Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 14 Page 12

  There was no way Decker could convince Chris that he had his interest at heart. But he could convince Donatti that he cared about Terry—because that was true. Decker had given the girl money when she had been desperate—abandoned by everyone, including her parents. One thousand dollars that Decker could ill afford went to support Donatti’s son when Chris wouldn’t have anything to do with her. Now that they had resumed a relationship, Terry had probably told him about it: Chris was no doubt resentful. Still, Decker had come through for Terry, and Donatti placed a huge premium on loyalty.

  Decker sat back down on the wooden crate and rested his elbows on his knees. If he were to get anywhere with this homicide, he needed an insider and who better than Donatti?

  Provided that Donatti had nothing to do with the murder.

  Sure it was a risk, but what was life without that occasional adrenaline rush?

  Decker waited patiently, happy to just sit and do nothing. When Donatti finally emerged, he stopped in his tracks, seeing Decker. “You’re still here.”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  As Decker stood, Donatti tensed up every muscle, every sinew as if expecting Decker to pounce. Instead, Decker dropped his voice to a soothing whisper. “You have a beautiful son, Donatti, because you chose his mother well. That much we agree on. As far as Terry goes, I die with your secret, guy. You know me well enough to realize that my word is not only gold but also noncontingent. If you can help me out, fine. If not, it’s no hard feelings. I walk away and you never hear from me again.”

  With that, Decker turned and left.

  12

  If Donatti had something to do with the hit, he didn’t give off any telltale vibes. But then again Chris had always been good at hiding things, so Decker didn’t dare rule him out. Clearly, Donatti favored youth—teenagers he could control and manipulate. He had to recruit his girls from somewhere, and as long as Shaynda was still missing, any predator of young girls was suspect. Decker had stirred up the muck. Now it remained to be seen what would surface.

  Walking along Riverside Drive, he bundled up in his coat and stuck his hands in his pockets. The sky was all pewter and charcoals, enclosing the Hudson River like dented armor. A pungent wind was roughing up the water’s surface. Decker felt the sting in his cheeks and on the tip of his nose. Brisk in step, he spotted a taxi and flagged it down. As soon as he did it, he realized he didn’t know where he wanted to go.

  With the case stalling and no new leads, there wasn’t any reason to stay in Manhattan. Yet, just as Rina had predicted, he was reluctant to let go. Why had the Liebers turned hostile? Stress manifesting itself or the sinking realization that Decker would not be able to work miracles? A true professional would have returned to Quinton and bullied the family into cooperation. But that was the problem: The Liebers were family. His relationship with his half brother Jonathan wasn’t fixed in concrete, and Decker didn’t want to jeopardize a tenuous bond that took ten years to build.

  His options were dwindling, but he still had some recourse left. Since he was in Manhattan anyway, he could pay a visit to Leon Hershfield. The attorney was working on a high-profile case, and because Hershfield wouldn’t work on Saturday, logic dictated that the lawyer was probably in his office on Sunday.

  He gave the driver the Fifth Avenue address, calling Hershfield on his cell phone. The lawyer didn’t sound thrilled to hear from him, but he was smart enough to invite Decker over. Twenty minutes later, Hershfield met him at the door to his office. He was impeccably dressed in sporty attire—a camel-hair jacket over gray slacks, a white shirt, and red tie. Not the usual Brioni or Kiton suit, but still appropriate for a seven-figure, high-powered attorney. Hershfield’s shoes looked to be boots—elephant hide.

  “No rest for the weary,” he told Decker as he closed the door behind him. “Sit down. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “No, I’m all right.”

  A glance at his wrist revealed a thick gold watchband. Hershfield said, “It’s noon. How about some lunch? I was going to order in. The Broughder case has been incredibly time-consuming. Who has time to go out? But I’d be happy to order you a sandwich or bagel.”

