, you idiot” sudden brand of insight that made you want to hit your forehead. He smiled slightly, giving her a superior look. “And what would you do… if I told you that C.D. sent me?”
A red wash permeated her cheeks. Again a glimpse behind her back. “ID, please?”
Decker took out his driver’s license. She took it, got up, and locked the front door, hair brushing over her shoulders as she walked. She wore a black leather miniskirt and spiked heels. He watched her rear sway as she disappeared behind the panel-hidden cubby. Five minutes later, she returned. Without a word, she took Decker’s hand, leading him up the stairs. Her expression had turned blank, not a hint of defiance. There was no eye contact this time. Some mysterious, hidden voice had told her to behave. Failure to do so would have serious repercussions.
32
The suite was at the end of a long, narrow hallway, up two steps and facing the back of the building. Dark and musty, it held yards and yards of draped cloth over the windows and hanging from the ceilings: rich fabric in oxblood velvets and ruby satins. Between the textiles were mirrors—on the walls and on the ceiling. The bed was king size, dressed in gold silk and layered with pillow upon pillow. A crystal chandelier threw disco light over a bedspread vaguely redolent of cigarette smoke and perfume. So prototypical whorehouse, it could have been a movie set. The blonde went over to a mirror and bent down, showing off a nice, tight rear. She pushed in a panel, and a cubby opened up. She took out a portable phone and stood up, extending it to Decker.
“He wants to talk to you.”
Decker paused, then took the receiver. “Thank you.”
She sat down, perched on the edge of the bed. The mattress undulated. How neat! Decker thought. He and Jan had had a water bed during the 1960s when that kind of thing was ultracool. They had to give it away because it had killed his back.
He pushed the talk button. “Decker.”
“Lay off Merrin. He’s a gold mine for me—him and you Jew boys. You kikes are a real horny lot, you know that.”
It took Decker a few minutes to integrate Donatti’s words. “I take it this is a protected phone?”
“I do my best, but nothing’s guaranteed. You talk on any line, you take your chances.”
“You don’t seem concerned.”
“Why should I be concerned? What’s wrong with calling up a massage parlor? I’m not known for my high-class taste.”
“You own the place.”
“Me? I don’t own anything like that. Can’t get a license being a convicted felon. Terry, on the other hand… now there is one rich lady. She owns a string of them.”
“Does she know?”
“She would if she’d bother to read her tax return. You know Terry… lives in her head. As it stands, I do the accounting: She’s happy just to sign on the dotted line. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. Massages are very good tension relievers.”
“You know, Donatti, I see lots of velvet and mirrors here. A big mother water bed. But no massage table.”
“The clients like atmosphere. And if you look in the bathrooms, you’ll see we have lots and lots of oil.”
“What do you know about him? Merrin?”
“Not much except that he likes his massages. He brings in other clients who like massages. Because he’s such a good referral source, the place gives him deep discounts. All the masseuses are over eighteen, by the way.”
“Comforting,” Decker replied. “I don’t think Merrin likes me.”
“Could be, Decker. I don’t like you, either.”
“What else do you know about Merrin?”
“You know, I’m big on delegating. Jen would know more about the locals.”
“The comely blonde in reception.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“Mind if I ask her a couple of questions?”
“You can ask. I don’t know what she’ll tell you, even though I’ve instructed her to be very, very nice to you—a big concession because her pussy retired three years ago.”
“I don’t want sex, Donatti; I want answers.”
“Sex is always the answer, Lieutenant.”
The line went dead.
Decker handed the phone back to Jen. She took it, stowed it, and sat down on the mattress, patting it for him to sit down. He sat, setting off a tidal wave. Her hand went to his knee. Her voice was a siren’s whisper. “What can I do for you?”
He took her hand away from his thigh. “Probably nothing if Donatti shut you up.” He stood and leaned against the wall. She came up from behind and slipped her hands around his waist, pressing her body against his back. It felt nice, but he shook her off. “I’m married. I don’t cheat. Don’t touch me, all right?”
He turned around, facing her puzzled—and slightly wounded— blue eyes. “What? Did he tell you to seduce me? He’s playing games. He knows I don’t do that kind of stuff. Sit down.”
She retreated to the bed and sat down with her hands in her lap, as obedient as a schoolgirl.
“Do you live in Quinton?” Decker asked her.
“Rosehill.”
“Where’s that?”
“About ten miles east of Bainberry.”
“Separated by woods?”
She nodded.
“What’s this area? Like a series of little townships?”
“Exactly.”
“And why did you choose to settle in Rosehill? Did he set you up there?”
“My husband’s practice is in Rosehill.”
“Your husband.”
“Yes.”
“What does your husband do?”
“He’s a physician. Family medicine. He’s been in Rosehill for over thirty years.”
“Thirty years.”
“Yes.”
