The Forgotten (18 page)

Baum said, “We’ll handle the press.”

“I can tell you more once I’ve got her laid out on the slab. When do you want the autopsy done? Yesterday?”

“That would be nice,” Decker said.

“Typical,” Liu said. “I’ll do my best. It’s too late to hit the waves anyway.”

“You’re a surfer?” Martinez asked.

Liu’s look was wistful. “Nothing like drowning out the ugliness of the world in one magnificent seven-foot curl.”

Athena Eaton was fifty and anorexic, with jet-black hair and a face slathered with makeup. By the time Decker was ready to interview her, she had popped three pills, and her behavior alternated between woozy incoherent and hysterical incoherent. In the end, Decker had the cops take her home with a promise to come back and check in on her tomorrow. Since Baum had his people canvassing the area, there were no pressing reasons for Decker to stay on the scene.

Crammed with information overload, he needed a good hour of solitude to sort everything out. The amount of paperwork was staggering, and he wouldn’t finish it up until sunrise. But before he went any further, he had to put in an appearance at home. His stepson Sammy was coming back after a full year away in Israel, and if he didn’t show up, he’d live to regret it. Not to mention the fact that he actually missed his stepson terribly and wanted to see him.

And they talk about women balancing work and personal obligations.

When he pulled up into his driveway, he felt a stab of apprehension. Rina’s car was still gone. Even allowing for bad traffic, by Decker’s calculations, Sammy should have been home a couple of hours ago. Maybe she took the family out for dinner at one of the kosher restaurants in town. He certainly hoped that was the case.

When he opened the front door, he immediately heard noises—the distorted, high-pitched squeals that could only
belong to toons getting smashed, squashed, electrocuted, or fried. He went into his daughter’s bedroom.

“Hi there.”

Hannah looked up. “Dadddeeee!”

“Hannah Rosieeeee!”

She jumped up, and he spun her in his arms. Then he kissed her cheek and set her down.

“I’m hungry,” she complained.

“Where’s Eema?”

“At the airport.” She sat back down in front of the TV. “Can you get me a snack?”

“Who’s taking care of you?”

“Yonkie.”

“Where’s Yonkie?”

The little girl shrugged. “Chocolate milk and chips?”

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“Not an Eema dinner. But Yonkie made me cheese and applesauce and a glass of milk. Does that count as a dinner?”

Decker wasn’t sure if the food qualified or not. “I suppose it’s okay.”

“So can I have chocolate milk and chips. Oh, and a plum, too?”

“I suppose.”

“Great! You want to watch TV with me?”

“Maybe a little later.”

“Okay. I’ll wait for my snack.”

“Uh…shouldn’t you be doing something else?”

The seven-year-old looked at him. “What?”

“Like shouldn’t you be reading or playing outside…something other than watching TV?”

She sighed with exasperation. “Eema already took me ice-skating, then I went to the liberry and took out two new books that I’m ’posed to read before I go to bed. Then I drew six pictures with my new berry-scented markers. Then Yonkie and I played Street Fighter II for an hour. Now I’m tired. But if you want me to be bored and turn off the TV, I’ll do it.”

Put it that way, TV watching seemed perfectly reasonable. “No, no,” Decker said. “It seems like you’ve had a busy day.”

“I’ve had a very busy day, Daddy. I’m tired and hungry. Cheese is not enough for a growing girl.”

Decker smiled. “I’ll get you your snack.” He retreated into the kitchen, where he found Jacob engrossed in some kind of test study guide. The teen had finished off his junior year with straight A’s for the first time. He looked up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Decker answered back.

“You look wiped.”

“A bit,” Decker admitted. “Where’s Eema?”

“The plane was delayed…and delayed…and delayed.”

“Poor Sammy. You didn’t go to the airport?”

“Eema felt the wait might be too long for Hannah.” He shrugged. “I volunteered to baby-sit. I might as well enjoy her and the comforts of home before I’m confined to a ten-by-twelve cell with nothing but a hard cot to sleep on and bread and water to eat.”

“I don’t think the accommodations at the yeshiva are that bad.”

“That’s what you think.” He closed his book and sat back in his chair. The boy’s face was flushed and pained. “I’ve heard a couple of the newscasts, you know.”

