False Prophet (37 page)

“Hey, you don’t owe me an explanation.”

Decker ran his hand through his hair. “You’re pissed.”

“Yes, I’m pissed.” Marge sighed and patted his knee. “I’m hurt, big guy. Don’t you trust me?”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you a long time ago. I’m glad I told you now. It’s a weight off my shoulders.”

“Why do you keep things inside, Pete?”

“Because I’m macho.”

Marge laughed.

Decker said, “Well, consider this. You’re pissed finding out that
I’m
adopted, think how pissed Lilah would be if she found out
she
was adopted and had never been told.”

“She’d be mucho pissed… at Davida.”

“Maybe that’s why Davida didn’t want her to find out,”

Decker said. “Hiding something like that from her, it would set off more than a few fireworks.”

“Why would Davida have hidden it from her in the first place?”

“Sometimes adoptive parents feel threatened by biological parents. It’s silly, but…”

Marge said, “Are you talking from personal experience, Peter?”

“Maybe a little.”

There was no listing for a Greta Millstein in the standard phone book, but there was a number for G. Millstein in the unlisted directory. Decker dialed it, let the phone ring ten times, then hung up.

He massaged his bad shoulder, popped an Advil, and looked at the clock on the squad-room wall. Four fifty-five. He’d been working nonstop for almost fourteen hours. Time to call it a day.

But instead, he grabbed a pile of Merritt’s photocopied monthly Visa statements and ran down the items with the tip of a pencil. Nothing seemed unusual although Merritt had expensive tastes — Bally shoes, Neiman Marcus men’s department, Scotland House of Cashmere, Gucci, Dunhill, Hermès, Aristocrats. The man needed money for research yet he was spending a pretty penny on threads.

Then he thought: A shabbily dressed OB-GYN in Palos Verdes wouldn’t be a big draw.

Even with the high-ticket items, Merritt wasn’t overdrawn on his bills. In fact, he’d paid off his Visa balance every month, the box marked
finance charges
always $0.00.

On to American Express. Again, nothing indicating any late fees or finance charges. And Merritt wasn’t using one credit card to pay off another. Decker was halfway through the MasterCard listings when Lilah stormed into the room, her voice sending a spurt of acid into his belly. He put down the papers and looked up.

She wore a black, formfitting sleeveless dress, the hemline a good three inches above her knees. Her long legs were as tan and bare as her arms. On her feet were leather thongs, the soles slapping against the floor as she marched toward him. Her hair was loose and long and fanning over her bronze shoulders like a golden shawl.

Decker popped another Advil and saw Marge move in for the intercept. She and Lilah met about twenty feet from his desk. Lilah tried to push her way through, but Marge was taller and heavier and made a very effective brick wall. Still, everyone in the squad room was instantly aware of the standoff, ready to jump if needed. Though flushed with anger, Lilah sensed the hostility. She tugged down her dress and stood up straight.

“I’m here to talk to Sergeant Decker, please,” she said
sotto voce
. “Will you kindly step aside?”

“Miss Brecht, I’m going to have to ask you to wait outside,” Marge said. “I’ll deliver your message—”

Lilah raised her voice and pointed. “He’s right there!”

“Please wait outside, Miss Brecht. I’ll be with you in a moment—”

“This is
outrageous
… just…”

Lilah burst into tears, burying her head in her hands. Marge put her arm around the sobbing woman and walked with her toward an empty interview room. She glanced over her shoulder, caught Decker’s eye, and beckoned him forward with a cocked head. Decker held up two fingers — two minutes.

Marge guided Lilah inside the room and closed the door. By the time Decker arrived, Lilah had just about composed herself. Her eyes were blue pits of fire.

“I
told
you something had happened to Kingston!” She moaned. “I
told
you it was something bad! I’m
prophetic!
I
know
these things!”

“So who killed your brother?” Marge asked.

“How should
I
know!” Lilah collapsed in her chair. “Why is this
happening
to me? Why?
Why!
”

Decker waited a beat, then said, “Lilah, what did you and King talk about when he called you yesterday?”

“Yesterday…” She dried her eyes and sighed. “It seems like light-years ago. Maybe it was. Maybe I’m living in a different metaphysical world.”

Decker and Marge exchanged glances.

“Lilah?” Decker prompted.

