The Beast A DeckerLazarus Novel (21 page)

Ian raised a finger in the air. “It was lasagna. You made spinach and ricotta cheese lasagna with Bolognese sauce.”

“What a memory!” Delia exclaimed. “I did indeed.”

“You also must remember, Lieutenant, that at this time, we thought the old kook had moved out. We had no reason to even think that he was still in the building.”

“We no longer heard the growls and the grunts,” Delia confirmed.

“Okay. So Sunday night you were out with friends, Monday you were working, came home and made dinner, spent the night inside.”

Delia nodded. “Yes. That is what we did.”

Decker jotted it down. “Great. I do have one last question. What do you think happened to the old man?”

They were flattered by their inclusion. Ian said, “Maybe the massage lady tried to rob him.”

“Or he refused to pay her and she got mad,” Delia said. “I can see him making people mad.”

“So you think he was murdered by the masseuse?”

“He never left his room,” Delia said. “No one else visited him.”

“You did,” Decker said. “I’m not accusing you of anything, but if you went to his door to complain, maybe someone else did as well.” Silence. “Anything you’d like to ask me?”

“Yes.” Ian’s manner was stiff. “When can we move back in?”

“You’ll probably get an all-clear by Thursday morning.”

The two of them sighed in harmony. Ian said, “The manager said that the city is making them fumigate.”

“It is a city health and safety issue,” Decker said.

“Damn inconvenient!” Ian said.

“I’m sure it is, but it’s better than being bit by a recluse spider.”

“That man was nuts!” Delia said. “I don’t want to even think about that.”

“No don’t think about it.” Ian took her hand. “Let’s go out for a latte and a bagel.”

Delia smiled widely at Decker. “He always knows what to say to calm me down.”

THERE WERE VOICES
outside, a key card being inserted into the lock.

The pounding started when the door was met with resistance
from the security chain. Fully clothed, Gabe leaped up from the bed and stuffed a garbage liner bag with two used condoms deep into his knapsack and stowed the rest of the unused box under the bed. He rushed to the door, wearing socks but no shoes. “Hold on. Lemme get the chain off.”

A quick glance at Yasmine: she was attempting to put on her boots. Her long black hair was wild and uncombed. Her wide dark eyes were in panic mode. He whispered don’t worry. Being OCD, Gabe had remade the bed and covered it with towels before they had started eating, because everyone knew about motel bedspreads. Two half-eaten Subway sandwiches lay on paper plates along with an open bag of potato chips. It looked innocent enough, although the context was damning.

As soon as the chain was unhooked, the door flew open and Yasmine’s mother stormed into the room: a Persian warrior on a mission. Sohala Nourmand was red faced and shaking but was decked out in designer duds. Her gust of an entrance was followed by two uniformed police officers.

Sohala grabbed her daughter’s arm and yanked her to her feet. Then she pointed to Gabe. “You arrest him,” she screamed at the cops.

“
Arrest
him?” Yasmine screamed back. “Mommy, are you
crazy
?”

“She is just a girl!” Sohala was trying to pull her daughter out of the room, but Yasmine resisted. “He takes terrible advantage of my daughter—”

“Calm down, ma’am, we’ll take care of this.” The police officer speaking was stocky and bald. His name was Ritter.

Sohala was still screaming. “You arrest him—”

“Calm down!” Ritter had raised his voice a notch.

“We were just eating!” Gabe pointed to the bedspread. “Look!”

“You eat in restaurant, not a motel room with curtains pulled down,” Sohala yelled. She shook a finger in his face. “She is a minor. You arrest him!”

Yasmine was in tears. “Mommy, stop it!”

“I’m a minor!” Gabe countered.

“You’re eighteen—”

“I am not! I swear, Mrs. Nourmand, we were just eating—”

“Maybe right now, you were eating. Before, who knows!”

“Quiet—” Ritter tried again.

“You are a sneaky one!” Sohala yelled. “I bet you give her
drugs
to take advantage of her.”

Gabe was aghast. “I didn’t give her
drugs
.”

“You’re
crazy
!” Yasmine shouted. “He saved my life, in case you’ve forgotten!”

Sohala paused but only for a moment. She glared at Gabe, regarding him with confusion. “Why are you bald? Now you’re Nazi?”

“Mommy,
stop it now
!” Yasmine shouted.

