Faye Kellerman - Decker 05 - False Prophet

by False Prophet

  "She's an incomplete deck, Leo. If I'd known. Marge would be here."

  "Uh-huh."

  "Fuck you."

  Both men laughed.

  Decker said, "There is a very slight chance that she actually did see these guys with her eyes and just can't admit it... or is afraid to admit it. Maybe she knows them but imaging is her way of telling me she won't testify against them. So if you don't mind, indulge her and me and get some drawings."

  "No problem. Sergeant, I'm an old-timer. Have seen it or heard it all." Leo peered down the hallway. "I think your deck is about to have a little company. Why don't I grab some coffee in the cafeteria? Call me when you need me."

  "Fine, Leo."

  Decker watched the figure approach. Tall, thin, lithe. She wore a floor-length, form-fitting, black sequined gown with slits up the side. The dress sparkled with each movement of her legs. Her face had been powdered white, but her features—except for blood-red lips—were obscured by a black veil that fell to her shoulders. Her feet were housed in spike-heeled pumps rimmed with rhinestones. Yet her gait—her balance—was that of a young fashion model instead of an old woman. She wasn't merely walking, she was shimmying. She was sashaying.

  Davida Eversong was making her entrance.

  She walked past him without so much as a curious glance. Decker followed her into Lilah's room.

  It was a one-sided tearful reunion.

  "Dear God, what happened to my baaaby!" Davida hugged her daughter. "My poor sweet baaaaby."

  A husky voice. Decker thought. And loud. As they say in the business, it projected.

  "My poor sweet darling little girl! How awful!"

  "Mother, sit—"

  "Dear God! Dear, dear, dear God!"

  "Mother! Sit! Down!"

  Davida ignored her, pulled out a black lace handkerchief and wiped her eyes under her veil. Lilah regarded her.

  "You didn't have to dress for mourning. Mother. I didn't die."

  Davida broke into a sudden smile. "Do you like my gown? It's a Vilantano. Size six. Isn't that incredible?"

  Lilah looked at Decker. "I was attacked and she talks about her dress. This is so typical—"

  "Oh, don't be angry with me, Delilah dear. Of course, I care about your welfare! When Freddy told me, I just about died."

  "I specifically asked him not to tell you."

  Davida looked at Decker. "She didn't want to worry me. That's my daughter... so considerate."

  Lilah closed her eyes and lowered her head to her pillow. "I'm very tired. I need rest."

  "Don't be mad at Freddy, sweetheart." Davida dismissed her daughter's emotions with a wave of the hand. "I could tell he was so very bothered. I just wouldn't let him go until I wangled it out of him."

  She opened a black beaded evening bag and began putting some flesh-colored bottles on the hospital bed tray.

  "I brought you some makeup—a light moisturizing base, a little mascara and eye shadow, some blush and a little cover-up. Freddy told me how you were slapped around during the robbery! How awful!" She took a long appraising look. "My goodness, Lilah, you look as if they did more than slap you."

  "Mother, I truly am tired."

  Davida brought her hand to her chest. "Those... those... bas-tardsl Are you all right, Lilah?"

  "Yes."

  "Truly, dear. Don't hold back."

  "I don't think I'm up for my five-mile jog, but I'll recover."

  "You've always had such a positive spirit! I so admire that quality, dear."

  "What I need more than anything is rest, Mother."

  "Darling... did those bastards... did they..."

  Lilah looked at Decker. "No."

  Davida followed her daughter's eyes, noticing Decker's presence for the first time. "Darling, who's this man?"

  "He's the police, Mother."

  Davida walked in measured steps over to Decker and lifted her veil. Her skin was ghostly white, but stretched tight over large cheekbones. She had broad features—a wide nose, wide-set eyes that were round and bright and very dark. Her mouth seemed to stretch from ear to ear. Her hair was pulled back over a high-set forehead and dyed blue-black. She'd need another rinse soon—a hint of white at the root line.

  Up close, Decker found Davida Eversong a little simian-looking, but he could imagine that her strong features had come across well on the big screen. In the beauty department, Lilah had it over Mom hands down. But daughter's delicate features just might blur when magnified.

  Decker knew Mom was studying him, her eyes boring into his without so much as a twitch of discomfort. No wonder Morrison had been pestering him on the progress of the case. Decker didn't know if it was acting or what, but Davida reeked with wealth and

  power. Offscreen, she was more formidable than any part she had ever played on-screen.

  "So you're the police," Davida said.

  "Yes, ma'am. Sergeant Decker."

  "I'm glad you're here, Sergeant. We need to talk. Although the jewelry wasn't as valuable as the pieces I keep in the bank vault, some of the items were highly sentimental. I trust you'll do everything possible to find the criminals who took them from me."

  Decker looked at Lilah. "You had jewelry in your safe?"

  In a bored voice, she said, "Mother kept some jewelry there. That wasn't what they were after, Peter."

