The Forgotten (28 page)

“Did Philip have words with his parents about the woman…what was her name?”

“Dorothy. Everyone called her Dolly Sue.”

“What happened after Philip married Dolly Sue?”

“He had words with both his mama and his papa. Both were against the marriage. The woman was bad from day one.”

“Promiscuous,” Decker said.

“She liked all the boys—and had them, too. Her with her pretty blue eyes and corn silk hair. Acting all flirty. Talking with that Southern talk. Philip couldn’t help himself.”

Blue eyes, blond hair, Southern talk
. Decker said, “She was white.”

“Yeah, she was a white woman. Philip met her when he was down in Shreveport, doing some work at the college. She worked at the college as a secretary. As soon as she found out that Philip had some money from his papa, she took him into her bed. After that…psssss…can’t fight that kind of temptation.”

“Philip’s father had money?”

“For a colored man, Ezekial had lots of money. Y’see, he was a trucker for Coca-Cola in Atlanta, Georgia. Every penny he got, he put into the Coca-Cola stocks.”

“That was very forward thinking.”

“It wasn’t Ezekial’s thinking. Ezekial did it to impress a white girl he liked. Y’see, her brother…he was buying up the stock. So Ezekial did the same thing. But back then, it was hard for a colored man to buy stock. No broker would see to the Negroes. So the white boy did it for him. Told him it would make him money. Ezekial bought the stocks for pennies during the depression. He did real well.”

“A white boy bought stock for Ezekial and put it in Ezekial’s name?”

“Yes, sir, he put it in Ezekial’s name. That boy was a fine white boy. He did right by Ezekial. Not all white people hated the colored. Most did, but not everyone.”

“Interesting.”

“After the war…in the fifties…Ezekial bought himself a fine house in Atlanta in the old colored area. A big house. And he still had money left over. Philip grew up like a rich boy. Got hisself a good education. Went to the university. That boy got
everything
he wanted. Trouble is, he wanted things that weren’t good for him. Now remember, this was the sixties. The black man started getting power…started getting a taste for things that he shouldn’t have no taste for. The white girls were giving it to them in free love. It made the black man think he was one of them. It was disgusting.”

George shut off the water and dried the pot. But he didn’t turn around.

“That was Dolly Sue. Free love to the black man…to everyone. She was no good.”

“How long before Philip realized that Dolly Sue was no good?”

“Soon.”

“How soon is soon, sir? A year? Two years?”

“Third year, Christmastime.” He stowed the pot in one of the black cupboards. “He and Dolly Sue were living here in Los Angeles. They went home to see the folks for the holidays.” He turned to face Decker. “I’ll take that cup from you, sir.”

Decker handed him the teacup. “What happened?”

George pivoted around and turned on the water. “He found her in bed with another man.”

Decker made a face. “Another man?”

“Yes, sir.”

“May I ask who?”

George lowered his head. “I’m ashamed to say it, sir.”

Decker grimaced. “Philip’s father?”

“Yes, sir.” George’s black complexion had taken on a rosy hue—like a Bing cherry. “Philip and Inez was supposed to be
out Christmas shopping. But Philip came home early ’cause he wasn’t feeling well. He caught them, he did. Ezekial…he threw himself on his son’s mercy. Philip was a spoiled child, but he was no monster. He forgave his father and promised he wouldn’t say nothing to his mama. Of course, he wanted to end it with Dolly Sue. But a month later she told him she was in the family way.”

Silence.

George said, “No one knows who the real papa is, sir. They both had her, so it could have been either one. Inez…she never did find out. And Philip…he tried, sir. He tried to make it work. But the woman wouldn’t quit her flirty ways. When she had the second baby, Philip had suspicions. The baby was much too dark.”

“The baby was too dark?”

“Yes, sir. Philip wasn’t dark because his mama wasn’t black. She was Mexican. And Dolly Sue was white. The baby was like pitch coal. Even so, Philip tried, sir. For four years, he let that little mongrel call him Papa. But in the end it was too much for him. He made the mother put the baby up for adoption.”

Decker licked his lips. “Did she do it?”

“Yes, sir, she did. She didn’t want to lose Philip, and she didn’t want to lose Darrell. She was nothing and had nothing without them. So she put the baby up for adoption.”

“She actually put her own child, whom she had raised for
four years
, up for adoption.”

“Yes, sir.” George shook his head. “It was sad, sir. I felt sorry for the woman, but she had it coming. She had no right bringing a bastard into the house and pawning it off to be Mr. Philip’s. The one I really felt terrible for was Darrell. That little boy was Darrell’s brother. It broke his heart to see him go.”

