Hangman
Faye Kellerman

For Jonathan—the complete man, from A to Z And for Lila and Oscar—hugs and kisses

Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Also by Faye Kellerman

Copyright

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

THE PICTURES HAD photographed her swollen, battered, and bruised—a puffy lip, two black eyes, a bloated and bright face. Decker found it nearly impossible to reconcile those snapshots with the remarkable-looking woman who sat before him. Terry had changed in the fifteen years. She had morphed from a beautiful sixteen-year-old girl to an elegant, stunning woman. Age had turned her face softer and rounder with the fragile exquisiteness of a Victorian cameo. His eyes traveled from the picture to her face. He raised an eyebrow.

“Pretty bad, huh?” she said.

“Your husband certainly did a number on you.” If Decker squinted hard enough at her face, he could see remnants of the thrashing—a greenish tinge in certain spots. “And these pictures are around six weeks old?”

“Around.” She shifted her position on the sofa. “The body is a wondrous thing. I used to see miracles all the time.”

Being a doctor, Terry would know that information firsthand. How she managed to go through medical school and raise a kid while married to that maniac was a testament to her strength of character. It was hard to see her beaten down like this.

“Are you sure you want to go through with this? Meeting him here in L.A.?”

“I put it off about as long as I could,” Terry said. “It really doesn’t make sense to hide. If Chris wants to find me, he will. And it’s not me that I’m worried about. It’s Gabe. If he gets pissed off enough, he may take it out on him. I need to get him to adulthood, Lieutenant, before I make any decisions about myself.”

“How old is Gabe?”

“Chronologically, he’s about four months from fifteen. Psychologically, he’s an old man.”

Decker nodded. They were sitting in an elegantly furnished hotel suite in Bel Air, California. The color scheme was a soothing tone-on-tone beige. There was a stocked wet bar off the entry and a marble countertop for mixing drinks. Terry had curled up on the divan opposite a stone fireplace. He was sitting on her left in a wing chair with a view of the private patio lushly planted with ferns, palms, and flowers—an oasis for the wounded soul. “What makes you think that you’ll last until Gabe turns eighteen?”

Terry gave the question some thought. “You know how cool and calculating my husband is. This was the first time that he ever laid a hand on me.”

“So what happened?”

“A misunderstanding.” She looked at the ceiling, avoiding Decker’s eyes. “He found some medical papers and thought I had an abortion. After I finally got him to stop hitting me and listen, he realized that he had misread the name. The abortion had been for my half sister.”

“He confused the name Melissa with Teresa.”

“We have the same middle name. I’m Teresa Anne. She’s Melissa Anne. It’s stupid but my father is stupid. I still use McLaughlin, like my half sister, because it’s on all my diplomas and licenses. He misread the names and he snapped. Not that he cares about children, but the thought of my destroying his progeny made him unglued. I’m just thankful there wasn’t a gun within reach.” She shrugged.

Decker said, “Why did you marry him, Terry?”

“He wanted it official. I could hardly tell him no since he was supporting us. I could have never finished medical school without his money.” She paused. “Mostly he leaves Gabe and me alone. He buries himself in work or booze or drugs or other women. Gabe and I are adept at maneuvering around him. Our interactions are neutral and sometimes pleasant. He’s generous and knows how to be charming when he wants something. I give him what he wants and all is well.”

“Except when it isn’t.” Decker held up the photographs. “What exactly do you want me to do, Doctor?”

“I’ve agreed to see him, Lieutenant, not to go back to him. At least, not right away. I don’t know how he’ll take the news. Since I can’t escape him, I want him to agree to a temporary separation. Not a marriage separation—that wouldn’t settle well—just for him to agree to give me a little more time to be by myself.”

“How much more time?”

“Thirty years, maybe.” Terry smiled. “Actually, I’d like to move back to L.A. until Gabe finishes high school. I found a house to rent in Beverly Hills. I not only have to get Chris to agree to the separation, but I want him to pay for everything.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“Watch me.” She smiled. “He’s trained me, but I’ve also trained him.”

“And yet you feel the need for protection.”

“You deal with a feral animal, anything can happen. It’s good to take precautions.”

“There are a lot of younger, stronger men than me, guys that would probably do a better job at guarding you.”

“Oh please! Chris could take any of them down. He’s more…careful around you. He respects you.”

“He shot me.”

“If he wanted to kill you, he would have.”

“I know that,” Decker said. “He wanted to prove who was boss.” He blew out air. “More important, Chris likes shooting people. In plugging me, he got a two-for-one.”

Terry looked down. “He’s boasted that you’ve asked him for favors. Is that true?”

Decker grinned. “I ask him for information now and then. I’ll use any sources I can to help me get a solve.” He regarded her face—her milky complexion, hazel-gold eyes, and long chestnut-colored hair. There were a few strands of gray peeking through, the only sign that her life had been a pressure cooker. She was wearing a loose, sleeveless maxidress—something silky with geometric patterns in orange, green, and yellow. Her bare feet stuck out of the hemline. “When’s he due in town?”

“I told him to come by the hotel on Sunday at noon. I figured that would be a good time for you.”

“Where will your son be when all this goes down?”

“He’s at UCLA in one of the practice rooms. Gabe has a cell. If he needs me, he’ll call. He’s very independent. He’s had to be.” Her eyes were faraway. “He’s so good…the polar opposite of his father. Given his upbringing, he should have been in rehab at least a couple of times by now. Instead he’s hypermature. It worries me. There’s so much inside of him that’s been left unsaid. He really does deserve better.” She brought her hands to her mouth and blinked back tears. “Thanks so much for helping me out.”

“Make sure I do something before you thank me.” Decker checked his watch. He was due home a half hour ago. “Okay, Terry, I’ll come on Sunday. But you’ve got to do it my way. I’ve got to think of a plan, how I want this meeting to take place. First and foremost, you have to wait in the bedroom until I’ve cleared him. Then you can come out.”

“That’s fine.”

“Also, you have to tell Gabe not to come home until you’ve given him an all-clear signal okay. I don’t want him popping in the middle of a sticky situation.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

The room was silent for a few moments. Then Terry stood up. “Thanks so much, Lieutenant. I hope the payment is okay?”

“It’s more than okay. It’s very generous.”

“One thing about Chris—he’s very expansive. If I offered you anything less, he’d be insulted.”

DECKER SAID, “LOOK, if you don’t want me to do it, I won’t.”

“Of course I don’t want you to do it,” Rina answered. “He shot you, for God’s sake!”

“So I’ll call her up and say no.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think.” Rina got up from the dining-room table and began to clear the brunch dishes—two plates and two glasses. Hannah rarely ate with them anymore. She’d be starting seminary in Israel in the fall. With three months left of high school, she was as good as gone.

Decker followed his wife into the kitchen. “Tell me what you want?” When Rina turned on the faucet, he said, “I’ll wash.”

“No, I’ll wash.”

“Better yet, why don’t you use the dishwasher?”

“For two plates?”

Counting all the glasses, utensils, and pots and pans, it was a lot more than that, but he didn’t argue. “I should have consulted you before I agreed. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not looking for apologies. I’m concerned for your safety. He’s a hit man, Peter.”

“He’s not going to kill me.”

“Don’t you always tell me that domestic are the most dangerous situations because emotions get hot?”

“They do if you’re not prepared.”

“You don’t think your presence will inflame the state of affairs?”

“It could. But if she doesn’t have anyone around, it could be worse.”

“So let her hire some other body. Why does it have to be you?”

“She thinks I have the best chance of defusing Chris’s temper.”

“ ‘Defusing’ is the right word,” Rina said. “The man’s a bomb!” She shook her head and turned on the tap. Silently, she handed Decker the first dish.

“Thanks for brunch. The salmon Benedict was a real treat.”

“Every man deserves a last meal.”

“That’s not funny.”

Rina gave him another dish. “If anything happens to you, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Understood.”

“I don’t care what happens to her. I’m sure she’s a nice woman, but she got herself into this mess.” Rina felt anger rising. “Why do you have to get her out of it? Her asking you for help is chutzpadik.”

“It’s like she’s imprinted on me.” Decker put the dish away and put his hands on her shoulders. The tips of her black hair brushed against her shoulders, giving her face a breezy look. Rina was anything but. Intense, focused, task-oriented…those were the appropriate adjectives. “I’ll call her and tell her no.”

“You can’t do that now, Peter. He’s due to show up in a couple of hours. Plus if you backed out, you’d look like a wuss to Chris and that’s the worst thing you can do. You’re stuck.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his nose. He was tall and big, but so was Donatti. “I think I should go with you.”

“Not a chance. I’d rather back out.”

“He likes me.”

“Precisely why he’d be tempted to shoot me. He has a crush on you.”

“He doesn’t have a crush on me—”

“That’s where you’re wrong.”

“Well, then at least let me ride over with you into the city. You can drop me off to visit my parents.”

“I can do that.” Decker looked at the kitchen clock. “Leave the mess. I’ll get it when I come back.”

“You’re leaving now?”

“I want to set up the room before he arrives.”

“Fine. I’ll go get my purse. Call me when you’re done and everything’s okay.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Rina brushed him off. “Isn’t marriage about promising to love, honor, and obey?”

“Something like that,” Decker told her. “And if I must brag, I’d say I’ve been pretty good with my vows.”

“Pretty good at the first two,” Rina admitted. “It’s the third that seems to trip you up.”

CHAPTER TWO

STRAIGHT OUT OF a Diego Rivera painting, he showed up with an enormous bouquet of calla lilies that took up most of his upper body. Size for size, Decker matched every inch of Christopher Donatti’s six-foot four-inch frame.

“You shouldn’t have.” Before Chris could register surprise, Decker took the flowers, tossed them on the marble counter near the door, and then turned him around, pushing him until he was flat against the wall. Decker’s movements were hard and rapid. He pressed the nose of his Beretta into the base of the man’s skull. “Sorry, Chris, but she just doesn’t completely trust you right now.”

Donatti said nothing as Decker patted him down. The man was packing good-quality pieces: the tools of his trade. He had an S&W automatic in his belt and a small .22-caliber Glock pistol in a hidden compartment in his boot. With his own standard-issue Beretta still at Donatti’s neck, Decker picked his pocket, tossing his wallet on the counter. He told him to take off his shoes, his belt, and his watch.

“My watch?”

“You know how it is, Chris. Everything these days is micro-mini. Who knows what you’re hiding inside?”

“It’s a Breguet.”

“I don’t know what that is, but it sounds expensive.” Decker relieved him of the gold timepiece. It was incredibly heavy. “I’m not stealing it. I’m just checking it out.”

“It’s a skeleton watch. Open up the back and you can see the movement.”

“Hmm…it’s not going to explode on me, is it?”

“It’s a watch, not a weapon.”

“In your hands, everything’s a weapon.”

Donatti didn’t deny that. Decker told him to keep his hands up and his body against the wall. He slowly backed up a few inches to give himself some room. With an eye on his hands at all times, Decker began to remove the ammo from Donatti’s guns.

“You can turn around but keep your hands up.”

“You’re the boss.”

He rotated his body until they were face-to-face. Stripped of his weapons, Chris seemed impassive. There was flatness in his eyes; blue without any luminosity. It was impossible to tell if he was angry or amused.

One thing was certain. Chris had seen better days. His skin was patchy and wan and his forehead was a pebble garden of pimples. He’d grown out his hair from the crew cut he had sported a half-dozen years ago; the last time Decker had seen him in the flesh. It was brushed straight back, Count Dracula style, and trimmed to the bottom of his ears. He was still built lanky but with bigger arms than Decker had remembered. He had dressed up for the reunion, wearing a blue polo shirt, charcoal gabardine pants, and Croc boots.

“I’m starting to get a little pain in my arms.”

“Lower them slowly.”

He did. “Now what?”

“Take a seat. Move slowly. When you move slowly, I move slowly. If you rush me, I shoot first and ask questions later.” When Donatti started to sit on the chair, Decker stopped him. “On the sofa, please.”

Donatti cooperated and plopped down on the cushions. Decker tossed him his watch. He caught it one-handed and placed it back on his wrist. “Is she even here?”

“She’s in the bedroom.”

“That’s a start. Is she coming out?”

“When I give her the okay, she’ll come out.”

“Where’s Gabe?”

“He’s not here,” Decker said.

“That’s probably better.” Donatti dropped his head in his hands. He resurfaced a moment later. “I suppose your being here makes sense.”

“Thanks for your approval.”

“Look. I’m not going to do anything.”

“Why the armory, then?”

“I always pack. Can I talk to my wife now?”

Decker stood at the marble countertop of the hotel bar, the Beretta still in his hands. “A couple of ground rules. Number one: you stay seated the entire time. Don’t approach her in any way, shape, or form. And no sudden movements. It makes me jumpy.”

“Agreed.”

“Mind your mouth and your manners and I’m sure everything will go swimmingly.”

“Yeah…sure.” His voice was a whisper.

“You look a little pale. You want some water?” He opened the bar. “Something stronger?”

“Whatever.”

“Macallan, Chivas, Glenfiddich—”

“Glenfiddich neat.” A moment later, Decker handed him a crystal cut glass with a healthy dose of Scotch. Donatti took a delicate sip and then drank a finger’s worth. “Thanks. This helps.”

“You’re welcome.” Decker regarded the man. “Your color’s coming back.”

“I haven’t had a drink all day.”

“It’s only twelve in the afternoon.”

“It’s almost happy hour New York time. I didn’t want her to think I’m weak. But I am.” Another sip. “She knows I’m weak. What the fuck!”

“Watch your mouth.”

“If my mouth was my only problem, I’d be in good shape.” He handed Decker his empty glass.

“Another?” When Donatti shook his head, Decker closed the cabinet. “What happened?”

“What happened is I’m an idiot.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“I’ve always had reading comprehension problems.”

“You’re missing a crucial element here, Chris. You don’t use your wife as a punching bag even if she did have an abortion.”

“I didn’t punch her, I hit her.”

“That’s not acceptable either.”

Donatti rubbed his forehead. “I know that. I’m just correcting you because I knew I was using an open hand. If I would have punched her, she’d be dead.”

“So you were aware that you were beating the shit out of her?”

“It’s never happened before, it won’t happen again.”

“And she should believe you because…”

“I can count the number of times I’ve lost my temper on one hand. Look, I know she’s scared, but she doesn’t have to be. It was just…” As he started to get up from the couch, Decker waved the gun in his face. He sat back down. “Can I see my wife, please?”

“At least, this time you said please.” Decker stared at him. “Let me ask you a couple of theoretical questions. What if she doesn’t want to talk to you?”

“She wouldn’t have agreed to meet with me if she didn’t want to talk to me.”

“Maybe she just didn’t want to tell you over the phone. That would give you time to plan something dangerous and probably stupid.”

“Is that what she said?” Donatti looked up.

“How about if I ask the questions?”

“I’m not planning anything. I was an idiot. It won’t happen again. Just let me see my wife, okay.”

“What if she doesn’t want to see you anymore? What if she asks for a divorce?”

“Don’t know.” Donatti kneaded his hands together. “I haven’t thought about it.”

“It would piss you off, right?”

“Probably.”

“What would you do?”

“Nothing with you around.” His eyes finally sparked life. “Decker, she’s not going to ask me for a divorce—at least not now—because, first and foremost, I’ve got enough money to engage her in a very expensive and protracted legal battle for Gabe. It would be easier for her just to wait me out until he’s eighteen, and Terry is nothing if not practical. I’ve got another three and a half years before I have to confront this issue. I’d like to see Terry now.”

He was panting. Decker said, “Another Scotch?”

“No.” Donatti shook his head. “I’m fine.” He took in a deep breath and let it out. “I’m ready when you are.”

Decker gave him a hard look. “I’ll be watching your every move.”

“Fine. I won’t move. My butt is glued to the chair. Can we get on with it?”

There was no sense putting off the inevitable. Decker called out her name. He had placed Terry’s chair to the side so he had a clear path from the barrel of his gun to Donatti’s brain. Not that he really expected a shoot-’em-up, but Decker was a Boy Scout and a cop and always tried to be prepared. Terry had curled her legs under her long dress, but her posture was erect and regal. Again, she was sleeveless, her long tanned arms adorned with several bangles. Her eyes were on Donatti’s face even though he was the one who had trouble meeting her gaze.

“You look good,” he told her.

“Thank you.”

“How do you feel?”

“Okay.”

“How’s Gabe?”

“He’s fine.”

Donatti exhaled and looked up at the ceiling. Then he focused on her face. “What can I do for you?”

“Interesting question,” she told him. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

He scratched his cheek. “I’ll do anything.”

“Can I quote you on that?” Before he could answer, she said, “I’m not ready to come back with you.”

Donatti folded his hands in his lap. “Okay. Are you ever going to be ready?”

“Possibly…probably. Just not now.”

“Okay.” Chris glanced at Decker. “Could we get a little privacy, please?”

“Not gonna happen.” Decker held up the flowers. “He brought you these.”

Terry glanced at the lilies. “I’ll call for a vase later.” To Chris, she said, “They’re lovely. Thank you.”

Donatti fidgeted. “So…when do you think…I mean how much longer do you want to stay here?”

“In California or here in the hotel?”

“I was thinking away from me, but yeah, how much longer are you going to be here, too.”

“I don’t know.”

“A month? Two months?”

“Longer than that.” She licked her lips.

“That’s getting a little on the expensive side. I mean, not that I’m begrudging you the money…”

“It is expensive,” Terry said. “I want to rent a house. Technically you’d be renting it. I saw one that I’d like. I’m just waiting for you to write the check.”

