Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 14 Page 7

  Novack smiled. “I’ll check out the chapters.”

  “What about dealers? Where would a religious guy like Ephraim buy his blow?”

  “Probably from the same pushers that sell to the regular crowd. Way too many dealers out there for me to narrow down.”

  “Any known dealer that specifically caters to the Orthodox crowd?”

  Novack thought a moment. “Okay, Decker, this is what I’m gonna do for you. I’m gonna ask Vice. I’ll translate the New York part, and you can help me out with the family part and all their religious stuff.”

  “I’ll do the best I can,” Decker said. “But I’ll tell you this much. I’m not that kind of religious. Furthermore, the Chasids up in Quinton are probably biased against me because I didn’t start out religious.”

  “Aha!” Novack’s eyes narrowed. “What brought about the transformation?”

  “My wife.”

  A smile. “Was it worth it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Novack laughed. “I thought of something. It’s gross.”

  “I’m not sensitive,” Decker said.

  “You gave up ham to get to the pork.”

  “Yeah, that’s gross,” Decker said. “Can you call me on my cell Motzei Shabbos—Saturday evening.”

  “You got it.” Novack shook his hand. “Shabbat shalom.”

  “Shabbat shalom,” Decker answered.

  Only in New York.

  7

  The ride back to Quinton was a killer. Traffic out of the city was a parking lot of red taillights, wind blowing dirt and debris onto the cars and roadways. Stoically, lifelessly, Jonathan sat at the helm, eyes fixed ahead—an inert driving machine. Decker hadn’t meant to, but he found his eyes closing. When he opened them next, the van was pulling off the highway. His mouth tasted like sawdust, his stomach long past hungry. He just felt empty.

  Jonathan handed him a bottle of water. Decker drank voraciously.

  “Thanks.”

  “I’ve got some fruit in back. Apples, pears, oranges.”

  Decker reached over and devoured an apple in four bites. He then went to work on a pear.

  “I should have bought you a sandwich,” Jonathan remarked. “I’m sorry.”

  “No, this is fine.” Decker finished the bottle. “I’ll be hungry for Shabbat. I’m sure the Lazaruses will have plenty of food to help me out.”

  “That’s true.”

  They zipped past Liberty Field.

  Decker started peeling an orange. “Are you coming into Brooklyn?”

  “For Shabbos? Yes. Mrs. Lazarus invited my parents. I told Raisie we needed to be there for you.”

  “That’s all right, Jon. I’m used to it—”

  “Actually, that’s a lie. It isn’t for you; it’s for me, Akiva. I need to see you in a different context, in a family context. I have real misgivings about this whole thing… dragging you into it. I don’t know what I was thinking. I called in a moment of weakness.”

  “That’s what family’s for.”

  “So far, it’s been very one-sided. You’ve never once called me for a favor.”

  “That’s because I’m an oldest child. I dispense; I don’t take.”

  “But we’re all adults.”

  “It’s ingrained patterns, Jon, and I’m okay with it. My boys are coming in for the weekend. If they weren’t here, I might not have come. But they are coming, and I’m here, and let’s all make the most of it.”

  “You’re being charitable. That’s my job, not yours.”

  Within minutes, they made the transition to the poorer side of the tracks. The van cut through the near-empty roadways. Decker’s wristwatch read two-thirty. “When does Shabbos start?”

  “Five-thirty.”

  “And how long will it take us to get back to Brooklyn?”

  “At least an hour, maybe longer. Why?”

  “If we have time, I’d like to stop by the Quinton Police… ask a few questions.”

  “That’ll be tight, although we’ve been making record time.” Jonathan turned onto the Liebers’ street, then pulled the van curbside. “You’ve never met Minda. She’s difficult under the best of circumstances.”

  “I’ll tread lightly.”

  “It won’t matter,” Jonathan stated flatly. “She’s just who she is.” He got out and slammed the car door. Decker winced at the noise, then opened the passenger door and stepped out. He had to fast-walk to keep up with his brother. Jon was resentful. So that made two of them.

  Chaim opened the door even before Jonathan knocked. “She’s awake, but it isn’t good, Yonasan. I think we should call the doctor.”

