by Grievous Sin
Decker said, “Also the hospitals, the health-employment agencies, and the vocational-training centers. Dollars to doughnuts, this gal’s a nurse.”
“Start with Sun Valley Pres?”
“Yep,” Decker said. “Do you recall any nurses there named Sondra Roberts?”
“No.”
“Neither do I, but that doesn’t mean a thing.” Decker shrugged. “All right, we’ll locate this Sondra Roberts. Why? To find out more about Marie and to make sure that Marie isn’t holed up with her. Now what about Marie’s mom?”
“Paula speaks the truth. She is indeed in an old-age home in Arcadia. The director and staff have been put on alert that Marie is missing. They’ll monitor calls to find out if Marie is trying to make contact with her mom. They’ll also call if Marie shows up.”
“Talk to the mother at all, Marge?”
“No, she was eating lunch. I have an appointment with her at three.”
Decker said, “Marie was reading a library book about nurturant role reversals of mother/daughter.”
“Well, Paula said her mother was constantly escaping to make calls. Looks like the old lady may have seen the other side.”
Decker said, “Marie taking care of a senile mother. Then she goes to work and takes care of people.” He tapped his foot. “Seems to me the last thing she’d want is an infant to care for.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Maybe Marie was just as much a victim as the baby.”
“A possibility,” Decker said. “Did you happen to find out if Marie has any other family?”
“As far as the staff knows, it’s just mother and daughter. But there may be a maiden aunt or cousin locked away in the basement.”
“Shades of Rochester’s crazed wife,” Cindy said.
Marge and Decker stared at her.
“Jane Eyre?” Cindy said. “Charlotte Brontë? Forget it.”
Decker shook his head and flipped the Christmas card around to the back side. “This isn’t a commercial card, Marge. It’s for charity. I was looking for the price, and instead I found an artist credit and statement of nonprofit from the maker. Beth Dillon—member eight years of Overeaters Anonymous.”
“So we may be looking for a fat nurse,” Marge said.
“Maybe a former fat nurse,” Cindy suggested. “Maybe she lost weight when she joined the organization.”
“Atta way, Cynthia!” Marge said. “I see in my crystal ball a second generation of Decker detectives.”
Decker threw her a dirty look. Then his radio went off. He used Marie’s phone to call the station house. A moment later, Detective Mike Hollander came on the line.
“Morning, Rabbi. Looks like some congratulations are in order.”
“Thanks, Mike.”
“Rina doing okay?”
“Better. Tell everyone at the station house that Rina really appreciated the flowers. And thanks for the roses, Mike. Two dozen and long-stemmed—very nice. Must mean you’re a good friend.”
“At least a good friend of Rina’s.”
Decker laughed. “What’s up?”
“Just got off the phone with the fire department up in the National Forest Service—Angeles Crest. Had a bit of a bonfire down there. Looks like a car fell down the mountainside and exploded into flames. Potentially dangerous situation. Luckily, they got to it before the winds kicked up. They’re still doing some mop-up, but they’ve recovered the frame of the car.”
“Don’t tell me,” Decker said. “They’ve got a red Honda with Marie Bellson’s license plates.”
“Plates were removed, but yes, the frame appears to be a Honda. Fire department said color is hard to ascertain, but a few spots appeared to have some red paint chips.”
Decker felt his heartbeat quicken as he related the story to Marge. To Hollander, he said, “Maybe Marie Bellson’s hiding in the mountains with the baby.”
“Well, Rabbi, there seems to be an adult body in the driver’s seat—it’s been burned to a crisp.”
Decker felt his throat go dry. “And the baby?”
“Can’t tell yet, Pete. It’s still a mess down there.”
“Oh, shit!” Decker turned to Marge and gave her a one-sentence synopsis. “They don’t know if the baby’s in the wreck or not.”
“My God!” Cindy shrieked. Marge took her hand.
Decker felt like punching a wall. Please, let Caitlin Rodriguez be okay. “You want to give me directions, Mike?”