“He’s quite a bit older than you?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t mean to imply anything negative about that. I’m much older than my wife… well, not that much older.” Decker began to pace. “Does your husband know what you do?”
She regarded him defiantly. “What I do is secretarial work. Nothing more.”
“A few moments ago you were willing to do more.”
Her eyes were steel. “Doing an old friend a favor, that’s all.”
Decker stopped and rubbed his forehead. “You know a girl from Quinton was murdered about five days ago.”
“Yes. Down in New Jersey. A shame.”
“She was fifteen years old.”
“A terrible shame.”
“You get clients from Quinton?”
“Sure.”
“The Jews come in?”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever serviced a man named Chaim Lieber?”
“We keep our clients’ names private. People expect that, you know? But since you seem to have a… personal relationship with Mr. Donatti, I’ll answer the question.”
“Thank you.”
“No.”
“A big buildup for a letdown.” Decker laughed. “He never came in… Chaim Lieber.”
“No.”
“What about his brother?”
“Who’s his brother?”
“Ephraim Lieber?”
Again she shook her head no.
“Merrin comes in here a lot.”
She grew quiet.
“Nice man?”
“He’s always been polite.”
“Good to hear.” Decker began to pace again. This was getting nowhere. “Let me ask you this, Jen. If I wanted to fly a little, where wou
ld I go?”
Her smile was patronizing. “To the airport.”
“Very funny. Could you answer the question?”
“I wouldn’t know. This is a spa, not a rave.”
“A spa?”
“We have a steam bath. Are you interested?”
“No, I’ve been wet enough for one day, thank you.” Again Decker tried to change tactics. “So you get some Quinton people in here.”
“Yes.”
“Men who like their privacy.”
“Yes.”
“Probably get some boys in here, too. You know, horny kids looking for some action.”
“All our clients are over eighteen.”
“You card the ones who look underage?”
“Of course. We don’t want problems.”
“Merrin get a kickback for looking the other way?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant.”
First time she had used his title. Donatti must have told her.
“You get some bad boys in here, Jen?”
“We get all types of men. But if they want a massage, they mind their p’s and q’s.”
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere. C’mon, Decker. You’re a professional, for God’s sake.
He remembered Donatti’s words for snagging the girls: “tea and sympathy.” How many times had he used that approach with juveniles himself? He sat down on the floor, his legs extended outward, back against the bed. He tapped the carpet, indicating for her to sit next to him. She followed dutifully, tucking her legs under one another, her spine straight up. He kept his eyes on her stoic face, dropping his voice to something soft and soothing. “How old are you, Jen?”
“Twenty-one.”
“Twenty-one.”
“Yes.”
“My daughter’s twenty-five.”
“Really. You don’t look that old.”
He smiled. “I also have another daughter…from my second wife. The one who’s much younger than I am. That daughter… she’s nine going on thirty.”
Jen smiled.
“Do you have children?” Decker asked her.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Two.”
“How old?”
She swallowed. “Six and one.”
“Boys? Girls?”
“A girl and a boy.”
“The oldest is a girl?”
She nodded.
“That’s great.” Decker smiled. “Six is a wonderful age, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” She stared at her lap. Her black leather miniskirt barely covered her panties. “Yes, it is.”
“So full of life… so full of trust and curiosity.” He sat back, laced his hands behind his neck, and stretched. Then he pitched forward, a concerned expression in his eyes. “I worry about my little one. It’s hard growing up in this day and age, especially because we’ve seen terrible things. Talking professionally, I’ve seen many, many bad things up close. Not too encouraging.”
She said nothing.
“All these bad boys, these… evil people that I arrest. It jades my perspective. I worry that my… my negativity will rub off on her. But you know what?”
“What?” she whispered.
“It doesn’t. Kids are remarkably resilient. Don’t you find that to be the case?”
Her eyes clouded. “Sometimes.”
“Well, look at your own little girl. And look at you. I mean, it couldn’t have been easy having a kid at fifteen. But look how you’re doing. You’ve got a good job. A husband who probably loves you very much… right?”
“Right.”
“Two beautiful children. Great fun, huh?”
She nodded.
“Yes, indeed. Just look how well you’re doing. You’ve got a lot to be proud of. I’m sure you’re a real role model for your daughter.”
She turned her head away. Her eyes had become wet. “That was nasty.”
“What?” Decker threw his arm around her. “My God, what’s wrong? What did I say?”
Burning eyes lit into his. “Nothing…”
“Nothing? You’re as pissed as hell. I’m sorry. What did I say?”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“I’m sorry. Honestly. Tell me what I said?”
She wiped her tears with her fingers. “Nothing.” Then she hid her face in her hands. “Nothing at all.”
“Man, Donatti’s going to get mad when he finds out I’ve upset you.”
“Oh God!” Panic crossed her eyes. “I’m so sorry—”
“Sorry for what? I offended you!”
