by Otto Penzler
Decker was lucky enough to find an opening as a Juvenile and Sex Crimes detective in his old stomping ground in the North Valley. When a position for a downtown DA opened, Decker conveniently forgot to apply until the deadline had passed. His unilateral decision permanently ruptured their marriage, although they slugged it out for another six years or so, with Decker turning a blind eye to the slow death of their union. When Jan found love in the arms of another man, Decker was forced to concede defeat. They divorced when Cindy was nine, Jan keeping the house and Decker moving into a small apartment that could barely contain his six-foot-four frame. After several years of scrimping and saving, he bought a horse ranch with acreage that led into public trails near the mountains. The best part was that it was only about twenty minutes from his work.
The house and the stalls were in serious disrepair, but Decker had nothing but time on his hands. It took him about two years to get the house and the stalls in decent condition. By the time he was done, he had three bedrooms--one for himself, one for Cindy, now thirteen, and one for an office--three baths, and a six-stall horse stable. He built a corral, planted some citrus groves, got himself a couple of horses, and began his new life as a gentleman rancher.
For the first time in his life, Decker experienced the delicious taste of freedom. When he didn't have Cindy every other Wednesday and on weekends, his nights were his own, and he felt like a kid again. He went out with his colleagues after work, going to bars and drinking too much. He dated lots of women and spent too much money. He worked extra hours and smoked too much. It's not that his newly found lifestyle wasn't fun for the next couple of years, but as he reached his midthirties, it began to wear a little thin. There were too many hangovers, too many cigarettes, and too many strange women in his life. He was in a rut. The problem was he didn't know how to get out of it until happenstance put him in line to catch the next sex crime call. The incident was a rape at Ohavei Torah.
Rina's telephoning the police became an immediate source of controversy and tension at the yeshiva. Almost everyone agreed that she should have waited to hear from Rabbi Schulman before she contacted the outside world. Rina never for a moment assumed that the yeshiva would want to handle it in-house only and without the police being involved. A terrible crime had been committed, and there was a rapist on the loose. Of course the police had to be brought in. And once the call was made, there was nothing anyone could do to put things in reverse. The crime became a police matter, and that was that.
Decker and his partner, Marge Dunn, arrived on the scene and began to divide up labor. Decker would interview the witnesses while Marge would talk to the victim. Both of them knew that the yeshiva was an isolated and provincial enclave, but neither was prepared for the closing of ranks that followed. It seemed that only the mikvah lady, Rina Lazarus, was willing to talk to the cops. Decker flattered himself that he was the reason that she took him into her confidence and helped him navigate the yeshiva world.
In truth, there was an initial physical attraction between the two of them, but Rina knew that having a relationship with someone not religious and probably not even Jewish was out of the question. But there was no denying kismet: the two were destined for each other. They talked and people whispered. The two of them danced around the issue of religion for a couple of years--and a couple of books--until finally they made a commitment to each other. Peter promised that he would try to live as a practicing Jew, and Rina promised that she would accept Peter as he was--an obsessive police detective who worked long and odd hours.
The two of them married between the novels Milk and Honey and Day of Atonement--off camera, so to speak. They decided on a quiet wedding because it was the second time around for both of them and there were children involved. After the wedding, Rina and her boys moved to Decker's ranch and started a new life there. The boys got along well with their stepfather, although he was very different from Yitzchak Lazarus. Rina got along with her stepdaughter, Cindy, by frequently playing the second girl in Decker's life. It was a blended family, not without its issues, but it functioned pretty well.
Having been a widow for years, Rina was used to having time alone and was self-sustaining. She didn't relish long nights by herself, but she could cope. She kept busy by raising her two sons. When she found she was pregnant, she was ecstatic.