Decker was amazed at how confidently she spoke, daring him to deny her anything.

“Where?” Donatti asked.

“Beverly Hills. Where else?”

As she started to stand, Decker said, “What can I get for you?”

“I’m a little thirsty.”

“You sit back down. What would you like?”

“Pellegrino, no ice.”

“Not a problem. What about you, Chris?”

“Same.”

“Give him a Scotch,” Terry said.

“I’m fine, Terry.”

“Did I say you weren’t?” she snapped back. “Give him a Scotch.”

Donatti threw up his hands. Decker said, “No problem just as long as both of you stay put.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Donatti said testily. As soon as the Scotch reached his lips, he seemed to calm down. “So…tell me about this house that I’m renting.”

“It’s in an area called the Flats, which is prime real estate here. It’s twelve thousand a month—about as minimal as it gets for that neighborhood. It needs a little work, but it’s certainly live-in ready. The main reason I chose Beverly Hills was for the school district, which is a good one.”

“No problem,” Donatti said. “Whatever you want.”

Judging by this conversation, it would seem that Terry was in control of the relationship. Maybe she was most of the time. Obviously most didn’t equate to all.

Donatti said, “Do I get a key?”

“Of course you get a key. You’re renting it.”

“And how long do you intend to live out here…in the house that I’m renting?”

“Usually leases are for a year.”

“That’s a long time.”

Terry leaned forward. “Chris, I’m not asking for a legal separation just a physical one. After what happened, that’s the least you can do.”

“I’m not arguing with you, Terry, I’m just trying to get an idea of how long. If you want a year, take a year. It’s about you, not me.”

She was silent. Then she said, “You’ll know where I am, you’ll have a key to the house. Come whenever you want. I’m not going anywhere. Fair enough?”

“More than fair.” Donatti forced his lips upward. “It’s not bad for me to have a hitching post on the West Coast anyway. It’s probably a good idea.”

“So I did you a favor.”

“I wouldn’t say that. Twelve thousand a month. How big is this sucker?”

Terry gave him a smile—a cross between humor and flirtatiousness. “It has four bedrooms, Chris. I think we can work something out.”

Donatti’s smile turned genuine. “Okay.” He took a sip of his booze, then laughed. “Okay. If that’s what you want…fine. Maybe you’ll actually miss me when I’m gone.”

“You can dream.”

“Very funny.”

“Are you hungry?” Terry’s eyes ran up and down his body. “You lost weight.”

“I’ve been a little anxious.”

“How would you know what anxiety feels like?”

Donatti looked at Decker, his eyes unreadable. “The girl’s a wit.”

“Are you hungry, Chris?” Terry asked him.

“I could eat.”

“They have a world-class restaurant.” She glanced at a diamond wristwatch sitting among her gold bracelets. “It’s open. I wouldn’t mind something.”

“Great.” He started to stand, but then looked at Decker. “Can I get up without you shooting me?”

“Go down to the restaurant and get something for the two of you, Chris. Get a table next door for me. We’ll catch up with you in a minute.”

Donatti’s expression turned sour. “We’ll be in a public place, Decker. Nothing’s going to happen. How about a little privacy?”

“I’ll be sitting at another table,” Decker said. “Whisper if you don’t want me to hear. Go ahead. We’ll meet you there.”

Donatti rolled his eyes. “Do I get my steel back?”

“Eventually,” Decker said.

“You can keep the ammo, just give me the pieces.”

“Eventually.”

“What do you think I’m going to do? Coldcock you?”

“I wasn’t even thinking along those lines, but now that you mention it, you are unpredictable.”

He turned to Terry. “Do you care if I pack?”

“It’s up to him,” Terry said.

“They’re worthless without ammo.” When Decker didn’t reply, Chris said, “C’mon. It would show good faith. All I’m asking for is what’s mine.”

“I hear you, Chris.” Decker opened the door. “But you can’t always get what you want.”

The two men faced off. Then Donatti shrugged. “Whatever.” He swaggered through the door without looking back.

Decker shook his head. “That’s one icy dude.” He regarded Terry. “You handled him very well.”

“I hope so. At the very least, it’ll buy me some time to think.”

Decker noticed she was shaking. “Are you all right, Terry?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Just a little…” Perspiration dripped from her forehead. She wiped her face with a tissue. “You know what they say, Lieutenant.” Nervous laughter. “Never let them see you sweat.”

CHAPTER THREE

AS LONG AS Decker was in the city—about twenty miles from his front door—Rina made reservations to meet for dinner at one of the many kosher restaurants along Pico Boulevard. They left her parents’ house at six, and a half hour later, they were in a booth, sipping glasses of Côtes du Rhône. Although Peter wasn’t a big talker, tonight he seemed unusually subdued, so Rina was happy to carry on the bulk of the conversation. Maybe Peter was hungry. She figured he’d join in when the mood hit. But even after polishing off his rib steak, fries, and salad, he remained quiet.

“What’s going on inside that cranium of yours?” Rina finally asked.

“Nothing.” “I don’t believe you.”

“See, that’s where you females mess up. Whenever we men don’t talk, you ascribe it to some deep inner meditation we’re having with ourselves. In my case, I was thinking about dessert—whether it was worth the calories.”

“If you’d like, we can split something.”

“Which means I eat ninety percent.”

“How about we forgo the desert and just have some coffee. You look a little beat.”

“Do I?” Decker stroked his red-and-gray mustache as if he was thinking of something profound. While his facial hair still retained some of its youthful, fiery color, his head hair was more white than orange, but there was still plenty of it.

He smiled at his wife. Rina had changed to a deep purple satin dress that she kept in her mother’s closet. Although she was way too religious to ever show cleavage, the neckline did accentuate her lovely throat. He had given her a pair of two-carat diamond studs for her forty-fifth birthday and she wore them every chance she got. He loved to see her in expensive things, even though with his paycheck, that didn’t happen very often. “I guess I am a little tired.”

“Then let’s just go home.”

“No, no. I could use a cup of coffee.”

“Okay.” Rina touched his hands. “You’re not just tired, you’re bothered. What happened this afternoon?”

“I told you. Everything went smoothly.”

“And yet you remain perplexed.”

Decker chose his words. “When she talked to him…she appeared confident…clearly in control.”

“Maybe she was with you around.”

“I’m sure there was some of that. And he was contrite, so she had a certain amount of free rein. I don’t know, Rina. She was bossy almost. When they had lunch, she did most of the talking.”

“You could hear them?”

“I could see them. She clearly dominated their conversation.”

“Maybe when she gets nervous, she talks.”

“Could be. Before we met him for lunch, we spoke a few minutes. All of a sudden she started shaking and broke out in a cold sweat.”

“So there you go.”

“But there was something else, Rina. If I didn’t know any of the backstories, I would have sworn she was acting flirtatious at lunch—downright sexy. Something was strange.”

“What’s so strange? She likes him.”

“He beat her up six weeks ago.”

“She knows what he is and there’s still something about him that she finds attractive. She makes poor choices. That’s what got her into the situation to begin with. No one told her that she had to visit him in jail and have sex with him without birth control.”

“She’s not a stupid girl, Rina. She’s a conscientious mother and she’s an emergency care physician.”

“Like all of us, she has positive aspects and some blind spots. In Terry’s case, her weaknesses are harmful.” She leaned forward. “But like I said this morning, Peter, this isn’t our problem. You were hired help. She paid you money and you did your job. How about letting go?”

“You’re right.” Decker sat up and kissed her hand. “We’re out to dinner and you deserve a noncomatose husband.”

“How about some coffee now?”

“Coffee would be great!” Decker grinned. “I’d even go for dessert.”

“How about the peach pie?”

“Peach pie, it is. Dare we order it with vanilla ice cream or whatever frozen concoction they make up to simulate the real deal?”

Rina smiled. “Sure, let’s go crazy.”

THE CELL PHONE went off just as the car had crested the 405 freeway and began to dip into the San Fernando Valley. Mountains on either side made reception spotty. Since Decker was driving, Rina took the phone from his coat pocket.

“If it’s Hannah, tell her we’ll be home in about twenty minutes.”

“It’s not Hannah. I don’t recognize the number.” She depressed the on button. “Hello?”

There was silence on the other side. For a moment Rina thought she lost the party, but then she saw that the phone hadn’t disconnected.

“Hello?” she tried again. “Can I help you?”

“Who is it?” Decker asked. When she shrugged, he said, “Just hang up.”

“Sorry.” The voice was male. He cleared his throat. “I’m looking for Lieutenant Decker.”

“This is his cell phone. Whom am I talking to?”

“Gabe Whitman.”

It took all of Rina’s effort not to gasp. “Is everything all right?”

“Who are you talking to?” Decker asked.

“No,” Gabe said over the phone. “I mean I don’t know.”

“Who is it, Rina?” Decker said.

“Gabe Whitman.”

“Oh Lord! Tell him to hold on.”

“He’ll be right with you,” Rina said.

“Thank you.”

Decker maneuvered the car onto the freeway shoulder, turned on his hazard lights, and took the cell. “This is Lieutenant Decker.”

“I’m sorry to bother you.”

“No bother. What’s going on?”

“I can’t find my mom. She’s not here and she’s not answering her cell. My dad isn’t answering his cell phone, either.”

“Okay.” Decker’s brain was whirling a mile a minute. “How long has it been since you’ve spoken to your mom?”

“I came back to the hotel around six-thirty, seven. We were supposed to go to dinner. She wasn’t here. Her car isn’t here, her purse isn’t here, but she didn’t leave any note or anything. That’s not like her.”

Decker’s stomach dropped. His watch said it was almost nine. “When was the last time you spoke to her, Gabe?”

“Around four. You were already gone. Mom said that everything went well. She sounded fine. She said she wanted to run some errands and she’d be back around six. I don’t know if I’m overreacting, but with Chris, I just don’t know.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m at the hotel?”

“In the room?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay. Gabe, I’m turning around and I’ll be there in about a half hour. Leave the room and wait for me in the lobby. I want you in a public place, okay?”

“Okay.” A pause. “The room’s okay…I mean like nothing was disturbed or anything.”

“That doesn’t mean that your dad can’t suddenly show up. It wouldn’t be good for the two of you to be alone.”

“That’s true.” A pause. “Thanks.”

“No thanks necessary. Just walk out that door and don’t look back.”

Fifteen minutes later, Decker pulled his Porsche into the valet lot. The parking attendants were different from the ones who had been here in the afternoon. When they asked how long he’d be staying, Decker told them that he didn’t know.

The resort hotel was fifteen acres of lush plants and tropical foliage set at the foothills in Bel Air. The evening air was sweet from night-blooming jasmine with a hint of gardenia. Broad-leaf palms, ferns, and flowering bushes lined stone walkways and draped over the edges of a man-made lagoon populated with ducks and swans. Decker and Rina crossed over a bridge, glancing at the lake as the birds glided by.

Decker faced her. “Why don’t you take the car and go home.”

“Hannah’s at a friend’s house. I can wait.”

“I don’t know if I want you around in case Chris pops in. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“How about if I wait in the lobby?”

“Would you mind? It may take a while. If I don’t find her right away, I’m going to have to do a search of the hotel.”

“It’s not a problem unless they kick me out.” She paused. “What are you going to do with Gabe? You don’t know what’s going on. You certainly can’t let him stay here by himself even if he was of age.”

Neither of them spoke.

Rina said, “He can stay with us.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I don’t think you have any choice.”

“He has a grandfather living in the Valley.”

“Then contact him in the morning. One night with us won’t make a difference.”

“You really are Earth Mother.”

“That’s me,” Rina said. “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, et cetera, et cetera. Emma and I had a lot more in common than just our last names.”

ALTHOUGH THE ACTUAL hotel was series of connected low-profile, pink stucco bungalows topped with a Mediterranean red-tiled roof, the lobby was a stand-alone building. Through the window, Decker could see the registration desk with a uniformed woman flipping through files, an empty concierge desk, and a suite of traditional furniture facing a stone fireplace. One of the beige chairs was taken up by a lanky adolescent—The Thinker done by Giacometti. He and Rina went inside and the thin kid looked up, then stood up. Decker tried out a reassuring smile. “Gabe?”

He nodded. Good-looking kid—an aquiline nose, strong chin, a mop of dirty blond hair, and gem-quality emerald eyes that sat behind a pair of frameless glasses. Not much bulk, but he had the same kind of wiry muscle that his dad had as a teenager. He appeared to be grazing the six-foot mark.

Decker held out his hand and the boy shook it. “How are you doing?” The kid shrugged helplessly. “This is my wife. She’s going to wait here for me…or for us. Still haven’t heard from anyone?”

“No, sir.” He looked at Rina as much as he did at Decker. “I’m sorry to drag you down here. It’s probably nothing.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not a problem. Let’s take a walk back to the room.”

The woman at the registration desk looked up. “Is everything all right. Mr. Whitman?”

“Uh, yeah.” Gabe forced a smile. “Fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Gabe nodded quickly. Decker turned to Rina. “See you in a few.”

“Take your time.”

Decker and his charge went outside into the cool misty air, neither of them speaking as they walked. The pathways looked different at night than they had in the daytime. With the artificial colored lighting slipped between the plantings, the entire complex looked surreal, like a movie set. Gabe twisted and turned from one garden to another until they came to the bungalow he shared with his mother. He opened the door, flipped on the light switch, and the two of them stepped inside.

“Just like I left it,” Gabe said.

And not too different from when Decker had left. The flowers that Chris had given Terry had been put into a vase and sat on the sofa table. Donatti’s Scotch glass lay in the sink of the bar. The trash had been cleared and the living-room sofa had been folded out into a bed, a room service breakfast menu and a few chocolates left on a silver tray. Water on the coffee table and music coming from a Bose stereo system, the station set on classical music.

“You sleep here?”

Gabe nodded.

Decker walked into the bedroom. Terry’s bed had also been prepared. “Were the beds turned down when you arrived here at around six?”

“No, sir, they came in later. Around eight.” A pause. “I probably shouldn’t have let them in, huh.”

“It doesn’t matter, Gabe.” Decker studied the room. There were a lot of clothes in the closet and a small safe. Decker asked the boy if he knew the combination number.

“Uh, not to this one. But I know the code she usually uses.”

“Could you try to open it?”

“Sure.”

Gabe punched in a set of numbers. It took him a couple of tries, but eventually the door opened. It was loaded with cash and jewelry. Decker said, “Do you have anything to transport the valuables in?”

“Why?”

“If your mom doesn’t come back, you can’t stay here alone.”

“I’ll be all right.”

“I’m sure you can take care of yourself, but I’m a cop and you’re a minor. I’d be in violation of the law if I let you stay here alone. Plus, under the circumstances, I wouldn’t want you alone even if you were eighteen.”

“Where are you going to take me?”

“You’ve got a choice.” Decker rubbed his temples. “I know you have a grandfather and an aunt that live in L.A. Would you feel comfortable calling either of them up? I’ll be happy to take you over there.”

“Is that my only choice?”

“You could spend the night at my house and hopefully things will work out in the morning.”

“That would be my first choice. I’d way prefer that to my grandfather. My aunt is nice, but she’s a little ditzy. She’s not much older than I am.”

“How old is Melissa?”

“Twenty-one…a very young twenty-one.”

“All right. So this is what we’ll do. You go home with my wife. I’m going to stick around here for a while and try to figure out what’s going on.”

“Why can’t I stay here with you while you try to figure it out?”

“Because it may take a long time. It’s best if you go home with my wife and let me do my job. I’ll catch you in the morning. If your mom comes home, I’ll call you right away. And if you happen to hear from either your mother or father, you call me right away, so I’m not spinning my wheels. Fair enough?”

The boy nodded. “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem.” Decker pulled out a notepad. “I have your mom’s number. I’ll need your dad’s number and your cell number.”

Gabe rattled off a series of number. “You know that my dad changes phones all the time. A number might be working one day and disconnected the next.”

“When was the last time you spoke to your dad?”

“Let me think. Chris called me Saturday morning…around eleven. He’d just landed. He told me he was at the airport and was meeting with Mom tomorrow.”

“And you said?”

“I don’t really remember. Something like…cool. Then he asked me how she was and I said she was fine. It was like a two-minute conversation…which is pretty typical for us.” Gabe bit his lip. “Chris doesn’t really like me. I’m an annoyance, something that stands between him and Mom. He rarely talks to me unless it’s about my music or my mom. But he’s forced to deal with me because I’m what links him and Mom together. It’s really messed up.”

“Your father’s messed up. You wouldn’t happen to know his flight number, would you?”

Gabe shook his head.

“Do you know what airlines he usually chooses?”

“When he doesn’t fly privately, he takes American first class coast to coast. He likes to stretch out.”

“If he left the L.A. area, where do you think he’d go?”

“He could go home. Or he could go to Nevada and camp out there for a while.”

“He owns brothels in Elko, doesn’t he?” When the boy blushed, Decker said, “Would you know the name of his places?”

“One’s the Pleasure Dome.” His face was bright red. “The Pleasure Palace…he has like three or four places with word ‘pleasure’ in them.”

“Have you tried calling the places?”

The boy shook his head. “I don’t have the numbers. They might be listed. I could call up information if you want.”

“No, I can take it from here. Why don’t you pack a few things, take out the money and the jewelry from the safe, and then I’ll walk you back to the lobby.”

“I’m so sorry to be a pain. I feel like a jerk.”