  “Can we come in first?” Jonathan asked.

  “Oh, sure, sure.” Chaim had put on a freshly starched shirt. He had bathed, too. Even though he was technically in mourning for his brother, the official period usually didn’t start until after the funeral. Plus, it was permissible to bathe before the Sabbath. Lieber stepped away from the threshold. Everyone went inside.

  Chaim said, “What did you find out?”

  Decker sat down on one of the twelve dining-room chairs. “Are you talking to me?”

  “Yes, of course. Weren’t you with the police all this time?”

  “For most of the time, yes.”

  “So what did you find out?”

  Decker rubbed his forehead. “Mr. Lieber—”

  “Chaim.” He began to pace. “What is this? We’re family. Why are you calling me Mr. Lieber? Is it bad news?”

  “Right now, it’s no news,” Decker said.

  “But you were there for four hours.”

  “Three,” Jonathan said. “There was a lot of travel time—”

  “Three, four… you must have learned something!” Lieber spun around and faced Decker with fiery eyes. “What did the police tell you? Anything at all?”

  “It’s at the very early stages of the investigation—”

  “Ach!” Lieber waved him off. “C’mon, c’mon. Now you’re stalling—”

  “Chaim!” Jonathan broke in. “If he knew something, don’t you think he’d tell you?”

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Decker said. “I saw the crime scene. I can’t swear to it, but, personally, I don’t think Shaynda was in the hotel room with your brother.”

  “So where was she? Where is she?”

  “That I don’t know.”

  “C’mon! She’s an innocent! Where would she go?”

  “I don’t know, Chaim,” Decker said. “I’m from L.A., not New York. I guarantee you the police are looking for her.”

  “Ach!”

  Decker’s head pounded. He tried a different approach. “Chaim, can I take a look at Shaynda’s room, please?”

  “Why?”

  “Just to get a feel for the girl.”

  A shrill voice barked out Chaim’s name. He looked up at the staircase. “I’ll be right up, Minda.”

  “I’m coming down. Who are you talking to?”

  “The detective.”

  “What does he want?” A woman materialized on the staircase. Her head was wrapped in a towel; her body was covered head to toe in a black caftan. Her eyes were swollen pink and raw, her skin red and blotchy. Her fingers played with one another—constant motion.

  Chaim bounded up the stairs and offered the woman his arm. She shook it off. “I’m not an invalid!” She stared at Decker with feral eyes. “Did you find her?”

  Chaim said, “This is my wife, Minda—”

  “He knows who I am. Who else would I be? Did you find her?”

  “No, Mrs. Lieber, not yet.”

  “So what are you doing here?” She glared at him. “If you didn’t find her, why are you here?”

  “I wanted to look in Shaynda’s room, Mrs. Lieber. It will give me a better understanding of who she was.”

  “I don’t have time for this kind of nonsense.” Once she reached the ground floor, she began to pace like a caged feline. “Just get out there and find her.”

/>   “Going through her room might help me find her, Mrs. Lieber.”

  “No, it won’t help you find her because she shares a room and I’ve already cleaned it and it’s right before Shabbos and I’ve got a lot on my mind. I don’t need another person under this roof! Chaim, why are you still here? You’re going to be late for Mincha!”

  “I’m trying to get ready, Minda.” Abruptly, Lieber turned to Decker. “Will you please leave?”

  Jonathan’s face was beyond shocked. He was clearly appalled. “Chaim, don’t speak to him like that. You asked me to bring him out here!”

  “Then maybe I made a mistake.”

  “Maybe you did,” Decker said quietly.

  Suddenly, Minda broke into tears. She screamed, “Just get out of my way. That’s what I need. I need everyone to get out of my way!”

  Decker sighed and tried to think like a professional. A girl’s life was at stake. “Just let me have a quick look—”

  “There’s nothing in the house!” Minda insisted. “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I found something.”

  “I’m not saying you overlooked anything on purpose.”

  “She’s out there!” Minda’s voice was high and squeaky. “Why are you here? Go look out there and do some good! Search the streets!” Her eyes became globes of fire. “Why can’t you find her?”

