Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 06

by Grievous Sin

  “In the meantime, let’s go back to some old-fashioned brainstorming. Question number one.”

  “Who’s our body?” Marge said. “Like I said before, neither Tandy nor Paula mentioned Marie having a black friend. Should I go back and ask them about it?”

  “You think Paula’s straight up?”

  “She seems on the level…unlike Sondra-Tandy Roberts.”

  Decker said, “Call Paula. See if she knows anyone. As far as Miss Autoconversationalist goes, the less Tandy knows, the better. You know, Marge, ever since Annie brought up the ring not fitting, I’ve been assuming that the body wasn’t Marie’s.”

  “Me too.”

  “So I’ve been thinking, who could it be? Irrespective of race, my guess is that this was someone from the hospital. Or at least someone who was in the hospital last night.”

  “Why’s that?” Marge asked.

  “The blood in Marie’s parking space.”

  “You’re saying if it wasn’t Marie’s, it had to have belonged to the body. Lab should be able to check that out.”

  “Yeah, we’ll call them in the morning.”

  Marge said, “So how are you playing the scene out?”

  “Couple ways.” Decker finished his coffee. “Scene number one, Marie freaked out and took the baby. Then a big black female saw her making off with the kid and tried to stop her. Marie killed her and covered her tracks by burning the body in her car…hoping we’d think it was her.”

  “And then we’d stop looking for her.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Pretty naive, don’t you think? She was a health professional. She must know we have ways of identifying bodies.”

  “The body was torched; the facial bones were smashed. Maybe she thought she destroyed enough, and we wouldn’t be able to I.D. the body.”

  “She left in the back teeth.”

  “It’s hard to destroy them unless you yank the jaw out of the mouth. Marie was panicked. She had murdered this woman, had kidnapped a baby. She did whatever she could to cover her tracks. It just wasn’t enough. So…” Decker paused to collect his thoughts. “So what I want to do is go back through our hospital notes and see who was working at Sun Valley Pres last night.”

  “I thought we had them all accounted for.”

  “Maybe there was a slipup.”

  Marge said, “Maybe this black woman was a floater and not on the hospital’s payroll.”

  “Yeah, Darlene mentioned floaters and temporaries. Hollander’s going over the duty roster from the night. We’ll talk to him and tell him to look for any names we don’t already have on our list.”

  “Pete, you might want to ask Cindy about this woman. She was around the nursery more than any of us.”

  Decker inwardly groaned. “I’m trying to wean her away from police work.” He made a face. “It isn’t working.”

  “Of course it isn’t going to work. She sees her father all excited about his cases. Kids pick up on what you do, not what you say.”

  “Thank you for that psychological gem, Detective Dunn.”

  “Don’t get cranky, Pete. It shows your age. Talk to Cindy.”

  “I will, don’t worry.” Decker exhaled and wished he still smoked. “I’ll do anything to find the baby.”

  Marge finished her coffee. “You want to know what I’m thinking? If Marie isn’t dead, she and the baby must be somewhere. I’m betting they’re out camping, probably right under our noses.”

  “Camping?”

  “Tandy said Marie was an experienced camper. Which means she could afford to lay low for a long time, long enough until we give up our search.”

  “Marie was a camper?”

  “According to Tandy, she used to go to the woods and talk to God.” Marge shook her head. “Getting weirder by the moment.”

  “Not so weird,” Decker said. “My father-in-law talks to God, too. He claims God answers him back. What’s weird is, I actually believe him.”

  Marge stared at her partner. Decker smiled. “What I don’t buy is Marie as a camper.”

  “Why not?”

  “I went through her house and items meticulously, Marge. Nothing, but nothing, gave me any indication that this woman was athletic, let alone a survivalist camper.”

  Marge said, “She could have dashed home and taken her equipment.”

  “There were no empty spaces found in any of her closets—places where she’d store tents, sleeping bags, Sterno, cooking implements. Camping equipment takes up room. Just ask Rina. All my gear’s been moved to the garage. And there was no gear in Marie’s storage bin over her parking space. Only books by old radicals.”

