False Prophet (17 page)

Davida laughed wickedly. “I doubt it. Not that they wouldn’t mind my money. I pad their wallets from time to time, but it never seems to be enough… the carrion eaters.”

“How much padding are we talking about?”

“A thousand or two, here and there.”

“Including Lilah?”

“No, she has her own money. And why would she steal from me, knowing she’s going to get the whole kit and caboodle after I move on to the next world?”

“She inherits everything?”

“Oh, I haven’t given her everything. I’ve remembered my boys, but not as much as my little girl and that’s just tough titties if they don’t like it. Men have it easy in society. No one looks askance when an old frog is hooked up with a princess fifty years his junior. Women — aging women — need an extra boost and that boost is money. Lilah doesn’t understand that now. She thinks her looks will last forever. Someday, when she’s old and gray, she’ll realize what
I’ve
done for her. Despite my admitted self-obsession, I do have her interests at heart.”

Decker didn’t answer.

Davida picked up an emery board and began to file her nails. “Not that I’m claiming to be Mother Teresa. Yes, I’m selfish. So what? Why shouldn’t I take care of myself? Didn’t some ancient philosopher say, ‘If I’m not for myself, who’ll be for me?’”

“Rabbi Hillel,” Decker said.

“What?”

“Rabbi Hillel said that.”

“A Jew said that?”

Decker nodded.

“That figures.” Davida stopped filing and looked up at Decker. “Are you Jewish?”

“Yes.”

“Did I offend you?”

“Not really.”

Davida studied him. “You don’t look Jewish. Sure you weren’t adopted?”

Decker broke into sudden laughter.

“It wasn’t that funny,” Davida said.

But it was. The old lady had hit it on the nose. Born to a Jewish mother, he’d been adopted in infancy by a good Baptist family. It wasn’t until he met Rina that he’d returned to the religion of his bloodline.

“Well, your Rabbi what’s his face was right in this case,” Davida said. “One must take care of Number One.”

“You missed the next line of the quote, Ms. Eversong. Hillel also said, ‘And if I’m only for myself, then who am I?’”

Davida gave him a sour expression which slowly turned into a grin. “Who am I? A bitchy, famous, rich old woman, that’s who I am. Are you here to quote dead rabbis, Sergeant, or are you going to find my jewels?”

“Any other pieces inside the safe?”

“Let’s see. You have the earrings, the pearls, the brooch. Did I tell you about the diamond bracelet?”

“No.”

“Heavy braided gold studded with diamonds. I also have a ruby and emerald bracelet to go with my Christmas earrings. And of course, I have lesser pieces. An amethyst ring surrounded by baguettes, a peridot brooch that’s identical to the emerald brooch. Sometimes I want to wear the brooch but don’t feel comfortable going out in a five-carat Colombian emerald. So I had the same brooch made up with peridot and faux diamonds.”

She took his hand and stroked it.

“Find my pieces, Peter. I’ll make sure you’re more than adequately compensated for your time.”

Decker looked down at his hand in hers. Like mother, like daughter. He pulled away gently. “Doing my job well is all the compensation I need. I’d like to touch just a moment on the memoirs—”

“God, you’re tedious!” She faced him.
“What!”

“You knew about them, but you’ve never seen them.”

“Yes, yes. I told you all this before. I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Do your other children know about the memoirs?”

“How should I know? Ask them!”

“Who else do you think might know about them?”

“Don’t know and don’t care. Our time is up, Sergeant.”

Decker inched closer to the old woman. He could smell her sweat mixed with overly sweet perfume, see the pores giving texture to her white face makeup. “Just a few more minutes? Please?”

Davida traced his jawline with a sharpened index fingernail, then let her hand fall in her lap. “Oh, go ahead! You’ve already ruined my morning.”

“You say you haven’t the faintest idea about what’s contained in your late husband’s memoirs.”

“Correct. Hermann was a self-obsessed genius. He never spoke to me or anyone else about his art. Frankly, I wasn’t interested in his
art
, I was interested in his
performance
. Which I regret to say wasn’t Oscar caliber.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,
oh!
” Davida stared at him. “Do you want the smarmy details?”

“Do you want to tell me details?”

“He was a drunk, which made him a
lousy
fuck. How’s that for details?”

“So why’d you marry him?”

