Faye Kellerman - Decker 13 - The Forgotten

by The Forgotten

  something about Ruby being interested in Nazis or supremacist groups?'

  'She made comments about Hitler being a hero or something. I don't remember the exact words. Could be she once flirted with PEL'

  Oliver broke in, 'This is what I don't understand. How can Holt be a mouthpiece for a group that basically fronts for white supremacy when he's part black?'

  Marge said, 'Holt hated his black father because Daddy sent away his mother and brother. So Holt denied his black heritage and identified with the victim - his mother - who was white.'

  'Not at first,' Decker said. 'He was a typical Berkeley radical.'

  'But he went through a big metamorphosis. In the end, he sided with Mommy because she was the underdog, and Dad was a bastard.'

  'I didn't say his father was a bastard.'

  'You said he was a schmuck,' Oliver added.

  'Yeah, but his wife might have been horrible, too.'

  'Maybe bad as a wife, but maybe she was a good mother. And Darrell really never got a chance to find out who she was, because she and DarrelPs brother were exiled.' Marge rolled herself back to the computer. 'You like my explanation? I've been working it over in my mind for the last hour.'

  'Freud would be proud,' Decker said.

  'No, really.' Marge was emphatic. 'Doesn't it make sense?'

  'It floats my boat,' Oliver stated.

  Decker said, 'We're never going to be able to break all these files here. We need professionals.'

  'I second that,' Marge said. 'But she's not going to let us take the computers unless we invent a good reason to do so.' She thought a moment. 'We need Holt. You don't think the father was holding back?'

  Decker shrugged. His cell phone went off. He pushed the green send button. 'Decker.'

  'Erin Kershan's real name is Erin Beller.' Wanda's voice was filled with excitement. 'She's a fifteen-year-old runaway from

  Scarsdale, New York. Her parents have been looking for her for six months. She's run away before but only for a week at a time. This last time, she flew the coop with some lowlife biker that she had met in Woodstock, New York, while on a family vacation.'

  'Any clue as to where she might be right now?'

  'Yes. They have relatives here in L.A. - in Brentwood. Relatives they don't like.' Wanda gave him the address. 'The Bellers had called the Frammels - the Brentwood relatives - just to let them know that Erin was missing and would they please call if she showed up. Of course, the Frammels said that they would contact them if she showed.'

  'But so far there's been no contact.'

  'Exactly. But lack of contact with the parents doesn't mean that Erin isn't there now.'

  'And you did instruct the Bellers not to call their relatives in Brentwood.'

  'Yes. I did. I told them that if they gave Erin a heads-up, both of us would lose her. The parents didn't like it - they want to talk to her - but they're cooperating for now.'

  'I'm not too far from Brentwood,' Decker said. 'Maybe I should pay them a surprise visit.'

  'I think that would be a very good idea, sir.'

  Alice Ranger was as thin as ever, her face made even more severe by layers of foundation that gave her a ghostly appearance. The makeup looked newly applied, as if she were planning on going somewhere. If that were the case, she gave no indication of being in a hurry. On the contrary, she acted welcoming, as if the visit from Martinez and Webster were a social call. A brown knitted pantsuit hung on her bony frame; her feet were bare with toenails painted eggplant purple.

  'Come in, come in.' Acting like old friends. 'Would you like something to drink?'

  Webster shook his head, but Martinez told her that water would be nice. He came from a culture that considered it an insult to refuse hospitality.

  Alice regarded him with displeasure. Trying to stand in one spot, she teetered on her feet. 'Only water?'

  'Water, juice, a Coke...'

  'How about a rum-and-Coke?'

  'No, thank you.'

  'Don't be shy.'

  'Then how about coffee?' Martinez asked.

  'Coffee?' She was incredulous. 'It's well into the martini hour, Detective.'

  'Thank you, but I'd still like coffee. How about making up a pot?'

  'A whole pot?'

  'Yeah. Tom'll take a cup. And you'll join us, of course.'

  Alice made a face. 'You want me to drink coffee?'

  'Yeah. Go make up a pot, Mrs Ranger.'

  'All right.' It took her a while to focus. 'I'll get you coffee.'

  "Thank you.'

  'Be right back.'

  'Okay.'

  'Don't go away.'

  'No, we won't/ Webster said.

  'Hey, you can talk,' Alice sniped.

  'Yes, ma'am, I can talk.'

  Alice's smile was loopy. 'Be right back.'

  'Yes, ma'am.'

  Finally she left. Martinez gave a quick once-over to the living room, hoping to glean some information about the family from the furnishings. Unfortunately, the decor was a vast snowscape of white carpet holding thick blobs of cream and white furniture. The art that broke up the vanilla walls was drab and shapeless, the coffee and end tables were as empty as the desert plains. No photos, no vases or bowls or plates or displays. No TV or entertainment unit, either. But there was a well-stocked, mirror-backed, granite-topped wet bar that took up half the room.