  Decker smiled. Hershfield had just related a page’s worth of hidden messages: I’m a busy man, I’ve got commitments, and I’ve got time restraints. You’re imposing on them. I’ve looked at my watch. I’m clocking you.

  “No, thank you, Counselor. I shouldn’t be here more than a few minutes. Thank you for your time.”

  Message received loud and clear.

  Hershfield sat back in his desk chair. “So how are you feeling?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Jet lag.”

  “I’m sure that’s part of it.”

  Silence.

  “Are you making progress to your satisfaction?”

  “No.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “Part of it is I’m working blind.” Decker licked his lips. “I’m getting this strange feeling that I’m not wanted.”

  “Cops are territorial.”

  “Not the cops, Counselor, the clients. I have this notion that certain people are sorry they got me involved. Lord only knows why they called me.”

  “Initial panic, maybe?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then maybe it’s time to say good-bye.”

  The speed with which Hershfield answered gave Decker second thoughts. It seemed likely that the Liebers had contacted Hershfield, maybe even asked him how to get Decker off their backs. “Although, I’ve got to tell you,” Decker answered, “I’m having a hard time letting go. I have this thing… my daughter says it’s called the zygarnic effect. It’s this pathological need for closure. At least, that’s what my daughter says.”

  “Children love to categorize their parents.”

  “My wife says the same thing about me. Must be a kernel of truth in there.”

  “I’m sure you’re right. But if the need is pathological, maybe such doggedness is not such a good thing.”

  “It works well in my field.”

  “I suppose it does.” Hershfield smiled. “And what about the cops? When we last spoke, you said you were going to contact them, ask them questions.”

  “They’ve been very cooperative.”

  “That’s good to hear. Do you think that they’re competent?”

  “They’re fine. Good actually. Motivated.”

  “So why not leave the case to them? Unlike you, they’re not working blind. They have the resources and the connections. Why visit trouble? The family won’t appreciate it anyway.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because that’s the way we Jews are, nu?”

  Now he was being folksy as well as conspiratorial.

  “Maybe it’s time to close up shop before you get in over your head.”

  Decker eyed him. “Over my head?”

  “It’s just like you said, Lieutenant, if I may be blunt. New York is a behemoth. If you’re not a local, you don’t stand a chance. Even if you were a local, you’d be in thick gravy. Plus, you’ve got this subset called Chasidim. If you think the cops are doing a good job, I would strongly suggest that you bow out before you get sucked into something you can’t handle.”

  Decker stared at him. “I’m not wanted.”

  “Don’t take it personally.”

  “Who am I pissing off? Obviously, Minda doesn’t like me, but I think it’s more.”

  Hershfield shrugged, offering Decker a palms-up gesture. “I like you. In some ways, I identify with you. We’re both frum Yiddim, trying to negotiate the world for a bunch of black-hatters who think we’re goyim. Why stick your nose into dung if people are only going to tell you that you stink?”

  “That’s what I do for a living, Counselor. Stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.”

  “But you’re not getting paid for this, Lieutenant. You’re taking precious vacation time to get spit at. And if you think you’re going to r
edeem yourself with these people, even after this is over, think again. You’ve been with the tribe long enough to know that working for Jews is nothing but problems. I’m getting paid for it. But what do you need it for?”

  The anonymous complainer could have been anyone from Chaim to the cops, even Donatti, who used Hershfield as his lawyer. And if it were Chris, maybe Hershfield was using the Liebers to deflect the heat off him. Decker said nothing.

  “Anything else?” Hershfield asked.

  “Yes, actually there is something else. First time we met, you asked my brother about Mr. Lieber’s stores as a pass-through for money-laundering drug dollars. Do you know something that I don’t?”

  “Lieutenant, if you want to work from that angle, it’s fine with me.”

  “I don’t need your permission.”

  “No, Decker, you don’t.” Hershfield’s face had tightened, the skin over his bony cheeks taut and dry. “Look, murder is a terrible thing. And I’m devastated about the young girl. Really, I am. But until she’s found—one way or another—the Lieber family has to be protected. That’s why you hired me. And that’s what I’m trying to do. Which is why I’ve instructed the family members not to talk to you until we know what’s going on.”

