Street Dreams (23 page)

“Your address, sir?”

He yielded to pressure. He lived in Mar Vista, not too far from my house. It didn’t make sense to go to his place, only to
go back to Koby’s to pick up my car, but I couldn’t keep the man waiting.

Another thirty minutes of riding with Oliver.

I gritted my teeth and pretended that we were one big, happy team.

The brother was stocky, bordering on fat, with gray hair and lots of it. He was my height, but since I was wearing four-inch
heels, I was looking over the top of his head. He had on black sweats, open-back slippers on his feet.

It went down like this. Terrance Syracuse was a self-employed personal-injury lawyer and sometimes his work intruded upon
his weekends. This was one of those times. He had several cases pending, and really hadn’t thought about hosting Belinda.
But because his wife and two daughters were visiting his in-laws in Vermont, he decided to call her up. His wife was tolerant
of his retarded sister, but lately his children were getting to that age where Belinda’s presence embarrassed them. As much
as he loved his sister, he had no problem choosing his daughters’ needs over Belinda’s because he had grown up with the stigma
of a disabled sister. He could deal with it now, he was comfortable with the situation, but he knew that adaptation took time.
He didn’t want to force his kids into an artificial relationship that they weren’t equipped to deal with.

“I suppose that won’t be necessary now,” he said, sobbing.

Before he left for the office, he had set Belinda up in front of the TV and told her he’d be back in time to take her out
for dinner. He’d done it many times before. Belinda was a good girl, and she obeyed the rules. As far as he knew, she never
opened the door for strangers. One time, his wife’s sister had come to the house, but Belinda didn’t know her. His sister-in-law
was irate, yelling and screaming, but Belinda held fast and refused to let her in. She wasn’t the type to go off on her own.
She was retarded, yes, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew that in the outside world, there were people who’d take advantage of
her.

“And you don’t know who took her back to the center?”

“No. But she insisted it was someone she knew. I had no reason to doubt her.”

“We can check phone records,” I told Scott.

“It had to have been someone familiar,” Syracuse insisted. “Otherwise she wouldn’t have gone.” He gnawed on a raw thumbnail.
“What in the world was she doing in that area at that time of night?”

I said, “I don’t know, sir. She looked lost. I was about to pull over to help her when it happened.”

“This car …”

“Actually, it was an SUV.”

“Did it … Was it gunning for her?”

I refrained from sighing. “It’s anyone’s guess. It happened so fast, I didn’t get all the details. Maybe later … if I think
about it, something new will come to me.” I bowed my head. “I’m so sorry.”

He nodded, not daring to make eye contact.

Hayley said, “Did she know anyone else besides you who lived outside the Fordham Center?”

“She might have. My sister didn’t talk to me about her private life. And when she did … I didn’t listen too carefully. She
was a typical teenage girl … only she was twenty-four. But she still had the teenybopper mentality—boy crazy, for one thing.
Mostly movie stars. She talked about meeting them one day. She lived in a fantasy world and I zoned out half the time.” He
started pacing. “This is too awful. I’m grateful that my parents aren’t alive to deal with this blow.” He regarded Cindy.
“When can I bury her? The thought of her lying on a slab in cold storage is sickening.”

“We’ll let you know as soon as the ME is done.”

“What in the world is there to find out? She was massacred by some crazy or careless motorist. What will an autopsy tell you
that you don’t already know?”

“It’s just procedure, sir,” Oliver told him.

He drew his hands down his face. “I have to start making funeral arrangements.” He checked his watch. “I don’t suppose anyone’s
open at five in the morning.”

“You might have to wait a few hours.”

I said, “You won’t mind if we check your phone records?”

“Of course. Anything that would help. She’s been with the center over ten years. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt her.”

“Has she been having any trouble with anyone there?”

“Not that I know about.”

“Has she talked about anyone specifically?”

“Like a boy or a man? No. Or if she did, I’m sorry to say I didn’t pay attention.” Again he checked his watch. “When can I
make the identification?”

“How about if I take you down?” I offered. “See if we can speed up the process.”

“I’ll come with you,” Hayley stated.

“We can all go,” Oliver said.

“You have farther to travel to get home, sir,” I told him. “We can handle it, Detective.”

“We’ll all go,” Oliver insisted. “That way, it’ll be done by the book.”

I was in no position to argue.

Seniority had spoken.

B
y the time
Terrance had identified his sister and we were finally done, it was half past six. Hayley offered to buy us breakfast, but
I was too nauseous to even think about eating.

“Besides, I should see how Koby’s doing.”

Oliver’s shoulders tensed. “I’ll take you to his house after I drop off Marx.”

Hayley said, “I’ll take her, Scott. This is girl time, okay?”

That was Hayley to a T. It didn’t surprise me. She’d been there for me before. Oliver didn’t argue and the ride was wonderfully
silent. We picked up Hayley’s car and made it to Koby’s by eight. My Lexus was right where I’d left it; his Toyota was nowhere
in sight. I sighed. “I don’t think he’s home yet. He’s probably still at the hospital.”

“You aren’t going there, right?” Before I could answer, she said, “Cin, you need to go home and sleep.”

“You too.”