  Webster had followed the arc of Martinez's eyes, seeing them

  light on the bar. He whispered, 'How much vermouth do you think is in that woman's liver?'

  'That's between her and God. Our job is to get her reasonably sober enough to make sense.'

  'It's going to take more than coffee to do that.'

  'Then we'll have to take our time.'

  'How 'bout I peek upstairs on the off-chance that Ruby's there?' Tom suggested. 'Could be the reason why the mother is so soused.'

  'You know, it's a good idea,' Martinez said. 'Even if she's not up there, you can snoop around the room. I'll stay here. If she comes back and wonders where you are, I'll tell her you're in the bathroom.'

  'Yeah, I think she likes you better than me anyway.'

  'That's because I smile when I talk to her.'

  Webster nodded, stood up, and quietly made his way up the narrow staircase, remembering that Ruby had hibernated on the third floor, her space being more an attic than a room. When he opened the door, he slumped with disappointment. All of Ruby's influence had disappeared, and in its place was an insipid guest room. It had ivory walls, a blond oak-planked floor, a Persian-style rug, and a double bed dressed with a dusty rose comforter and a matching quilted headboard. Crammed into the square footage were also a TV sitting in an oak bookcase, and a couple of nightstands. Harmless, characterless. Ruby hadn't been there for a long time.

  Out of habit or boredom, Webster went through the drawers, checked under the bed and furniture, slipped his hand under the pillow, lifted up the covers, stuck his arm between the mattress and bed frame. And what did he expect to find? A gun? A hidden computer file? A stash of money or drugs?

  All he found were a couple of dust balls.

  By the time he made it back down, Alice had returned with the coffee.

  'Did you get lost?' she asked him.

  'Just looking for the little boys' room.'

  'On the third floor? Ever hear of a powder room?' She rolled her eyes. 'You were snooping.'

  Webster smiled boyishly. The woman wasn't as pickled as he had thought.

  Alice said, 'You won't find anything of hers in it. I redid the place. Never felt so good about anything in my life. Clearing out her garbage was instant therapy. That girl has been trouble from day one.'

  'In what way?' Martinez asked.

  'What way?' Alice shook her head. She had returned with a glass of something amber and iced in a crystal tumbler. 'Lying, drinking, stealing. And those are her good points.' But her face held tremendous pain. 'You know, it's getting there that's so hard. Once you make the commitment to separate, the r
est is easy. I should have done it a long time ago.' She moistened her lips with her drink. 'Now that she's gone... it's calmer. Things don't bother me too much. Even his tramps.' She cocked her head at nothing in particular. 'Nah, even he don't bother me.'

  'He' was obviously the husband.

  'When was the last time you saw Ruby?' Webster asked.

  'When was the last time you saw her?' Alice parried. 'That was my last time.'

  'That was about six months ago,' Martinez said. 'She hasn't contacted you since then?'

  'Nope.'

  'Not even to say hello?'

  'Especially not to say hello.'

  'How about for money?'

  'Nope. Although if she did contact me, it would have been for money. Nah, I haven't heard from her. Ruby has been flush the last couple of years. Probably whoring. Or stealing. Or even dealing.'

  'How about computer hacking?' Martinez brought up.

  'What?'

  'Playing with computers.'

  'Yeah, Ruby used to do that a lot.'

  Webster said, 'I didn't see her computer up there.'

  'She took it with her.'

  'What did you do with the belongings she left behind, Mrs Ranger?'

  'Threw them away. I would have burnt them in the fireplace -you know - to make a statement. But then I was afraid I'd set off the smoke alarms.'

  'Did she leave any disks or CD-ROMs behind?' Webster threw

  in.

  'Nothing that I took notice of.' Alice swirled the ice in her drink. 'I bought her a laptop. A state-of-the-art Toshiba. It put me back almost eighteen hundred dollars. God, was I a sucker.'

  'So whatever was left over in the room,' Martinez said, 'you threw it all away?'

  'Threw it away, gave it away. She had an old Nintendo game system. I gave that away to Goodwill. I also gave away her bed, her furniture, her old TV, and the clothes she left behind. As far as I'm concerned, that girl is my daughter only on her birth certificate.'

  Webster said, 'You're angry.'

  'Furious.'

  'Do you know if she was doing anything illegal?' Martinez asked.

  'She was doing drugs.' Alice shrugged. 'That's illegal.'

  'What kind of drugs?'

  'I don't know... I never asked. She's been doing them since she was fourteen. Nah, I don't know for certain that she was doing something real bad. But she hung in bad company.'

  'Like who?'

  'She brought home strange boys. The last one was really spooky. A black boy. Light skinned but you could tell it anyway.'

  'Darrell Holt?'