Decker tried to keep anger out of his voice. “I would imagine that would be traumatic.”

“It wasn’t that Philip didn’t try.”

“Just a rotten situation,” Decker said, attempting to ease the old man’s guilt.

“Exactly, sir.” Another sigh. “And even that didn’t work. She still wouldn’t quit her flirty ways. So finally, Philip kicked her out. Gave her some money on the condition that she just pack up and leave. Darrell was ten. But even at ten, the boy cried a mountain of tears. Mr. Holt, he couldn’t take it. He brought me from his pappy’s home to take care of Darrell. I was the one who held the child at night.”

“And even with everything, he kept Darrell. Why?”

“The boy was his own flesh and blood—maybe brother or maybe son—but he was flesh and blood. When he kicked that woman out, Philip told his papa that he couldn’t raise Darrell alone. I came over and started working for Mr. Philip.” George placed the teacup on the stark, granite counter. “She died a few years later…after Mr. Philip kicked her out.”

“How’d she die?”

“Something with an infection and gangrene…had her leg chopped off. It was real sad. Mr. Philip paid for the cremation. Felt it was the right thing to do.”

What a sport, Decker thought. Yet who was he to judge? Then he thought, Why shouldn’t I judge? He took care of his daughter after his divorce, he took care of his wife’s sons, loved them and raised them and treated them as if they were his own—they were legally—at great cost to his own psyche. Damn right, he could judge.

“And the baby brother?” Decker asked. “What happened to the little boy?”

George shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. Darrell…he once told me that the boy died. Then he told me the boy was alive and adopted by a real rich family. Then he told me that the boy was a black Muslim. He makes up stories, Darrell does. He’s always made up lots of stories.”

Decker nodded. “Thanks for the tea, George.”

“You’re welcome.” Finally he turned to Decker. “Don’t be thinking too badly about Darrell. He had it rough.”

“I can see that.” Decker tapped his foot. “When was the last time you’ve heard from Darrell, George? This time I need to know the truth.”

“Three days ago,” the butler admitted. “The boy wanted money…like Mr. Philip said.”

“Did you give him money?”

“Four hundred dollars…from my savings. It wasn’t smart, but like I said, the boy had it rough.”

“Any idea where he might be?”

“No, sir. Before three days ago, I didn’t see him in three years.”

“How did he appear? Nervous or calm?”

“He was jittery. I just thought that he was nervous to get out before his papa came home. I tole him he could stay the night…that his papa wasn’t coming home. But he just took the money and left.”

“Didn’t say anything to you?”

“He said ‘thank you, George. Thank you, very much. I love you.’” The old man’s eyes watered. “I do believe he meant it.”

“I’m sure he did.” Decker hesitated, then said, “By the way, this lost brother of Darrell’s…was his name Richard…Ricky for short?”

George went wide-eyed. “How’d you know that?”

“A guess, sir.” Decker patted the butler’s rounded shoulder. “Just a guess.”

Decker looked up
from Merv Baldwin’s computer. “How many years was Moke on the payroll?” he asked.

“Officially?” Oliver put down one accounting ledger and picked up another. “I’ve got six checks made out to him, the earliest one dating three years ago.”

“For how much again?” Decker asked. “Five G’s per check? Don’t look at me like that, Oliver. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

Oliver tried to soften his sneer. “The first one was for fifteen hundred, then two, then twenty-five, then five, then seventy-five. The last one was ten grand. That was dated six months ago. Maybe Moke had asked for even more and Baldwin finally balked.”

“You’re talking about the female Baldwin, right?” Marge was seated in front of Dee’s computer. “She wrote the checks to Moke.”

Oliver said, “Yeah, I’m talking about Dee.”

“But Dee didn’t write most of the business checks,” Decker said.

“Correct,” Oliver said. “Merv did most of the accounting—”

“Correction,” Maryam Estes broke in. “The accountant did most of the accounting. Merv just signed the checks.”

Decker looked at her. “How do you know that?”

She moved her head back and forth in twitchy little motions. “I had a couple of questions about my salary check. Merv told me to take it up with the accountant.”

“What kind of questions?” Marge asked.

“It was nothing serious. Dee forgot to pay me for a few extra hours when I filled in for her in group therapy. She wasn’t the best bookkeeper in the world. So I went to Mervin about it. It was all straightened out very quickly.”

“Who signed your salary check?” Oliver asked.

“Dr. Baldwin…Merv did.”

“Even though you worked mainly for Dee,” Marge commented. “See, that’s my point. Merv did most of the signing, but not when it came to Moke. Dee took care of Moke. I think she was the one who hired him on. She may have even kept her husband in the dark about him.”

