Street Dreams

by Street Dreams

  “Henry’s not dead meat.”

  “Henry is two months from retirement. When was the last time he put himself on the line?”

  Justice frowned. “I don’t want you. You’re too damn impetuous. You need to slow down.”

  “So be my rabbi, Justice.” I sighed. “Forget it. We’d better get back to El Paso.”

  “Yeah, we’ve been gone so long, he probably thinks we’re doing it.” He smiled. “There’s still time.”

  I held in a scream. “Brill, stop trying to get play. I’ve got a very serious boyfriend; you’ve got a wife; let’s both be constructive, all right?”

  He continued to stare at me.

  “You want me to partner with you. I’m dying to do it. But if I have to worry about this kind of garbage, I’m going to ask for a transfer. And then they’ll ask why.”

  He thought about it and shrugged. “You still owe me.”

  “I know, I know. . . .” I patted his shoulder. “Patience, Brill. The time will come. It always does. Shall we get a move on?”

  He pointed to the door. “Ladies first.”

  I went first.

  It was nice to know that chivalry wasn’t dead. It just had been redefined.

  43

  As summer waned,bleeding out the last bits of extended daylight, I found that time took on an urgency of purpose, all the pressure self-imposed, of course, because no one was rushing me to the next step. But there I was on the threshold, one foot in the air, ready to cross the line. When I pulled up at my father’s house that radiant Sunday morning, I still had reservations. Someone, please tell me what important decisions were ever made easily?

  He answered the door, a surprised look on his face. “Hi, baby. Did you tell me you were coming?”

  “Nope. This is a pop-in, one of those times I get to catch you in dirty clothes and in need of a shave.”

  He stroked his chin. “The shave, yes; the clothes are clean. Come in, honey.”

  Dad was in a white T-shirt and jeans. I wore white cotton pants and a deep green blouse—the type of outfit that could be for business or pleasure. I continued to stand outside. “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine.” He was perplexed. “Any reason you’re still at the door?”

  “How about we take a walk?”

  My father’s expression turned more quizzical. “If you want privacy, I’m the only one home.”

  “In that case . . .” I came into the living room—quiet and peaceful. “Where is everyone?”

  “Rina and the kids went to an Israel rally in town.”

  “And you?”

  “What can I say? My Zionistic fervor can’t compete with Sunday baseball.” He smiled. “Sometimes I just need to do something mindless. Let someone else handle the strategy while I criticize.”

  “Boy, do I know that feeling. You work hard, Dad, you’re entitled.”

  The Loo studied my face. “Cindy, you look bothered. Is everything all right?”

  “Great. I haven’t had a street dream in two months. Pretty good, no?”

  Decker frowned. “Very good, except I didn’t know you were having them.”

  “Well, they’re gone, so why worry you?” I smiled. “No feedback yet on my application to Detectives. But at this point, I’ll assume that no news is good news.”

  “It’s early, and by that I mean early in your career. If it comes, great. If not, don’t be the least discouraged, especially not after what you did with those punks Chatlin and Fedek.”

  “It was Brill’s bust.”

  “It was your legwork. Even Brill’s not denying it.”

  “Yeah, Brill’s been okay.”

  “Sit down.”

  “You know, I’d rather stand. I’m a little antsy.”

  My father studied me. “If it isn’t work, it must be personal. Is everything all right with Koby?”

  “Great.” I didn’t make eye contact with him. “We’re planning some vacation time together. We’re going away.”

  “Fabulous. Where?”

  “Israel.”

  “What?” Dad was horrified. “Now?”

  “Yes, now.” I took in Decker’s worried eyes. “Koby wants me to meet his family.I want to meet his family.”

  Decker was stunned. “And this can’t wait until calmer times?”

  “No, because who knows the future? Besides, I’ve survived bullets and maniacs before.”

  “And that’s supposed to calm me down?”