“It’s no problem.” He put his arm around the boy’s shoulders. At first the kid stiffened, but then his shoulders relaxed under the weight of Decker’s arm. “And don’t be too concerned. It’ll probably work out.”

“Everything works out. Sometimes it works out good. And sometimes it works out bad. It’s the bad that concerns me.”

CHAPTER FOUR

THE CAR WAS quiet on the way home, the boy staring out at the passenger window, looking like a forlorn puppy. Rina didn’t even bother to try to engage him. It took all of her energy to drive Peter’s Porsche. He had souped up the engine to God-only-knows-how-many horsepower and the clutch required muscle. Thank goodness most of the ride was on an empty freeway and in one gear.

As soon as she parked in the driveway, the kid leaped out of the car like a caged cat finally set free. His baggage was a school knapsack that he carried by one strap, a laptop, and a small duffel. He was tall for his age, with spindly legs. His pants had a hard time staying on his nonexistent hips.

Rina put the key in the front door lock. “Lieutenant Decker and I have four children, but only our daughter still lives at home. She’s seventeen.” She opened the front door and yelled out a hello. From behind the bedroom door, Hannah answered back.

“We’ve got company,” Rina said. “Could you come out a moment?” “Now?”

“It’s okay.” Gabe cringed.

Rina tried to look reassuring as Hannah came storming out in her pajamas and robe. The two teens took each other in with a quick sweep of the eye. Rina said, “Hannah, this is Gabe Whitman. He’s going to be staying with us tonight. Could you show him to your brothers’ room and make up the bed?”

“I can do it,” Gabe said, pink-cheeked.

“So can Hannah,” Rina said.

“I’ll do it.” Hannah shrugged. “You need anything to eat? I was gonna get myself some cherries. You want to look around the fridge?”

“Uh…sure.” Gabe followed her into the kitchen and that was that.

Sometimes peer counseling was far superior to the best mothering.

AFTER HANNAH WASHED the cherries, she gave him a handful in a paper bowl. “These are really good. I think my mom got them at the farmers’ market.”

“Produce is really good out here.”

“Out here? Where are you from?”

“New York.”

“The city?”

“The burbs.” He studied his fruit. “Do you know New York?”

“I have lots of friends out there.” She bit into a cherry and spit out the pit. “And my brother goes to Einstein Med School.”

Gabe said, “My mom worked at Mount Sinai for a while. She’s an ER doc.”

“Are you interested in medicine?”

“Not a chance.” He finally picked up a cherry and ate it. “You know I’m perfectly capable of putting on my own sheets.”

“Fine with me. Can I ask why you’re here?”

“My mom’s gone…like missing. I think your dad is looking for her. He said it was illegal for me to stay in a hotel by myself, so he offered to take me in tonight.”

“That sounds like my dad.”

“He’s a nice guy?”

“He’s a very nice guy,” Hannah said. “He comes across as very cop, but he has a heart of mush. My mother is even mushier. They’re both pushovers. You want something to drink?”

“No, thanks. I should probably get to bed.” He put the fruit down on the counter. “Thanks for the cherries. I don’t think I’m so hungry.”

“Are you going to be able to sleep?”

“Probably not.”

“I’ll show you how to work the TV. It’s a little funky because it’s from the Stone Age. My brothers have been out of the house for a while. What grade are you in?”

“I was in tenth. My mom and I just recently moved out here, so I haven’t been going to school.”

“So you’re fifteen?”

“Four months shy. A lot of people think I’m older ’cause I’m tall.”

“Yeah, same with me. But I don’t mind.” She hopped off the counter. “Follow me. And try not to worry too much about the situation. My dad may be a mush ball with me, but he’s really tough when it comes to police work. Whatever it is, he’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“That’s good.” Gabe smiled weakly. “I just hope that when he gets there, the bottom doesn’t drop out.”

DECKER’S FIRST CALL was to his favorite detective, Sergeant Marge Dunn. “I’ve got a situation here. I could use some help.”

“What’s going on?” In the next breath, she said, “Is it something to do with Terry McLaughlin?”

“She’s missing.” After he explained the state of affairs, Decker said, “She has a sister and a father in town. I’ve already called her sister, Melissa—apprised her of the situation. She hasn’t heard from Terry in a few days. She also told me not to bother with the father. The two of them are barely civil to each other.”

“Did she sound worried?”

“Yes, she did. She told me that Terry would never leave Gabe without a good reason. I told her I’d keep her updated. As far as finding Donatti, I’ve called up all the numbers I have for him and left messages. That’s been a dead end. He owns some brothels in Nevada. I got hold of a receptionist who told me that Chris wasn’t due in until tomorrow afternoon.”

“That means nothing.”

“Of course. I’ve phoned Elko PD and have asked them to tell me when he comes into town.”

“Are they cooperating?”

“Hard to tell. The brothels make a slew of money, so it could be that the department wouldn’t be anxious to give up one of their own. I’m trying to retrace Donatti’s steps, starting with when he came into L.A. I’m checking commercial airlines, leasing companies, and jet card companies. And rental car companies. He has to be driving something, but I haven’t had any luck with that.”

“Have you done a search of the hotel?”

“Not yet. If it shakes out that way, I’ll call West L.A. It’s their district. Right now, I’d like to handle it myself…with a little help.”

“I’m on my way.”

“I came back to the hotel from dinner…turned around as soon as the kid called. I don’t have any of my kits or evidence bags with me.”

“Is something amiss?”

“No, it seems to be pretty much as I left it. There’s a drinking glass I’d like to bag.”

“I’ll bring the stuff down with me.”

“I can think of only two reasons why Terry would leave without notifying her kid. Something scared her off or she had a gun to her head. She took her purse, her keys, and her car, but she left behind a wad of money and her jewelry.”

“Oy, that doesn’t look too good. Didn’t you say that the meeting between them went well?”

“I thought it did. But Donatti is unpredictable.” He gave Marge the address. “It’ll take you about forty minutes without bad traffic.”

“Where’s the boy?”

“He’s with Rina. I’m keeping him at our house for the night.”

There was a pause. “Aren’t you getting a little overinvolved?”

“You should talk,” Decker snapped back. “If you hadn’t adopted Vega after that Father Jupiter debacle, she would have been declared a ward of the state and placed into the state foster care program. She would have probably become a delinquent, gotten pregnant ten times, been hooked on drugs, and turned into a prostitute. Instead, you got overinvolved and now Vega is almost done with her dissertation for a PhD in astrophysics. So you tell me if I’m wrong to get a little overinvolved.”

There was a long pause over the line. Then Marge said, “Hard day, Pete?”

“A little challenging.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Sooner is better than later.”

MARGE ARRIVED WITH the kits, the bags, and the gloves. She had put on a little weight in the last year but almost all of it was muscle. At five ten, she was a lean one-sixty and had added workouts in the gym as part of her daily routine. Her face had lines across her forehead and faint spiderwebs crisscrossing at the corners of her brown eyes. Her blond hair—formerly light brown—was tied back in a ponytail and she had pearl studs in each earlobe. She had dressed in gray slacks and a black sweater, rubber-soled shoes on her feet.

“Thanks for showing up,” Decker said.

“Someone has to take you home,” Marge told him.

It took the two of them over three hours to conduct a preliminary search of the hotel, first going to the bar and the restaurant, then room to room, and finally checking the spa, the storage areas , and the empty banquet hall. Another hour was spent searching Terry’s room. When they had finished bagging whatever paltry evidence there was to be taken, the clock had struck one and Marge saw that Decker was still agitated. The lieutenant was usually the consummate professional. He said, “What am I going to tell that kid?”

“He’s probably asleep.”

“Would you be able to sleep if you were him?”

“No.” A few moments passed. “If he’s up, this is what you’re going to tell him. You’re going to tell him that you’ve done everything you could do on a Sunday night. Tomorrow you’ll call the phone company to see if his mother’s cell has been used, you’ll call the credit card company and see if there has been any activity, and you’ll call her bank to see if there’s been any suspicious withdrawals.” Marge smiled. “More like you’ll assign someone to do it because you’re a busy guy and this isn’t even your jurisdiction. Have you called in to West L.A. yet?”

“I did indeed. I put in a need-to-locate on Terry’s car shortly before you arrived. It’s a 2009 Mercedes E550. Somebody has to come back and interview all the personnel. I’ve only talked to the desk clerk and she doesn’t know a thing.”

“It’s a skeleton crew right now. It’ll keep until the morning. ”

“The desk sergeant told me that someone from West L.A. Missing Persons will call me. Whoever catches the call has to know who they’re dealing with.”

“So everything’s under control. Let’s go.”

“I’m too worked up to face the kid right now.”

“You’ll be okay by the time we get back to the Valley. If not, I’ll buy you a cup of hot cocoa at one of the twenty-four/seven convenience stores.”

Decker smiled. “Hot cocoa?”

“Once a mother, always a mother. Vega may be brilliant, but I still look out for her.” Marge patted his shoulder. “We know better than anyone else on the planet that the smartest people can do dumbest things.”

CHAPTER FIVE

AT TWO IN the morning, the house was dark and quiet, just the way it should be. Decker closed the front door as softly as possible, waiting for the kid to emerge out of his sons’ room. When he didn’t, he tiptoed into his bedroom, undressed, and slid under the covers. Rina rolled over and draped an arm across his back.

“Everything okay?”

“Nothing to report, one way or the other.”

Rina was quiet, but then she sighed. “You’re upset. I’m sorry.” “Yeah, I’m a little upset. I should have talked her out of the meeting.”

“You’d only be postponing the inevitable.” Rina sat up. “From what you’ve told me over dinner, she wasn’t planning to leave him permanently.”

“You’re right, but the fact still remains that she’s missing.” He rolled over and faced her. “Rina, what am I going to tell the kid?”

“That you’re doing all you can and you’ll keep him posted. The bigger issue is what we do with him. He certainly can stay here for a few days, but if it should drag on longer, we’ve got a decision to make.”

“Well, he has a grandfather living in L.A., but he doesn’t like the man. Terry didn’t like him. He said his aunt is nice but ditzy.”

“How old is she now?”

“Around twenty-one…a very young twenty-one is what Gabe told me.”

“Ugh, that’s way too young to be handling a teenager and probably a troubled one at that. Does she work? Does she go to school?”

“I don’t know anything about her except that she recently had an abortion.” Decker exhaled. “I’ll deal with it in the morning. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Sounds good.” They both slipped under the covers. Peter was out within ten minutes, but Rina lay awake for a long time, haunted by images of a lost, lonely boy.

UP BY SIX, but Rina wasn’t the first one out of bed. Gabe was sitting on the living-room couch in the near dark, his head back, his eyes closed behind his rimless glasses, his bags at his feet. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans, and giant sneakers that looked to be around a size twelve.

“Good morning,” Rina said softly.

The kid’s head snapped up. “Oh.” He rubbed his eyes. “Hi.”

“Going somewhere?” When he shrugged, Rina said, “Would you like some breakfast?”

“I’m not too hungry…but thanks.”

“How about some hot chocolate or coffee?”

“If you’re making coffee anyway, that would be good.”

“Come keep me company in the kitchen.”

Reluctantly, the boy got up and followed her. He squinted when she turned on the overhead light, so she immediately turned it off and settled for the under-the-cabinet lighting.

“Sorry.” Gabe sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m like a bat in the morning.”

“It’s too early for a lot of light anyway,” Rina told him. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? It might be a good idea to eat and keep your strength up.” He certainly didn’t look as if he had a lot of reserves to draw upon.

A sick smile. “Yeah, okay.”

“How about some toast?”

“Okay.” A pause. “Thanks for putting me up for the night.”

“Were you comfortable?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“I’m sorry, Gabe. If you need anything, please let me know.”

“So your husband didn’t…I mean, my mother is still missing?”

“So far as I know, yes.” She put two pieces of bread in the toaster. “Lieutenant Decker should be getting up soon. You can ask him whatever you want.”

The boy just nodded. If there was a personification of the word “miserable,” Rina was looking at it. The toast popped up and she placed the plate in front of him, along with jam, butter, and a cup of hot coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

“Please.”

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” The boy nibbled at the dry bread. “Do you know where I’m going?”

“Lieutenant Decker told me that you have an aunt and a grandfather in L.A.”

He nodded. “So he’s gonna call them up or…”

“I don’t know the procedure. Let me peek in and see if he’s up.” Rina went into the bedroom just as Decker finished his shower. “Coffee’s ready.”

“I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Good. The poor kid’s wondering where he’s going to stay until things get resolved.”

“If they get resolved. He’s up already?”

“He’s up, packed, and looking wholly dejected. Do you blame him?”

“It’s a rotten deal.” He put on his pants and shoes.

Rina paused. “Maybe we should put him up for another couple of days…just until he gets his bearings.”

“And then what?” Decker said. “I feel for him, but he’s not our problem, Rina.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“I know you. You’re softhearted. I already got overinvolved with Terry and look where it got me…where it got her…Lord only knows where it got her. Where’s the kid?”

“In the kitchen.”

Decker buttoned his shirt. “I’ll deal with him and you wake up our daughter.” He laughed as he knotted his tie. “I’ve got the easier assignment.”

THE BOY WAS staring at the tabletop. Decker said, “Hey, Gabe.”

He looked up. “Hi.”

Decker placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “We haven’t found your mother yet.”

A forced smile that hid a quivering lip. “What about Chris?”

“We’re working on the both of them. We’ve still got lots to do and lots of options. So the only thing I can say is sit tight and we’ll keep you posted.”

He blinked several times. “Sure.”

“We’ve got a couple of things to talk about right now, though. I know your father’s an only child and an orphan. And we know about your mom’s relatives. Before we explore that, do you have anyone in New York that you want me to get hold of?”

“Like relatives?”

“Relatives, friends, buddies…”

“I have friends, but no one I’d want to stay with. At least not right now.”

“Okay, so that leaves us with your mom’s relatives.”

“I barely know my grandfather. My mother and he didn’t get along.”

“So we’re down to your very young aunt.”

“I guess I could stay with her.” He looked down. “What are my options if I don’t go with my aunt?”

“On a long-term basis, you’d become a ward of the state—that’s foster care. You don’t want that.” Decker poured himself a cup of coffee. “Tell me why you don’t want to live with your aunt.”

“She has no money to support me. She’s been living off of what my mom gives her. She parties all the time. She smokes pot and her place is a sty. I know she’d let me stay with her. And I actually like her. But she’s not very responsible.” He dropped his head into his hand. “This really sucks in a life that already sucked!”

Decker sat down. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”

“That’s…” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a napkin. “I’ll be okay. Thanks for putting me up.” He drummed his fingers across the kitchen table. “You know, I have my own money. I have savings and trust funds and stuff. Do you think a judge would let me live alone?”

“Not at fourteen.”

He looked at Decker. His voice was melancholy. “Could I just stay here for another couple of days until things get sorted out? I’m really quiet. I don’t eat much and I promise I won’t get in your way. I’ll be happy to pay you—”

“Stop, stop.” The kid was breaking his heart. “Of course you can stay here for a few days. I’ve already talked to Mrs. Decker. She agrees with me. It was actually her idea.”

Gabe closed his eyes and opened them. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry to be such a pain.”

“You’re not a pain and there’s no need to apologize. You’re in a bind right now. I feel for you. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

At that moment, Rina walked in with Hannah. Gabe got up. “Excuse me.”

As soon as he was out of the kitchen, Decker raised his eyebrows. “He asked to stay here a few more days.”

Rina looked at Hannah. The young girl shrugged. “It’s fine with me as long as he’s not a psycho or anything like that.”

Decker blew out air and whispered, “He doesn’t appear to be a psycho. But his father is a psycho and I really don’t know a thing about him.”

“He doesn’t want to live with his relatives?” Rina asked.

“Apparently not,” Decker said.

“How many days are we talking about?” Hannah asked.

“I’m hoping to locate one of his parents soon.”

“So let him stay.” Hannah smiled. “Even if he is a psycho, there isn’t a lot here to steal.”

Decker said, “A couple of days won’t make that much of a difference. If it drags on longer than that, we’ll reevaluate.”

Rina said, “He should be in school.”

“Not our school,” Hannah said.

“Why not?” Decker said. “It’s filled with misfits anyway.”

“It’s an Orthodox day school, Abba, and I don’t think he’s Jewish.”

“Neither are half the kids in the school.”

“That’s not true,” Hannah said. “Look, I can take him to school. He’s real cute and I’m sure all the girls will fall madly in love with him. Just don’t blame me if the rabbis have a fit.”

Rina said. “Sitting around here is only going to make him feel worse.” She turned to Hannah. “Go in and tell him that you’re taking him to your school.”

“You want me to tell him?”

“Yes, I do,” Rina ordered.

“I have choir practice tonight. I won’t get home until late.”

“Take him with you,” Decker said. “I seem to recall that he plays the piano. Maybe he can accompany you guys.”

“Right!” Hannah snorted and went in to fetch Gabe from her brothers’ bedroom.

When she was gone, Decker said, “I hope this doesn’t come back to bite us.”

“It might,” Rina said. “But even God judges us for our present actions only and not on what He knows we’ll do in the future. How can we mortals do anything less?”

“That’s a nice little speech, but we mortals have to use the past to judge the future because we’re not God.” He shook his head. “What kind of a teenager doesn’t want to live with his young irresponsible aunt who parties and dopes?” “A kid too mature for his age.”

HE SAT ON one of the twin beds, his backpack at his feet, staring at nothing while other people talked about his fate. A position he had been in umpteen times before. The room was filled with athletic trophies, paperback books, comic books, CDs, and DVDs, mostly from the nineties. There were posters of Michael Jordan and Michael Jackson, one of Kobe Bryant when he was about seventeen years old. The CDs included Green Day, Soundgarden, and Pearl Jam.

