Street Dreams (18 page)

“Perhaps a little later, Lieutenant Decker. We have a court case on Wednesday. I need to settle things before I have her go
through another ordeal. I hope you can understand that.”

“Okay. Later then.”

It was my turn to get some information. “Sarah, was David a black person?”

Sarah glanced at her sister. Louise said, “It’s okay, Sarah. You can answer the question.”

“Yes.” She bit her lip. “I’m sorry, Louise.”

“What are you sorry for?” Louise asked her.

“’Cause I liked David. You said to stay away from black people. That they do lots of bad things. But David was nice. He wasn’t
mean … except he did the sex. But he was nice about it.”

By this time, Louise was bright red. After all she’d gone through, I decided to give her a little solace. “Everyone makes
judgment calls, Louise.”

“I’m just trying to keep her safe. …” She let out a mirthless chuckle. “I haven’t done a very good job.”

“Walk a mile in my shoes,” I said.

She laughed loudly. “You should have been a therapist.”

Sarah said, “Is my baby okay?”

“The baby is fine,” I told her.

“Can I see her?”

Louise said, “We’re working on it, Sarah.”

I said, “Louise, is it possible for you to bring Sarah down to the Hollywood Station tomorrow just to make a statement? That
way we could get something going.”

Louise said, “I don’t think so, Officer Decker.”

“No mug books,” I told her. “Just let her repeat her story to Detective MacGregor, because he’s in charge. We’ll worry about
identifying the perpetrators later on.”

Her sigh was heavy. “Lunchtime—twelve-thirty. I’ll give you twenty minutes. Then I have to get back to work.”

“Thank you so much,” I said. “I’ll clear it with Detective MacGregor and call you if there’s a change in plans.”

“Your cooperation will be favorably looked upon by the judge,” Decker told her. “This is not for pressure, Ms. Sanders, just
to let you know.”

“Right.”

The sarcasm was evident. We all stood except Sarah. Dad extended his hand to the girl. “Thank you for talking with us, young
lady. Tomorrow, Louise is going to bring you to the police station to talk with Detective MacGregor. Do you remember him?”

Sarah nodded.

“You’ll need to tell him exactly what you told us.”

“Okay …” Sarah was tentative.

“Don’t worry,” Decker said. “It will be easier the next time you talk. I promise. You’re a very good girl, Sarah.”

“Mr. Man?”

We all smiled. Louise said, “His name is Lieutenant Decker.”

“I thought her name was Decker.”

“We both are Decker,” I told her.

“Oh … you’re married.”

“Father and daughter,” Dad explained. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

She nodded.

“What, honey? Tell me anything you want.”

“Are you sure it’s okay to tell bad secrets?”

“Positive.” My father regarded her face. “Do you have another bad secret you want to tell me?”

“No.” But Sarah responded way too quickly.

“It’s okay,” Decker soothed. “If you want, you can whisper it in my ear.”

“Is David dead?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Sarah,” I told her. “I’m going to find out.”

“Will I get into trouble?”

“No, sweetie. It’s okay. You did the right thing by talking to us.” Decker gave her his card. “Anytime you have a bad secret,
you can call me, okay?”

She nodded. I followed the Loo’s example and gave her my card as well. We exchanged good-byes and walked back to the car.

I strapped myself in and turned on the ignition. “Is Sarah sitting on something?”

“Definitely.”

“So what do we do about it?”

“Nothing.”

S
taring out the window
of his daughter’s apartment, Decker organized his thoughts. His gaze shifted onto Cindy’s face. “This is the deal. It would
be a good idea to type up your notes for when you talk to MacGregor. That way, you not only have something organized to look
at, so you don’t have to grope for words, but also you have something concrete to hand him after you’re done. You don’t want
to overwhelm him with detail. It’ll make you look like a hot dog and it’ll irritate—” Abruptly, Decker stopped talking. “Are
you listening?”

Cindy’s eyes went from her lap to his face. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening.”

“Then can you stop playing with the fringes of your couch pillow and look like you’re paying attention?”

“I
am
paying attention. Why are you chastising me like I’m five years old?” She jumped up. “I’m going to make some fresh coffee.
Would you like some?”

Decker rubbed his aching temples. After a pause, he told her yes he would like coffee. As his eyes skipped over the place,
he noticed how stark her apartment had become. Once the decor had been homey, almost girlish, as if her room as a teenager
had been moved in toto. Now it bore the scars of its rape. He stood up and walked into her small kitchenette. It could barely
contain both their bodies. “You can’t have it both ways. I can’t be a father and a lieutenant at the same time. So take your
pick.”

She poured water into the machine. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, and I expect you to be totally honest. Are you
pissed because Koby is black?”

“No.”

She turned to face him. “So
why
are you still pissed that I didn’t mention it to you?”

“
Mention
it to me?” Decker regarded her dubiously. “Cindy, you deliberately withheld it from me!”

“What
difference
does it make?”

“It’s descriptive. You went out of your way to tell me he was Israeli—”

“He
is
Israeli.”

“No, Cindy, he lived in Israel. He is a self-described Ethiopian. All you had to do was tell me that. Instead, you caught
me off guard.” A pause. “I probably acted like an idiot.”

“You were
fine.”

“Well, I didn’t feel
fine,
I felt uncomfortable. That’s
my
problem, not yours. But you could have helped me along. What were you afraid of? Do I make you that nervous?”

“Yes.”

Decker sighed. “Well … then I’m sorry. That’s never my intention.”

“I know. It’s all right.”

Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, he stared at her blank walls. Just once he’d like to end their time together by congratulating
himself for a parenting job well done, instead of walking to the car feeling like a failure.

“I’ll try to do better, Cin.”

“You don’t have to do better. You’re great, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I should be mellowing with age. Instead, I’m more
on edge … more frantic.”