  Alice thought a moment. 'He never did say his name. She brought him by twice. I put my foot down. I said no bringing boys up to your room. She spit in my face and told me she'd eff whoever the eff she wanted to eff.' The woman sighed. 'I shoulda

  kicked her out.' Tears. 'But it was my own daughter.'

  'Did she come home with any other friends?'

  'Once or twice she brought up the boy who was in the papers.' Alice's eyes darkened. 'The one that was...'

  'Ernesto Golding,' Martinez filled in.

  Alice made swipes at her cheek. 'What happened?'

  'That's what we're looking into,' Webster stated.

  'You think Ruby had something to do with it?'

  'You tell me,' Martinez answered.

  'How should I know? I never had any idea what that girl was doing.' But her eyes told a different story.

  Martinez pressed her. 'Did you ever meet Ernesto?'

  Slowly Alice nodded. 'Once. He came here waiting for Ruby. She never did show up.' She opened and closed her mouth. 'He made an attempt to be civil. I thought that was nice.' She got misty-eyed. 'Ruby... she was bigmouthed, but she wouldn't... she couldn't have... you know.'

  They knew.

  'Ernesto... he was okay.' Another sip. 'He was Ruby's flavor of the month. She was probably using him. But using people is one thing... The other thing... she wouldn't...' But the woman did not sound convinced. 'She wouldn't do that!'

  'You mean murder?' Webster filled in.

  Alice grimaced. 'My daughter is not a killer!'

  Obviously, the woman, as much as she was proclaiming not to care, couldn't wipe her hands of her own offspring.

  Martinez spoke in a soft voice. 'You tried.'

  'Yes, I did,' Alice agreed. 'I tried very hard. But very hard wasn't good enough. I tried but I still failed.'

  'Any idea where she may be?'

  'No, but if you find her, tell her she owes me money for junking her stuff.'

  Webster said, 'Mrs Ranger, would you happen to have an old phone bill from when she was living at home?'

  'Probably.'

  A long pause.

  'You think you can look it up for us?'

  'Now?'

  'Yes, now,' Martinez said.

  'It could take a little while.'

  'We can wait.'

  Alice stared at her drink. 'She's in big trouble, isn't she?' There was a long pause. Then she whispered, 'Is she in danger?'

  Martinez shrugged but didn't answer. Alice felt herself shudder. It was always what wasn't said that scared her.

  31

  The house was situated on the side of a mountain, one of those places precariously perched on concrete reinforced stilts and built by optimists who denied earthquakes happened in Southern California. It was dark outside, so it was hard to tell the color of the exterior, but it looked to be tan and white stucco spruced up with white gingerbread. Since it was a two-story split-level, most of the physical structure remained hidden, the majority of the edifice having been bolted and carved (hopefully) into the rocky hillside. The appeal of these domiciles extended beyond the thrill of danger: the homes had tremendous views of the verdant canyons and the glittering city lights beyond.

  Since the house was gated, Decker had to ring to get in, but suddenly announcing himself as a police officer would ruin the element of surprise. He looked around. Behind the metal barrier was a small blip of asphalt driveway holding a lone black Mercedes. Outside the gate, resting on the fold of a mountainous curve, were an SUV and a three-year-old Mustang.

  Decker rang the bell. A woman, talking through a squawk box, answered his page.

  'Yes?'

  'You own that orange Mustang parked outside?'

  'Who is this?'

  'We're about to tow it away. It's got four unpaid parking tickets.'

  'What? Hold on! Justin! Come here this instant! There's a man—'

  'I'm towing the car now.'

  'Hold on!'

  'Can't do that,' Decker said. 'I've got a job to do.'

  'There's a mistake—'

  'No mistake. Some of the tickets are over a year old.'

  'Wait! Don't tow the car. Just hold on!' She screamed, 'Justin! Get over here right now!'

  Purposely, Decker didn't answer. A moment later the gate began to swing open. Light spilled out from the front door. A woman came running after him. 'Excuse me! Who are you?'

  She was knife-edge thin and looked equally hard. A pinched nose, hollow cheeks, a strong chin, a shiny white forehead with straight black hair sprayed stiff and combed straight back.

  'Just what do you think you're do—' Panting, she glanced about with jerks of the head. 'I don't see any tow truck.'

  Decker took out his ID and badge and showed it to her. 'That's because there is no tow truck. I'm the lead investigator on the Baldwin murder case. And I bet you know why I'm here, Mrs Frammel.'

  Panicked eyes went from the ID folder to Decker's face, then back to the badge. 'I... I want to—'

  'Let's take it inside. No reason for the entire neighborhood to hear us.' Decker began to urge her forward by her elbow, but she resisted.

  'You'll have to come back when my husband's home.'

  'You're harboring a fugitive wanted for murder,' Decker replied. 'I think not.'

  Again the woman was stunned. 'Wanted for... no, no, no, no, no. You've got it all wrong.'

  'So let's go in
side, and Erin and you can explain it to me.'