  “I’m doing what I can—”

  “No, you’re not. You’re here instead of out there!”

  “Because of the lateness of the hour, Mrs. Lieber, I think my time would be better spent here.”

  “What do you care about the lateness of the hour? Shabbos isn’t your problem.”

  That sure put Decker in his place. “What does that mean?”

  She glared at him. “Don’t play stupid with me! You know what it means.”

  Decker was so angry he could barely focus. He willed himself to keep his voice under control. “Yes, Mrs. Lieber, I suppose I do know what it means. Shabbat shalom.”

  He stormed out of the house. His fury was so all-consuming that it took a moment before he realized that his brother was talking to him.

  “… doesn’t mean anything, Akiva. She’s beside herself.”

  “I realize that.” Decker’s voice was a growl. He opened the van door and sat inside, arms folded in front. His stomach was a tight knot of acid.

  Jonathan got behind the wheel. “Akiva—”

  “Funny. As a goy, I was certainly good enough to drag out here to settle things down. Now, when I actually try to work, they’re putting up fences. You’re damn lucky I’m not that sensitive. More important, you’re damn lucky I really want to find this poor girl.”

  Jonathan said, “You’re not a goy.”

  “No, I’m not. But she doesn’t know that, does she? As far as she’s concerned, I’m this big, dumb lug of a cop from hick town L.A. who converted just to please Rina.” Decker caught his breath. “Look. I feel for the woman. I really do, Jonathan. But it still pisses me off.” He leaned his head back and stared at the van’s ceiling. “I’m out of my element here. They’re right. It was a mistake for me to come out.”

  “I am so sorry!”

  For the first time, Decker heard the pain in his brother’s voice. “God, I’m taking it out on you.”

  “You have every right to be angry.”

  Decker smiled. “Spoken like a true pastor.” He checked his watch. “Well, the good news is we’ll have time to visit the Quinton Police.”

  Suburban police departments had a distinct advantage over their city rivals—a large homeowner tax base. A case could be made that the richer WASPs on the north side were supporting the poorer Jews on the south side because their houses were bigger and the lots were expansive. But an equal case could be made in the opposite direction—that the Jews were contributing more than their fair share because for every one Gentile manse, there were three Jewish houses. What the Jews lacked in quality, they made up in quantity.

  The primary police station was located in Liberty Park, with a half-dozen drop-in station storefronts—manned by two officers—scattered among the three or four commercial areas. The station’s construction was new: a square edifice of steel and one-way mirrored glass that was well lit and well ventilated. The detectives’ squad room was spacious with approximately the same square footage as Decker’s squad room back in L.A. The difference was that Devonshire hosted seating for forty-three gold-shield carriers, whereas Quinton had twelve full-time detectives, each with his or her own phone, answering machine, voice mail, and computer.

  The Homicide/Robbery division was 99.9 percent robbery, and .1 percent homicide. Of the three homicides that Quinton had last year, one was a suicide—a ninety-six-year-old man with late-stage prostate cancer—and two were reckless homicides—Man I—from the same vehicular accident. For a fleeting moment, Decker entertained thoughts about retiring to a pastoral suburb like Quinton. The idea left his cerebral cortex as soon as it entered.

  Because he was a lieutenant from a big city, Decker was awarded a meeting with Virgil Merrin, the chief of the Quinton Police. Merrin was six-one, one step shy of fat, with that wet-shave pink skin, and hair so blond and thin that his scalp showed through. He had light blue eyes that sparkled when Decker told him he was originally from Gainesville, Florida. Merrin was from West Virginia, so that meant they were both good old boys. After several minutes of batting around bass-fishing trivia, Merrin got down to substance.

  “A cryin’ shame about the girl.” Merrin wore a blue suit with a light blue shirt, the buttons stretched by the man’s gut. He gave a soulful glance to Jonathan. “A damn shame! We went house to house—all of the girl’s friends. Nothing!”

  They were in Merrin’s office on the third floor. It had a generous view of the park—of the wind-bent tulips shimmering like waves of colored banners. The lake was also visible from the window, the surface steely with tiny whitecap ripples. From where Merrin sat, he could see it all. In another context, it could be considered cozy. All that was lacking was a fireplace, a newspaper, and a cup of coffee.