Peter, on the other hand, had a much tougher time. His integration into Orthodoxy was a long and tough journey. Rabbi Schulman was kind enough to help him with classes and tutoring, but still there were many times when Peter felt he was backsliding, at least psychologically. Many times he was unhappy being part of a community with so many rituals and rules. And the fact that his parents disapproved of the union and of Peter's adoption of a new religion only made things worse. But even if he had been inclined to back out, Decker wouldn't have made the move. He was loyal, a man of his word, and he genuinely loved Rina and her boys. As soon as their daughter, Hannah Rose, was born, with Rina almost dying in the process, he knew he was in for the long run. He had made a promise and he'd fulfill it to the best of his capabilities.
The breakthrough in their relationship came when Peter sold the ranch and he and Rina bought a home together. It signified a new start that didn't carry any baggage from previous relationships. The house they purchased was set up for a family. The boys would continue to share a large bedroom, and little Hannah could have her own space. In their new place, they could start fresh and build their life together.
Both felt comfortable with a traditional marriage arrangement. For the first twelve years of their marriage, Peter worked full-time and Rina took care of the children. She loved being home with her baby. She loved to cook, she loved to garden, she loved to sew, and she loved to potchke--or tinker--around the house.
When Hannah grew to school age, Rina decided to do something other than homemaking. She began to take community college courses in teaching and education. Eventually, she was solicited to teach Hebrew at the local Jewish day school. Because the institution was Orthodox, she never had to worry about making it home on time for Shabbos or being absent from work because of the numerous Jewish holidays. Her summers were her own, and although she didn't make much money, she loved what she did and she loved the kids. Rina continues to teach, but several parents have suggested that she should consider being the school principal. She hasn't decided yet. Although she has been with the school almost since its inception, she knows that the added responsibility may be beyond what she's willing to take on. So far, she's resisted, but who knows what will happen in the future?
During the years of his marriage to Rina, Decker has been assigned to some of his most difficult cases. He has worked steadily and hard, taken necessary exams, and has gotten several promotions. Currently, he's a detective lieutenant, and although his job includes a lot more paperwork and politics, he is still out in the field if the case is unusual and needs his attention. He still enjoys the feeling of getting his hands dirty and his heart racing, but he doesn't mind the desk work as much as he might have sixteen years ago.
For the living, the march of time is inexorable. Fictional characters have a lot more leeway. Some of them never age, fixed in the year of their appearance. Some age but not in real time. Peter and Rina have certainly aged, and their children are firsthand accounts of how old they are.
Decker started the series in his thirties; he is now in his fifties. His once bright red hair is streaked with silver, and his joints ache every once in a while. But he's kept off the extra pounds and is still strong and vibrant. He continues to wear a thick mustache even though it's no longer in style.
Rina, being much younger than her husband, is still in her early forties. She's dynamic and full of energy, especially because her children are older and require less attention, although she keeps in daily contact with all of them, including Cindy.
For Decker, having worked twenty-plus years with the LAPD, retirement is an option, although it isn't imminent. Once Hannah leaves home for college, b
oth Rina and Decker would like to do a little traveling. They have never been together for extended periods of time without a child in tow and they look forward to taking a long-overdue honeymoon.
They can afford to do so. First of all, they have savings. Second, if Decker lasts a few more years--and all indications say this will happen--he will retire with a pension equal to his salary. Third, Rina inherited some valuable paintings from an acquaintance. It wasn't until later that they realized that some of the artists were well-known and that their paintings were valuable. They've already sold a few at Christie's Auction House, and the money helped defray the tremendous burden of private education for Rina's sons and their daughter. Decker had help when sending Cindy to college. Jack Cohen picked up the lion's share of the tuition, God bless him.
Cindy is now a GTA detective in Hollywood and aspires to homicide detail. She is married to Yaakov "Koby" Kutiel, who works as a neonatal nurse at Children's Hospital. Recently Decker helped the two of them expand their tiny house and hopes the remodel was done in order to eventually welcome a new addition to the family. At last, all that shop class instruction paid off.