“What did we talk about?” Again her eyes filled with tears. “Old times. After my harrowing experiences, I was so happy to hear from him. He was my big, strong, older brother. It felt good.” Her eyes slowly hardened. “Kingston was fine as long as I obeyed his every word. The trouble between us started when I began to express myself.” Her face suddenly lost expression. “It’s Mother. She’s behind all this evil.”

Marge shot Decker a look. “What do you mean?”

“Her evil is overpowering us all.”

Decker said, “What kind of evil are you talking about, Lilah?”

“She’s put a curse on the family. She can do those things because she’s a witch.”

Marge raised her brow. “Why would she curse her own family?”

“She hates me,” Lilah said without emotion. “She’s jealous of my youth, my beauty, my power for good — which is as strong as her power for evil. She’s also jealous — jealous of the
love
my
father
had for me, jealous of the love
Kingston
has for me. It tore her apart when we all lived together. When my brother and I went our own separate ways, she was delighted. Then yesterday he came to reconcile with me. Mother couldn’t take it. She had him killed.”

“Lilah,” Decker said, “did your mother actually make any statement to that effect—”

“Of course not! She’s not
stupid
!”

“Do you have any proof of your theory?” Marge said.

“I don’t need proof. I know.” She faced Decker. “I just know.”

Again the room fell silent.

“But that’s not why I’m here,” Lilah announced.

Marge said, “Why are you here?”

Lilah’s face regained animation. “For Carl Totes! I heard you had the
nerve
to arrest him for my rape! I already
told
you it wasn’t him.”

“Lilah,” Decker said, gently, “we have evidence that directly links Totes to the rape.”

“That’s absurd! What kind of evidence? There’s some sort of error!”

Marge said, “The lab tested it twice—”

“The lab was mistaken!” Lilah insisted. “Check again!”

“We can run a retest, Miss Brecht, but it’s going to come out the same,” Marge said.

“We’re going to the DA with Totes, Lilah,” Decker said. “Unless you tell us something that will contradict the evidence we have.”

“I’m telling you it’s not—” Lilah paused. “What would contradict the evidence?”

“That’s for you to tell us, Miss Brecht,” Marge said.

“I’m telling you it wasn’t him,” Lilah said. “Isn’t that enough?”

Decker said, “You were blindfolded—”

“It wasn’t him!”

“Then how did his semen get on your sheets?” Decker stared at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lilah demanded.

“I was just wondering if maybe you and Carl had willingly…” Decker let the words hang in the air.

Lilah’s eyes got very intense. “Me? With
Carl
? That is the most
disgusting
—”

“I just wanted to make sure—”

“—vile, fiendish insinuat—!” Lilah stood and glared at both of them. “You are all pure
evil
. Full of
evil
thoughts and
evil
deeds! Perhaps it is not Mother who is responsible for the ills which have befallen me. Perhaps
you
are the devil disguised in the name of good. A pox on both of you!” She zeroed in on Decker. “And a pox on your wife and unborn baby.”

She slammed the door as she left.

Marge and Decker sat in silence for a moment. Then Decker said, “Why couldn’t she have confined her curses to me? Why’d she have to drag in Rina and the kid?”

“That is one spooky lady!”

“You said it,” Decker said. “I’m saying my evening prayers tonight, I can tell you that much.”

“Add one for me, partner.” Marge sighed. “So what do you think?”

“Well…” Decker straightened up in his seat. “I have to get past her craziness and ask myself if it’s an act or what.”

“Your conclusion?”

“At first, I thought she was trying to protect Totes. Then when I suggested that maybe he and she were screwing, she went Looney Tunes. You know, Rina suggested to me that maybe Lilah’s rape was a game gone too far—”

“How’d she come up with that?”

“She said that Lilah was real turned on when I got angry at her last night. Now I’m thinking maybe that’s what happened between her and Totes. They were getting it on, playing this game, and it went too far. And she’s afraid now that Carl will tell all. So she preempted him by saying there was no possible way they were fucking. What she really was doing was protecting her own butt in case Carl said anything. She doesn’t want to look like a fool.”

“Sounds farfetched but who knows?” Marge shook her head. “Nothing makes any sense. The rape, the berserk horse, the theft, Merritt’s murder. What vital thread am I missing?”

“Damned if I know,” Decker groused.