An utterly normal room in an utterly normal house with an utterly normal family.

What he would give to live an utterly normal life.

He was tired of dealing with a psycho for a father, a totally unpredictable maniac with a violent temper. He was sick of having a psychologically beaten-down mother—recently a physically beaten mother. He feared his dad, he loved his mom, but he was sick to death of both of them. And although he was sincerely passionate about his music and the piano, he detested growing up a prodigy. It drove him to do more and more and more and more.

All he wanted was to be fucking normal. Was that so hard of a wish to grant?

He heard the knock on the door and wiped his eyes. He looked in the mirror and noticed they were red-rimmed. Fucking-A great! The girl probably thought he was a real wuss.

Mom, where the fuck are you? Chris, what the fuck did you do with Mom?

He answered the door. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She smiled. “You know if you want to hole up here for a few days, you’re more than welcome.”

“Yeah, your dad already told me that. Thanks. I really mean that.” He bit his lower lip. “I’m sure things will sort out by then. Tell your parents I won’t be any trouble.”

“I’m enough trouble for the both of us.” She smiled. “Hate to tell you this, bud, but my mom wants you to go to school with me.”

“School?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Right.” He laughed. What else was there to do? “Sure. Why not?”

“It’s a religious school.”

“What religion?”

“Jewish.”

“I’m Catholic.”

“It’s fine. You won’t have to do anything against your beliefs.”

“I have no beliefs except in the innate evil of human beings.” He looked at her. “Except your parents.”

“If it’s too much for you to handle, I can probably talk my mom out of it.”

“No, it’s okay.” A pause. “I’ll deal. Do I need a notebook or something?”

“I’ll get you an extra one. You’re in tenth grade, you said?”

“I was.”

“Algebra two or pre-calc?”

“Pre-calc.”

“I’ll take care of it. I also heard you play the piano.”

His eyes showed a twinkle of animation. “Do you have a piano?”

“My school does. Are you good?”

For the first time, Hannah saw a genuine smile. He said, “I can play.”

“Then maybe you can stay after school and accompany our choir. We’re terrible. We could use some sort of a lift.”

“I probably can help you out there.”

“C’mon.” She motioned him forward. “I’ll guide you through it. You may not know it, Gabe, but you’re looking at a BMOC.”

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE TIME Decker broke for lunch, he had done enough phone work and legwork to ascertain that there had been no activity on Terry McLaughlin’s cell since four o’clock yesterday afternoon. Her major credit cards hadn’t been used other than daily charges put through by the hotel, and even those had been earlier in the day. Her name hadn’t appeared on any American or United flight manifest—either domestic or international—but Decker certainly hadn’t the means and the wherewithal to check every single airline and every single local airport. If the woman had wanted to sneak out, she could have done it in a thousand ways. More to the point, her car hadn’t been spotted. All he could do was wait for news and hope it wasn’t bad news.

Donatti wasn’t picking up his cell, either. According to Gabe, his father switched cells, often using throwaways. It could be that the number that Decker was given wasn’t the cell phone he was currently using. Decker did discover that Donatti had arrived on Saturday morning in LAX via Virgin America Airlines, the day before his meeting with his estranged wife. There was no record of his picking up any rental car. As far as locating where he had stayed before he had met with Terry, Decker started calling hotels, beginning on the west with the Ritz-Carlton in the Marina and slowly working his way eastward ho. When he was about to call the Century Plaza, there was a knock on his office door. He put down the phone. “Come in.”

Dressed in a wheat-colored shirt, brown pants, and rubber-soled flats, Marge entered his office. Her brown eyes were wide and her face was ashen. Decker felt his heart sink. “What?”

“A foreman at a construction site just found a homicide victim—a young woman hanging from the rafters—”

“Good Lord!” Decker felt sick. “Hanging?”

“From cable wire…at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Any identification?”

“Not so far. The uniforms are at the scene, cordoning off the area.”

“Has any one cut her down?”

“No. The foreman didn’t touch her. He called 911 and the uniforms came quickly enough to preserve the scene. The coroner’s office has been notified.”

Decker looked at his watch. “It’s two in the afternoon. And the foreman just discovered the body? How long had he been at the site?”

“I don’t know, Pete.”

“What’s the location?” When Marge told him the address, Decker’s heart started racing. His brain flashed to Terry’s face with a noose around her neck. “That’s not far from where Cheryl Diggs was murdered.”

“I realize that. That’s why I’m telling you this.”

Way back when, when Chris Donatti né Chris Whitman had been a senior in high school, Cheryl Diggs had been his teen girlfriend. On the night of the senior prom, Donatti had been accused of murdering her, and soon after, he went to jail because of some noble but misguided notion that he was saving Terry McLaughlin from the ordeal of testifying at his trial. It turned out that Chris had been innocent, probably the only crime that he was ever innocent of.

Marge said, “I’m on my way with Oliver. Should I keep you updated or do you want to come?”

“I’m coming.” He picked up his jacket, his cell phone, and his camera. “I’ll take a separate car and meet you two there.”

“Anything I should be looking for?”

“Do you know what Terry McLaughlin looks like?”

“Last time I saw her, she was sixteen. A beautiful girl, as I recall.”

“She’s matured, but she’s still beautiful.” Decker slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “Of course, if it’s her, she isn’t going to look pretty at all.”

CRIME WAS UBIQUITOUS, and while the community policed by the Devonshire substation had its share of assaults, burglaries, and thefts, it wasn’t considered high in the homicide department. So when murder did occur, it stood out as an anomaly. Hangings were as rare as L.A. snow.

Decker drove down the main boulevard, twisting and turning until he arrived at one of the more affluent residential areas. It was a planned community and the homes were two-storied with three-car garages and half-acre lots. There were a few architectural styles to choose from: Spanish, Tudor, Colonial, Italianate, and Modern, which was basically an oversize box with oversize windows. Several homes were in the process of being built.

At the given address, a sizable group of gawkers was milling about, craning their necks to see what was going on. One radio van had already arrived and no doubt several more were on the way. Decker parked about a half block away from the hubbub and walked over to the action. He flashed his badge to one of the uniforms and then ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape.

The two-story house had been framed: the rooms had been delineated, the windows were in, and the roof was on. The crowd was gathered toward the back, mostly uniformed officers, but Decker could also see flashbulbs discharging at frequent intervals. Marge, riding with her partner, Scott Oliver, had beaten him to the scene.

Scott was his usually natty self, wearing a houndstooth jacket, black slacks, a black jacquard silk tie, and a starched white shirt. As Decker got closer to the corpse, the air had turned fetid, filled with the stink of excretion. A funnel of blackflies, gnats, and other winged insects was encircling the space.

Oliver was shooing the critters away. “Get lost, bugs. Go eat the carrion.”

From his breast jacket pocket, Decker took out a tube of Vicks VapoRub and dabbed his nostrils with the ointment. He waved a hand across his face to disperse the insects as he stared at the body swinging from the rafters. The woman’s face was so discolored and bloated that she was almost unrecognizable as human. She was nude, her long dark hair vainly trying to give her some modesty. Cable wire had been looped several times around her neck, the terminus of the ligature knotted on one of the ceiling joists. Her toenails—painted red—just barely cleared the ground.

“Any ID?” Decker asked.

“None so far,” Marge answered. “Is it Terry?”

Decker stared a long time. “I’d like to say no, but honestly she’s too distorted to tell.” He took out his notebook and began to make some sketches. “What cable company services this area?”

“American Lifeline does most of the Valley,” Marge answered. “I’ll call them up and get a schedule of who’s working in the area.”

Decker said. “Find out what kind of cable wire they use. Also get someone to start calling electronic shops and computer stores in the area and find out what kind of cable they sell.”

“I’ll do that,” Oliver said.

“No, get Lee Wang to make all the calls. You and Marge start canvassing the area. I’ll bring in a couple of other Dees to help you out.” Decker continued to study the body. “Do we have any ideas who this might be?”

“Wynona Pratt is making calls to the other station houses, finding out if any young women were reported missing.”

Decker rubbed his forehead and turned to the photographer, George Stubbs, a gray-haired, stocky man in his fifties. “Are you done with her?”

“Almost.”

“Did you take close-ups of her neck?”

“I took some. I can take more.”

“Do that. Also take several snapshots of the knot on the ceiling where the cable wire is knotted.”

Marge had gloved up and was studying the body, circling it like carrion. By law, no one could touch the body until the coroner’s investigator gave the okay. “This seems like a bloodless murder. No bullet holes, no stab wounds. No defensive wounds on her hands. Her nails aren’t chipped or scratched. Her French polish manicure is like new.” She looked up. “Happen to notice if Terry had on nail polish?”

Decker thought back, trying to recall Terry’s hands. Then he noticed the hanging woman’s feet—bright red toenails. “When Terry first spoke to me, her feet were bare and I don’t recall her toenails being polished.” A pause. “She could have polished them later, after I left, but how likely is that unless she had it done in the hotel’s salon.”

Marge said, “I’ll call up and ask.”

He stared at the face. “It’s not her.”

“You’re sure.”

“Almost certain.” He regarded her features, then shook his head. “Do we have any forensics—semen, fingerprints, shoe prints, maybe some tire tracks in the area? Lots of dust and dirt, we should be able to pull something from the ground.”

“I’ve been bagging garbage,” Oliver said.

“Marking the spots?”

Oliver held up some small orange cones with numbers on them.

Decker said, “What have picked up?”

“Mostly fast-food sandwich wrappers and junk from the roach coach. S.I.D. is on the way. So are a couple of investigators from the Crypt.”

“If it’s a construction site, where’s all the activity?” Decker asked.

“No activity because they’re waiting for the framing inspector to sign off. The appointment was for four o’clock in the afternoon. The foreman, who’s name is Chuck Tinsley, arrived here first and was going over the property just to make sure everything looked okay. He was waiting for the contractor and the architect to come down when he discovered the body. He called 911, then immediately called the contractor, who is on his way.”

“Where’s Tinsley?”

Marge pointed to a black-and-white. “He’s ensconced inside. Should I get him?”

Decker nodded as his gaze continued to fix on the swinging corpse. His thoughts were meandering to several places, and none were good.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THE BACK PASSENGER door to the cruiser was open, a uniform standing in front of the space, keeping watch over her charge as well as the set of wheels. If Decker squinted, he could see a figure huddled in the backseat, his arms wrapped around his body as if his arms were straps on a straitjacket. As Decker approached the car, he nodded to the police officer and pointed to the open door. The cop bent down and spoke to the huddled man. When he emerged, Tinsley was average height, a tank of a fellow with long, muscular arms, dark eyes, a strong chin, and a face of controlled stubble. The officer led him to Decker, who glanced at her tag.

“Thank you, Officer Breckenridge, I’ll take it from here.” He extended his hand to the foreman, whose complexion was ashen behind the darkening of beard. He had brown eyes, a Roman nose, and thin lips. His hair was a nest of cowlicks. He appeared to be in his thirties. “Lieutenant Peter Decker.”

“Chuck Tinsley.” His voice was deep but held a slight tremble. “This is…I’m a little freaked out.”

“I do this for a living and I’m a lot freaked out,” Decker said.

Tinsley laughed nervously. “If you see a pile of vomit, it’s probably mine.”

“How’s your stomach now?” Decker asked.

He held up a soda can. “Someone was nice enough to give me this. I think it was the lady cop. I’m a little confused.”

Decker pulled out his notebook. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“Nothing much to tell. I came early to clean up before the contractor arrived.” He bit his lip. “I saw the body.”

“Can we back it up for a minute?”

“Sure?”

“When did you get to the site?”

“Around quarter to.”

“Quarter to what?”

“Oh, quarter to two. One forty-five.”

“And when were you supposed to meet the contractor.”

“Around three-thirty, four.”

Decker looked at his watch. It was nearly three now. “You came early?”

“Yeah, to clean up. You know how it is with construction crews,” Tinsley said. “They throw their shit all over the place. I try to get them to clean up at the end of the day, but if it’s been a hard one, I let it go. It’s easier to clean up by myself when they’re not here. That’s what I was doing. With the inspection coming, you need a clean site.”

“So you came at one forty-five and…what did you immediately start doing?”

“Cleaning up stuff. Picking up nails, piling up loose lumber, gathering up tools left behind, throwing away trash…lots of trash.”

“Did you have a trash bag with you?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Where is the bag now?”

Tinsley’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “Not sure. Probably I dropped it when I saw the body.”

“When you noticed the body, how long had you been at the site?”

“Maybe five minutes. I saw a lot of flies and figured there was a pile of dog shit that I needed to clean up. Not that I see a lot of dog shit inside the house, but I figured what else could be attracting so many flies?”

“Then what did you do?”

“I think I found a plastic bag or something to pick up the shit with. After that, things got fuzzy. I think I mighta screamed. Then I barfed. Then I called 911 on my cell.”

“You also called the contractor?”

“Yeah, I called him, too. He told me he was running late, and hopefully he’d make it before the inspector. But then I told him about the body and that I called the police and that he should cancel the inspection.”

“Then what did you do after you called the contractor?”

“I don’t really remember…the police showed up a couple of minutes later. Someone told me to wait in the car and that someone would be with me in a moment. I said I was feeling a little sick and someone got me a can of soda. And that’s that.”

Decker said, “Did you touch the body at all? Maybe feel for a pulse?”

Tinsley turned green. “I mighta. I don’t remember too well.”

“Did you get a good look at the face?”

“I just glanced at it…her. It didn’t even look human.”

“Did you recognize her as someone you know or have seen around the area?”

“Tell you the truth, I didn’t look that long.”

“Could you glance at the body another time, just to see if you can identify her?”

“I suppose so…”

Decker led him over to the corpse. Someone from the coroner’s office had given the go-ahead to cut her down. She laid her on a gurney with a sheet over her head. S.I.D. was printing her hands. Decker gently removed the blanket to expose the face. It was still red and puffy, but a bit less distorted.

The foreman stared at the face for a few seconds, and then averted his eyes. He appeared to be holding down his stomach. “I don’t know her at all.”

“Thank you for trying.” Decker guided him away from the scene, the two of them walking toward the cruiser.

Tinsley gave a sick smile. “At least I didn’t heave this time. When can I go?”

“We’re almost done,” Decker told him. “I’d like you to write down exactly what you told me, including that you don’t recognize the corpse.”

“Uh, sure. No problem.”

Decker handed him a tablet of yellow lined paper. “You can sit in the police car while you write. I’ll take the soda can if you’re through with it. Do you want another one?”

“Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.” Tinsley handed the can to Decker.

“It’s not a problem. Could you also give me the contractor’s name and cell number?”

“His name is Keith Wald. I have to check my cell for the phone number because right now, I’m too shaken to remember it even though I’ve dialed it a thousand times.”

“I’ll check your cell for the number. As a matter of fact, would you mind if I looked your cell phone over? I’d like to get the exact times of the calls you made.”

“Sure.” Tinsley handed him the phone. “You can even look over any of the numbers I used. That’s what you want to do, right?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I guess it’s natural to suspect everyone. Most of my calls are business, but there are probably some to my friends. I’ll tell you what number belongs to who. Anything, as long as it takes my mind off of that.”

Tinsley pointed to the house, assumedly to the body in the house. A moment later, Decker espied a mustachioed, dark-haired man charging across the lot, escorted by Officer Mary Breckenridge. The man’s face was all seams, ruts, and pits, with a strong cleft chin and a head of dark thick curls. His eyes were hooded by a jutting brow and he was walking bowlegged. He stood around five eight and seemed to be in his late forties.

“That’s the contractor, Lieutenant.” Tinsley yelled and waved his arms. “Yo, Keith! Over here.”

“What the hell happened?” Wald broke into a jog. “What’s going on?”

Decker said, “Officer Breckenridge, why don’t you escort Mr. Tinsley into the cruiser so he can write down his statement.”

“Yes, sir.” Breckenridge gently nudged Tinsley forward. “This way, sir.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Wald said out loud. “I need to talk to this man.”

“You can talk to him after you talk to me.” Decker introduced himself.

Wald stuck out his hand. “Okay. Could you tell me what the hell is going on? Chuck said something about a body hanging from the rafters.”

“What else did he tell you?”

“That it was a woman. God, that’s horrible.” Wald checked his watch. “The city inspector is supposed to come in about an hour.”

“You’re going to have to cancel that,” Decker said. “No one is allowed on the premises until we’re done.”

“The homeowners are going to blow a gasket. We’re already a couple months behind. Not my fault. Homeowners keep changing their minds.”

“Could I get the names of the homeowners?” When Wald winced, Decker said, “They’re going to find out. It’ll be best if it comes from someone official.”

“Yeah, that’s true. Grossman—Nathan and Lydia. He’s a doctor, so I mostly work with her.”

“Do you have a phone number?”

“Yeah…hold on.” Wald checked his BlackBerry, his mustache twitching as he moved his upper lip. “Here it is.”

Decker copied the number on his notepad. “What can you tell me about them?”

“He’s around sixty, she’s younger…maybe forty. They have two teenage boys—fifteen and thirteen. I think he also has a son from another marriage. God, this is awful!”

The dead woman seemed older than her teens, so the boys didn’t pop out as primary suspects. Still, they needed to be looked at. “How old is the son from the first marriage?”

“I have no idea.” Wald blanched. “Why are you asking?”