“Saying?”

“That the other Dr. Baldwin—the lady…you know. They’re saying it was suicide. What’d she do? Kill her husband and Ernesto in a fit of jealous rage, then kill herself?”

Decker shrugged.

“That’s how TV’s telling it.”

“Let’s hear it for little screen journalism.” Decker sat down. “Are you freaked?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty freaked. It’s horrible!”

“Are you talking to your friends about it?”

“What friends?”

“Are you talking to anyone about it?”

“I’m talking to you.”

Decker was quiet.

Jacob sat up. “A few people have called me up.”

“Lisa Halloway?”

Jacob nodded. “Yeah, she’s devastated!” He sighed. “It’s terrible. I got my own feelings about this, and people are calling
me
up, asking
me
questions. Like I’m a hot line to your investigation.”

“Can I do anything for you?”

“I don’t suppose you want to take the calls.”

“I’m a little busy right now.”

“Then how about if you read all this junk for me.” He held up an SAT II chemistry study guide. “You can take the test for me.”

“Sure, I can fail it for you,” Decker answered.

The boy cracked a smile. “Actually, I know the material pretty well. I’ll be fine.”

“That’s good.”

A long pause. Then Jacob said, “Ernesto never struck me as gay, by the way.”

Decker sat down. “Why?”

“I’m a pretty boy,” Jacob said. “The kind of looks that girls and gays love. He never came on to me.”

“Maybe you’re not his type,” Decker said.

The teenager smiled. “I’m everyone’s type.”

Decker smiled back. “So you’re basing Ernesto’s sexual inclination on your universal sex appeal?”

“In all seriousness, it’s just that he…he was comfortable with girls. Also, he never made any antigay jokes, which is a tip-off with someone trying to hide it.”

“People have secret lives, Yonkie.”

“Uh, yeah, I think I know something about that.” The boy looked down. “Just giving you my perception, for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot. You knew him a lot better than I did.”

Silence.

Decker broke it. “What should we do for dinner? Hannah’s hungry and I’d like to give her more than snacks.”

“There’s always takeout,” Jacob said. “Hannah will always eat pizza.”

“We should actually cook something. I’m sure Eema and Sammy will be hungry when they come home.”

“What can you cook?” Jacob asked.

“Hot dogs and scrambled eggs,” Decker answered.

Jacob got up and went to the refrigerator. “Hey, guess what? There’re a half-dozen veal chops in the freezer.”

Decker said, “I can broil veal chops.”

“There are also a couple of salad bags. That would really impress Eema. A fresh salad.”

“Yes, it would.”

“Well, there you go.” Jacob pulled out the package. “A gourmet delight.”

“Jacob, are you okay?”

The boy sat back down. “Not really. It’s too surreal. Eema and I were talking about it before she left for the airport. She’s convinced that I’m holding back. I’m not. I told her all I knew about Ernesto—which wasn’t much. I didn’t like him. But knowing someone who was murdered so brutally is awful. How do you face this, day after day?”

“I swallow back personal feelings so I can do the job.”

“You never take it to heart?”

“It affects you.” Mental pictures of today’s victims played in Decker’s mind. “But if you want to get the job done, you push things aside.”

“Is that what you’re telling me to do?”

“Of course not, Yonkie. This must be absolutely shocking to you even if you didn’t know him all that well.”

Jacob made a face. “I’m also upset about Eema finding out about the parties. Apparently, she knew about it all along.”

“Apparently.”

“Did you know that she knew?”

“Not until a few hours ago. She’s also good at hiding things.”

“She said all the right things,” Jacob said. “But deep down, I know she doesn’t trust me.”

“Jacob, she loves you so much. She’s much more concerned about your future than your past.”

“I know. She wants me to be happy.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to be happy.”

“Yes.”

“I’m sure Ernesto Golding’s parents wanted him to be happy.”

Decker’s eyes clouded with sadness. “Yes.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Yes.”

The boy looked down. “Was it awful?”

“Yes.” Decker drummed his fingers on the table. “Before this happened…had you ever heard about either of the Baldwins from any of your old party friends, Jacob?”