“Got them right here, Pete. By the way, do you remember the name of that woman dentist who identifies bodies by the teeth? We worked with her on the Lindsey Bates case.”
“Annie Hennon.”
“Dr. Hennon,” Hollander said. “That’s right. Her number should be in the department’s file under experts, right?”
“Should be.”
“She was good-looking, wasn’t she?”
“Yes, she was.”
“Then let me call her, explain the urgency of the situation.” Hollander paused. “After all, I’m the one with the directions.”
17
Standing on the edge of a thousand-foot drop, Decker studied the distant canyons of Angeles Crest. The flora that carpeted the jagged slopes of rock had turned wheat-colored from unrelenting summer sun. The turquoise sky hosted tufts of cotton clouds that partially shaded the mountains, turning them deep ambers and greens. Where the sun shone unmolested, the landscape was a glittering meld of emeralds and golds. Crows cawed and circled; ebony wings floating upon the hot breeze. Upon these hills, high drama was wind rustling leaves, the dive of a hawk, or the scurry of a lizard.
Decker mopped his brow and rolled up his shirtsleeves.
Today, unfortunately, the wilderness drama was taking a backseat to the human kind. At the bottom of the slopes sat a cauldron of smoldering residue belching smoke and soot. Scattered in the gray fog were fire trucks looking like Tonka toys. The fire fighters’ voices echoed throughout the canyons. Decker could make out sentences a quarter-mile up. Not that the boys were saying much at this point, mostly doing paperwork—writing out reports. The fire had been put out, but there was still lots of cleanup. He’d meet with the fire captain as soon as the M.E. and the photographer arrived. Sheriff’s deputies had begun cordoning off the area.
The hardest part was keeping his mind off Caitlin Rodriguez, and on the job. If he didn’t, a little baby would remain an open file—something gnawing at his gut every time Hannah reached a birthday.
Concentrate, Deck.
He looked over the ledge and tried to reconstruct the scene prior to the drop. He figured the car must have plunged off about five yards from where he stood. It was the sharpest kink of the road’s curve, although the turn wasn’t a hairpin. It could have been easily negotiated if the driver had been sober and the car had been going at a prudent speed. Tire tracks had carved their impressions in the plants. Some of the shrubbery had been ripped, pulled from the roots—probably entangled in the car’s fender and dragged along for the ride.
Decker thought. If arson was involved, then it made sense to think of the car as being pushed off. But why here? His eyes dipped down below. The drop was vertical, and the spot was isolated—a narrow paved road framed by mountain and sheer falls. No ranger stations or campsites in view. And this particular turn had a slight shoulder. There was enough space for the car to sit while being prepped to explode.
The Santa Ana winds were hot and dry and stirred up the stench of smoke and gasoline. Decker knew his nostrils were too inundated to differentiate which smells were coming from where. He walked over to the tire tracks, picked some random leaves in the area, and put them in a plastic bag. Then he took out a roll of yellow crime-scene tape and began to isolate the area, watching where he stepped. After the area seemed secured, he loaded his camera with film, taking closeups of the crushed plants and tire impressions. When he was done, he checked his watch—a little before one.
The sun was at its strongest, cooking his nose medium well. He cursed his rudd
y coloring, then cursed his stupidity for not using sunblock. His mind was just too preoccupied to remember. His shirt was a sodden lump, his feet swollen in his oxfords. What he wouldn’t have given for a T-shirt and a pair of rubber-soled sandals.
Take in the details.
The access road to the mouth of the canyon was on the other side of the mountain—a winding adobe-colored stretch cut into the hillside. To get there, he’d have to go back down the mountain, then up on the other side. Too bad the place lacked a skytram.
He caught his name over the static of the car radio, reached through the window, and picked up the mike. Marge was patched through.
“What’s going on over there?” she asked.
“I haven’t gone down to the actual scene. I think I found the spot where the car fell—or was pushed—over.” He explained the details. “Are you coming down?”
“Don’t have time. I’ve got to interview Mama Bellson.”