“Routine questions. I’ll want to contact everyone associated with the spot,” Decker said. “Do you know his name?”

“No.”

“I’ll get it from the homeowners. Could you to come take a look at the body? See if she looks familiar to you?”

“Me?”

“We don’t have her identification yet. Maybe she’s someone in the neighborhood.”

“I don’t spend a lot of time checking out the ladies. When I’m here, I work.”

“If you’d just take a look at her, I’d appreciate it.”

“Oh God.” Wald heaved a sigh. “All right.”

“Thanks.” Decker walked him over to the crime scene and for the second time in ten minutes uncovered the sheet to reveal the face. She was still bloated and purple, but her features were recognizable as those of a young woman. He could now clearly make out the deep purple ligature mark that had cut into her neck at the Adam’s apple.

He could now say with confidence that the corpse wasn’t Terry McLaughlin.

One less thing to deal with…or more to deal with. Terry was still missing.

Wald gagged and slapped his hand over his mouth. “Never seen her before.” He turned tail and walked away.

Decker covered her face and caught up with Wald. “Thank you for helping.”

“Was that really necessary? Now I’m gonna have nightmares.”

“Did you call the inspector?” Decker said.

“Oh yeah, let me do that right now.” He punched some numbers into his BlackBerry. Five minutes later, he said, “Can’t get hold of the man. Shit!”

“Don’t worry about it,” Decker said. “We’ll take care of him. I’m going to need a list of all the people that have worked here. That shouldn’t be too difficult since you’re only at the framing stage.”

“I’ve had the same guys for three years. It isn’t one of them.”

“I’ll need that list anyway.” Decker looked around for another notepad and gave it to Wald. “Put down anyone associated with this project starting with the homeowners.”

“Anywhere I can sit down?”

Decker rounded up Officer Breckenridge. “Could you escort Mr. Wald to a cruiser so he can write down some information for me?” He heard Marge call his name, turned around, and walked over to her and the crime scene. “What’s up?”

“Lee Wang called. A nurse who works at St. Timothy’s—which is about six blocks away—seems to be missing.”

“Oh Lord. What’s her name?”

“Adrianna Blanc. According to her DMV license, she’s twenty-eight, blue eyes, brown hair, five six, a hundred and twenty-five pounds.”

“Married?”

“Single.”

“Who reported her missing?”

“Her mother. She went to her apartment to drop off some things this morning and her daughter wasn’t there. Her bed hadn’t been slept in.”

“Maybe she slept somewhere else.”

“Her mother has made some calls. Her boyfriend is away with his two best friends on vacation. Her other best girlfriends can’t get hold of her. Apparently, Adrianna finished up her shift at the hospital this morning, but no one has heard from her since. Her car is still in the parking lot of St. Tim’s.”

“That’s not good.” Decker rubbed his forehead. “Where’s Mom?”

“Her name is Kathy Blanc and she’s at the station house,” Marge told him.

“And Lee’s with her?”

“Lee made the call. Wanda Bontemps is with her now.”

“Tell Wanda to keep her there. I’ll come in and talk to her.”

“That’s already done,” Marge said. “I used a computer in one of the cruisers to bring up her DMV picture to see if we’re in the ballpark.” She handed him a slip of paper. “Kinda fuzzy, but it’s a possibility. We could bring Mom down for identification in person or we could take some of George’s snapshots to her.”

Decker stared at the DMV photo. A young woman with long hair was grinning full face into the camera. “Do we have any printed postmortem photographs?”

“Yeah, these are from George’s camera, printed from his laptop.”

Decker flipped through them and compared them with the DMV photo. If he squinted hard enough, he could see that the women were one and the same. “Close enough. I’m sending you and Oliver to St. Tim’s. I’ll bring the postmortem to Mom. It’s kinder than doing an in-person ID. Have you finished canvassing the area?”

“We’ve just started…gone through a couple of blocks when Lee called in.”

“Call in Drew Messing and Willy Brubeck and have them canvass the area for Oliver and you. They can direct a team of uniforms around the neighborhood. The first thing I want you and Oliver to do is to go to St. Tim’s parking lot with a crime team and work her car over. See if that directs us somewhere. What kind of a car is it?”

“A 2002 burgundy Honda Accord.” She gave him the plate number.

“While S.I.D. is working on the car, you go into the hospital and see if you can track Adrianna Blanc’s last movements before she disappeared.”

“Will do.”

“The contractor is writing down names and numbers of everyone associated with the project. The homeowners have two teenage boys together. If it is Adrianna Blanc, she would seem to be out of the boys’ age range, but we still need to know where they were last night. There’s also an older son by the father’s first marriage.”

“How old is he?”

“Don’t know a thing about him. Call up Wynona Pratt. Tell her to go through the list one by one.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Marge shrugged. “At least the body’s probably not Terry McLaughlin.”

Decker exhaled. “All that means is I have to deliver bad news to someone else.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

POSITIVELY THE WORST part of the job was bringing bad news to loved ones. It simply sucked. Kathy Blanc’s hands were shaking when Decker handed her the first picture and all it took was one look before she bolted from his office. Wanda Bontemps was there to direct her to the ladies’ room. Decker sat at his desk with his face in his hands, wondering just how long he could take this kind of stress. And if that weren’t enough, there was a fourteen-year-old boy with missing parents, living in his home.

Sometimes it isn’t even worth getting up in the morning.

Five minutes later, Wanda Bontemps led Kathy Blanc back into Decker’s office and seated her across from his desk. Kathy’s complexion had turned the color of eggshell; her eyes were red with black tears streaming down her cheeks courtesy of mascara. Red lipstick had run into the lines atop her mouth. Her body was enveloped with the shakes and she hugged herself in a weak attempt to stop her seizing. The woman’s coiffed blond hair framed a long, patrician face now smeared with makeup. She wore pearls in her ears and had on black knitted pants and a red knitted top. Black pumps on her feet.

Wanda Bontemps was at the doorway, her dark eyes looking pretty somber. “How about some water and a wet towel?”

Decker nodded and then faced Kathy Blanc’s imploring eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Blanc. Is there anyone we can call for you?”

“My…hus…band.” She opened her purse, but Decker was quicker. He handed her a Kleenex. “Thank you.”

“Do you have a number, ma’am?”

“It’s area code 213–827…” Her face crumbled and Decker handed her another tissue. She managed to get out the next four digits. When Wanda returned, he handed her the number and told her to make the call. He gave the water to Kathy along with a damp white towel.

“Is there anyone else you want me to contact?” Decker asked her.

“I can’t even think.”

Decker nodded. “I want to let you know that we’ll do whatever needs to be done to find out what happened. We’ve got a lot of people working on this. Are you up to my asking you a few questions?”

“I don’t…” The tears started anew, but she nodded for Decker to go ahead.

“Was Adrianna having problems with anyone?”

Kathy shook her head no.

“How about a boyfriend? You told my detective that there was one.”

“Garth Hammerling.”

“Any problems with him?”

“Not that I know.”

“I don’t mean to sound intrusive, Mrs. Blanc, but did you and Adrianna have the type of relationship where she would talk to you about personal things?”

Kathy dabbed her smeary eyes with the towel. When she saw that her makeup was coming off, she whispered an “oh dear.” “Adrianna didn’t complain a lot.” She rubbed her face vigorously to get off all the streaked makeup. “But if something was wrong, I think she’d tell me.”

“What do you think about Garth?”

She continued wiping her face. “He seemed all right. I don’t think Adrianna was all that serious about him.”

“Where’d she meet him?”

“He’s a tech at St. Tim’s.” Kathy looked up. “Why are you asking questions about Garth?” Her eyes filled with moisture again. “Was she…violated?”

“I don’t know—”

“I don’t feel well.” She stood up. “I need to use the restroom.”

“Detective Bontemps will take you.”

“I know where it is.” She got up and left. Bontemps stepped into the office.

“Garth Hammerling was Adrianna’s boyfriend.” Decker wrote the name on a piece of paper and gave it to her. “Check him out…although I think Marge said something about his being out of town. Did you contact Mrs. Blanc’s husband?”

“Yes, I did. I didn’t tell him what was going on, but he knew it concerned Adrianna because Kathy had called him several times.”

“Where does he work?”

“Law offices of Rosehoff, Allens, Blanc, and Bellows. Mack Blanc is a senior partner. He’s on his way here from downtown L.A.”

“We should send a car to pick him up. He shouldn’t be driving.”

“Didn’t get a chance to tell him too much of anything. He hung up on me as soon as I told him his wife was here.”

“Give me the number. I’ll see if I can reach him. You go into the restroom and make sure that Mrs. Blanc is okay. Well, she’s not okay, but make sure she doesn’t need medical care. If she does need care, call an ambulance. Have them take her anywhere but St. Tim’s.”

“THE MOTHER MADE an ID with the pictures,” Decker told Marge over the phone. “That means the car is part of an official crime scene. Are the crime techs there yet?”

“Any moment now. Are you coming down?”

“I’m waiting to talk to Adrianna’s father. I’ll come down after that. Have you talked to anyone at St. Tim’s about Adrianna?”

“Oliver’s trying to get a time frame. It appears she completed her shift. That would mean she left the building around eight in the morning. Things go blank after that. We did find a nurse named Mandy Kowalski who knew Adrianna Blanc for six years. She’s on break in about a half hour and has agreed to speak with us. We’re trying to locate a good spot to talk. It looks like the cafeteria is winning the election.”

“Who else have you talked to at the hospital?”

“A little of this, a little of that. People are on shift and seem reluctant to talk.”

“The hospital isn’t cooperating with you?”

“The administration’s been all right. We’ll see what happens once they find out it’s murder. Oliver is getting a list of names of the security officers on duty. There are always a couple of guards roaming the parking lots.”

“What about video cameras?”

“We’re working on getting the tapes for all the entrances and exits. I don’t know if there’re video cameras in the parking lots, but I’ll find out.”

“Has the hospital had trouble with crime in the past?”

“I don’t know. We’ve still got a lot of searching to do. As soon as we get information, we’ll keep you in the loop.”

“As long as the loop ain’t a noose around the neck.”

“WE WENT TO nursing school together.”

Eyes on the tabletop, Mandy Kowalski was staring at bad coffee. Oliver knew it was bad because he was drinking the same swill.

A cute little thing, he thought, dressed in blue scrubs, with a pixie face, bright red hair, and hazel eyes. A dozen moons ago, he would have asked her out despite the forty-year age difference. But a lifetime of bad choices had finally made him realize that sometimes it was best to keep things on the professional level. He was currently dating a middle-school teacher named Carmen who was much too good for him. By the grace of God, she was able to deflect his neuroses and shenanigans with a knowing look and a laugh.

“You’re sure she’s gone?” Mandy’s eyes were still downcast. “Sometimes people just leave without telling anyone.”

Marge and Oliver exchanged glances. Marge said, “Mandy, we got a recent update, and unfortunately, the news isn’t good. It appears that Adrianna has been murdered.”

“Oh God!” Mandy gasped and knocked over her coffee cup with shaking hands. She covered her mouth. “Oh no! Oh my God! How horrible! Oh no!” She looked up and tears had sprouted from her eyes. “That can’t be!”

“We got a positive ID from her mother,” Marge told her.

“Oh, that poor woman. Poor Adrianna.” She buried her face behind her hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t…”

“That’s okay,” Marge told her. “Take your time.”

Oliver stood up. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”

Marge tried to distract her. “I noticed you’re wearing scrubs. Are you a surgical nurse?”

“Thoracic.” She wiped her eyes with a napkin. “Anything to do with the chest.”

“Is that what Adrianna did?”

At the mention of her friend’s name, Mandy let go with a fresh set of waterfalls. “She’s in the NICU. Neonatal intensive care. She’s a…she was a pediatric nurse. She was great at her job. We used to call her the baby whisperer. But even when she worked with older kids, they loved her.”

“I see.” Marge took out her notepad. “And you’ve known Adri-anna for six years?”

“Around six years.” Oliver came back with water and a new tissue box. Mandy thanked him for both items. “I was just telling your partner that I knew Adrianna for around six years. We went to nursing school together.”

“Where at?” Oliver asked. “C-SUN?”

“No,” Mandy said. “We went to the Howard Professional School. Originally Adrianna was just going for an LVN, but I told her that she was smart enough to go all the way for an RN. It was a lot harder, I’m not going to lie, but I convinced her that it would be worth it.”

“Wow, that was awfully nice of you,” Marge told her.

“It was partially for selfish reasons,” Mandy said. “We met the first day of orientation and hit it off right away. I figured it would be easier if I had company. I helped her over a couple of rough patches, but she took her own tests and did well.”

“You sound like a good friend,” Oliver told her.

“At that time, we were very good friends.”

“But not so much anymore?” Marge asked.

“You know how it is…” Mandy’s eyes darted back and forth. “Things change.”

“Like what?” Oliver said.

“We drifted apart,” Mandy said. “Aside from work, we stopped hanging out.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing really…just lifestyle issues. Adrianna has…” Mandy licked her lips. “She has a lot more energy than I do. She likes to have a good time.”

“She’s a party girl?” Marge suggested.

“That’s making her sound cheap,” Mandy said. “She liked her fun. I mean, I do too, but I guess I need more sleep than she does.”

“Did her fun include drugs?” Marge said.

Mandy hesitated. “I guess she’d be like a recreational user.”

“Did it ever interfere with her work?”

“Never!” Mandy was adamant. “She was a miracle worker with those babies.”

“What do you know about her boyfriend?” Marge checked her notes. “Garth Hammerling. What do you know about him?”

“He works here at St. Tim’s. He’s a radiology tech.”

“How well do you know him?” Oliver asked.

“Casual acquaintances,” Mandy told him.

But her eyes were elsewhere. Marge said, “Would you know where he lives?”

Mandy looked away. “Why would I know where he lives?”

“Maybe you went to a party there?”

“Can’t recall that.” Mandy looked at her hands. “I could probably get you his address, but you could probably do it just as easy.”

“Not a problem,” Oliver said. “Just wondering if you knew it offhand because we need to talk to him.” When Mandy didn’t answer, he said, “You know we need to ask all sorts of personal questions.”

Marge said, “So if I asked you personal information, you shouldn’t be offended.”

“Because we ask everyone personal information,” Oliver said. “Like I could ask you if you had a thing going on with Garth.”

“No!” Mandy dried her eyes. “Why would you think that?”

“Just a question,” Marge said.

Oliver said, “Because if you had something going on with him, we’d eventually find out about it.”

“So now’s the time to fess up,” Marge said. “Hiding stuff makes you look bad.”

“I don’t have anything…” Again her eyes moistened. “He came on to me, okay?”

“See, that was simple,” Marge said. “What could you tell us about it?”

“Nothing happened. I wasn’t interested.” She shook her head. “It was at one of Adrianna’s parties. She had them almost every other weekend. He cornered me in the kitchen and tried to mash me. God, it was embarrassing. He was drunk. So was she.” She dabbed her eyes. “It’s hard for me to talk smack about her, especially now that she’s…and we used to be such good friends. It’s not that Garth is a bad guy. He’s just a player. Everyone knows he’s a player.”

“Did Adrianna know?”

“Maybe in the back of her mind, she did.” She stood up. “I’ve got to get back to my shift. If you want to talk to me again, please don’t do it here. I live in Canoga Park. I’m in the book.”

“Thanks, Mandy,” Marge said, “you’ve been very helpful.”

“No problem. Just find the bastard who hurt her. Adrianna may have had her issues, but who doesn’t have problems?”

“True that,” Marge said as she watched the nurse walk away. Then she said, “What do you think?”

“An emotional girl for someone who had drifted away from the victim.” Oliver shrugged. “What’s going on with Garth?”

“His landline answering machine says…” Marge checked her notes. “That Garth, Aaron, and Greg went river rafting and wouldn’t be answering calls for a week. If he left a couple of days ago, he’s given himself an alibi.”

“Some people have perfect timing.”

“You know what I think, Oliver?” Marge said. “Perfect timing is always suspicious.”

CHAPTER NINE

DECKER GOT THE feeling that Mack Blanc’s language was an embarrassment to Kathy, but she was just too numb to stop him.

What the fuck happened!

That’s what we’re investigating, Mr. Blanc. I’m so sorry. I don’t want your fucking apologies, I want some fucking answers! Over and over and over and over and over.

The three of them were in Decker’s office. Kathy remained silent and seated as her husband paced and swore. Finally, Mack attempted a new line of attack.

“Well, if you don’t know what fucking happened, what do you fucking know?”

Decker pointed to the chair. Reluctantly, Mack sat down. As soon as he was quiet, his eyes overflowed. Wordlessly, Decker handed him a tissue.

“Her car is still in St. Tim’s parking lot. We’re going over it right now.”

“Was she…” Kathy choked back sobs. “Did it happen in the car?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Blanc. I sure don’t want to tell you wrong information.”

Mack took her hand and she leaned against his chest, weeping. The hapless man couldn’t offer her any words of comfort.

Decker said, “We’re also interviewing people at the hospital to get a time frame. Your wife was kind enough to give us Adrianna’s cell number and we discovered she made a couple of calls around the time she got off shift.”

“She called Sela Graydon,” Kathy explained to her husband.

“She and Adrianna have known each other since junior high,” Mack answered. “What about the other number?”

“When we called it, no one answered. The voice-mail box is full, so we don’t know who it belongs to. We can find out who owns the number and how long the conversation lasted, but that will take a little maneuvering. Also, there’s no guarantee that the person who owns the number is the one who answered the call.”