Sammy Lazarus is now in Einstein Medical School in New York. He is engaged to his longtime girlfriend, Rachel, who is also at Einstein but a year behind her fiance. They both want to finish school before they marry. Jacob Lazarus is studying molecular biology at Johns Hopkins in Baltimore. He also has a steady girlfriend, named Ilana. Hannah Decker is sixteen. Driver's license in hand, she prides herself on being completely independent except when she needs money. She adores her parents even though she sometimes considers them a little wacky. But unlike a lot of her friends, she still talks to her parents, confiding intimate details of her life that sometimes Decker feels he'd be better off not knowing. She has many male admirers, although at the moment she is without a boyfriend. This pleases her father immensely.
Where the future will take them is anyone's guess, including my own. I don't schedule their lives; I don't formulate their adventures. Peter and Rina live like any other married couple with children, one day at a time. I'm grateful that from time to time they decide to include me in their plans.
JONATHAN KELLERMAN
Born in New York City in 1949, Jonathan Kellerman grew up in Los Angeles, receiving a BA in psychology from UCLA and a PhD in psychology from the University of Southern California. He worked his way through school as an editorial cartoonist, a columnist, an editor, and a musician. He went on to become a clinical professor of pediatrics at the Keck School of Medicine. His first two books were about medicine: Psychological Aspects of Childhood Cancer (1980) and Helping the Fearful Child (1981).
His first mystery, When the Bough Breaks (1985), introduced Alex Delaware and won the Edgar Allan Poe Award from the Mystery Writers of America. It also won the Anthony Award at the World Mystery Convention (Bouchercon) and became a New York Times bestseller as well as a television movie.
In addition to the perennially bestselling Delaware series, he has written four novels about a beautiful Los Angeles homicide detective with a complicated past, Petra Connor: Survival of the Fittest (1997), Billy Straight (1998), Twisted (2004), and Obsession (2007); two stand-alone bestsellers with his wife, Faye Kellerman (also a bestselling author and the creator of the Peter Decker and Rina Lazarus series): The Butcher's Theater (1988), The Conspiracy Club (2003), and Capital Crimes (2007); and two children's books: Daddy, Daddy, Can You Touch the Sky? (1994) and Jonathan Kellerman's ABC of Weird Creatures (1995).
The Kellermans have four children, one of whom, Jesse Kellerman, is also a professional writer of crime fiction. They live in Southern California.
ALEX DELAWARE
BY JONATHAN KELLERMAN
Back when I practiced child clinical psychology, if you visited my private office in Sherman Oaks, California; or my hospital digs at Childrens Hospital of LA, in east Hollywood; or the suite I shared with two pediatricians in Glendale, you'd find few clues about my personal life.
No photos of the wife or the kids propped on the desk, no shots of me driving fast cars or playing guitar or posed with Faye in Hawaii or Paris or Santa Fe or Jerusalem. Nothing but a few framed diplomas.
The successful--and ethical--practice of psychotherapy depends upon a thorough ego vacuuming: putting your own needs, desires, conceits, and fantasies into cold storage during the forty-five minutes you spend facing another human being in emotional crisis. Realizing it's all about that person and not about you.
According to some schools of psychotherapeutic thought, an occasional smidgeon of "self-disclosure"--dribbling out judicious bits of autobiography in the name of empathy--can benefit the patient. But even proponents of that open approach are clear that the only shrinks qualified to risk exploiting their private lives as therapeutic tools need to be experienced, rigorously self-appraising, and acutely aware of psychological boundaries--the precise spots where they end and the patient begins.
One cardinal trait of an effective psychotherapist is the ability to "actively listen," a talent that transcends gimmicky phrases such as "I hear what you're saying" and depends on a sincere suspension of the judgmental self as well as a genuine interest in the emotional life of the patient. After a few years, learning to listen on twelve cylinders can carry over to the so-called real world. You start to do it outside the office.