  I took my father’s hand. “Ineed to do this.” My smile was plaintive. “Daddy, I think he’s the one.” I took in a breath and let it out. “I mean, Iknow he’s the one.”

  “Oh my, my.” The Loo’s eyes abruptly moistened. “Are you sure?”

  “I can’t picture my future without him. So I guess that’s that.”

  Decker covered his mouth with his fist. Then he dropped his hand and managed a wistful smile. “He’s a great guy, Cindy. A great guy and a good man. You chose well.” His hug was brief but with feeling. “I love you, Princess.”

  “I love you, too, Daddy. Nobody will ever replace you in my heart. Lots of guys out there in life, but a girl only has one father.”

  “You deserve the best.” His voice was choked. “You tell him that if he ever,ever gives you a hard time, I carry a gun and know how to use it.”

  “Daddy,I carry a gun.”

  My father laughed and so did I. Then he turned serious. “When are you leaving?”

  “We’ll be in Israel for Rosh Hashanah—that’s the main reason we’re going right now—but we’ll be back before Yom Kippur.” I shook my head. “Listen to me, planning my schedule around Jewish holidays. I’m beginning to sound like you.”

  “There are parallels in our lives,” my father noted.

  I considered his words. “Yes, you’re right. Except Koby’s more flexible than Rina. He may not go out to a restaurant or a movie onShabbat, but he does drive and turn on lights . . . watch TV if there’s a play-off game. He’ll even work if the hospital’s short staffed.”

  “He’s still a far cry from what you were raised with.”

  “That’s true. So I suppose some of your current lifestyle has rubbed off. Keeping kosher doesn’t seem as daunting as it once did. Of course, people often revert to what they grew up with when they have children. So we’ll see what Koby’s like when the occasion arises.”

  “You haveplenty of time for that.”

  I bit my lower lip to keep from smiling. I had hit a sore spot. The Loo wasn’t ready for the role of grandpa. I said, “Can we talk business for a moment?”

  Dad turned all cop. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

  “Something’s really bothering me. I figured I’d bug you about it.”

  “Go on.”

  “I’ve got these loose ends, an unsolved crime that at first I thought was connected to Sarah Sanders’s rape. I thought it might have been the work of Joseph Fedek or one of his cohorts. But after talking to them, grilling them extensively, I don’t think Fedek was involved.”

  “What crime are you talking about?”

  “Belinda Syracuse. The hit-and-run that Koby and I witnessed.”

  “Yeah, yeah. How’s that going?”

  “It isn’t. It’s dead in the water.”

  “They’ve got the car, don’t they?”

  “They hauled it in a long time ago. They’ve even got some DNA from a blood smear on the license plate. But they don’t have a suspect, so there’s nothing to match.”

  Decker held out his hands and shrugged.

  “I went to Fordham Communal Center the other day. I saw a picture of her—Belinda Syracuse. Weird to see what she looked like with her face whole.”

  My father nodded.

  “I went there to check in with Mr. Klinghoffner, to see if by any chance David Tyler had contacted him. He hadn’t, of course.”

  “Still looking for him?”

  “Off and on. Anyway, Klinghoffner had pictures of both Belinda and David Tyler po
sted on his wall. Like a memorial.”

  He waited. “And?”

  “I suddenly remembered seeing her before, when she was alive. The first time I went to Fordham to find the information that led to Sarah Sanders’s discovery, Belinda Syracuse was working in the backyard garden.”

  “She lived there, Cindy.”

  “I know. But it was something else. The way she looked when I saw her. She had this longing in her eyes . . . like a girl in the throes of heartbreak. I can’t get that expression out of my mind.”

  I looked around the living room, shoving my hands in my pants pockets.

  “I have this gnawing in my gut about it. Like I’m on top of it, but I have no evidence. Just this vibration . . . like she’s talking to me.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Okay. Here goes. There’s this real obnoxious guy who works at Fordham. His name is Buck. The first time I went there, we started talking—Buck and me—and I saw Belinda Syracuse staring at us through the window, holding a hoe, her nose pressed against the pane of glass. With this hurt look in her eyes . . .”