“It’s not a familiar number to me,” Kathy told her husband.

“What about Garth?” Mack said.

“It isn’t Garth’s number.”

“I don’t trust that guy,” Mack said. “He’s cocky. Lord only knows why.”

Kathy said, “He’s good-looking.”

“How could you say that?” Mack said. “Guy had about twenty pierces in his ears and that crazy soul patch. His hair looked like he stuck his hand in a light socket.”

“That’s the fashion, Mack. All the rock stars have hair like that.”

“He wasn’t particularly smart. He was always going to Vegas and never invited Adrianna. Lord only knows where he got the money for his excursions.”

Decker noticed Kathy’s cheeks reddening. He said, “What do you know about the money, Mrs. Blanc?”

Kathy looked up. “Pardon?”

“Had Adrianna ever loaned Garth any money?”

“What?” Mack stared at his wife. “Did she give that loser money?”

“She didn’t give it to him, she loaned it to him.”

“I don’t believe…” He jumped up and started pacing again. “Why?”

Kathy erupted into tears. “I don’t know why, Mack, all I know is that she did!”

“Was she generally a soft touch?” Decker asked.

Mack muttered under his breath and kept pacing. Kathy said, “Softhearted. That’s why she became a nurse.”

Decker said, “I’m just trying to get a feel for her, so please don’t take offense at my questions. As far as you know, did Adrianna take drugs or drink excessively?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Kathy told him.

“Of course we know,” Mack said. “We found weed in her dresser when she was in high school. Twice!”

“She said she stopped.”

“She also said the weed wasn’t hers.” To Decker: “Yes, she probably smoked dope and she probably drank too much.”

Kathy wiped her eyes. “She didn’t have a problem, Mack.”

“I didn’t say she had a problem.”

“It doesn’t sound like she had a problem,” Decker said. “She had an important job, and from what I heard, she did it very well.”

“She worked in the NICU with all the sick little preemies.” Kathy started crying. “They all loved her.”

“Good Lord.” Mack’s eyes moistened. “What the fuck happened?”

Back to square one. Decker said, “What else can you tell me about Garth Hammerling?”

“Met him about a half-dozen times. Didn’t trust him.” Mack stopped pacing. “Tell you the truth, I didn’t always trust Adrianna. Her judgment wasn’t the best.”

“A good kid,” Kathy said. “But she could be a little—”

“She was wild. She was also spoiled. We were spoiled by her older sister. That one never gave us anything to worry about.”

“Bea was a different child. There’s no sense comparing.”

“But we do anyway,” Mack told her. “More than once we were up at four in the morning, calling Adrianna’s friends because her cell was off and we didn’t know where she was. When she wanted to be a nurse, I was skeptical. But…”

Mack Blanc’s voice cracked.

“The girl proved me wrong.” He sniffed back tears. “She not only graduated, but got a job with responsibility. Her coworkers love her.”

“You met her coworkers?” Decker asked him.

Kathy said, “She had a Christmas party in her apartment two years ago. She invited us and we went.”

“I think that’s when we first met Garth,” Mack told her.

“Do you remember any other coworkers?”

“There was her friend Mandy Kowalski,” Kathy told Decker. “They went to nursing school together. I think it was Mandy who set Adrianna up with Garth.”

“Mandy set her up with Garth?” Decker repeated.

“I think so.” Kathy squinted, trying to bring back memories. “I think she knew a boy who knew him…something like that.”

“Do you remember the boy’s name?”

“No.” Mack waved his hand in the air. “We kept out of Adrian-na’s business.”

Kathy said, “His name was Aaron Otis.”

“How did you remember that?”

“I just do.”

Mack shook his head. “She’s a whiz with names.”

“That’s very good,” Decker said. “Aaron Otis. Did you ever meet him?”

“I had to have met him once because I recall he was tall with sandy hair…unless I’m getting things confused.” She looked down. “That’s certainly possible.”

“That’s helpful,” Decker said. “How about the names of Adri-anna’s other friends?”

“You can start with Sela Graydon and Crystal Larabee. The three of them were a tight little group.”

“Did either of them become nurses?”

“Heavens no,” Mack said. “I think Crystal wanted to be an actress. At twenty-nine, it ain’t gonna happen. What is she? Like a bartender?”

“She’s a main hostess at Garage.”

“Yeah, waiting to be discovered.”

“Be kind, Mack.” Kathy regarded Decker. “Garage is the newest Helmet Grass restaurant. It’s downtown…right near the New Otani.”

“Got it. What about Sela Graydon? What does she do?”

“She’s a lawyer,” Mack told him. “She was always the smart one of the three.”

“Do both women live in town?”

“Yes,” Kathy said. “I’ll get you their phone numbers.”

“Do you know anything about Mandy Kowalski?”

“Just that Adrianna met her in nursing school,” Mack said. “She seemed nice enough.”

“She used to help Adrianna study, especially when finals rolled around. The first time they happened, Adrianna freaked out. I couldn’t help her. I don’t know the first thing about the nervous system or the circulatory system, but after studying with Mandy, she not only pulled through, she did well. She even got a couple of A’s in some of the classes.”

The tears came flowing down Kathy’s cheek.

“She was so…proud!”

Decker gave her another Kleenex and watched the woman sob. There wasn’t a state-of-the-art dam in the entire world that could hold back that torrent.

“THERE’S NOT MUCH to come down for.” Marge was just outside in the parking lot of St. Tim’s because the reception for her cell was better. “The car’s being processed and we’re just about done with our preliminary interviewing. We spoke to a few of her coworkers. Also, we talked to a woman named Mandy Kowalski. She and Adrianna went to nursing school together, but they don’t work on the same floor.”

“Yeah, Mandy’s name came up when I interviewed the mom,” Decker told her. “She thought that Mandy might have set Adrianna up with Garth.”

“Hmm. Mandy neglected to mention that. She did say that Garth came on to her.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “Triangle anyone?”

“Could be,” Marge said. “I’ll see if I can sort the relationships out. We’ve also got an appointment to interview Adrianna’s supervising nurse tomorrow. She was well liked, did her job, but several people remarked that she liked to party.”

“That’s consistent with the picture I got from her parents.”

“Her parents told you she liked to party?”

“Mostly her father did. He described her—and not kindly—as a party girl.”

“Unusual for him to admit that under the circumstances.”

“I have a feeling that he’s been miffed at her for a long time.”

“But she’s dead, Rabbi. For him to even hint at hostility…that’s weird.”

“People cope in all sorts of different ways. Maybe he figures if he can be mad at her, she’s really not dead. Anyway, there’s another sister in the family—Beatrice Blanc. She needs to be interviewed separately.”

“I’ll do it.”

“There are also two best friends of hers from high school: Sela Graydon and Crystal Larabee.” Decker spelled the names and gave Marge the phone numbers. “Lastly, we need to find out the name of the homeowner’s oldest son.”

“Did that. Trent Grossman. He’s twenty-six. He lives in Boston with his wife and was at a party last night. So he’s out of the picture. The two younger Grossman boys were home last night, according to the parents. For verification, they sent e-mails, IMs, and were on Facebook. I haven’t dug deeper, but I will if you want me to.”

“How old are they? Like fifteen and thirteen?”

“Yep.”

“Put them down at the bottom for now. Let’s go back to Adri-anna’s peers—Crystal and Sela. Set up interviews with them because…okay…here’s the deal.”

Decker flipped through his notes.

“Adrianna called Sela Graydon this morning right when she got off of work. Find out what that was all about. Adrianna also made another call, but we don’t know the identity of that number. Each time I’ve called it, the mailbox is full. It’s a cell, so our backward directories aren’t going to work. We may need a warrant to find out who the number belongs to. Hunt around and see if you can find out if the number belongs to one of her friends.”

“Will do.” Marge asked him, “Any luck with the canvassing of the area?”

“I haven’t heard anything so far. How about we meet up later in the evening and compare notes?”

“Sounds like a plan. Talk to you later.”

Marge hung up her cell and started to dial Sela Graydon’s number, when a crime-scene tech started walking her way. The woman came up to Marge’s stomach. Maybe a little bit higher than her stomach, but she was definitely less than five feet. She was young and Asian and as delicate as a spiderweb, except she had a smoker’s voice. Her name was Rebel Hung.

“We’re just about done with what we can do here.” Rebel snapped off her latex gloves. “I called the truck. We’ll tow it to the lab and give it a thorough going-over.”

“Doesn’t look like this is a crime scene,” Marge said.

“I agree,” Rebel said. “Who knows if she even made it to her car?”

“Footprints?”

“We’ve got some partials. We’ve got lots of latent fingerprints. Maybe something will pop.”

“Hope so.”

“What about the actual crime scene?” Rebel asked. “Where you found her dangling.”

“It’s a crime scene, but we’re not sure if it’s the murder scene. If she was killed there, she didn’t seem to put up a struggle. The coroner’s investigators haven’t found bullet or stab wounds—but she could have been poisoned or sedated before she was hanged. We’ll do a tox on her.”

“Sexually assaulted?”

“Doesn’t look like it, but we’ll know more once the autopsy’s done.”

Rebel pursed her lips. “Hanging’s a weird way to commit murder.”

“Yeah, someone strung her up for dramatic effect.”

“Very dramatic…like in serial killer dramatic.”

“Yes, indeed, we certainly haven’t ruled that one out.”

CHAPTER TEN

AS THE FRESHIES set up the chairs, Hannah took Gabe over to the choir director. Mrs. Kent was an energetic, stout woman with a bowl cut of black hair and glasses dangling from a chain.

“This is Gabe,” Hannah said. “He plays the piano.”

Slipping her glasses over her nose, Mrs. Kent looked the boy up and down. “What year are you in?”

“Sophomore, but I’m just visiting.”

“Visiting?” Mrs. Kent let her glasses drop onto her chest. “For how long?”

“Unknown,” Hannah said. “Maybe a day or two. I thought if he could play ‘My Heart Will Go On’ instead of you playing, you can concentrate on the vocals. Although it’ll probably take a lot more than that to keep us on key.”

“That’s very cynical coming from the choir president.” She stared at Gabe. “Do you know the song?”

“I can fake it pretty close. It’s in E, right?”

“Yes, it’s in E. Can you read music?”

“Sheet music is even better,” Gabe said.

“It’s on the piano.” Mrs. Kent told him. “Decker, help the kids set up.”

Gabe found a small spinet sitting in a corner, but turned to face the stage. It was a Gulbransen, and while it wasn’t exactly the German Steinway, the mark was serviceable. He pushed his glasses up on his nose, and then touched the ivory keys from middle C to two octaves above using his right-hand fingers. With his left fingers, he went from middle C to two octaves below. Then he played the accidental keys. The sound was about as expected from a small-bodied piano. Its tuning was true, although not all the notes were perfect. It would bother him. Anything that wasn’t musically perfect bothered him, but he had learned how to live with it. He rarely attended any live rock concerts other than thrash metal, where sound was bent and warped anyway, so who cared about pitch. Pop singers were the worst. Pro Tools notwithstanding, there were very few singers who hit the notes all the time.

He glanced at the music. It needed range. No doubt the choir would massacre it as Hannah predicted. He liked Hannah. She was friendly but low-key. She made conversation but steered away from anything personal. She had self-confidence without being arrogant.

There were twenty-three kids in the choir, lined up on the risers. As soon as the teacher started talking to them, he zoned out. Around five minutes later, Gabe realized that she was talking to him.

“Pardon?”

Mrs. Kent heaved a dramatic sigh. “I asked if you thought you could play the piece.”

“Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah, sure.” Gabe smiled. “It’s not Rachmaninoff.”

Mrs. Kent eyed him. “You must be related to Hannah. You have the same sense of humor.”

Gabe smiled again but said nothing.

“We can start whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready.”

“Then start.”

Gabe stifled a laugh. When he began the introduction, he saw the choir teacher’s eyes go wide. It was stupid that she was shocked. Why would he say he could play if he couldn’t? It was a motor skill—impossible to fake.

As rightly predicted by Hannah, the choir was awful; the off-key factor was especially prevalent in the soprano section. It was excruciatingly painful to his ear. Midway through the piece, he stopped playing. The teacher cut off the choir and asked him what was wrong.

“I don’t mean to be cheeky, but it’s a little high for your voices. Would you like me to take it down to E-flat? Or maybe down a full note to D. I don’t like turning songs in sharp keys into songs in flat keys. But that’s just me.”

Mrs. Kent stared at him. “You can do that?” Without waiting, she said, “I know. It’s not Rachmaninoff. Okay, give us a starting note.”

Gabe gave them a D and they ran through the number again. It was still terrible, but at least the sopranos weren’t straining as much. When Mrs. Kent called for a five-minute break, Hannah went over to the piano. “We’ve got another hour or so. Sorry it gets out so late.”

“I’m not going anywhere. If your dad had something to tell me, he’d call me, right?”

“Yeah, he would. I’m sorry.”

Gabe shrugged.

Hannah said, “Your playing is truly amazing.”

Gabe laughed. “Any moron who has training could play this.”

“Nah, I don’t believe that.”

“It’s true. For as long as I’ve played, I should be better.”

“How could you be any better?”

She had asked the question with utter sincerity. Gabe had to smile. “Thanks. I’ll contact you the next time I need an ego boost.”

“We’re pretty bad, huh.”

“It’s fine.”

Mrs. Kent came over. “How long are you going to be visiting with us, Mr…?”

“Whitman,” Gabe said.

“A day or two,” Hannah answered for him.

“Have you ever considered transferring to the school? We do have an orchestra and we always have room for a soloist.”

Gabe said, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Have you ever performed any solo pieces?”

There wasn’t any way in hell he was going to play for her. He wanted anonymity, not attention. “Not for a while. I’m a little rusty.”

“I’d love to hear you when you feel up to it.”

“Sure. Another time.”

When the teacher left, Hannah whispered, “I’m so sorry. She’s relentless.”

“She’s just being a teacher.” He paused. “Hannah, if I have to come back with you tomorrow, do you think I can practice when no one’s using the room? I mean it’s really silly for me to be in your school trying to learn anything. My time would be better spent practicing. I mean, it’s not that I have to play. But playing calms me down.”

“I’m sure it’s okay, but you’ll have to ask permission from Mrs. Kent.” Hannah raised her eyebrows. “I’m warning you that if you do, you’ll make a deal with the devil. In exchange, she’ll make you come to orchestra while you’re here.”

“So I’ll come. As long as I don’t have to solo.”

“Got it. But you might want to reconsider about orchestra. We are truly bad! Worse than the choir.”

“It’s fine, Hannah. I’ve gone through a lot hairier things than a few bad notes.”

“If it were just a few, I wouldn’t say anything.” She wagged a finger at his face. “And stop looking so cute. You’re distracting the entire soprano section. And in case you haven’t noticed, they have enough trouble staying on key.”

AFTER THE BLANCS had left his office, Decker felt as if he had taken off a winter jacket in an overheated room: twenty pounds lighter and he could finally take a deep breath. Kathy Blanc had told him that her daughter’s apartment appeared in order, but she admitted that she hadn’t looked too closely.

Decker started working on scheduling his time. He’d manage a quick stop at home for dinner and then he’d go over to Adrianna’s place…or maybe he should go down to St. Tim’s and see what Marge and Oliver were doing. His mind was elsewhere when his cell rang and he neglected to pay attention to the caller ID number. Didn’t matter because the number was blocked, but the voice told him who it was in the single word.

“What?”

Sounding more annoyed than anxious, but that was typical Do-natti. Decker’s heart started jogging. “Your cell out of order, Chris? I’ve been calling you for the last twenty-four hours.”

“You know how it is, Decker. Sometimes you just don’t want to be disturbed.”

“Where have you been?”

“Where have I been?” A laugh over the phone. “What difference does it make?”

“Just wondering what could have kept you so preoccupied that you wouldn’t bother checking your phone calls.”

Another laugh. “You sound pissed.”

“Where have you been?”

“Now you sound like you’re interrogating me. I don’t like your tone. Matter of fact, I don’t like you. You’ve got two seconds to tell me what you want before I hang up.”

“You don’t want to call me back, fine. But I would think you’d answer your son’s calls. He was so upset that he called me.” There was the expected pause. It could have been real or staged. “We’ve got ourselves a big problem, Chris. Terry’s missing.”

This time the pause was much longer. “Go on.”

The anger was gone, but his voice remained flat. Decker said, “That’s it. Terry’s missing.”

“What do you mean, missing?”

“We can’t find her—”

“I fucking know what the word ‘missing’ means. What do you mean that she’s missing?”

Donatti had gone from zero to sixty in five seconds. He was clearly agitated, but that could be staged as well. The veracity of his emotions was impossible to read over the phone. “You need to come into the station house, Chris. We need to talk.”

“Not until you tell me what the fuck is going on?”

“Your son called me yesterday around nine in the evening. He was distraught. When he got back to the hotel at seven, Terry was gone. She wasn’t answering her cell phone, so he called you. When he couldn’t get hold of either of his parents, he called me. So I took him in for the night because he didn’t want to sleep at his aunt’s house. So now I’m responsible for your kid until you get here. Where are you?”

“I’m in Nevada. My receptionist told me you called.”

“You need to come to L.A. We need to talk.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know and that’s why we need to talk—”

“So fucking talk!”

“Not over the phone,” Decker said calmly. “In person. You’ve got to come here anyway. Your son is here, remember?”

“Okay, okay, lemme think a moment.” He was muttering to himself. “When did she…I mean how long has she been missing?”

“Long enough that there may be a problem—”

“Is her car gone?”