“No problem. I’m going home. You do the same. That’s an order.” We hugged. She said, “Breakfast on Wednesday?”

“How about Thursday?” I countered for no good reason.

“Thursday is perfect.”

I smiled, then got out of the car. After settling myself in my Lexus and placing the phone in the built-in recharge cradle,
I put in a call to Koby’s cell.

I got his voice mail.

I left a brief message.

Next I tried the hospital. I was transferred about ten times and finally wound up talking to Marnie, the pixie nurse I had
met the first time I had visited Sarah’s baby. She knew about the accident and asked me if I was okay. I told her I was.

There was an awkward pause.

“He’s in the ICU,” she told me. “Been there for a while. Maybe I can help you with something?”

Tension in her voice. It could have come from dealing with the horror of the accident, but the tightness told me it was probably
more personal. That I was bugging her because I was bugging Koby.

“No … just tell him I called.”

“I will, Officer. Good-bye.”

She hung up before I could thank her.

I made it home by nine, then called Louise Sanders to cancel our lunch date at the precinct. She wasn’t in, but I left a message
on her cell. Then after setting the alarm for one-thirty, I went to bed. The buzzer did its magic at the appointed time, and
I was showered, dressed, and ready to go by two. There were messages on my answering machine from that morning. Three from
my father, one from Hayley, and even one from Scott, his being two words— “Let’s talk.”

I’d deal with my messages later.

There was nothing from Koby.

I called his cell, but it was still on voice mail.

I called his house. He wasn’t home or he wasn’t picking up. This time, I left a message. I told him how proud I was of him.
I told him I was okay and hoped he was okay as well. I was still shaken but otherwise fine. Then I hung up.

The ball was in his court. Tired and grumpy, I went to work.

It took some dogged determination, but I managed to catch up with Russ MacGregor while I was on break and he was in the squad
room, working the phones before he went out on his next field call. The hit-and-run had given me some clout since I had reacted
quickly and according to protocol. But Russ was far from generous. I had fifteen minutes to state my case.

Three things were on my mind: Sarah Sanders’s rape, locating the missing David, who was possibly the father of Sarah’s baby,
and now the hit-and-run. I knew my limitations, and so did Russ. Still, I made a stab at it, trying to tie everything together.
Russ was dubious.

“What in the world does this hit-and-run have to do with Sarah Sanders and an abandoned baby?”

“Maybe Belinda Syracuse knew something about Sarah’s rape. Girls do talk, you know. And maybe Belinda was murdered because
of it.”

“Number one, Decker, you don’t even know if this rape is real or not. Number two, if you think Belinda’s death was related
to Sarah Sanders’s alleged rape, why wait months before bumping Belinda off, and number three, if these cases are connected,
why is Belinda dead and Sarah Sanders alive and well?”

I had no answer, so I ignored the questions. “I think we should explore the possibilities.”

“Are you deaf? They had nothing to do with one another.”

“Freaky coincidence?”

“It happens, Decker. Anything else?”

He was already walking away, the vents of his navy jacket flapping behind him. I said, “Nice suit.”

Russ slowed. “Thanks.” He stopped, then suddenly eyed me like a man. Then he thought better of it. “Decker, you did a good
job. Everyone has taken note. Now leave the hit-and-run investigation to Homicide.”

“That’s not what I’m interested in.”

“Dare I ask what you
are
interested in?”

“Finding the most likely candidate for the father of Sarah Sanders’s child. My vote is a boy named David, who also lived at
the center.”

“The one who was supposedly beaten up.”

“Why
supposedly?
Why would Sarah lie?”

“Because she abandoned her baby and is in big trouble. She’s facing a reckless-disregard charge.”

“Her mental condition is perfect for a mitigating-circumstances plea.”

“But maybe she’s also aiming for the sympathy plea. You have no idea if this rape and mugging are figments or are real.”

“So let me find out.”

“Decker, it happened months ago. It’s old news.”

“And that makes the crime any less horrific?” How could Mac-Gregor respond to that? “It would be nice to find the guy … to
make sure he’s all right.”

“When are you planning to do this, Sherlock?”

“I don’t start work until three tomorrow.”

“So you’re doing it on your own time? Why you buggin’ me about it?”

“I make it a point not to step on toes.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Drop by the center, but give it a day or two. I heard from Justice Brill—the Homicide detective
in charge of Syracuse’s hit-and-run—that the place is pretty much up to their eyeballs right now, dealing with Belinda’s death.”

“I can identify with that.”

MacGregor must have seen something in my weary face. “You need some rest, Decker. Do you a lot more good than chasing down
a half-baked memory.” He shook his head. “All right. But like I said, wait a day or two. You gotta think about priorities.”

“Of course. Thanks, Russ. Really.” I cleared my throat. “Sarah Sanders is willing to come in and make a statement about the
rape.”

He sneered. “Your idea?”

“How about tomorrow around noon?
Please?”

Again he eyed me. Then he gave me the “smile.” I pretended to be looking the other way. When we reestablished eye contact,
it was gone. “Yeah, okay.”

“You’re a peach, Detective.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, Decker.”

“Don’t be mad. If I find something out, you’ll get all the credit.” On that positive note, I gave him a thumbs-up and walked
away.