  "I suppose you'll need a description, Sergeant," Davida said. "I'll give you the name of my insurance broker. He has written descriptions and Polaroids of each item. I'd like all my jewelry back but there's an emerald brooch of particular interest for me. It was a gift. Well, all the pieces were gifts... that's another story." She turned to Lilah. "Really, darling, you should have told me right away. Those bastards might have already fenced the larger stones."

  "They weren't after your jewelry, Mother. They were after Father's memoirs."

  "Lilah, dear—"

  "The jewelry is garbage in comparison to the real treasure."

  "Darling, a five-carat Colombian emerald isn't garbage by anyone's standards."

  "Garbage!" Lilah was red-faced. "It's all garbage] They weren't after something as common as your jewelry. They were after Father's memoirs. Your jewelry is GARBAGE!"

  "Dear me, Lilah, I know you've been through a terrible ordeal, but do control your temper." She turned to Decker. "Lilah was always a highly emotional child. Like me. But I directed my emotions into acting. Don't you think Lilah would have made a wonderful actress—"

  "Mother, this is not a role I'm playing. This is real life. I was hurt, damn it—"

  "Delilah Francine, do try and calm down." Davida slithered down into a seated position at her daughter's bedside and kissed her forehead. "It can't be good for you to work yourself up into a lather." She brought her hand to her chest. "Lord knows, it's not good for me." She kissed Lilah again, then looked up at Decker. "Why aren't you out looking for my jewelry?"

  "I'm not done interviewing Lilah, Ms. Eversong. Would it be possible for you to step outside for a moment until I've finished up?"

  "Oh, don't stop on my account. Just keep going. Pretend I'm not here."

  Lilah growled, "He needs to talk to me alone."

  "Alone?" Davida leaned in close and whispered a stage aside into her daughter's ear. "Is he trustworthy?"

  Lilah closed her eyes and answered yes.

  Davida patted her hand. "Well, if you think you're in good hands, I'll be on my way. I'll speak to you as soon as you've returned to the spa. Do come home soon. This place is dreadful. A little wallpaper would certainly go a long way."

  "Why don't you talk to the hospital's administrator about it?"

  "Girl, I don't talk to anyone unless it's a dire emergency. My children excepted, of course. Freddy tells me he's checking you out this afternoon."

  "Yes."

  "Lovely." She kissed her daughter's forehead. "I'll just leave the makeup here. Should I send more cover-up with Freddy this afternoon? After all, who knows who'll be watching?"

  "Do ¦what
ever you want, Mother."

  "Do try and rest, Lilah dear."

  "I'm trying."

  "Good-bye, dear."

  "Ms. Eversong," Decker said. "I'd like to talk to you about your jewelry."

  Lilah shook her head. "It wasn't what they were after, Peter. Believe me."

  "I believe you, Lilah," Decker said, "but they took the jewelry anyway. With a good description, I might be able to track down some of the pieces and find these monsters." He turned to Davida. "Is there somewhere we can talk while Lilah's describing her assailants to the police artist?"

  "You saw the thieves!" Davida said, clapping her hands. "Wonderful! Wonderful!"

  "I didn't see them, Mother. I imaged them."

  Davida stopped applauding. "Oh. That's nice, dear."

  "Imaged them very clearly!"

  Davida stood and brushed a piece of imaginary dirt off her dress. "Very good, dear." She turned to Decker. "I suppose I might be

  able to wait for you inside the limo in front of the hospital."

  "That would be perfect."

  She smiled, offered Decker her arm. "Accompany me down the hall, Sergeant."

  Decker looked at Lilah.

  "Go ahead."

  Lilah was barely suppressing her rage. And here he was, caught between a rock and a rock. What happened when two rocks were rubbed together? Lots of friction, sometimes fire.

  Decker said, "I'll be back in a minute."

  Lilah didn't bother to answer.

  When they were halfway down the corridor, Davida said, "Surely, you don't believe her imaging crap, do you?"

  "I think she might be trying to tell me something and imaging is a safe way for her to do it."

  Davida brushed off the suggestion. "That child. I do love her. But she is simply full of it—she and her brother. Although Freddy hasn't claimed to be blessed with the powers, God help us all." She let out a deep chuckle. "But I do love her so. Of my four children, she's the most like me, so I suppose it's natural for me to favor her. Such a fanciful girl. I did so want her to become-an actress and follow in my footsteps. There's no predicting children, Detective."

  Decker didn't answer. They walked several moments without talking.

  "What a trauma!" Davida said. "For all of us! Sergeant, I'd really like my so-called garbage back. That's really what the thieves must have been after. Poor Lilah. No doubt she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But she doesn't seem too badly hurt now, does she?"

  "Not on the outside, at least."

  "Outside is all that counts, let me tell you, my young man." She lowered her veil. "Shit comes and shit goes, but as long as you look good, who cares? Look at me. No one really knows how old I am. And I intend to keep it that way."

