Street Dreams

by Street Dreams

  “You aren’t going there, right?” Before I could answer, she said, “Cin, you need to go home and sleep.”

  “You too.”

  “No problem. I’m going home. You do the same. That’s an order.” We hugged. She said, “Breakfast on Wednesday?”

  “How about Thursday?” I countered for no good reason.

  “Thursday is perfect.”

  I smiled, then got out of the car. After settling myself in my Lexus and placing the phone in the built-in recharge cradle, I put in a call to Koby’s cell.

  I got his voice mail.

  I left a brief message.

  Next I tried the hospital. I was transferred about ten times and finally wound up talking to Marnie, the pixie nurse I had met the first time I had visited Sarah’s baby. She knew about the accident and asked me if I was okay. I told her I was.

  There was an awkward pause.

  “He’s in the ICU,” she told me. “Been there for a while. Maybe I can help you with something?”

  Tension in her voice. It could have come from dealing with the horror of the accident, but the tightness told me it was probably more personal. That I was bugging her because I was bugging Koby.

  “No . . . just tell him I called.”

  “I will, Officer. Good-bye.”

  She hung up before I could thank her.

  I made it home by nine, then called Louise Sanders to cancel our lunch date at the precinct. She wasn’t in, but I left a message on her cell. Then after setting the alarm for one-thirty, I went to bed. The buzzer did its magic at the appointed time, and I was showered, dressed, and ready to go by two. There were messages on my answering machine from that morning. Three from my father, one from Hayley, and even one from Scott, his being two words—“Let’s talk.”

  I’d deal with my messages later.

  There was nothing from Koby.

  I called his cell, but it was still on voice mail.

  I called his house. He wasn’t home or he wasn’t picking up. This time, I left a message. I told him how proud I was of him. I told him I was okay and hoped he was okay as well. I was still shaken but otherwise fine. Then I hung up.

  The ball was in his court. Tired and grumpy, I went to work.

  ∇

  It took some dogged determination, but I managed to catch up with Russ MacGregor while I was on break and he was in the squad room, working the phones before he went out on his next field call. The hit-and-run had given me some clout since I had reacted quickly and according to protocol. But Russ was far from generous. I had fifteen minutes to state my case.

  Three things were on my mind: Sarah Sanders’s rape, locating the missing David, who was possibly the father of Sarah’s baby, and now the hit-and-run. I knew my limitations, and so did Russ. Still, I made a stab at it, trying to tie everything together. Russ was dubious.

  “What in the world does this hit-and-run have to do with Sarah Sanders and an abandoned baby?”

  “Maybe Belinda Syracuse knew something about Sarah’s rape. Girls do talk, you know. And maybe Belinda was murdered because of it.”

  “Number one, Decker, you don’t even know if this rape is real or not. Number two, if you think Belinda’s death was related to Sarah Sanders’s alleged rape, why wait months before bumping Belinda off, and number three, if these cases are connected, why is Belinda dead and Sarah Sanders alive and well?”

  I had no answer, so I ignored the questions. “I think we should explore the possibilities.”

  “Are you deaf? They had nothing to do with one another.”

  “Freaky coincidence?”

  “It happens, Decker. Anything else?”

  He was already walking away, the vents of his navy jacket flapping behind him. I said, “Nice suit.”

  Russ slowed. “Thanks.” He stopped, then suddenly eyed me like a man. Then he thought better of it. “Decker, you did a good job. Everyone has taken note. Now leave the hit-and-run investigation to Homicide.”

  “That’s not what I’m interested in.”

  “Dare I ask what youare interested in?”

  “Finding the most likely candidate for the father of Sarah Sanders’s child. My vote is a boy named David, who also lived at the center.”

  “The one who was supposedly beaten up.”

  “Whysupposedly? Why would Sarah lie?”

  “Because she abandoned her baby and is in big trouble. She’s facing a reckless-disregard charge.”