  “What about the other side?” Decker asked him. “The public-school kids.”

  Merrin chuckled. “Let me explain. The two sides… no interaction. Even the Jews who live in the north side… no interaction with the Jews in the south.”

  “One of the father’s complaints—”

  “That’d be Chaim Lieber.”

  “Yes, sir,” Decker answered. “One of Rabbi Lieber’s beefs with Shayndie was that she was hanging with some of the public-school kids. Wild kids.”

  “See, that’s another problem,” Merrin stated. “That’s his definition… the wild kids. What may be wild to him is harmless to us. He sees a girl in shorts during the summertime; to him, that’s a wild whore of a girl. What do you and me see? A girl that’s dressed for summer. If Shaynda Lieber was really hanging with some wild kids… then I could do something for him. Cause there is a certain element—not a bad element, per se—but a certain element. You know the story—loud, unsupervised parties, fast driving, binge drinking… and yeah, probably a toke or two. See, if I knew for certain that it was those kids, then I could maybe pay them a visit. But I think that to Rabbi Lieber, any kid on the north side is a wild kid.” His eyes went to Jonathan’s face. “See what I’m saying here, Rabbi?”

  “We understand.” Decker turned to Jonathan. “Didn’t you say that Shayndie used to hang out at the mall?”

  “Yes,” Jonathan answered. “The one in Bainberry.”

  “All the kids on the north side hang out at the mall in Bainberry. That’s neither here nor there. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t all this hullabaloo take place in the city?”

  “Yes, of course,” Decker said. “But I’m just wondering if she’s maybe hiding out with one of the north side kids.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “I don’t know,” Decker said. “Maybe she saw something. Maybe she’s afraid to come home.”

  “Only reas
on she’d be afraid to come home is if one of her own kind was implicated. Now, you know as well as I know, Rabbi, I could ask those folks questions from today till tomorrow. They’re not going to talk to me. But maybe they’ll talk to you.”

  Punting the responsibility back to him—back to the Jews.

  Decker said, “You’re probably right. But if you do hear of something—”

  Merrin spread his hands out in generosity. “Of course, if I hear of something, I’ll go straight to the parents. I’ve got people on this, Lieutenant. We did search the south side, door-to-door. And maybe you have a point there… her hiding in the north side. You know what I’ll do for you? I’ll have my men ask around.”

  Decker knew what that meant. A cursory walk to a couple of houses, maybe passing out a few flyers.

  Merrin said, “I’ll have my men and women ask around.” He smiled. “I hope you’re not one of those sensitive types. There are no biases in this department, but old habits…”

  Decker nodded. “Thanks for seeing us.”

  Merrin gave out a heavy sigh. “I’m not giving up on her. You know that. If she’s around, we’ll find her.”

  Decker hoped he was right. Because the Stones notwithstanding, time wasn’t on their side.

  8

  It’s my Johns Hopkins ID.”

  Decker glanced at his stepson, then studied the picture. Jacob, with his smoldering light eyes and a chip of inky hair over his brow. The teen exuded appeal—matinee-idol looks with that perfect sexy sneer. “This was before you cut your hair.”

  “More like before the yeshiva made me cut my hair.” Jacob straightened his tie. “I was doing my James Dean persona.”

  Sammy took a peek over his stepfather’s shoulder, then regarded his brother. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

  “C’mon,” Jacob protested. “Don’t I have that sultry Tennessee Williams bad-boy stare?”

  Again Sammy studied the photo. “Maybe then you did.” A grin. “Now you don’t.”

  Jacob punched his older brother’s shoulder. Sammy was about an inch taller than Jacob, about six feet even barefoot. There was very little physical resemblance between the two boys. Sammy took after his father—sandy-colored hair, impish brown eyes, regular features, and a wise-guy smile. He was good-looking, but not pretty. Jacob was a clone of Rina: He had “the face.” However, the two boys had nearly identical voices and speech inflections. Decker couldn’t tell them apart over the phone.