“That means you’re vital, Dad.” Cindy took her father’s hand. “That’s a good thing. And I wasn’t being fair. Most of the time,
you don’t make me nervous, just when you bark orders at me. I know it’s not personal, especially because I dragged you into
this. When you chide me, it sets off something primal. But that’s
my
hang-up.”

Decker rolled his tongue in his cheeks. “He’d better treat you right or I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t commit homicide on my behalf. I barely know him.”

“He likes you—a lot. Make sure you’re moving at the same rate.”

“That’s my business, Dad.”

“Fair enough. Shall we go on with
our
business?”

“You were saying I should type up my notes.”

“Why don’t you do this—after you’ve organized your thoughts on paper, e-mail or fax them to me and I’ll go over them.”

“That would be great. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome, Princess. Keep your sentences simple, Cin. The average detective has maybe a few years of college.”

“I know.”

“Any questions?”

“No, not really.” She looked at her nails, bitten almost to the quick. “So you don’t think I should ask around about gangs
in my area? The fact that these bad boys were a mixture of Hispanic and non-Hispanic narrows it down.”

Decker waited a beat. “Cindy, you are not a detective yet. You have to wait for Russ MacGregor to call the shots. Tell him
what you told me and see what he says.”

“It’ll be junked in the circular file. What would be wrong with asking my street contacts a couple of questions?”

“You’re goading me.”

“I’m trying to give an old rape case some CPR.”

“Cynthia, listen to me.” A pause. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, Dad, I am listening.”

“Okay. Here goes. Every day you put your butt on the line. That means you need backup on occasion. And that means you have
to be a team player. Besides, you don’t know who these punks are, so you don’t know what you’re dealing with. You ask the
wrong people the wrong questions, your body winds up with homemade air-conditioning.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not laughing, Cynthia.”

She looked at her watch. “You’d better go. Otherwise, you’re not going to make a two o’clock movie with Hannah Banana.”

“I’ll go. But you have to promise me not to get involved unless asked to do so.”

“I promise I won’t do a thing without Russ MacGregor’s explicit permission.”

“That was even better than I expected. Thank you.”

Just then, a chime dinged. Cindy said, “Coffee’s ready. How about one for the road? I have a travel cup.”

“Why not?”

She went into her kitchenette and poured the steaming liquid into a thermal cup. She closed the lid tightly and handed the
cup to him while formulating her thoughts. “I like him, too, Daddy.”

“Great.”

“I think that despite all the superficial differences, we have a lot in common.”

Decker waited.

“Our jobs, for instance. We both love our jobs. And our jobs have lots in common.”

“A nurse and a cop?”

“Yeah, when you think about it. Most of the time, our jobs deal with routine. Lots and lots of routine. But when it
isn’t
routine … man, that’s when the adrenaline starts pumping … flowing full throttle. Boy oh boy, that’s what separates wheat
from chaff. And if we’re good … really good … it’s in the clutch when we shine.”

He awoke with a crick in his neck, his nostrils piqued by the smell of barbecue, his ears hearing the whir of a kitchen fan.
Rina was grilling indoors, and despite his drowsiness, his stomach rumbled as the aroma translated its signals to his brain.
He lowered his feet from the ottoman, then got up, stretching his too-tall frame until he was steady enough to walk. His mouth
was dry and parched. He went into the kitchen, spotting a hunk of roast with grid marks, bathed in onions and mushrooms, sizzling
in the skillet.

“Have a good nap?” Rina asked him.

“Very good. Hannah is a great kid, but she’s exhausting.”

“The feeling must be mutual. She’s been a zombie since she’s been home.”

“Well, that makes me feel a little better.” He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and gulped it down greedily. Rina
was wearing an apron over a black knee-length knit skirt and black sweater. She had socks and sneakers on her feet and her
hair was tied back in a high ponytail. She looked like a bobby-soxer. “Man, that smells good. What is it?”

“Flanken.”

“Beef on Sunday? What’s the occasion?”

“The boys are home. We’re healthy. Hannah’s not grumpy. Take your pick.”

“Where are the boys?”

“They’ll be back in fifteen minutes or so.” She took the cast-iron grill pan from the stovetop and slid it into the oven.
“Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”

“Medium rare?”

“Absolutely. We all dislike shoe leather.”

“You’re incapable of serving shoe leather.”

“Thank you very much.” She wiped her hands on a napkin and turned to face him. “If you have a few minutes, I’d like you to
scan my grandmother’s file.”

“Goody.”

“Don’t get cranky. The papers are on the dining-room table. I’ve done homework for you.”

“Like what?”

“I got you a map.”

“It’s a start.” He washed his hands in the kitchen sink and splashed water on his face. He glanced at the coffeepot. “I’ll
need fortification.”

“I will make coffee.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his forehead. “First you have to deal with Cindy. Then Hannah. Now
me. And this is supposed to be your day off. I’m not without sympathy.”

Decker slipped his hands around her waist, her hair smelling of garlic powder and soy sauce. “All I want is a little appreciation.
Having gotten it, I will be happy to help you out.”

“Thank you.”

He kissed her soft lips, then sat down at the dining-room table. Rina had laid it all out for him—a neat little stack of papers
in a folder, an empty notepad, a pen, a pencil, and a good street map of Munich. In all honesty, he was happy to be occupied.
His mind abhorred a vacuum because that meant that sooner or later it would fill with images he’d rather forget.

He picked up the folder and opened it.

Regina Gottlieb’s body was found in a tangle of foliage inside the Englischer Garten—a long stretch of parkland that ran parallel
to the Isar River but was separated from it by several city streets. From the map, it looked like the two areas intersected
in the northern neighborhood of Schwabing. But then the garden ended and the Isar broke away.