  “Her mental condition is perfect for a mitigating-circumstances plea.”

  “But maybe she’s also aiming for the sympathy plea. You have no idea if this rape and mugging are figments or are real.”

  “So let me find out.”

  “Decker, it happened months ago. It’s old news.”

  “And that makes the crime any less horrific?” How could MacGregor respond to that? “It would be nice to find the guy . . . to make sure he’s all right.”

  “When are you planning to do this, Sherlock?”

  “I don’t start work until three tomorrow.”

  “So you’re doing it on your own time? Why you buggin’ me about it?”

  “I make it a point not to step on toes.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Drop by the center, but give it a day or two. I heard from Justice Brill—the Homicide detective in charge of Syracuse’s hit-and-run—that the place is pretty much up to their eyeballs right now, dealing with Belinda’s death.”

  “I can identify with that.”

  MacGregor must have seen something in my weary face. “You need some rest, Decker. Do you a lot more good than chasing down a half-baked memory.” He shook his head. “All right. But like I said, wait a day or two. You gotta think about priorities.”

  “Of course. Thanks, Russ. Really.” I cleared my throat. “Sarah Sanders is willing to come in and make a statement about the rape.”

  He sneered. “Your idea?”

  “How about tomorrow around noon?Please?”

  Again he eyed me. Then he gave me the “smile.” I pretended to be looking the other way. When we reestablished eye contact, it was gone. “Yeah, okay.”

  “You’re a peach, Detective.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass, Decker.”

  “Don’t be mad. If I find something out, you’ll get all the credit.” On that positive note, I gave him a thumbs-up and walked away.

  ∇

  When I got home, there were two new messages—another one from Dad, and another from Hayley. I picked up the phone but thought better of it.

  Instead, I turned on my computer and checked my e-mail. I saw his screen name sandwiched between an AOL discount special andLOW-RATE MORTGAGES FROM HOUSE EQUITY FUNDING . I wasn’t wild about electronic communication, but I was the one who had started it. I clicked on it.

  Dear Cindy,

  Doing a double shift. That is good. Better than thinking about the accident. Call you later.

  Love, Koby

  It was a rather curt e-mail, especially compared to my gushing phone calls. But he was probably dealing with life-and-death issues and didn’t have time for the niceties. So I wrote him back, again telling him how impressed I was with his swiftness of action. I wasn’t quite as effusive, but I was complimentary.

  Maybe it would make him smile.

  Maybe it would induce him to call.

  22

  This time,Decker was late. From down the aisle, he saw her in the corner booth, sipping coffee while reading the paper. From this distance, she looked so young and vulnerable. Maybe he just perceived her that way because she was his daughter. He took a deep breath, his heart skipping in his chest, and slapped a smile on his face. He slid into the booth on the opposite side.

  “Sorry. Bad traffic.”

  Cindy put the paper down and squeezed her father’s hand. “It’s fine. Just relaxing.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It’s rare these days.”

  “You’ve been busy?”

  “Always.�
�

  “How’s Koby?” Decker asked.

  “Fine.”

  Immediately, he heard the catch in her throat. Feeling like an idiot, he quickly changed the subject. “Well, our Tuesday breakfast is turning out to be a ritual.”

  “One that I like,” Cindy stated.

  She was somber. That made him feel real low. One of these days, he’d disconnect from his kids. His heart felt heavy. “You doing okay, sweetheart? Must have been pretty traumatic witnessing the accident.”

  She started to talk, thought better, and answered him with a nod.

  “Traffic accidents in general are horrible. One of my most vivid memories in police work is a bad accident from twenty years ago. Just . . .”

  Cindy regarded her father’s pained expression. “Did you witness it?”

  “No . . .” Decker exhaled. “No, just the first unit to arrive at the scene. That was horrible enough. I couldn’t even imagine seeing it unfold. I don’t understand how you can be working.” He held up a finger to the waitress for coffee. “You’re much stronger than I am.”