“Oh, that’s right. In the meantime, send me a uniform to watch over the area while I go down to the actual scene.”
“No deputies around?”
“They’re securing the area below.”
“I’ll call someone for you,” Marge said. “I’ve been going through phone books and directory assistance—no Sondra Roberts. I haven’t had a chance to check out the personnel files of hospitals and health-care agencies in a big way, but I’m working on it.”
“What about Overeaters Anonymous?”
“Got calls in to the regional chapters. Usually, members are anonymous. But I think we can get some information with a baby’s life at stake. There are two of them. I’ll keep trying until interview time. Hollander, Fordebrand, and MacPherson are checking the tips that have come pouring in from the TV broadcast this morning. Lines haven’t stopped ringing at the station house. I’ve had to use my radio to get through.”
“Good to see people concerned.”
“Lourdes Rodriguez is thinking of making a personal plea on the five o’clock news. What do you think, Pete?”
“Good idea if it’s necessary.” Decker’s stomach churned. “We still don’t know if the baby was inside the car. The fire fighters haven’t begun to pry the car open yet.”
“That poor little girl—both of them. What an ugly mess!”
“If the baby isn’t in the wreckage, I’ll stop by the hospital and update Lourdes. We both met Marie—maybe if we knock our heads together, we can remember something vital.”
“Keep me posted.” Marge cut the line.
Decker rehooked the mike and leaned against the unmarked. In the distance, he heard the purr of a motor. He glanced at his watch again. In the past forty minutes, not a single car had gone by. Chances that anyone had seen what had happened to the car would be slim.
The purring grew in volume, and a few moments later a red four-by-four screeched as it emerged from the bend. The top was off, and a woman with short blond hair was at the wheel. Decker flagged her down, and the Jeep stopped in the middle of the roadway.
The woman stuck her head out and smiled. “How’s it shakin’, handsome?”
“Can’t complain. I thought I’d leave the unmarked here, and we’d go down together. I’m just waiting for somebody to come here to watch over the area while I’m gone. Shouldn’t be more than five, ten minutes. Photographer and M.E. should be coming momentarily.”
“What’s in this area?”
“Looks like the spot where the car jumped.”
“Mind if I have a peek?”
“Not at all. Just pull up behind the Plymouth, but don’t go over the cliff.”
“Aw gee, Pete. And here I was, thinking of doing some bungee jumping.” She parked the Jeep, slid out of the seat, and gave Decker a big hug. “God, you’re all wet!”
“Forgot my beach towel.” Decker smiled and held her at arm’s length. “How’re you doing, Annie? You look great.”
And she did. She’d cut her hair short and dyed it white-blond. But with her fair skin and green eyes, she had pulled it off without looking silly or, worse, as if she were desperately clinging to youth. Not that age hadn’t presented itself in four years—the crow’s-feet around the eyes, the wrinkles at the mouth. But her overall expression looked happier, more confident, than when he had last worked with her. She wore a thin white cotton blouse tucked into khaki pants. Her feet were bereft of socks, housed solely in sneakers. Around her neck was a camera; on her head was a sun hat. She looked ready for a safari.
She pinched his cheek. “I feel great. You don’t look so bad yourself, kiddo. Although your nose could do with a little schmear of something.”
Decker laughed.
“I see you’ve got a ring on your finger,” Annie said.
“So do you,” Decker said.
“Don’t compare. Mine’s a lot nicer.”
“It’s quite a rock.”
“He’s a wastrel, Pete. When he’s not racing cars, he putters around the family wineries in Napa.”
Decker eyed the stone. “He must be doing all right.”
“Family is loaded with a capital L. First time I ever met them was over dinner last Christmas. It was a very traditional, formal affair with a zillion relatives flown in for the occasion. The table was set for royalty—imported antique china and crystal, and a bank vault’s worth of silver in the form of eating utensils. I was so afraid of using the wrong fork, I lost ten pounds that weekend.”
“You mean you didn’t snarf it through your nose?”
“Glazed ham and mucous, yum, yum.”
Decker groaned.