“No, you didn’t! You didn’t at all.”
“You’re afraid of him—Donatti?”
“No, not at all.”
“Come on, Jen. It’s okay. Is he… hurting you at all?”
“Of course not!”
Decker watched her as she sniffed and wiped her face, her eyes redder but softer. “Your daughter?” he asked. “Is she Donatti’s kid?”
She laughed through her tears. “No.” A pause. “I wish to God she was his.”
Decker nodded. “Some jerk took advantage of you, huh?”
She was still furious, but fear made her answer him politely. “My sister’s husband.”
“Oh God…” Decker sighed. It was heartfelt. He leaned back and inched away from her. “I did a lot of Juvenile before I transferred to Homicide. You do Juvie, you deal with lots of sex crimes involving minors. That’s what it was, Jen. A sex crime. Because at fourteen, it certainly wasn’t anything you did. It was all about what he did. And what he did… was a sex crime.”
The tears going full force.
“They’re all the same… all of them.” Decker raked his hands through his hair. “They’re all monsters.” Another sigh. “Raping your wife’s fourteen-year-old kid sister. It doesn’t get any lower than that.”
No one spoke.
“Yes, it does,” she whispered. “It does get lower.”
Decker waited.
“No one believed me. My sister…” Jen clasped her shaking hands. “She called me a lying little slut. My father beat me. My mother stood by and didn’t do anything. They put my daughter in a foster home. When they tried to force me to sign papers… putting her up for adoption…I ran away.”
“What a mess! I am so sorry.”
“Mr. Donatti… he took me in. He—” She was choking back sobs. “He introduced me to my… to my husband. He… he was one of Mr. Donatti’s clients.” She wiped her face. “My husband…he proposed to me on my eighteenth birthday. Mr. Donatti told me to go for it… to marry him. He told me that he’d take care of me. And he does… my husband takes good care…” Another sniff. “He takes very good care of me. He loves me very much.”
“I’m sure he does, Jen. Who wouldn’t love you?”
She tried to stem her weeping. “My husband… he helped me get her back—helped me get my daughter from her foster parents. He paid for the lawyer; he paid for everything.” Again she broke into tears. “Oh God, I’m so stupid.”
“Hey, it’s okay.”
“No, it’s not! When Mr. Donatti finds out—”
“He won’t find out because neither one of us is going to tell him.”
She looked away and sobbed out, “He’ll find out!”
“So big effing deal!” Decker took her chin and turned her face to his. He looked her in the eye. “I’ll handle Donatti, all right?”
She didn’t answer.
Decker let go of her face, riding out her crying. Finally, after it had subsided, he said, “Jen, that Quinton girl I was telling you about? The one who was murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know her at all?”
“No.” She sighed a sob and shuddered. “Just what I read in the papers.”
“That’s why I’m here. To find out who killed her.”
She didn’t comment.
“She was only fifteen, Jen. Just like you when you gave birth. Only she never had
a chance to redeem herself—like you did.”
“I haven’t really redeemed myself. Working day in and day out with ugly men and perverts leering at my boobs and butt, trying to grab a piece of my snatch.”
“You look like you can handle yourself very well.”
“I hate it!”
“Then why don’t you quit?”
She couldn’t look at him. “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
“He won’t let you?”
“No, not at all. I don’t think he’d care. He’s got others to take my place. And this is actually a paying job.”
“Unlike the other assignments he’s given you?”
“Mr. Donatti has been nothing but wonderful to me.”
Staunchly loyal. Go figure. Decker said, “Then why don’t you quit?”
“You’ll think I’m horrible.”
“Nah, I’ve heard it all.”
She didn’t answer.
“Hey, try me!”
She sighed. “I love my husband, I really do. But he’s fifty-six, Lieutenant. And he’s not a healthy fifty-six at that. He’s had a difficult life. His first wife died after a ten-year battle with breast cancer. He has chronic heart problems… high blood pressure. We don’t do too much… obviously, we do something. We have a son. But it’s not… you know. And after what I’ve gone through… that’s really okay with me. But still, there are times…” A pause. “Mr. Donatti… he comes here occasionally… to check up on what’s going on. He’s… he’s a good-looking guy. I’m still young, you know.”
Her eyes begged to be understood.
Decker smiled. “Got it.”
Her voice got tiny. “It’s just that I feel comfortable with him. Protected. I know he uses me—that’s what those guys do—but he’s been okay about it.” Silence. “Not a lot of choices for a fifteen-year-old on the streets. I’ve heard some real horror stories. I turned out okay considering…”
No one spoke.
“We’re not that different, you know—me and Mr. Donatti. I’m a user, too.”
Meaning her husband. Decker said, “I understand what it is to feel… indebted. I’ve got a few buds like that myself. One of them… helped me out in Vietnam. Saved my life actually. No matter what he does to screw himself up, I always feel obligated to pull him out of the muck.”