Davida shrugged. “Impulse. And… I was swept away by his reputation. Even
I
wasn’t immune to what others thought.”

“Do you think he might have written disparaging things about you, Ms. Eversong?”

Davida pondered the question.

“I just don’t see Hermann writing about his tawdry little affairs — or my tawdry little affairs, for that matter. Affairs are just something one does when one is creatively blessed. Personally, I suspect Hermann wrote exclusively about his art. I’m sure he wrote rather harshly about some of his contemporaries. Hermann was very, very
critical
. But I can’t imagine some old irate compadre director breaking into Lilah’s safe and stealing the memoirs just to censor what Hermann may have written about him thirty years ago.” There was a pause. “Yet I’ve seen weirder things. Egos do abound in this business.”

Decker smiled.

“We’re getting off track,” Davida said. “These memoirs may very well be a figment of Lilah’s overactive mind. Find my jewels. Once you do, everything else will fall into place.”

“Maybe.” Decker noticed Davida staring at him. “Anything else you’d like to add, Ms. Eversong?”

Davida tapped her nails against the portable table. “You seem to be a very skeptical man, Peter.”

Decker folded his notepad and stuffed it into his jacket. “That’s why I’m a cop and not a cowboy, Ms. Eversong.”

Ness sat in a lotus position on the floor and watched Freddy rant. Since Freddy couldn’t handle the ladies and their medical questions, they went to Kell’s office instead of Freddy’s study. Man, sonny boy had a temper, but it was
nothing
compared to the old lady’s. Bitch could cut metal with her tongue. Ness often wondered if she’d melt if doused with water.

“I’m talking to you!” Brecht screamed.

“I hear you, Doc,” Ness said, quietly.

“Then answer me! What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know—”

“Hell you don’t!” Brecht screamed. “You were with Mother last night.”

“She didn’t mention anyone visiting her. Doc, I didn’t even know this Kingston existed until today.”

“That’s bullshit!”

Ness didn’t answer him. He watched Doc pace. Asshole just couldn’t hold up well under pressure. Probably why Davida didn’t trust him.

“What’s he doing here?” Brecht mumbled. “He must be involved in what happened to Lilah!”

“Could be.”

“Stop being so poised and
casual
! Doesn’t it bother you that Lilah was beaten and…
raped
?”

“Of course it
bothers
me, Doc. You know how I feel about your sister. I just don’t think acting like a
fool
—”

“Are you saying I was a fool?”

“C’mon, Doc, give me a break, okay?”

“It’s Kingston,” Brecht raved. “He brings out the worst in me.” He touched his fingertips to his forehead. “I behaved very stupidly, didn’t I?”

“S’right. Your sister was raped. No one expects you to behave normally.”

“Mother didn’t mention her son Kingston coming for a visit?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m
sure
.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Your prerogative.”

“Why is he visiting Mother?” Brecht raged on. “At this moment! At the spa! Mother would never call him down here.”

“I don’t know.” Ness was exasperated, but held himself in check. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I will as soon as I see her.”

“Where is she?”

“Talking to the police about the theft of her jewels.”

Suddenly, Ness felt the heat of Brecht’s eyes. “Something on your mind, Doc?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the theft, would you?”

“You think I’d steal from your mother?”

“You’d steal without a second thought.”

“Sure I’d steal.” Ness grinned. “But not from Davida. I’m not stupid.”

Brecht didn’t respond. Guy was pacing again. Ness placed splayed fingers on his knees. “Calm down, Doc, and meditate. It’ll do wonders for the spirit.”

But Brecht wasn’t listening. Ness closed his eyes, but kept his ears open.

“Kingston’s planning something, I just know it!” Brecht muttered. “He and Mother are colluding behind my back. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Ness opened his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ness stood without using his hands to rise. “What do you want me to do, Doc?” He placed his palm on Brecht’s shoulder. “Huh, what should I do? Slit my wrist and sign my name in blood? Until today, I didn’t even know you had a brother. And I certainly don’t know what happened to Lilah!”

Brecht was quiet.

Ness patted Brecht’s shoulder. “You want me to chase your brother away?”

“Can you do it without causing a scene?”

“Yeah, I can handle him.”

“Then why didn’t you do it before, hotshot?”