  “Yeah, I found a copy of a speech by a Jerry Rubin. Doesn’t he play guitar for the Grateful Dead?”

  “That’s Jerry Garcia.” Decker tapped his foot. “Margie, I went through Marie’s clothing piece by piece. No rugged pairs of jeans, no hiking boots, no jackets, no heavy socks. Do you want to know what I found? A lot of potpourri and pink cutie-lacy things that have never been worn. I found nothing but nothing to suggest that this woman could possibly be an outdoorsperson.”

  Neither of them spoke for a moment.

  Decker finally said, “Given Tandy’s history of talking to herself, I’m more likely to believe that Tandy was the one who camped and talked to God—or to herself. So you have to ask yourself why would Tandy say that Marie was a camper?”

  Marge thought a moment, then said, “Maybe she wants us to believe that Marie is hiding in the mountains.”

  Decker said, “You want to hear something interesting? When you interviewed Tandy Roberts, the news agencies hadn’t reported the manhunt. Remember, I asked the networks specifically to hold off announcing it until the eleven o’clock news because I didn’t want spectators ruining our grid search, especially in daylight hours.”

  Marge thought a moment, then said, “Yeah, you’re right.”

  Decker took their coffee mugs over to the urn and refilled them. He handed the seashell back to Marge. “So my question is this: Why would Tandy Roberts want us to believe that Marie was still in the mountains, if she couldn’t have known we were searching there?”

  “A news leak.”

  “Possibly, but more likely…”

  “She knows something,” Marge said.

  “She knows something,” Decker said. “She’s trying to keep us buried in Angeles Crest when maybe we should start looking elsewhere.”

  “In what capacity do you think she’s involved?”

  “Maybe only tangentially. Marie ran to her in a panic—Tandy’s an old friend. Maybe she’s stashed Marie and the baby somewhere.”

  “Or possibly the two of them were in it together,” Marge said. “Remember, Tandy lost a baby when she was young, too.”

  Decker nodded. “Two women still grieving over their loss. Each one working up the other.”

  “Tandy claims she hasn’t seen Marie in a couple of years.”

  “We can start by checking out Tandy’s phone calls,” Decker said. “See if there has been contact between her and Bellson.”

  “Should I keep a tail on her?”

  “Someone should. She hasn’t bolted, but as we get closer, she may suspect someone’s sniffing her butt. Also, let’s check to see if she was where she said she was last night.”

  “First thing tomorrow, I’ll call up Tujunga Memorial.” Marge stared at her tepid coffee. A white skin had formed on top. She swirled the cup and watched it make designs. “You said you had a couple of ways to play this out. What’s your other idea?”

  “Lots of variation on this theme, but here goes. The black woman saw someone taking the baby. She interfered and was killed. Marie walked in on the action, and the third party—the one who killed the black woman—forced Marie at gunpoint to take the baby and help dispose of the body. For Marie to kidnap a baby and murder and dispose of a body seems like a lot of work for one person.”

  “So in this scenario, you’re saying Marie was just as much a vict
im as the body we found.”

  Decker stood up and began fishing around in his pants pockets.

  “What is it?”

  “I took…” Decker found the bag he was looking for. He remembered changing his clothes and was glad he was smart enough to check his pockets before putting the suit in the cleaner’s pile. “I took some leaf samples.” He unbagged them, then sniffed them, backing away from the odor. He handed it to Marge. “What does your nose say?”

  Marge smelled the foliage. “Gasoline.”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t smell anything out there but smoke. But here…know what this means?”

  “Car didn’t accidently fall over the cliff.”

  “Yep. It was doused before it was pushed over but wasn’t lit. Otherwise, I would have found scorched leaves.”

  “Also, it’s pretty hard to push over a car once it’s on fire.”

  Decker broke into laughter. “I knew there was a reason I kept you as my partner.” He hit his head. “Anyone home? Anyway, someone was counting on impact to explode the car and get the fire started.”

  “Someone wasn’t too bright. Not all cars explode.” Marge paused. “Maybe the someone realized the car wasn’t going to explode and threw the match at the car at the bottom of the ravine.”