Annie said, “So it looks like you took the plunge into matrimony?”
“Guess so.”
“You guess?”
Decker chuckled. “Yes, I got married a little over a year ago.”
Annie regarded his face. “You don’t seemed thrilled.”
“I’m thrilled with the marriage. But it’s been a stressful couple of days.” Decker rubbed his nose again. “My wife just had a baby.”
“That’s wonderful!” Annie paused. “Or is it?”
“No, it is wonderful!” Decker looked at the sky. “How much detail did Detective Hollander give you?”
“That the victim might be a missing nurse.”
“He didn’t mention any baby?”
Annie paused. “Is this the nurse that’s been on the TV news? The one accused of kidnapping a newborn?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God, so you think that there may be a baby in the wreck?” Annie turned white. “It’s not your—”
“No, no, no,” Decker interrupted. “No, mine’s safe at home with Mama. But it happened at the hospital where Rina was staying. The missing nurse was one of my newborn daughter’s nurses.”
“Oh, shit!” Annie covered her face with her hands. “I’m so sorry. You must be freaked!”
“It’s a little disconcerting.”
“You never were a big one for emoting, were you, Pete?”
“I’m calm for your sake, Annie.”
“What a prince.”
Decker shook his head. “Wait, there’s more. In addition to looking at the victim’s teeth, you have the lovely chore of seeing if there are any baby bones.”
Annie looked pained. “They never tell you about this in school, do they?”
“Maybe your wastrel fiancé has the right idea.”
“Could be so, could be so.” Annie sighed. “Anything interesting where the car went off?”
“From your perspective, I don’t think so. But I haven’t combed the area yet.”
Annie walked along the edge of the yellow tape. She stopped, bent down, and stared at the depressions in the shrubs. “As long as I’m in the field, I like to get a feeling for the crime.”
“I can understand that.” Decker heard another car down the mountain—a sheriff’s car. It slowed, then stopped in the roadway. Decker instructed the deputy—a young woman named Picks—to pull up behind the unmarked after he and Dr. Hennon pulled th
e Jeep out.
“’Preciate the sheriff’s cooperation on this one,” Decker said.
“Anything to find that poor little baby,” Picks said. “News cameras are on their way. Will that screw your investigation up?”
“I’ll talk to them,” Decker said.
Annie primped her hair. “Am I presentable?”
“How about you let me be the media star?”
“Hog.”
“I’m going to try to persuade them to hold off for a while. Soon as this hits the news, we’ll have dozens of gawkers in the area. That’ll screw everything up.” To Picks, Decker said, “I should be back here to grid-search for evidence within a couple of hours. Make sure no one mucks up the scene.”
“Got it.”
Decker turned to Annie. “Let’s move it, Doctor.”
In the charred crater that was once a glen, the temperature seemed ten degrees hotter. The smoke and ashes swirled with each blow of the wind, filling the air with soot that clogged Decker’s lungs and burned his eyes. He felt as if he were viewing a grainy black-and-white movie.
“Wonder how chimney sweeps do it,” Annie said. “And I had the good sense to wear a white blouse.” She shrugged. “At least it’s washable—easier to clean than my lungs. Where should I start?”
“First, we’ve got to get you a body to examine.” Decker watched as the jaws of life carefully stretched brittle metal, trying to pry apart the driver’s door. “I’d like to maintain the position of the body as much as possible. But they may have to cut part of it away to get it out. Charming, huh?”
“Are we talking body or bodies?”
“I hope to God it’s singular. Should know more once the package is opened.” Decker caught a wave of a hand out of the corner of his eye. “C’mon. Let’s go talk to the fire captain.”
They walked a few yards into the hub of activity. Deputies patrolling the area, fire fighters still wearing their yellow slickers, helmets, and boots, conferred. Decker wondered how they didn’t melt in the heat. Captain Donnell had taken off his helmet but still wore the protective gear. He was in his fifties, his face beefy and ruddy. He had hooded eyes, a bulbous nose, and thick lips. His smile was open and friendly.