  “I don’t think so, Dad.”

  “Oh, yes you are. I’d be a basket case.”

  “Daddy, I havenever known you once to be a basket case.”

  “Then I did my job as a parent and hid it well.”

  That gave Cindy pause. He must have handled hundreds of stressful cases over his career. And yet, except for the last few months, he had always seemed so placid.

  “How areyou doing?” Cindy asked.

  “All right.”

  The waitress came over with the coffee. “Are you ready to order?”

  Cindy ordered toast, fruit, and more coffee; Decker made it times two. They sipped weak brew and smiled uncomfortably.

  “We’re dancing around each other,” Cindy told him. “You’re not so good and neither am I.”

  Decker held out his hand to her. “Can I help?”

  “No,” Cindy answered. “Can I help?”

  “Absolutely not.” Decker patted her hand, then pulled away. “And even if you could, I’d say no. Parents take care of the kids, not the other way around.”

  “Will you ever stop thinking of me as your daughter?”

  “Probably not. So tell me what’s on your mind.”

  “I have lots on my mind. That’s why I have a therapist.”

  Decker smiled. “I’m glad you’re still seeing someone. Rina tells me I need one.”

  Cindy’s shrug was noncommittal.

  “What do you think?”

  She laughed. “You’re asking my opinion?”

  “Yes, I am. I value your opinion. How’s your experience been with a shrink?”

  She didn’t know if her father was patronizing her—trying to make her feel better—but she continued on the assumption that he wasn’t. “It’s good, Dad. You get to unburden yourself without burdening other people. I don’t like to spill my emotional guts. We’re more alike than you think.”

  “I’d be honored to be like you.”

  Cindy’s laugh was mirthless. “Man oh man, you must really think I’m bad off to be actingthis nice.”

  Decker laughed. “Okay. Now you’re sounding familiar. I feel better.”

  “So, Loo, how do you feel about talking business?”

  “It’s better than getting all weepy.”

  “Exactly. So let me tell you what I found out and you tell me if I’m thinking straight or what.” Cindy recapped her discussion with Russ MacGregor, mainly her thoughts about the two cases—Belinda Syracuse’s hit-and-run, and Sarah Sanders’s rape—and how they might be related. By the time she was done, the food had come.

  Decker buttered his toast. “As much as I’d like to agree with you, Cin, I think I’m going with MacGregor on this one.”

  “That they have nothing to do with one another,” Cindy stated.

  Decker took a bite and nodded. “You don’t even know if the hit-and-run was intentional or not. Have they even found the car?”

  “I don’t think so, no.”

  “Okay . . .” Decker polished off a piece of toast. He was hungry this morning. “Even if we assume that the hit-and-run was intentional, why would the two cases be related?”

  “Maybe Belinda knew something about Sarah Sanders’s rape?”

  “So why would someone bother to murder her now instead of six months ago?”

  “That’s just what Russ said.”

  “I’m not surprised. Care to answer the question?”

  Of course, she didn’t have an answer. “I haven’t thought it all the way through. Don’t want to talk prematurely.”

  Decker spooned fruit into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed. “Good stall tactic. I’ve used it myself. Find another link, Cin. In the meantime, why don’t you wait until the SUV turns up before you continue on? I’m sure you have better things to do with your time.”

  “Not really.”

  “Should I ask?”

  “Nah, just feeling a bit blue. It’ll pass.”

  Decker didn’t dare intrude. She’d just bite his head off. “Get a hobby, Princess. Didn’t you once want to make ceramics or something?”

  “That was in tenth grade, Daddy.”

  “See, I listen.”

  Cindy smiled. “I still intend to go back to the Fordham Communal Center. I want to find out about Sarah Sanders’s boyfriend.”

  “This guy David.”

  She nodded.

  “Who might be dead.”

  “He might also be alive.”

  “And MacGregor’s okay with that?”

  “Yes, Father, he is.”