“Chris, I can’t tell you over the phone. How soon can you return to L.A.?”

“Shit! What time is it?”

“Around six.”

“Fuck!” The sound of something crashing over the line. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! When did this happen? Yesterday?”

“Yes. Chris, I’ll fill you in once you’re in L.A. How soon can you get here?”

“I’m two hours out of Vegas. I drove in, so I don’t have my plane. By the time I get to McCarren and into LAX, I wouldn’t make it before eleven or so. Driving would take five to six hours…fuck! Let me see if I can lease something at the local airport. I’ll call you back.” Donatti disconnected the line.

Decker put down his cell and drummed his fingers on his desk, waiting for further information. But his mind was on a particular thought.

I drove in, so I don’t have my plane.

I drove.

Lots of empty land and deserted highway between California and Nevada. The vast, unpopulated tracks that cut through the Mojave, with their infinite miles of nothingness, had always made for fertile dumping grounds.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

EVEN THOUGH IT was beyond happy hour, the bar was packed. ICE was one of those trendy restaurants with its walls and ceilings composed of lit-from-behind panels of pastel colors that changed hues over the course of an evening meal. The tint of the moment was aqua, giving the place the appearance of an igloo. The temperature inside sure could have used a little of the North Pole’s arctic blast. The day had been unseasonably hot and yucky. Even though Marge had dressed for the heat in beige linen pants and a white cotton blouse, she felt sticky, like her clothes had been taped to her body. Over the phone, Sela Graydon had said that she’d be wearing a gray suit, red blouse, and black pumps, so the woman was easy to spot.

The lawyer was draped by a mane of brown, wavy hair that fell to her shoulder blades. Her pose was head down, eyes staring at the bar top, with her chin in her hands. She was being chatted up by a thirtysomething man with a gilding of blond stubble. Every so often, Sela would lift her head, make a swipe at her eyes with her fingertips, and then lower her head and continue to stare at nothing. Marge wriggled through the crowd and snagged the seat next to hers. “Sela Graydon?”

The woman glanced up at Marge’s face. “You’re the police?”

“Sergeant Marge Dunn. We spoke over the phone. Thank you for meeting me on such short notice.”

Sela bit her lip but didn’t say anything. The blond man extended a hand to Marge. “Rick Briscoe. I work with Sela at Youngblood, Martin and Fitch.” Marge took his hand in the briefest of shakes. “I didn’t think she should be alone.”

“Nice of you.” To Sela, Marge said, “How about if we take a corner table. Little more private.”

Sela looked around. “They’re occupied.”

“My partner, Detective Oliver, is saving one for us.”

“Go ahead, Sela,” Rick told her. “I’ll wait here until you’re done. I’m working on the Claridge depositions anyway. Just give a holler if you need something.”

Sela nodded, slid off the stool, and stood up, her height being around five four. Marge brought the lawyer over to table where Oliver was nursing tonic water. He introduced himself and asked if she was hungry.

“No…” She sat down and tears leaked from her eyes. “I can’t think about food. Kathy called me, asking me to come over. I said of course, but I don’t know why. I’m still in shock. I’m sure I’m not going to be any help to her.”

“Kathy is Adrianna’s mother?” Oliver asked for confirmation.

“Yes, sorry. She’s almost like a second mother. It’s going to be so awful.”

“Sometimes the best thing to say is nothing,” Marge told her. “You spoke to Adrianna this morning.”

“I didn’t speak to her,” Sela said. “She left a message on my cell.”

“The call was almost two minutes.”

“She left a long message.”

“What about?” Oliver asked her.

“I wish I could tell you all of it.” A big sigh. “The truth is that sometimes Adrianna kind of rambles and I don’t pay attention. Actually I deleted it before I heard all of it.”

“What was the gist?”

“Something about us getting together tonight because Garth is out of town, but not that his presence would stop her anyway ’cause he’s always gone. Then she started saying that it’s good that he’s gone, and if she was really smart she’d ditch him because he was a drain on her emotionally and financially. And he never appreciates a single thing that she does for him and there were lots of fish in the sea and blah blah blah.” Wet tracks were streaking down her face. “I erased the message when I got to blah-blah-blah part.”

Oliver said, “You called her back, Ms. Graydon.”

“Is that a statement or a question?”

Marge said, “We have her cell phone, so we know you called her back.”

“I did call her back. I left a very short message. I was busy tonight. How about we meet for brunch on Sunday. It’s always easier dealing with Adrianna in the daylight.”

“Meaning?” Oliver asked.

Sela’s smile was achingly sad. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I loved Adrianna with all my heart. But sometimes…especially if she’s feeling low…she has trouble knowing when to stop.” Again, she wiped her eyes. “She was never a mean drunk…but she could get careless with her words.”

“Can you give me an example?” Marge asked her.

“Let me think how exactly to say this,” Sela said. “When Adri-anna drank too much, she started giving advice—that I needed to get out more, that I needed more exercise. She’d try to fix me up with people I loathed. I knew she was tipsy but I could tell that she was saying what she really thought. It got on your nerves.”

Marge nodded.

“She could be really ridiculous.” A flush had come to the lawyer’s cheeks. “I don’t mean to sound snobby, but we’re in different places. And Adrianna kept on equating our stations in life. I didn’t care about that. But even when she wasn’t tipsy, she would say things. Like the time I was complaining to her that I had overbooked a couple of clients and I didn’t know what I was going to do. So instead of being sympathetic, Adrianna said to me, ‘Oh, you have clients. Isn’t that cute.’ I swear I wanted to slug her.”

The table fell silent.

“Oh God, that’s awful of me!” Sela started to cry. “She could be difficult, but she was also the nicest person in the world. I really loved her.”

Marge put a hand on her shoulder. “Of course you did. You were close. And close people know how to push each other’s buttons.”

“It’s horrible that she died in such a tragic, brutal way,” Oliver said. “But you’re not required to extol everything she’s ever done. Mean people die, too.”

“She wasn’t mean, she was just careless.”

“She could be a handful,” Oliver told her. “Her own father said so.”

“She didn’t get along with him.”

“We gathered that. What did they fight about?”

“What difference does it make? He didn’t kill her. I can guarantee that.”

“Just trying to get a complete picture,” Marge said. “Like when Garth was out of town and Adrianna had too much to drink, did she hook up with men?”

There was a long pause. Finally, Sela said, “She didn’t go missing from a bar, she disappeared from work.”

“But maybe she was meeting a pickup from the previous night,” Marge said. “From what she was telling you about Garth, it sounded like she was mad at him.”

“She was always mad at him. But she always went back…one of the reasons I tuned out her complaining. She’d never do anything about it.”

“Maybe cheating was her way of doing something about it,” Oliver suggested.

“How could she cheat with a guy? She worked last night.”

“She didn’t go on her shift until after eleven P.M.,” Oliver pointed out.

“She wouldn’t go to a bar before she worked.” Sela’s eyes were moving back and forth. Oliver could tell she was nervous. “She was dedicated in her job. I didn’t see her last night if that’s what you’re asking.”

Oliver said. “Would you know if Adrianna went out for dinner or a Coke at a bar before she went in to work?”

“I told you, she wasn’t with me.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Marge said. “What we’re asking is do you know if Adrianna went out last night.”

“Okay, here’s the deal.” A sigh. “I found out after the fact. Because Crystal called me. Crystal Larabee. The three of us were inseparable all through school. God, that seems like ages ago. Anyway, she told me that Adrianna was at Garage last night and she was flirting with someone. But Crystal insists that they didn’t leave together…that the guy went on to other women after Adrianna left for work. And since Adrianna showed up at work, the guy was probably a dead end. So Crystal didn’t want to say anything, especially to the police, because she didn’t want to get in trouble.”

“Why would she get in trouble?”

“I can’t say for sure, but I suspect she was comping Adrianna. Maybe even comping the guy along with Adrianna. She’s done it before. Crystal probably didn’t want the manager to find out she was giving away free drinks.”

“So why does she continue to comp people?”

“Because Crystal is Crystal. The point is that Adrianna didn’t leave with anyone, so it’s probably nothing.”

“What if Adrianna and the guy she was talking to decided to get together the following morning?” Marge said.

“From her phone call to me, it didn’t sound like anyone was waiting in the wings. She was tired and pissed. She’d just gotten off shift, so she probably wasn’t at her best.”

“Crystal isn’t at work,” Oliver said. “We’ve already called Garage looking for her.”

“She took a sick day off,” Sela told him. “When I spoke to her, she was at home and in bed.”

“We stopped by her place,” Marge told her. “She wasn’t in.”

“Any idea where she might be?” Oliver asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t routinely spy on my friends.”

“We’re just asking if you know where Crystal likes to spend her free time,” Marge said. “We need to talk to her.”

Oliver said, “But she’s not answering her cell phone.”

Marge said, “Maybe she doesn’t like taking calls from a blocked number. So I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you call her up and ask her where she’s at.”

“You want me to fink on her?”

“It’s not finking,” Oliver said. “It’s…locating someone, that’s all.”

Marge said, “And we know, Sela, that you want to do everything possible to find Adrianna’s killer.”

Sela made a point of massaging her temple. Then she picked up her cell and punched in some numbers. “Hey, where are you?…No, I can’t come over, I have to visit Kathy Blanc. Have you called her yet?…Yeah, I promised. I’m sure she’ll want to see you, too…No, I’m not telling you anything, I’m just suggesting…No, it doesn’t have to be now, just…Crys, how wasted are you?…No, I’m not insulting you, but…I know you feel…oh dear…stop crying, okay…I’m sorry, okay…I feel like shit, too, but I can’t come down and drink. I have work tomor—I’ll call…okay…okay…okay…okay, I will. Bye.” Sela turned to the detectives. “Now I’ve pissed her off. Happy?”

“Where is she?” Marge said.

“At the Port Hole in Marina Del Rey.”

“Thank you very much, Ms. Graydon.”

“It’s Sela and I feel like a fink.” She stood up and picked up her purse. “If she asked you how you found her, don’t mention my name.”

THE MINUTE HANNAH pulled into the driveway, Gabe’s stomach dropped. Although the school was not his school, it was a familiar environment—kids, teachers, classrooms, lockers. At her house, he was an alien. He didn’t want to have to make conversation with her mom. She seemed nice enough, but like most moms, she was a normal mom. His mom was different: part mom, part peer, part protector, part co-conspirator. The two of them were always figuring out ways how to avoid pissing off his dad. Most of the time, they were successful. Sometimes they weren’t, and a pissed-off Chris Donatti was a dangerous thing. Several times, when Chris was drunk or stoned, he’d taken potshots at Gabe for fun. His dad would always say the same thing.

Stop looking so scared. If I had wanted to kill you, you’d be dead.

He loved his mom—really he did—but she had made some poor life choices. He wasn’t too scornful, though. He wouldn’t have existed had she been wiser. There was even a part of him that loved his dad. His parents were his parents. And now they were both gone and he was once again in limbo. In a perverse way, this day had been one of the easiest that he could remember, not having to deal with either of them.

Hannah shut the motor. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He took off his glasses, cleaned them on his T-shirt, and perched them back on his nose. “Sure.”

“Uh, I think my sister and brother-in-law are here. I mean I know that they’re here. That’s their car.”

“Okay.”

“Just wanted to let you know. My mom is a great cook. It’s probably going to be a shebang with Cindy and Koby staying for dinner. Don’t feel obligated to eat everything.”

“I think I forgot to eat today. I’m kinda hungry. How old’s your sister?”

“Midthirties. She’s from my father’s first marriage. She’s a cop. Koby’s a nurse. He’s a great guy. I think my sister may be pregnant. Maybe that’s why she’s here. I hope this isn’t overwhelming. ”

“It’s fine.” Gabe pulled the door handle on her ancient Volvo.

The two of them walked to the door and went inside the house. The sisters looked alike—both of them tall with long, wild red hair, a long face, and a strong but not unfeminine chin. Both had almond-shaped eyes. Cindy’s were brown, Hannah’s were blue. Cindy was taller by a couple of inches—around five nine—but Hannah probably still had growing to do. The dude was black. That surprised him, although he didn’t know why. Koby was taller than him but shorter than his dad—around six two.

Hannah said, “Cindy, Koby…Gabe.”

Koby stuck out his hand and Gabe shook it.

“Dad should be home any minute,” Cindy told Hannah.

“A family meal?” Hannah looked at her sister’s stomach and detected roundness. She smiled inwardly. “What’s the occasion?”

“The occasion is I haven’t seen Dad in two weeks.” Cindy smiled at Gabe. “I hope you’re hungry. Rina cooked enough for an army.”

“She cooks like an angel,” Koby said.

“Great.” Gabe gave him a forced half smile. “I think I’ll wash up.”

After he left, Hannah let out a sigh. “Oh man.”

Koby said, “Has it been hard for you?”

“No, he’s a nice kid. It must be strange for him. I get the feeling his life is strange.”

“Nice of your mom to let him stay here,” Koby said. “I’ll see if she needs help.”

“I’ll join you in a minute.” After he left for the kitchen, Cindy said, “I think Dad located the kid’s father, but don’t say anything, all right.”

“Okay. That’s good news.”

“I hope it’s good news. I think his dad’s a whack job.”

“In what way?”

“I’m not sure. Did he talk to you about his dad?”

“He didn’t say much…which is what I would do if I were him.”

They both heard the car pull up. Decker unlocked the door and broke into a smile when he saw his girls. “How are my two favorite daughters?” He kissed both of them on the cheek. “To what do I owe this honor?”

“You sounded grumpy over the phone,” Cindy said. “Being totally narcissistic, I figured my presence would cheer you up.”

“It does.” He faced Hannah. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful.”

“How’d it go with Gabe?”

“Fine. He’s in his temporary room. Any luck with his parents?”

“Nothing with his mother, but his father called me.”

“That’s good,” Hannah said. “Any reason why he called you and not Gabe?”

“No idea. I’ll talk to Gabe in a minute. Where’s Koby?”

“In the kitchen with Eema.”

Decker headed for the kitchen and came in just as Koby was lifting an oversize iron-clad casserole from the oven. “Something smells incredibly good.”

“Good and heavy,” Koby said.

“Chicken-and-sausage paella.” Rina kissed her husband’s lips. She was wearing an apron festooned with butterflies and her black hair was pulled into a ponytail. “I love one-dish meals.”

“There is also a salad.” Koby plopped the hot casserole onto the stovetop.

“Two-dish meals, then.”

“And all the appetizers. And dessert.” Koby grinned. “Don’t worry, Rina. I will eat it all. I always do.”

“How do you eat so much and stay so thin?” Decker asked.

“I don’t know, Peter. I would say that most Ethiopian men are thin, but most of us in Africa are also on a subsistence diet. I think it’s genetics and luck.” He patted his stomach and picked up a stack of dishes. “I’ll set the table.”

“I can do that,” Decker said.

“You stay with Rina and play sous-chef. My wife and sister-in-law will help. They will probably relieve me of my table setting duties anyway, which is fine with me. I haven’t read the paper today.”

“It’s on the dining-room table,” Rina told him.

After Koby left, Decker regarded his wife’s inquisitive bright blue eyes. She was bathed in a sheen of sweat and looked incredibly sexy. He said, “I’ve found Chris Donatti. Rather, he found me. He’s driving in from Nevada and should be in town by midnight.”

“That’s good…I think.”

“We’ll see. I’ve got to talk to the kid.”

“I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He and Hannah came home about five minutes ago. He’s in the bedroom.”

“Okay,” Rina said. “Will your chat take long?”

“I suspect not. Do you need any help?”

“I was going to ask you to choose a bottle of wine, but I can do it. How about a Sangiovese?”

“Anything as long as it has alcohol.” Decker paused. “But not too much. I’ve got some work to do with a fresh homicide and then I have to deal with Donatti. I need to be on my toes.”

“Yeah, the hanging. That’s horrible. How’s it going?”

Decker blew out air. “It seems the girl enjoyed partying. Nothing wrong with that, but risky behavior widens the net of suspects. We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“It’s going to be a long evening for you.”

“When is it ever not?” Decker pulled his wife into his arms. “Lucky for me, I’ve got an understanding wife who cooks like a demon.”

She gave him a lingering kiss. “Let me ask you this. What’s more important to you? The understanding part or the cooking part?”

“Depends how hungry I am. Right now, you could be mean to me and I wouldn’t care a fig. Just so long as I get my fair share of paella.”

LYING ATOP ONE of the twin beds, his hands behind his head, Gabe felt his eyes close a few seconds before he heard the knock. It wasn’t tentative, it wasn’t overly strong. It was a detective’s knock. He sat up. “Come in.”

Decker came in and sat down on the twin opposite. “Nothing on your mom, but your father called me about an hour ago from Nevada. He couldn’t get a flight out that made sense, so he’s driving in. He should be here around midnight.”

Gabe felt his voice catch in his throat. He nodded.

Decker said, “How do you feel about that?”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?” When the boy didn’t answer, Decker said, “No sense being coy. We both know who and what your dad is. How safe do you feel being with him?”

“Safe. He’s okay.”

“He beat up on your mom. Has he ever beat up on you?”

“No.” Gabe paused. “It was the first time he ever beat up on her, you know.”

“Maybe,” Decker said. “But I also know that your dad has way more sophisticated methods than his fists to intimidate. If you really knew your father, you’d be scared to death of him.”

“I know my father.” Gabe licked his lips. “I can handle him.”

“No one should have to live in fear. That’s just basic.”