  Whatever gets you through the night, lady, Decker thought. "Ms. Eversong, what do you know about your late husband's memoirs?"

  "Only that Lilah has an inflated picture of her father and what his memoirs are worth. Oh, I'm sure they could fetch maybe five to ten thousand dollars on the open market—"

  "Lilah felt she could sell them for three hundred thousand—"

  "That's nonsense! But why burst her bubble? Forget about the memoirs. Concentrate on my jewels. As I stated, I have other -pieces, but I really would like to find that brooch."

  "What kind of value are we talking about?"

  "Oh, maybe a million total. The brooch is the most expensive piece. That alone is worth a quarter million. The rest are dribs and drabs. Twenty thousand here, thirty there."

  "Ms. Eversong, do you have the combination to Lilah's safe?"

  "To the outer safe only," Davida said. "It's where the jewelry was kept."

  "Anyone else know the combination to the outer safe?"

  "Obviously, someone did."

  "Did you give the combination to anyone?"

  "No."

  "Do you know the combination to the inner safe, Miss Eversong?"

  "That, my young man, is exclusively Lilah's bailiwick."

  "And that's where she kept the memoirs?"

  "I haven't a clue as to what she squirreled away."

  Decker thought a moment. The safe had been picked cleanly— a pro crack all the way. Yet there was something very amateurish about the crime. Pros didn't rape and ransack. They liked fast jobs—nothing with complications. So someone had probably hired assholes—punks—and given them the combination. Now if the punks had been hired to rob the safe of the jewels only, why bother taking the memoirs? It would have required an extra combination to break—assuming Lilah kept the memoirs in the inner safe. Logically, it would make more sense for the punks to have been hired to steal the memoirs. When they saw the jewels, they took them as a side perk. Despite Davida's insistence to the contrary, Decker wasn't ready to rule out the memoirs as the main object of the theft.

  "Do you know the contents of your late husband's memoirs?"

  "Not at all. As a matter of fact, I've never even seen them. Supposedly, they went from Oskar's estate right to Lilah's safe. Did Lilah tell you about Oskar Holtz?"

  "He was your late husband's trusted friend?"

  "A dear boy, little Oskar was. Now he's gone." She sighed. "They're all gone. Only I'm left. I outlived them all." She smiled. "Good genes."

  "Ms. Eversong, what did you mean when you said the memoirs supposedly went from Oskar's estate into your daughter's hands?"

  "I'm not saying they don't exist. All I'm saying is Lilah has a very active imagination. A year ago, my son suddenly told me about these supposed memoirs' existence. Perhaps she imaged them just like she imaged her attackers."

  Decker didn't answer.

  "Humor her if you want. But take my jewel theft seriously."

  "I am. That's why I wanted to talk to you."

  They reached the lobby, walked over to the elevators. Davida dropped Decker's arm and punched the down button.

  "I'll wait for you for twenty minutes, my handsome young friend in the unpressed suit. After that, you can forget about talking to me and you'll have to deal with my insurance broker." The elevator doors opened and Davida stepped inside. As the doors closed, she said, "Ciao."

  "Can you believe that woman?"

  "Are you all right, Lilah?"

  "I'm furious! But I can't say that I expected anything more out of her. Or out of Freddy, either. He's just as exasperating but in a different way. So weak. I specifically tell him not to mention anything to Mother. So what happens?"

  She picked up a bottle of makeup and threw it against the wall. It didn't break, merely bounced and ended up on the floor.

  There was a moment of silence.

  "Pick that up, Peter. I might as well use it."

  He hesitated, angry at her barked orders. Then he remembered all she had gone through, complied, then sat back in his chair. "So your mother kept some jewelry in your safe."

  She glared at him, panting, fire in her eyes. "They... weren't... after... the.. jewelry."

  "Could you just bear with me for a moment, Lilah?"

  Suddenly, she dropped her gaze. "Go on. I'm listening."

  "Say you're right," Decker said. "They weren't after the jewelry. They were after the memoirs. But they found your mother's jewelry. And took it. Because it's valuable. Maybe they figured there was more jewelry in your house and that's why they ransacked your place."

  Lilah was quiet. "Perhaps."

  "Do you have any other valuables that you don't keep in the safe?"

  "Some cash—front-desk-register money. What difference does it make? If I had kept it in the safe, they would have stolen it from the safe anyway."

  "True. Did you open your safe yesterday?"

  "No."

  "You're sure?"

  "Of course I'm sure. Why?"

  "We lifted your fingerprints off the dial."

  "So?"

  "Your maid said she dusted the safe yesterday. I would have thought she would have dusted off any prints."

  Lilah said, "Mercedes is not that thorough. I think she vacu
ums the closet, but dusting? Forget it. I've found cobwebs in the corner. But why bother making her feel bad about it? When you asked her if she dusted the closet, you probably threatened her. So she lied."