  “Possibly.”

  “Pete, if this person killed the black woman, why wouldn’t this person also kill Marie?”

  “Who said this person hasn’t killed Marie?”

  24

  Before killing the motor, Decker turned on the dome light of the Plymouth and made a to-do list for the next morning. After having written down all minutiae that came to mind, he finally allowed himself to turn off the work meter. Decompression was a hard state of mind.

  He shut off the engine, got out of the car, and walked out into perfumed darkness, the scent of citrus drifting through the air. Crickets were doing an abstract choral number; a nightingale, nested in a twenty-foot sycamore, was singing arias from The Magic Flute. The house was as still as stone when he opened the door. It took a few moments before he realized that a cot had been set up in the living room. A nightgowned figure rotated on a mattress too small for its girth, then sat up. In the moonlight, Decker made out Nora, the baby nurse. A few seconds later, Ginger’s hulking shadow came into view. She recognized her boss, jumped on Decker’s chest, and licked his face.

  “How’s it going, girl?” he whispered.

  The dog licked his face again, her tail swinging like a feathered window wiper.

  “Hello?” the nurse whispered.

  “It’s just me, Nora,” Decker said softly. “Sorry to wake you.”

  “That’s okay, Sergeant.”

  “Is everyone asleep?”

  “We played taps ’bout ten o’clock. Your big girl was so exhausted, she nodded off in front of the TV. I practically had to carry her into bed.”

  Decker smiled and scratched Ginger’s scruff. “The baby’s with Rina?”

  “Yes, she is. You need to have a long talk with your wife, Sergeant. She isn’t going to heal if she keeps on overdoing it.”

  Decker placed his briefcase on the dining-room table and sat down. “What’s she doing specifically?”

  “Walking around when she should be in bed. Getting up for the baby. Why bother paying my wages, if she’s going to get up and feed the baby herself, tiring her poor body out? The child lets out a whimper, she whisks it out of the crib. She’s not only tiring herself, she’s not giving Hannah a chance to develop her sleep. She’s going to be a wreck if she keeps it up. Her mama’s worried sick about her, but there’s no talking to her when she gets an idea in her head.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Decker said.

  “Well, don’t wake her now,” Nora said. “She and the baby just dropped back to sleep.”

  Decker nodded, looking around the shadowy room. He wasn’t consciously thinking about work, but his brain was still sparking enough to prevent sleep. He longed to crawl into bed with the newspaper, a little Letterman, and a tall glass of iced tea. With Rina sleeping, watching TV in bed was out of the question. But he supposed he could park himself in the kitchen for a while without disturbing anyone. As soon as he got to his feet, Ginger dashed away, then returned just as fast, carrying a leash in her mouth.

  Decker looked at the animal. “Trying to tell me something, girl?”

  Nora said, “Poor thing. Everyone’s forgotten about her.”

  The dog cocked her head, leather strops hanging on her muzzle.

  Decker sighed. “All right. A quick walk.”

  At the word walk, the dog began a frenzied circle dance. Decker secured the leash to the animal’s collar. “We’ll come in through the back door, Nora. Sorry to wake you.”

  “No problem, Sergeant.” She paused. “Any luck with your search?”

  “It’s coming.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful.”

  Decker didn’t answer. Instead, he gave her a sick smile, then realized it was too dark for her to see it. He and Ginger went out to the backyard first, to check on the horses. They were all in repose, but lifted their heads as he entered the barn. A mare let out a soft whinny. He shushed her, then filled the water basins. Giving them a quick wave, he bade them good night and was about to leave when he noticed a ball of fluff sharing a corner with a divided feed bowl of cat food and water.

  Decker bent down and stroked the kitten’s back with a finger. It lifted its tiger-striped head and let out a soft purr. Ginger stuck her muzzle in the kitten’s face, and it responded by licking the dog’s nose.

  “How you doin’, sport? Looks like someone set you up with dinner.”