“I shaved my head for a movie—”

“You are in a movie?” Sohala asked. “What movie?”

“A small, independent film—”

“I don’t believe you—”

“It’s true! Why else would I be bald?”

“Everyone
shut
up!” The second officer boomed. The man was five ten, broad, and blond. His name was Staggert. “Just shut up and don’t talk, okay.” He ambled over to Gabe until they were nearly nose to nose—a silly attempt at intimidation. First of all, Gabe was taller. Second, compared to his father and the Loo, this man was an ant.

Staggert barked out, “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

He turned to Yasmine, who was wiping tears from her eyes. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

Back to Gabe. “You’re pretty big for seventeen. You wouldn’t be lying to me.”

“I’m seventeen.”

“When will you be eighteen?”

“June.”

“That’s four months away.”

“That’s why I’m still seventeen.”

Staggert jutted out his chin. “You being a wise guy, big shot?”

“No, sir. I’m a little startled. I’m sorry.”

Staggert continued with the icy looks. “You got ID, big shot?”

“In my knapsack.” Gabe started toward it, but Staggert told him to just stay put.

“That’s your knapsack over there?” When Staggert pointed to the corner, Gabe nodded. “So you won’t mind if I take a look at it?”

Gabe swallowed, knowing full well he had used condoms inside. “Go ahead.”

Staggert carefully unzipped the top and did a quick search through the contents. He pulled out two vials filled with pills. “So you don’t do drugs, huh?”

“They’re prescription,” Gabe said. “My doctor’s name is on them. Call him up if you don’t believe me.”

Staggert read the labels. “Why does a kid your age need Paxil and Xanax?”

Gabe dropped his voice. “I have some anxiety issues.”

“What does a kid your age have to be anxious about?”

Gabe opened and closed his mouth. It just wasn’t worth getting into it with this moron. He chose the most expedient option and said nothing. Staggert continued on with the search and pulled out a file of sheet music. “You some kind of rock star?”

“I’m a classical pianist.” Gabe crossed his arms. “I go to Juilliard.”

“You go to school in New York?” Ritter piped in.

Gabe unfolded his arms and tried to appear calm. Just maybe this guy wasn’t a cretin. “Yes, sir, I do.”

Ritter, the older of the two cops, told Yasmine and Sohala to stay put. He came over to Gabe. “So what are you doing in L.A.?”

“Visiting.” Gabe’s eyes lifted to Yasmine. “I used to live here.”

Ritter took the sheet music from Staggert’s hand, clearly the senior officer of the duo. He said, “Go watch the ladies.” Staggert tried to swagger over to the women, but being relieved of his post chipped off a bit of his bravado.

After skimming the music for several pages, Ritter put the sheaves back into the knapsack. “Where’s your ID, son?”

“Can I reach inside my backpack to give it to you?”

Ritter nodded. Gabe retrieved his walled and pulled out a Nevada driver’s license and gave it to the officer. He studied the card. The birthday put him at seventeen: green eyed, light brown hair, six one, one-forty. Except for his bald head, the description matched. His name was Gabriel Whitman. “You used to live in L.A.?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you have a Nevada license?”

“That’s where my father lives. I lived with him a couple of summers ago and took the test over there.”

“But you don’t live with him now?”

“No, thank God.”

“What does he do?”

Gabe was too riled to think clearly so he told the truth. “He owns brothels.”

Ritter’s eyes jumped from the license to Gabe’s face. “He owns
brothels
?”

“Yes, sir.” He should have lied. The guy had a weird expression on his face.

“Brothels.” He stared at Gabe, and then at Yasmine. “Just what were you going to do with her?” He lowered his voice. “Take a trip to Nevada, maybe?”

Gabe was confused. Then all the color drained from his face. “Oh God
no
!” He shook his head. “No, no, no, no, no! I have nothing to do with my father’s occupation. I hate him . . . well, not hate. I dislike him immensely. I love her. I swear to God, I’d die before I’d let anything happen to her. I almost did . . . die. It’s a long story. I’ll stop talking now.”

In the back of his mind, Ritter remembered the girl saying that the kid had saved her life. There was some history here. He continued to study him. “Where’s your mother?”

“In India.”

“Doing what?”

“She lives there with her new family. It didn’t include me.”

Ritter blinked several times. He looked back at the license. “So who did you live with in L.A.?”