  “So let me know what you come up with.”

  “I will. Any suggestions?”

  “Same ones that you used when you were looking for Sarah—shelters, halfway houses, drunk tanks, flophouses, homeless camps. It’s not fun work, Cindy. Sure you wouldn’t rather throw clay onto a wheel?”

  She tossed a small piece of apple at him. “I don’t mind going back to the center. At least, Oliver won’t be standing over my shoulder this time.”

  Decker tried to sound casual. “He give you a hard time?”

  “Oliver’s Oliver. But he let me handle it.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Actually, it was. He’s a jerk but a good detective. No complaints.”

  But Decker still sensed how unhappy she was. Probably the effects of witnessing something so traumatic. It blunted the senses for a while. For her, it also revived horrid memories from not too long ago. And who knew what it did to Koby, sticking his hands in all that blood and muck? Decker guessed that they were probably not offering each other too much in the way of mutual support.

  Cindy saw the concern on his face. “I have an appointment with my therapist tomorrow. I’m sending you the bill. So stop worrying about me, all right?”

  “I’m getting the bill?” Decker frowned. “How much does he charge?”

  Cindy rolled her eyes. “First off, it’s a she. Second, I’m kidding. The Department is paying. It was part of the settlement. ‘Go to anyone, Cin, just so long as you don’t sue our asses off.’ ”

  Decker smiled.

  “I’ll be fine, Daddy. It just takes time.”

  Decker took her hand and squeezed it. “I’m an impatient man when it comes to my kids. I love you, Princess.”

  “I love you, too.” Her first thought was to steer the conversation back to work. Then she realized that’s exactly what her father would have done.

  “I’m very proud of you,” Decker blurted out.

  Cindy felt a lump in her throat. “Thank you, Daddy. That means so much to me.”

  “I’m proud,” Decker reiterated, “but I have a confession to make. I’m very angry with you for joining the police.”

  “Lordy-Lord, what a shock.”

  “I know I’ve said it before. But this is the new part. After I got the news of the accident, my stomach was in an absolute knot. And then it hit me. I was not only angry for what y
ou put me through by joining the academy, I was angry withmyself for all the aggravation that I put my own family through—including your mother. I’ve gained a little insight and it isn’t pretty. I think I may have actuallywronged your mom.”

  “Mom knew that it went with the territory.”

  “No, Cindy, I blindsided her. She thought I was going to become this nice liberal, upper-class tax lawyer. Going back into police enforcement wasn’t on the agenda.”

  “But you were unhappy as a lawyer.”

  “I was, but she wasn’t. I must have put her through hell on so many different levels. First off, I made much less money. Then I worried her to death. Also, I was never home. I’m getting paid back for my transgressions.”

  “If you consider doing your job a sin.”

  “Neglecting her and you was wrong.” He took his daughter’s hand. “I want to thank you for not holding it against me.”

  “You did the best you could, Daddy. That’s all that we can ever ask.”

  “In some ways, Cin, you are so much more mature than I am.”

  Cindy choked on her words. “You know how to make a girl feel good.”

  “I’m reckless when it comes to myself, but a worrywart when it comes to my family. It’s hypocritical, but I’m too old to change.”

  “I don’t want you to change. I think you’re terrific.”

  “Cindy, I am so honored to be your father!”

  “Thank you.” Her eyes started to water. Spontaneously, she leaned over the table and kissed his cheek. “Do me a favor, Pops. Hold that thought the next time you get frustrated with me.”

  23

  There was no love lostbetween Buck the bureaucrat and me, and tragedy did not bring us closer together. He was as obnoxious as ever, wearing a black turtleneck and jeans. His hands fluttered as he growled out the words.

  “We’re rather busy, Officer. Our secretary is out, and we’ve had some bad news.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Then perhaps you can come back tomorrow with your pesky little questions.”

  As he started to close the door on me, I pushed my way in. “Please get Mr. Klinghoffner for me, Buck.”