  The kitten opened its eyes a little wider. Ginger stuck her snout in the cat food and began crunching away at it. Although the cat didn’t voice a protest, Decker gently pulled the dog away from the cat’s sustenance.

  “Wondering where your boss is, little guy? We’re kind of wondering the same thing.”

  The animal lowered its head. Decker ran his palms over the kitten’s eyelids. “Go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  The kitten seemed more than happy to cooperate.

  He took Ginger through the citrus grove, the setter prancing in the dirt when she wasn’t sniffing tree trunks. Decker picked some melon-sized pink grapefruits—great for tomorrow’s breakfast. He also pocketed a half-dozen tangerines. Releasing Ginger from her leash, he watched her scamper through the trees, then he sat down under the leafy branches of an avocado tree, his back against the thick gnarled trunk. Pulling out a tangerine, he peeled it, fastballing chunks of rind through the trees, each throw a little farther than the last. Scattering peel was his idea of a natural compost pile.

  He popped half the tangerine in his mouth, the fruit swollen with sweet juice. The dog returned to his side and sniffed his hands. Giving her a tangerine wedge, Decker listened to the nighttime lullaby and decided life was good. He slumped against the tree and closed his eyes just for a moment. The next time he opened them, Nora was shaking his shoulder and Ginger was licking his face.

  “Are you okay, Sergeant?”

  “I’m up, I’m up.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you—”

  “I’m up.” He stood, hit his head on a branch, then cursed. “I’m up.”

  “My Lord, are you okay?”

  “I’ll survive.” He rubbed his head. “I fell asleep out here. Can’t believe I did that. What time is it?”

  “Little after two,” Nora said. “I heard Rina get up and went in to check on her, and you weren’t there….” She tightened the folds of her robe against her body. “I got worried.”

  “I’m fine.” He stretched his creaky bones. “It’s time to make my entrance. I’ll go in and talk to Rina. Go see my baby, too. C’mon, Ginger. Time to return to civilization.”

  Rina said, “And how’s our midnight camper this evening?”

  Decker towel-dried his hair. The shower had revived him instead of making him sleepier. He hung the towel
on the back of the door and slipped under the sheets. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “Peter, there’s consideration and then there’s common sense.” Rina released the baby from her breast and wiped her mouth. “You’ve been going practically nonstop for the past few days. You need your sleep.”

  “You and me both, kiddo.” Decker leaned over for a better view of his little daughter, then extended his hands. “May I?”

  “She needs to be burped.”

  “I’ll burp her.” He stood, threw a cloth diaper over his shoulder, and placed his infant daughter on his chest. Gently, he tapped her back. She molded against him, her tiny body as soft as eiderdown. A moment later, Hannah let out a deep, resonant belch. It always cracked him up to hear sailor sounds coming from a tiny little body.

  “We did it, Mommy,” Decker said.

  Rina’s smile was wan. Decker sat down on the bed and cradled the infant in his arms.

  “Darlin’, are you resting enough?”

  “Matter of fact, I’ve done nothing but rest—”

  “Not according to Nora.”

  “Oh, Nora—”

  “I thought you said she was terrific.”

  “She’s good. Trouble is she’s too good. If it were up to her, I wouldn’t do a thing except vegetate.”

  “Is Nora nursing the baby?”

  “Peter—”

  “Rina, you’ve got to rest if you’re going to heal.”

  “I’m resting so much, my backside’s numb. I can’t get uninterrupted sleep anyway, because I’m nursing. What is the big deal if I want Hannah to sleep in our room?”

  “Because when Hannah sleeps in our room, she becomes our responsibility. We hired a baby nurse to give you a little slack during these first few weeks—”

  “I don’t need slack, okay? It’s good for me to feel useful, okay? Hannah brings me so much joy. What’s wrong with a little joy?”

  “Of course you should have joy. I just want you to heal up….”

  “Peter, I’m resting so much I’m nothing but a big, inert lump.”

  “Rina—”

  “Look at me, Peter! I’m as big as a cow on top, I still look like I’m five months pregnant, and I don’t have a uterus! I don’t want to rest and think about myself, okay?”