“The thing is…” He bounced his leg up and down. “If my mom remains missing, my dad’s not gonna stick around to raise me. Even when he’s home, he does his own thing. I’m like a nuisance to him. Besides, I don’t need anyone to raise me. All I need is a place to live, access to a car and driver, and a piano teacher. Chris will give me money.”

“You have other options, Gabe.”

“I barely know my grandfather and I’m not living with my aunt. She’s a slob and I’m obsessive-compulsive. Her habits bother me way more than my dad’s temper. At least he’s as neat as I am.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “If you need anything, just give me a call. You’re certainly welcome to stay here a flew days to figure it all out.”

“Thanks.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. The boy mustered a smile even though his eyes were on the brink on tears. “Thank you very much. I take it you haven’t heard anything about my mom.”

“You’ll be the first to know.” Decker stood up. “We’re about ready to eat. Lots of food. I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am. Be there in a few.”

Decker closed the door and gave the kid his privacy.

He pretended not to hear him cry.

CHAPTER TWELVE

HANNAH KNEW SOMETHING was going on when Cindy didn’t drink the wine and Eema kept pushing food on her.

“How about some more cobbler?” Rina asked.

“If I eat another bite, I will explode,” Cindy answered.

“Then how about a care package for later. I’ll also give you some paella.” Rina got up from the dining-room table and went into the kitchen before her stepdaughter could protest. Cindy looked at her watch. It was after nine.

“That went fast. We’ve got to go. I’ll go help her pack up.”

“I’ll help you pack up.” Hannah raced after her sister and met up with her in the kitchen. She said, “Are you sure you don’t have anything you want to tell me?”

Cindy felt her face go hot. “Aren’t you nosy?”

“Yes, no, maybe?”

Rina said, “Hannah, you’re acting entirely inappropriate.”

“Puh-leeze?”

“Keep your voice down,” Cindy said. “The answer is yes, but I couldn’t very well say anything in front of the boy.”

Hannah clapped her hands with the tip of her fingers. “When?”

“End of December.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Rina said, “Hannah, that’s enough!”

She turned to her mother. “How long have you known?”

“As long as Cindy’s wanted me to know. And keep your voice down, please.”

Cindy said, “Your mom is right. Let’s keep it low-key.”

“Can I come shopping with you for cribs?”

Rina said, “You can shop with me for a crib. We’ll keep one here.”

“I can’t believe you and Abba kept it from me.” Hannah paused. “I can believe that you kept it, but not Abba. He must be so happy!”

“That’s an understatement,” Rina said. “It hasn’t been all that hard because you two rarely intersect with your busy schedules.”

Hannah couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “I’ll help Eema pack up for you. You go sit and relax.”

“I’m feeling fine, I’m not a cripple. You go sit. Every time you leave the table, that poor boy looks like he’s swallowed lye. Do him a favor and ask to be excused so he can be excused.”

“Okay.” Hannah gave her sister a giant hug. “I love you.”

Hannah pranced back into the dining room, where she exchanged wide, knowing smiles with her father. Gabe didn’t appear to notice. He and Koby were talking about music. It turned out that Gabe played a zillion other instruments. He said to Decker, “I noticed that your sons have a couple of cases in the closet. Mind if I have a look?”

“It’s a guitar and a bass,” Decker said. “I don’t think either one of them has been played much. Knock yourself out.”

“None of us have any musical talent,” Hannah said. “Koby has a beautiful voice, but that’s only because he isn’t a blood relative. Can I be excused?”

“I still see dishes on the table,” Decker said.

Hannah sighed impatiently and started gathering the dessert dishes. When Gabe got up to help, Decker said, “You’re a guest. She can do it.”

“I don’t mind, Lieutenant. It makes me feel normal.”

Decker nodded his assent. Fifteen minutes later, the couple was gone and the door to his son’s room was shut. Actual music was coming from behind the walls even though the amp was turned way down. Decker listened for a moment as notes few out in rapid succession—bent, twisted, warped. Atonal riffs, but interesting. When Decker knocked softly, the music stopped. Gabe opened the door a crack. “Too loud?”

“Not at all. I just want to tell you my schedule if you need me. Your dad’s due in around three hours from now. I’ve still got a little work left to do. I’ll be back here around eleven. I want to be here when he comes to pick you up. I’ve got to talk to him anyway. If you need to reach me earlier, give me a call on my cell, okay?”

“Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re all packed up?”

“I will be. Not much to pack.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” The teen paused. “Thanks for everything.”

“Gabe, if you want a few days to think about things, I can make that happen. You don’t have to go with him right away.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Just so you know, all right?”

He nodded.

Decker said, “I haven’t heard anything bad about your mom or her car. Maybe she just needed a few days to think by herself.”

Gabe swallowed hard as he nodded.

Decker put his hand on his shoulder. “You’re a tough kid. But even tough kids need help every now and then. Don’t be shy about calling.”

“Okay.”

“See you later.”

“Sure. Bye.” The door closed gently.

The music that followed was soft and melancholy.

THE PORT HOLE was a waterfront restaurant/grill/sports bar boasting free hors d’oeuvres during happy hour, weekday specials, and local sports games broadcast on a ten-foot flat screen. True to their ad, the ginormous TV was airing the Lakers-Nuggets game with Kobe Bryant at the line, his magnified sweaty face revealing every open pore. There was such a thing, Marge thought, as too much high resolution.

Sela Graydon’s description of Crystal Larabee was as follows: blond, blue-eyed, good body, probably garbed in sexy clothes, and she drinks cosmopolitans. There were three candidates, all of them at the bar: a blonde in the sequined tank top and jeans, another blonde in the red tee and lamé miniskirt, and lastly, a blonde wearing a strapless black tube and low-rise jeans whose thong was visible.

“My gut says number three,” Oliver said.

“I’m with you, partner.”

The two of them snaked their way into the three-deep crowd at the bar until Marge was looking over Crystal’s shoulder on the right and Oliver was on her left. She was practically falling out of her tube top and her mascara was as thick as tar. She was talking animatedly to a bullnecked block of man who had his hand on her lower back, a finger slipped under her thong. He looked a good ten years older than his prey.

“Crystal?” Oliver said.

“Hey…” She slowly turned to face him. “Who’re you?”

Her voice was slurred. A dollop of drool sat at the corner of her mouth.

Oliver took out his badge. “Police. I’d like to talk to you.”

Her heavy lids were halfway closed. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Block Man echoed.

Marge took out her badge. “We need a little privacy. Give us a couple of minutes and we’re out of your hair.”

“S’right,” Crystal said. “I’m tired anyway.” She tossed on a black sweater and slung her purse over her shoulder. “I’m outta here.”

She slid off her bar stool and tripped. Oliver caught her before she hit the ground. “How about we take a little walk?”

“I don’ need a walk…” She fished out her keys.

Marge gently took them away. No resistance. “I really think you need a walk first.”

She stared at Marge, blinking several times. “Who’re you?”

“We’re the police,” Marge said. “We need to talk to you about Adrianna Blanc. You remember her. She’s one of your best friends.”

Immediately, Crystal burst into tears.

Marge put her arm around her and Crystal leaned her head against her chest and sobbed. “I know, honey. It hurts.”

“It hurts so bad!” Crystal wailed.

A sleek, dark Latino bartender looked up. “Can you get her out of here, please?”

Oliver took one arm and Marge took the other. Together, they led Crystal out of the restaurant, crossed over the asphalt parking lot, took her down a half-dozen steps until they reached the boardwalk. It was an overcast night and the sporadic streetlamps emitted muted yellow light haloed by fog. They schlepped her along the rickety wooden esplanade, passing boat slip after boat slip after boat slip, the spaces holding everything from medium-size motor cruisers to mega-size yachts with antennas and satellites. There was a gentle saline breeze coming off the ocean.

In her wedgies, Crystal was having trouble standing erect. “Why, why, why!”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Oliver said. “And you can help us, Crystal. But you’ve got to focus.”

“I don’ wanna focus.” She wiped her eyes on her arm, tattooing the skin with a black ribbon of mascara. “I wanna go home. I wanna sleep!” She sniffed and began rooting through her purse for her keys.

“Where do you live?” Marge already knew the answer. She and Oliver had gone by the place earlier in the evening.

“In the Valley.”

“How convenient! I live there, too. Why don’t I take you home and Detective Oliver will drive your car for you.”

“I’m…okay.”

“I know, honey, but this way you can rest.” Marge was already steering her back to the parking lot. “Where’s your car, honey?”

She squinted. “I think…” She tottered and stopped.

Marge said, “What car do you drive?”

“A Prius. Gotta be like…econonological.”

There were a number of them in the lot. “What color?”

“Blue.”

“I see it.” Marge tossed Oliver the keys. “See you later.”

“Good luck.”

Marge helped her into the passenger seat of the unmarked and buckled her seat belt. “Comfy?” No answer. Marge started the motor and drove toward the freeway.

Crystal snored all the way home.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

ADRIANA MADE HER home in a block-long complex of three-story dun-colored buildings, planted with ferns and palms, illuminated at night by colored spotlights. Her apartment number was 3J, and Decker walked quietly through the two-bedroom, two-bath unit. She might have been a wild party girl, but she had kept her place tidy. Maybe that was the nurses’ training. When he was a medic in the army, he found that organization was not only handy, it was imperative. Lives depended on it.

It was an open-concept design. The living room/dining area was furnished with the basics—a sectional couch with a chaise, a couple of end tables, and a trunk for a coffee table. There was a square dining table and four chairs. The kitchen was tiny with beige tiled countertops and newer white appliances. A flat screen had been mounted to the wall opposite the couch. The place could have belonged to anyone USA except for the only revealing item in the space—a bookshelf.

Not many books but lots of DVDs. More important were the framed pictures of Adrianna in life. She’d been an attractive woman with long brunette hair and a wide smile. She stood on the slopes holding her skis with a goofy grin, she posed with her girlfriends at a restaurant holding up a margarita glass, she stood tall in a cap and gown, with her parents on either side. There were several shots of her with the same man—average height, spiky sandy-colored hair, light eyes, and several piercings in each earlobe. Good-looking guy. Probably Garth Hammerling. Decker placed one of his pictures in his briefcase.

He moved on to the bathroom—OTC analgesics, face creams, birth control pills, and a nice-size bag of weed. He left everything as is and went on to the spare bedroom, which Adrianna had set up as an office. There was a cheap desk that held a Dell laptop and a printer, a rocking chair, and a foldout sofa bed.

A computer was a valuable thing. He unplugged the laptop, closed the lid, and gently slid it into a carrying case. Then he began to rifle through her desk—pencils, papers, receipts, paper clips, rubber bands, tape, Postits, and dozens of loose photographs.

He flipped through some of the pictures.

Adrianna had an orderly mind. On the backs of most of the photos, she had labeled the people and dated them. The same names and faces kept coming up: Sela Graydon, Crystal Larabee, Mandy Ko walski, Garth Hammerling—the cute guy in the framed, living-room picture—and a few of Garth’s friends, Aaron Otis and Greg Reyburn. Again, Decker selected several pictures and stowed them in his attaché.

Not much else inside the desk. One drawer was dedicated to printing paper; another contained a tangle of cable cords. He got up and surveyed the clothes closet. It was used as a spare, holding heavy winter coats, a set of skis, a boogie board, six black party dresses, and a set of luggage.

Her bedroom was also neat. A pink paisley comforter sat atop a queen bed. Two night lamps on either side sat on two identical nightstands, which held a clock radio, a land phone, and a pad and pencil. Decker picked up the blank pad of paper and the pencil. Using a light touch, he rubbed the side of the pencil tip against the pad, the indentations revealing a former grocery list. He put the pad down.

A flat screen had been placed atop an open console. Her clothes closet, on the other hand, was jammed. It was neatish but not compulsive. Different sections for blouses, shirts, skirts, pants, and dresses, but not colorcoded. Formal wear sat with casual wear. She had lots of shoes and lots of running shoes. Dozens of purses, belts, and scarves, and ten pairs of sunglasses. Nothing designer, just megaquantity.

Decker checked his watch. It was time to get back, just in case Donatti decided to be a speed demon and come in early. He didn’t want Chris picking up Gabe without his being there. He gave the bedroom a final onceover. On impulse, he walked over to the right nightstand and pulled out the small top drawer. It was crammed with a Sudoku book, several mechanical pencils, a nail file, several Tampex, and a pad of Postits. The left night-stand drawer had a wheel of birth control pills, the remote control for the TV, and a latched leather-bound book. Decker picked it up

A diary.

Didn’t come across those too often. How lucky is that?

He stowed the diary in his briefcase.

His bedtime reading.

CRYSTAL LARABEE’S APARTMENT was a two-story white stucco building of sixties vintage. She was on the second floor and Marge pitied the person who lived below her. It was amazing how much noise she could make wearing cork-sole wedged shoes. As soon as she kicked them off—with a thud—Marge realized that Crystal was a very petite woman, about five feet tall. The cuffs of her jeans dragged along the floor. She plopped down on her couch and threw her legs on a glass coffee table.

“What time is it? I wanna go to sleep.”

“It’s not late,” Marge lied. “We’ll only be a few minutes.”

She yawned. “I’m tired.”

The doorbell rang.

“Who the hell is that?” Crystal said.

“My partner.”

“The guy?”

“Yeah, the guy.” Marge got up and opened the door. “This is Detective Oliver. He drove your car home from the Port Hole.”

“He did?” Crystal rubbed her eyes and noticed black on her fingers. “I gotta wash my face.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and grimaced. “My mouth is yucky. I don’ feel so good. Can’t this wait?”

“How about if you wash your face, I’ll put on some coffee,” Marge said. “You do have coffee, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So I’ll make some coffee, okay?”

“Whatever.” She disappeared into a bedroom.

Oliver rolled his eyes. “How much do you think we’ll get out of her?”

“At this point, I’m just aiming for the name of the hunk that Adri-anna was flirting with. Or maybe he was flirting with Adrianna .”

The two detectives took in Crystal’s living space. The carpet hadn’t been vacuumed for a while and the blinds were speckled in dust. Copies of Cosmo, People, and Us magazines were strewn on tabletops and littered the floor. Furniture was simple: sofa, an ottoman, end tables, a dinette set, and a flat screen on a stand. Messy but not filthy.

The kitchen was another story: dishes in the sink, sticky countertops, grit on the floor, and an overflowing garbage can under the sink. Marge found some coffee in the fridge and milk that was fortunately not beyond its expiration date. She brewed up a pot of strong coffee, found some clean mismatched mugs—she rinsed them out anyway—and poured a cup for Oliver and for herself.

It was taking a while for Crystal to make her appearance. Marge got up from the couch. “Let me see what’s going on.”

She found Crystal in her bedroom, stripped to her skivvies and fast asleep atop her comforter.

“Oh boy.” Marge gave her a gentle shake. “Crystal, we need a few minutes.” Another shake. “Wake up, honey.”

Crystal opened her eyes. “Wha?”

“Last night, honey,” Marge said. “We need to talk about last night.”

“I was at the Port Hole.”

“Not tonight, Crystal, last night. At Garage…where you were working.”

Crystal rolled over. “I took the day off.”

Marge shook her. “I want to talk about Adrianna, Crystal. She was flirting with a man at Garage. I want to talk about that man.”

Crystal turned over and faced Marge. “Huh?”

“Last night at Garage. You were comping them both free drinks. You could get into trouble for that.”

That got her attention. She sat up. “You’re not gonna say something?”

“Not if you talk to us,” Marge said. “Put on a robe, come out into the living room, and let us talk to you for a few minutes. Then you can go to sleep.”

“Okay.” Crystal blinked several times. Her lids, freed from the crushing weight of the mascara, could move. With a scrubbed face and no makeup, she looked far more vulnerable. “I’ll be out in a sec.”

“We’ll be waiting in the living room.”

A sec was fifteen minutes, but she did come out, and when she did, Marge gave her a cup of coffee. “Drink.”

Crystal obliged. Her voice was shaky. “You can’t tell my boss…about the drinks.” She rubbed her eyes with her right fist. “If he finds out, I’ll get fired.”

“For comping a few drinks?” Oliver asked her.

“It wasn’t like…the first time.” Another sip of coffee. “It’s not like it’s such a big deal. Jeez, they dilute the shit anyway. I’m mostly comping them water.”

“You’re a good friend,” Marge said.

Crystal’s eyes swelled with tears. “I wasn’t expecting her last night. She just popped in, but I shouldna been surprised. She does that a lot when Garth isn’t around.”

“Does what?” Marge asked.

Crystal appeared to be deep in thought. “When he’s gone, she gets lonely. She likes a little fix of company. She usually doesn’t come to Garage because it’s expensive—the bar is. But she knew I was working and she knew I’d give her a break.”

“Do you know the guy she was flirting with?”

“Don’t recall knowing him,” Crystal said. “He’s not a regular.”

“Did you get a name?”

She thought hard. “I mighta heard someone calling him Farley.”

“Is that a first or last name?”

She shrugged.

“What does he look like?” Oliver asked.

“I dunno. Medium height, medium weight…real big shoulders.”

“Good-looking?” Marge asked.

“Not too bad.”

“Kind of a hunk?”

“More like the Hulk…’cause of his shoulders.”

Marge nodded. Sela Graydon said that Crystal had referred to him as a hunk. Maybe she misheard “hunk” for “Hulk.” Or maybe Crystal had reassessed in the light of day. “Were the two of them hitting it off?”

Crystal took another sip of coffee. “Maybe he thought so. Adri-anna wasn’t serious about a hookup that night. She had to work.”

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