At last! The opportunity to name names. “I lived in the Valley with Lieutenant Peter Decker and his wife, Rina. That’s where I’m staying now.” He now had Ritter’s attention. “He works at Devonshire. He’s the head of the detectives’ division.”

Though trying to keep a flat expression, Ritter’s eyes jumped. “And if I was to call him now, he’d verify that?”

“Absolutely.”

“So he knows you’re here . . . in a motel with a sixteen-year-old girl.” When Gabe didn’t answer, Ritter said, “How’d you book a room?”

“It’s under my father’s name.”

“The one in Nevada who you dislike immensely.”

Gabe sighed. “Yes, sir.”

“So
he
knows you’re here?”

Gabe held up his hands. “I don’t know if he does or doesn’t. He wouldn’t care. I asked his secretary to do it for me. Her name is Talia. You can call either one if you want. You can reach her, but he’s hard to get hold of.”

“What’s your father’s name?”

“Christopher Donatti.”

“Where are your father’s brothels?”

“Outside of Elko. Would you like Talia’s phone number?”

Ritter didn’t answer. Instead he took down the name and license number and handed it back to the kid. He recognized Decker’s name. He’d give him a call. “Any other ID?”

Gabe gave him his Juilliard student card. Ritter gave it back and went on searching in the knapsack. It took a minute, but eventually the cop came to the garbage bag at the bottom. He glanced inside, wrinkled his nose, and immediately locked eyes with Gabe. The boy closed his eyes and whispered a desperate silent “please.”

The seconds seemed interminable. Finally Ritter zipped up the backpack and turned to Sohala Nourmand. “Take your daughter home.”

“Not ’til you arrest him!” Sohala insisted.

“If I arrest him, I’m going to arrest her, too,” he shot back. “Both
of them are underage. Officer Staggert, please accompany Mrs. Nourmand to her car.”

“I have my car here,” Yasmine said.

“Accompany both of the ladies to their cars.” To Yasmine, he said, “Go home, young lady. If I ever catch you with this boy again, I will arrest him for statutory rape, do you understand?”

Sohala added her parting shot. “You
stay
away from my daughter!”

After the trio left, Ritter turned to Gabe. “I’m not kidding, buddy. If this would have happened four months from now, I would have charged you with statutory rape.”

“We’re only a year apart—”

“Irrelevant.”

“I’m just saying it’s not perverted or anything.”

“It’s not perverted, no. But the point is, Gabriel, her mother doesn’t want you to see her. That’s the long and the short of it. You’ve got to respect that.”

Gabe rolled his eyes.

“Don’t do that in front of me,” Ritter told him. “It pisses me off.”

“Sorry.” A pause. “Really. I’m very sorry.”

“It’s over, buddy. Just pack up and go home.”

“It’s not over,” Gabe muttered.

“Well, it’s over until she’s eighteen and a legal adult. If you ever see her again on my watch, I’m going to haul your ass into jail. I don’t care who you know, got it?”

“I understand,” Gabe said.

Ritter stared at him. “You’re a good-looking guy. There aren’t girls in New York?”

“I love her.”

Ritter laughed softly. “You have the world in front of you, kiddo. Don’t be a jerk. Stay away from your friend until she’s of age.”

He left, slamming the door behind him.

Gabe peeked out of the curtains. Sohala waited in her car until Yasmine had left in her four-year-old black Mercedes. Then Sohala started her new black Mercedes and drove away. It took another ten minutes of conversing before the cops left.

Afterward, Gabe was numb, abandoned in an empty hole of darkness. Whenever these moods started, he usually could temper them by banging on the piano.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t a keyboard in sight.

He opened his backpack and dumped the garbage liner with the dirty condoms back in the can. He left the unused box under the bed. Without Yasmine, they served no purpose. He popped a Paxil. Even with the pill, he’d still be teetering on the ledge. But the abundance of serotonin would probably prevent him from falling into the abyss.

The wonders of modern medicine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

I
T HAD BEEN
a long day, and it was about to be a longer night. The snicker in the cop’s voice still lingered in Decker’s brain.

Do you know a kid named Gabriel Whitman
?

Two very screwed-up people had dumped their kid on him. Instead of playing golf and traveling the world, Decker was dealing with an adolescent. As he pulled into the driveway, he reminded himself to breathe and to think before he spoke, something he often had trouble doing with his own family.