During my years as a psychologist, I prided myself on not playing shrink with my loved ones; when I left work, I was intent on being just another husband-dad. Sure, I'd try to be patient and sensitive, but I also needed to be free to occasionally lose my temper, pass judgment, and, yeah, even discipline the kids if they needed it. One of the nicest things my acclaimed novelist son, Jesse, ever told me was "Dad, you never treated me like a patient." (Jesse's a great guy and a terrific son, but I'm sure there were many less charitable appraisals by him and his three sisters when I blew my stack or otherwise indulged a sometimes bellicose nature.)
Despite all that, there were times when I'd like to think my training helped me as a father. I understood the developmental stages that affected children's thoughts and feelings. I got that while kids weren't miniature adults, they deserved to be treated with respect. Perhaps most important, I realized that quality time wasn't sufficient; you needed quantity time. I spent a lot of time with my kids, and when I wrote fiction in my home office--which was, and still is, festooned with personal stuff--the door was always open, literally and figuratively.
When I wasn't the cause of my kid's problems, I tried to be part of the solution by actively listening.
I haven't treated patients in a decade and a half, but there are occasions when I still slip into listening mode. That's because I'm an extremely, perhaps pathologically, curious guy, genuinely interested in other people and the stories they tell. That has led to what my kids describe as "Uh-oh, Dad made a new friend."
Hence, the guy in the Southwest Airlines departure barn at Albuquerque Airport who started schmoozing with me during a two-hour delay getting back to LA after a family vacation in Santa Fe. He was an interesting fellow who fixed mammoth oil rigs for a living, often under storm conditions. He had a lot to say about the challenges of his job and his life, and I listened. I learned a lot about heavy equipment and life on the Texas gulf.
Then there was the leather-clad former corporate CEO I ran into at a Malibu restaurant who now filled his spare time with cross-country jaunts on his Harley.
The woman who planned high-level parties in Washington, DC, and had met quite a few... interesting people.
The kidney transplant surgeon who used to own a country music station and now bought insurance companies, aiming for one purchase a year.
The former child actress who sold real estate. The septuagenarian great-grandfather who washed cars for a living and spent his free time Rollerblading.
Et cetera.
People talk to me; I listen.
Nothing bores me more than my own story. I want to hear about other people's lives, and the only
way to do that is to Stay Out of the Picture.
I mention all this because it goes a long way toward explaining Alex Delaware and the structure of the novels that feature him.
People talk to him; he does his best to keep the focus on them.
When I was twenty-one, I won a literary prize and thought I was hot stuff.
Unfortunately, no one in American book publishing agreed.
Thirteen years of late-night typing in my unfinished garage earned me enough rejection slips to paper a hedge fund honcho's Xanadu. Finally, I got good enough to publish my first novel, When the Bough Breaks. But even that was no quickie; I wrote the book in 1981; it was accepted in 1983 but held until 1985 because the editor who bought the book left and the corporate drones at my publisher couldn't figure out what to do with a story featuring a psychologist, a gay cop, and a story line that ventured into the then-uncharted territory of child sexual abuse.
My advance was six grand, which amounted to about three bucks an hour, meaning Bough was bought as what's charitably termed a "small book" in the publishing biz.
This means it was predestined to disappear and that would be the end of my literary career.
Being totally naive about the business of publishing, I had no idea that I was being set up to fail, and was, in fact, as happy as a pig in swill. Because I'd been vindicated: no longer was I a pathetic, self-deluded mope with a good day job.
I was a novelist!
To my publisher's amazement, Bough earned a hefty (by 1985 standards) paperback sale and garnered rave reviews, including a gracious showcase by the eminent British-born critic John Gross (whose departure from the New York Times has rendered that tedious periodical sorely lacking in sparkling critical talent).
Mr. Gross featured my book in a Times daily review along with write-ups of new novels by Dick Francis and John D. MacDonald. Which is kind of like opening for the Beatles.