  I was seeing the memory as I spoke.

  “This man Buck, he turned around and smiled when he saw her. Then he got up to talk to her. It was completely out of character.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He’s anasshole. Why was he being so nice to her?”

  “Maybe he’s not as big an asshole as you think.”

  “Or maybe he can be charming when he wants to be . . . when there’s something in it for him.”

  “And your point is . . .”

  He knew what my point was, but he wanted me to tell him. “Let me see if I can formulate some theories.” I collected my thoughts. “When we last talked to Sarah Sanders, she was embarrassed when talking about sex.”

  “Yes.”

  “And we thought she was sitting on something else.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think that she and David . . . Do you think that they would have sex with each other without having had it before?”

  “Absolutely. It’s a natural thing. Being mentally disabled doesn’t mean your plumbing doesn’t work.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Did you need someone showing you how to do it? I didn’t.”

  “Daddy, we knew about sex way before the actual feelings came about. We knew about it because we’re of normal intelligence and we had information about it that we could comprehend.”

  “They have sex education in the center. You told me that yourself.”

  “Very clinical stuff, Dad, not the same peer-to-peer giggling and gossiping and bragging that most of us go through. I was just thinking that maybe . . . maybe Sarah Sanders had had experience before David.”

  “That the gang rape wasn’t her firstforced sexual experience.”

  “Why not?” I exclaimed. “Maybe that’s what Sarah Sanders was sitting on. That someone in the center had been molesting her. It wouldn’t be the first time a retarded girl has been taken advantage of sexually. And it could be that it was more of a seduction than a forced sexual encounter because that would make Sarah reluctant to give him up. Because she might have felt that she had some complicity in it.”

  Decker said, “And you like this obnoxious guy for the molester?”

  “Yes, because he truly is odious.”

  “Molesters are often charming, Cindy.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying! He’s a jerk, but he was nice to Belinda. Why?”

  “Okay. Even if he was molesting Sarah, what does that have to do with the hit-and-run?”

  “Now, this is where it’s getting a bit . . . speculative. Maybe Buck was also molesting Belinda.”

  “Because he got up and talked to her?”

  “Just hear me out, okay?”

  “Go on.”

  “Buck knew we were talking to Sarah. And he knew we were investigating a gang rape. If Buck was molesting her, maybe he thought his molestation would come out in the course of our investigation. And if it did, then the other girl, Belinda, maybe she’d also have a story to tell. Now could be he figures he can handle Sarah Sanders, especially since at that time she wasn’t regarded in a positive light. She had abandoned her baby. You know, his word against hers. Sarah wasn’t much of a threat. But if there had been others . . .”

  Decker didn’t speak.

  “Okay, it’s loony. Forget it.”

  “It’s not loony; it’s a . . . theory.”

  “Dad, I have a good relationship with Louise Sanders now. I set her up with David Tyler’s conservator, and she’s getting a little money for Ella—that’s the baby’s name. Actually, it’s Cinderella. Louise let Sarah name her daughter. Anyway, David’s lawyer gave her enough money to hire a nanny, so I’m definitely on Louise’s good side. Plus, Koby and I have visited them several times. Sarahadores Koby. I think he reminds her of David. So there’s a lot more trust than when we first interviewed her.”

  “Perfect,” Decker said. “Go for it.”

  I exhaled. “I’m still inexperienced in these kinds of things. I’d like a little help.”

  “No problem, pumpkin. I have time. Let’s go check it out.”

  “I know I’m bordering on fiction here. Still, aren’t you the one who always said trust your gut?”

  “Especially in this crazy world. Let me change and I’ll leave a note for Rina. Then we’ll be off.”

  “Great.” I smiled. “Thanks so much.”

  “For what?”

  “For coming with me. But mostly for listening to me.”

  “Are you kidding?” He tousled my hair. “Give me a minute.”