“Because you don’t stick your hands in the middle of a dogfight.” Ness folded his arms across his chest. “Both of you weren’t receptive to suggestions.” He laughed. “God, you boys really
hate
each other.”

“You’re very perceptive.”

Ness arched his eyebrows. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Brecht sneered. “No, I don’t want to
tell
you about it! If you can get him out of here, get him out of here. Tell me when he’s gone. And I don’t want Mother to know he was here.”

“Man looked determined, Doc. You know he’s gonna call her.”

“I’ll worry about that when the time comes. In the meantime, don’t mention his visit to Mother. Give me time to figure out what those two are planning.”

Ness grinned. “Secrecy’s expensive, Doc.”

“You’re scum, Michael.”

Brecht took out his wallet. Ness held out his hand.

Another call from
Morrison. Decker checked his watch — eleven-thirty. Might as well take care of the crap so he could enjoy lunch. He phoned from the unmarked and was patched through to Morrison a minute later.

“Captain,” Decker said.

“What do you have on the Brecht case?”

“Lots of notes—”

“Pete—”

“Captain, we’re making progress — no shortage of suspects — but there’s no smoking gun.” Decker filled him in on the details, hearing Morrison audibly sigh when he spoke of Lilah’s imaging of her attackers.

“Lilah Brecht,” Morrison said. “Is she whacked out or what?”

“She might be trying to tell us something in a roundabout way.”

“You think she could give us trouble?”

“Her spa appeals to VIPs,” Decker said. “I can’t see where it would make sense for her to publicize her attack. Bad for business.”

“But she sounds like a nut,” Morrison said. “And you know these perverse Hollywood assholes. Anything that’s full of gossip — the juicier the better.”

Decker said, “I think if we handle everyone with respect, they’ll respect our investigation.”

“What about Davida Eversong?” Morrison said. “She give a shit about her daughter?”

“Probably. It’s hard to tell. She spent most of her time talking about her jewels.”

“Davida Eversong knows a lot of people, Pete,” Morrison said. “We’re talking a seven-figure burglary on top of a rape. That’s a lot of case for you, Marge, and Hollander to handle. I’ll pull in a couple of dicks from Burglary.”

“Fine,” Decker said. “They know the fences better than I do. Just…”

“Spit it out, Pete.”

“I want freedom to call the case as I see it. Not that I want to step on any bigwig’s toes, but if that happens, I don’t want to have to worry about it.”

“You do your job, Pete,” Morrison said, “and I’ll do mine.”

Business out of the way, Decker checked himself out on a Code Seven and took off for the safety and normalcy of home sweet home. Lunch at his ranch had started out as a once-a-week affair. Over the last five months he’d increased his visits to three times a week. The food was better and the amenities were terrific. And despite Rina’s occasional weeping spells and flare-ups, she was wonderful company. Whether they talked or just sat around, he never felt as if he had to entertain her. Their conversations, as well as their silences, were natural. God, how he just loved to watch her putter around the house. Rina was a great putterer.

He parked the unmarked in the driveway, whistling as he walked through the door. The living room was still neo-western macho, but Rina had prettied it up with lace curtains and throw pillows on the suede couch and buckskin chairs. Throw pillows with frilly little borders. Yep, he was definitely married. He suddenly noticed that the place was eerily quiet, not even a bark from the dog. He felt a sudden rush of anxiety.

“Anyone here?”

“We’re in the boys’ room, Peter,” Rina called out.

He breathed a sigh of relief. Ridiculous to worry, but he couldn’t help himself. Then he processed the
we
part of Rina’s message.
We’re in the boys’ room
. The boys’ room had been his study.

He went inside. Sammy was dressed in his pajamas, head propped up on a pillow, covers pulled up to his waist. A slight blush tinged his cheeks, his brow was moist. His light-brown hair was mussed and crowned by a brown leather yarmulke. He smiled, but it seemed forced. Tucked under the blankets, he seemed much younger than his twelve years, much more vulnerable. He and Rina were playing cards, a discard pile set out on a bed tray. She was dressed in a cream-colored cotton maternity dress, the red scarf around her neck giving her face a splash of color. Her hair was braided and knotted and partially covered by a gold mesh net. Gold loops hung from her earlobes. How a woman could look so
beautiful
in simple clothing, without the benefit of makeup, was beyond him.