  Decker stared at him.

  “It’s for their own good,” Hershfield went on. “I know that you’ve got a job to do, Lieutenant, but so do I.”

  “You’re shutting me down.”

  “No, Lieutenant, I’m being a very good defense attorney.” Another flick of the wrist.

  Decker stood. “Don’t bother. I’m going.”

  “Lieutenant, don’t be so bitter. I heard that you had a very nice Shabbos. That your sons came in to visit you for the weekend and your family was together. Think of that as the purpose of your trip.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” He smiled. “Thanks for your time, Counselor.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  Decker closed the door behind him, thinking there were only a select number of people who knew the specifics of his Shabbos, but only two of them who would have a reason to contact Hershfield. It was unlikely that Jonathan would have shut him down, so it was down to Raisie. The question was, did she call Hershfield on her own, or was she her brother’s agent?

  The larger question was, what did it matter?

  He shouldn’t be here. He should be where he was wanted, in Gainesville, doing something meaningful, like helping his old man rebuild the toolshed and fixing the plumbing for his aged mother. Instead, he was doing favors that no one appreciated.

  No more Mr. Nice Guy.

  To hell with Quinton.

  To hell with all of them.

  13

  His stomach was growling, matching his feral mood, but Decker had no one to blame but himself. If anything, Hershfield had been forthcoming. He was doing what he’d been hired to do. Getting representation had been Decker’s idea. He’d been hoist on his own petard.

  Outside the building, he called the Lazaruses’ number to speak with Rina, but she had gone out shopping. Just as well. He was too angry to be good company. Still, he missed her. He began to walk aimlessly, looking for a simple place to fight off hunger pangs. That was easier said than done. Lots of the restaurants in the area weren’t open for lunch on Sunday, and those that were looked too ritzy for his blood. He finally settled on a small café on Third Avenue squashed between a flower shop and a Korean fruit vendor. The salad was mediocre—saturated with a garlicky dressing that had wilted the lettuce. Decker took a few bites, then gave up. There was a pastry shop a few doors down that looked pretty good. He tamed his groaning belly with an apple croissant and a double espresso.

  Trying to make sense of it all, he was furious but, like Hershfield said, it wasn’t all bad. Tonight the immediate family was going out to dinner at a steak house labeled by the boys as awesome. Then he and Rina would catch a little music, have a couple of drinks. Be adults for a change, and why the hell not? He took a final sip of coffee, then threw it in the trash.

  It was a little after two. Decker was down to counting the hours until they left. He stopped at the corner of Fifty-third and Second Avenue and lifted his finger to signal a cab, hoping he’d find a driver willing to make the trek out to Brooklyn. Eventually a bee-pollen-yellow taxi pulled over, answering his signal. As Decker opened the back door to get in, a voice carried over his shoulder.

  “Share it?”

  Decker turned around. Donatti’s face was placid.

  “I’m always one for saving money.” Decker stepped aside. “Beauty before age.”

  Donatti slid in. Decker followed, giving the driver Donatti’s uptown address. The young man slumped in his seat, his face as expressionless as plastic. The ride was silent until Chris’s cell rang. He waited until it stopped ringing, then regarded the number, distaste flitting through his eyes. Then his face went slack.

  The ride took over twenty minutes. Decker paid, and Donatti didn’t argue. As soon as they entered the loft, Donatti said, “I’ve gotta return a call from my office. Wait here. You can make some coffee if you want.”

  Decker said, “Want me to make enough for two?”

  “Nah, I’m coffeed out. I’ve also got some Glenlivet single malt in the cupboard underneath the pot. Help yourself.”

  Ordinarily, Decker wouldn’t drink. But he poured two glasses of scotch, trying to get some kind of camaraderie going. When Donatti returned, Decker gave him a glass. “Was that Joey on the phone?”