  “Take your time.” I smiled and really meant it, because Dad had this expression, this absolutelyglorious expression, of respect in his eyes—a look that said more than a million words.

  ∇

  I got a hug from Louise. “Come in, come in. It’s always nice when you drop by.”

  “You remember my father, don’t you, Louise?”

  “Yes, of course. Please come in. . . . Is it Sergeant Decker?”

  “Lieutenant,” I corrected. We walked inside.

  Over the past months, Louise Sanders’s living room had been taken over by baby paraphernalia. Plush toys had replaced the throw pillows on the brown leather couch. The coffee table was crowded with plastic squeaky animals and baby books. A mesh playpen stood next to the piano, milk bottles all over the place. Still, the space was pleasant, brimming over with light and midmorning summer heat. The windows were open, but there was no discernible breeze.

  Louise had highlighted her gray hair with some blond streaks. She’d also dropped a couple of pounds. She was taking care of herself and that was good. Maybe I was flattering myself, but I liked to think that I played a small part in that piece of theater. Today, Louise wore denim shorts and a boat-neck white shirt, sandals on her feet.

  “Can I get either of you anything to drink?”

  Before I could answer, Sarah walked in. Her blond hair had been cut short for the summer, so now she was all cheeks and face, all round and pink. She wore a loose blue cotton dress; her fingernails and toenails were painted silver. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at me, then around the room. “Where’s”—she struggled to get the words out—“Where’s . . . Ko-by?”

  “Sarah, say hello first,” Louise told her.

  “Hello.”

  “Hello, Sarah,” I answered. “Koby is out running this morning.”

  “Where’s he running to?”

  I smiled. “He’s running a race.”

  “Did he win?”

  “It’s not that kind of race. You run it to see how fast you can run. Today, he’s running a twenty K. That means he’s running for twelve miles.”

  Her mouth opened. “That’s a lot of miles.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “You didn’t go with him?” Dad asked me.

  “They started at seven to beat the heat. Thanks, but I’ll pass.” To
Sarah, I said, “Is Ella sleeping?”

  Sarah nodded.

  Louise said, “I just put her down—”

  “Iput her down,” Sarah piped in.

  “Right.” Louise gave a half smile. “She won’t be up for a couple of hours.”

  “That’s okay, Louise. We actually wanted to talk to Sarah . . . if that’s all right.”

  The older woman frowned. “What about?”

  I glanced at my father. He had changed from a T-shirt to a polo shirt, but he still wore jeans. I thought that gave him a casual touch. He said, “Just to clear up a couple of things.”

  “Maybe we should all sit down,” I said.

  Louise started tossing the plush toys into the playpen to clear up room on the couch. “Have a seat.”

  “You sit, too, Louise,” Decker said. “This could concern you as well.”

  “What’s this all about?” Louise sat.

  “I’m not sure,” I told her. “But I need you to trust me. ’Cause this was all my idea.”

  “What is going on?” She put her hand to her heart. “Somethingelse? ”

  My father shrugged. I said, “It may take a little time, so please be patient. Because I want to do this right.”

  Louise looked at me, unhappy, but then she ultimately nodded for me to go ahead.

  My father smiled at Sarah. “So you like Koby?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “I like him, too.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Why do you like him?”

  Sarah giggled. “ ’Cause he’s . . . cute.”

  Decker smiled. “I’ll tell you why I like him. I like him because he’s nice.”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Do you ever play games with him?”

  Sarah thought a moment. “Sometimes.”

  “What kind of games?”

  “Ball.”

  “What kind of ball?”

  “Handball.”

  “On the garage door?”

  She hugged herself and smiled. “I always win.”

  “So you must be really good at handball.”

  Sarah giggled.

  “What other games do you do with Koby?”

  She thought a long time. “Once, he took me to the high school to play basketball. We brang my handball. I made one basket. He had to pick me up. I was too short.”

  Decker nodded. “How’d you get to the high school?”