There was a knock on the door. Hollander opened it a second later and stuck his head inside. “Pete, line three. Devonshire, Homicide.”

Marge smiled. “You talked to them about me?”

Decker smiled sheepishly. “Actually, I haven’t yet.” He stood, punched the blinking light on the wall phone, and said, “Decker.” The voice on the other end was raspy.

“Scott Oliver, Homicide, Devonshire. Are you the one who caught the rape on Lilah Brecht?”

“Yes, it’s mine.”

“You got anything on that?”

“Matter of fact, we have a suspect in custody. Why?”

“We picked up a DB in a charred limo early this morning. No plates and the guy was close to toast, but there was enough skin on his fingers to lift a few prints. You know about hands reflexively curling in heat, protecting the fingertips?”

“Yeah. Did you make an ID?”

“Ran the prints for a CII number and got back a nice arrest trailer. Turns out our DB was arrested several times for B and Es. He’s out on parole. When I called up his parole officer, the woman told me he was gainfully employed. Wanna know by who?”

“Who?”

“Davida Eversong. That’s Lilah Brecht’s mother, right?”

Decker felt his heart beating. “Right.”

“Two major crimes in the same family… weird.” Oliver cleared his throat. “I thought if you had something on your case, it might be related to this case.”

“Possibly. Who was the DB?”

“Mr. Toast? Eversong’s chauffeur — a Russ Donnally. I’m assuming the limo was probably hers. Does the name ring any bells?”

“No, it doesn’t.” He turned to Marge. “Ever hear of a guy named Russ Donnally? He was Davida Eversong’s chauffeur.”

Marge shook her head.

“Want to know the interesting part?” Oliver said.

“There’s more?”

“Is anything in life ever simple? ’Bout five minutes ago, I get a call from the lab. There was a wallet in the car. Burned, but enough paper to make an ID on the driver’s license. Not Donnally’s. We ran the owner’s name through CII. He’s clean so far as we know. Does the name Michael Ness ring any bells?”

Decker closed his eyes and opened them. “Detective, we indeed have some mutual points of interest. Can I meet you somewhere in a couple of hours?”

“Fine. Let’s shoot for seven.”

“You got it.”

Oliver said, “You’re at Foothill. We could meet halfway between the substations — Willy’s at Roscoe and Woodman. Think the department will spring for a four-ninety-nine dinner special?”

“We could make a damn good case for it. As long as you don’t get greedy and order dessert.”

The dog barking,
the television blaring, the kids talking to him at the same time. The phone rang just as Rina announced it was time for dinner. Not the kind of scene that inspired homilies for samplers, but it was Decker’s chaos and don’t it feel so
good
.

Rina carried a platter of grilled chicken breasts to the table. “Is someone going to catch the phone?”

“I’ll get it.” Jacob grabbed the receiver. “Hullo?”

The dog yapped and jumped at Decker’s heels.

“Acknowledge the dog, Peter,” Rina said. “Shmuli, can you help me out, please?”

“Why me?”

Rina said, “Because I asked—”

“For you, Shmuli,” Jacob said.

“Call them back, Shmuel,” Rina ordered. “We’re actually going to try to eat dinner.”

The older boy rolled his eyes and went to the phone.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Rina went to the kitchen and brought out a bowl of tossed salad. “Yonkie, turn off the TV. Then please bring in the pitcher of orange juice and a bottle of beer for your father.”

“Pass on the beer.” Decker checked the back door. Securely locked. “I’ve got to go back to work.”

“Peter, you’ve been up for sixteen
hours
!”

“I’d be happy to call it a day except crime doesn’t keep businessmen’s hours.”

“You should be raking in tons of overtime.”

“Unfortunately, saying it doesn’t make it so.” Decker sat at the dining-room table, the cherrywood top as shiny as the day he finished varnishing it. Rina took extra care with the furniture he’d hand-crafted. He placed a single chicken breast on each empty plate, then helped himself to two pieces. He broke a chunk of meat from the remaining breast and gave it to the dog. “How’re you feeling, darlin’?”

“I’m fine.” Rina set a glass dish down on a trivet. “As big as a horse, but still on two feet. Careful, this is hot.”

Decker lifted the lid and a cloud of steam poured out — roasted red potatoes with jalapeño peppers and onions. He took two heaping spoonfuls.