The boy looked up. “Of course. Everyone knows the Baldwins. It wasn’t only that group, Dad. Several kids from the yeshiva had seen them. They’ve got a real racket going.”

Decker’s interest was piqued. “What kind of racket?”

“I don’t mean racket.” The teen searched for the right words. “Just that he was very successful in getting kids into prestigious universities.”

“Did he tutor kids for their entrance exams?”

Jacob thought a moment. “His wife—the other Dr. Baldwin—did a lot of college counseling. You know, schools are supposed to have guidance counselors. But a lot of them are not very good, so parents hire out private college counselors.”

“
Private
counselors…” Decker thought a moment. “At big fees, no doubt.”

“I guess.”

“What ever happened to kids just reading the catalogues?”

“It’s a tough world out there, Dad. Lots of universities and lots of competition. The key is to match the right kid to the
right counselor, because certain counselors have more pull with certain colleges.”

“What do you mean by pull?”

“Just what it sounds like.”

“To me, it smacks of nepotism…or something illegal.”

“Not any more illegal than the old boys’ networks that excluded blacks, Jews, Hispanics, Asians—”

“Discrimination is illegal, Yonkie.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. The top universities are private and can basically do whatever they want to do. You know about legacies, right? If you’re a legacy and pay full tuition, that’s better than a 4.0 for lots of private universities. It’s different in the public universities like UCLA. It’s totally based on points on the first round.”

“Points?”

“Points for grades, points for the SAT, points for the SAT II. Which isn’t really fair either. A black kid from South Central, who’s been dodging bullets to make it to English class, has more baggage than a white kid from Encino. Now
if
you don’t get into the UC the first round, you can appeal the decision and bring in all the extraneous stuff. So when you get right down to it, nothing’s completely objective.”

“I didn’t realize the process was so complicated.”

“Yeah, it is. Not so hard for me because you and Eema never really cared about the Ivies. I know if it were up to her, I’d go to Yeshiva University. So I was spared all this major league anxiety. But even in the Orthodox circuit, there’s intense pressure to go to good schools. Believe me, I’ve seen the most arrogant guys reduced to tears because of poor SAT performance.”

“So that explains services like Dr. Baldwin’s tutoring,” Decker said.

“A kid explained it to me like this: suppose a certain guidance counselor always sends the university top students. If you sat on the admissions committee, wouldn’t you trust his or her opinions?”

“Did the Baldwins write recommendations for the kids?”

“I suppose. I mean you can have lots of letters of recommendation in your applications. Supposedly, the ones that mean something are the ones from the teachers—the people who know your academic skills. But I’m sure that the right character references can tip the scales. There was a kid who graduated from Torah V’Dass about two years ago who got a recommendation from some honcho politico who, in turn, had gone to school with a man on the acceptance committee of the university that he was applying to. Now the guy was smart, but c’mon. A letter like that? It clinched it.”

“Did the Baldwins have that kind of muscle?”

“The Baldwins had a tag for working magic. I never thought about it, because I thought I was going to YU and that was that. But then this thing from Hopkins and Ner Yisroel came up: to do my last year of high school and my first year of college together. My whole perspective changed, people telling me how lucky I was. It wasn’t luck. It was Eema who pushed and pushed and pushed for them to consider me. That’s what you need, someone pushing for you. I was
lucky
, even if it means I got to wear a black hat.”

“It’ll match your hair.”

“Great!” he said stiffly. “I’ll be color-coordinated.”

“So having the Baldwins behind you meant something.”

“Definitely.”

“What about Ernesto Golding? What was he aiming for?”

“Ernesto got into Brown—no easy feat. I don’t know if he got into Berkeley. Probably not. I’m sure he would have gone there if he could have. It’s Ruby Ranger’s old alma mater.”

Decker paused. “That’s right. You told me that Ruby Ranger went to Berkeley.”

“Did I?”

“Someone did.”

“No one ever said she was dumb. Just evil.”

“Is she up there now?”

“Beats me.”

“How old is Ruby Ranger?”

“Around twenty-two or-three.”

A little younger than Darrell Holt—who had also gone to Berkeley. “Did she ever see Dr. Baldwin?”

“How would I know that?”

“You seem to know lots of things, Yonkie,” Decker said. “Did Ruby ever bring older guys to the parties?”