  “How’d you guess?” Donatti took a healthy swig.

  “You made a face in the car.”

  “Some things never change.”

  “How’s he feeling?”

  “Terrible. He’s working on fifty percent of his heart and that’s after quadruple bypass. Actually, fifty percent is pretty good for a guy who never had a heart to begin with.”

  Decker smiled and clinked his tumbler onto Donatti’s glass.

  Donatti said, “What’re we toasting to?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “How about obscene financial success?”

  “You’ve got it.”

  Donatti picked up the scotch bottle, then took out a ring of keys. “Let’s go into my office.” He opened the door.

  Decker said, “After you.”

  Donatti said, “Age before beauty.”

  Decker shrugged, then stepped inside the windowless chamber. The fan kicked in, so did the lights. The video monitors gave the decor a space-age module look. Decker stared at the TV screens. “Good security.”

  “It pays to be careful.” Donatti took another belt of scotch. “I’ve got it set up with every bug-blocking gadget on the market. I’m not saying I can’t be had, but currently this is as good as it gets. Besides, after September eleventh, Feds got more important things to do.” He downed his drink, then poured himself another. “After you left this morning, I got curious.” His eyes met Decker’s. “What’s your interest in the whack? It’s a local matter.”

  Decker said, “Doing a favor for a friend.”

  “You take your hard-earned vacation time to spin your wheels in the shit holes of New York to solve a low-level pop. Must be some good friend.”

  Decker analyzed Donatti’s words. He had called the pop low level—a dodge or was it truly something beneath him? Of course, Donatti wanted information, but what exactly was he asking? How much did Decker know so he could figure out how to cover his ass? Some kind of truce, maybe? That was probably wishful thinking. In the end, Decker went with the truth because it was the easiest.

  “I’m doing a favor for my brother.”

  Donatti’s eyes never wavered. “Your brother?”

  “Yeah, my brother. I’m helping him out. The victim was a relative of my brother.”

  “The vic was your relative?”

  “No, my brother’s relative. He was my brother’s brother-in-law.”

  “So you’re telling me that you’re doing this to help out your brother.”

>   “Exactly.”

  “Your brother?”

  “Donatti, I know you’re an only child, but there are those of us who—for better or worse—have siblings.”

  “You’re telling me that your brother needs your help?”

  Decker scratched his head. “Why is this a problem for you?”

  “Your brother has been in Vice for over twenty-five years in Miami. I would think he has his own connections on the East Coast.”

  “Oh!” Decker sat back. “Now I understand. That’s Randy—my full brother—although he’s not my blood brother. We’re both adopted. I met my birth mother about ten years ago. Her youngest son— my half brother—he’s the one I’m helping. He’s a rabbi.”

  “You were adopted?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re a bastard.”

  “Are you telling me something you didn’t already know?”

  Despite himself, Donatti smiled.

  Decker said, “How do you know Randy?”

  “Florida is New York South. Things that happen up here often affect things down there and vice versa. My family’s always had a vested interest in knowing who does Vice. So this guy who was cleaned… he’s your brother-in-law?”

  “No. He’s my half brother’s brother-in-law. My half brother’s wife’s brother.”

  “Got it. And you’re that close to him that you come out and eat your free time for him?”

  Decker thought about it. “I like him. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him or his family because of his association with the vic. Is that a possibility?”

  “How the hell should I know?” Donatti drained his second scotch.

  “It’s just that you’re a knowledgeable guy, Donatti.”

  “You’ve got a bridge to sell me, Lieutenant?”

  “So scornful at such a young age.”

  “I’ve lived a hard life. Neglected and abused. You should know the story.”

  Decker took up the scotch bottle and poured Chris another drink. “Did you happen to mention me to your lawyer, Donatti?”

  “My lawyer?”

  The surprise seemed genuine. Decker affected insouciance. “Maybe not.”