“All the checks were drawn from the same account,” Oliver told her. “So even if it wasn’t Merv’s idea to hire on Moke, he should have known what was going on. The checks were for large amounts.”

Maryam gave out an exasperated sigh and stuck a novel in front of her face. Decker smiled at Marge, who smiled at Oliver. They had spread out over the entire office. The Baldwins’ partners desk was filled with patient files, stubs, ledgers, appointment books, and piles of papers. Oliver was doing the scut work, sorting and collating all the loose pages, Marge was at the computer, sifting through Dee Baldwin’s electronic files, and Decker was scrolling down files on Merv Baldwin’s desktop.

Meanwhile, Maryam made a weak stab at distancing herself, pretending to either be reading or doing her own paperwork. Her cell phone was ringing so much that Marge had asked her to turn it off. Every so often, Oliver stole a glance at the psychologist’s face. She was nervous and taut, not an ounce of slack anywhere on her face. She spoke up frequently, especially when she felt her bosses were being unfairly attacked. Oliver had dropped hints about the length of the investigation, inviting her to go home. But she clearly had
a mission: to protect the Baldwins’ previously unblemished reputation.

Both Oliver and Marge had tried to stay clear of her. The loo, on the other hand, seemed impervious to her brittleness.

“Your bosses weren’t very organized,” he had complained.

She had glared at him with wet eyes. “I’d pass on the message except I doubt that it would do any good!”

Decker stared at the blinking computer icon. The files were mundane—business spreadsheets and patient notes. Marge was right about one thing: Moke did seem to be Dee’s responsibility. He had yet to find anything on Merv’s file as to what Moke was being paid for.

He looked up from the monitor. “The checks started three years ago. Holt came on with PEI about four years ago. So they took about a year to develop whatever racket they had going.”

Maryam couldn’t contain herself. “You’re wrong!” She had colored with indignation. “You are so way off—”

“Nah, not way off,” Decker answered. “Darrell Holt/Ricky Moke was either blackmailing Dee or doing some kind of illegal service for her or both. And if Holt was blackmailing, it implies that the Baldwins had done something bad. And you already know what my guess is, so I won’t bother repeating myself.”

“For the fiftieth time,” Maryam said, “you can’t hack into the Educational Testing Services to get advance copies of the SATs or any other test. They have their own nerve center that is not connected to anything on-line!”

Decker said, “And for the fiftieth time, I’m saying that there was probably an ETS insider who’s downloading from the nerve center onto either the Baldwins’ computer system or maybe Holt’s computer system—”

“You’ve gone through the files—”

“Not all the files.” Marge sighed.

Decker said, “Besides, we’re not a professional hacker.” He blew out air. “Maybe we should just take all this equipment back to the station house—”

“There are patient files in those computers!” Maryam protested. “Your search warrants allow you to search, not to steal. This is an incredible invasion of privacy—”

“Doctor—”

“Why would the Baldwins do that?” the psychologist cried out. “Risk everything that they had worked for? You know the Baldwins’ success record started way before three years ago! They’ve maintained a lead in the field of test preparation for at least ten years!”

“Competition is fierce,” Marge said. “You said that yourself.”

“Competition among students, not among psychologists. The Baldwins were in a class by themselves. Your assumptions are…you don’t even know that this Moke and that horrible man Holt are the same person.”

“How much do you want to bet?” Marge spoke dryly.

Maryam rolled her eyes. “That’s very juvenile.”

“Wanna know my opinion?” Oliver said.

“I suppose I’m going to hear it whether I like it or not.”

“Dee needed to stay on top of this testing thing because she needed to charge top dollar.” Oliver picked up a stack of papers—credit card bills. “The woman had good but expensive tastes. There are charges from Gucci, Tiffany, Armani, Valentino, Escada, Zegna—that must be for the mister—”

“Not to mention the remodel on their house in Beverly Hills,” Marge added. “And the ten grand a month to rent a beach condo—”

“So where are these mysterious SAT files?” Maryam asked. “You have no evidence!”

“We’ll find them,” Decker muttered. “Maybe not me, but someone will. Even if they had been erased, there are thousands of ways to retrieve it. Well, maybe not thousands—”

“You don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Maryam chastised.

“Neither do you,” Decker retorted. “If Dee Baldwin was paying someone to hack into private files, you’ll be lucky if you get out of this without your reputation besmirched. You
might want to consider hiring a mouthpiece. You’re part of the practice, Doctor.”

Again, tears pooled up in Maryam’s eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

“Just trying to be helpful—”

“Well, you’re not!” Maryam buried herself in a book, but her shaking leg indicated that she was anything but calm. Finally she put down the novel. “I’m going to take a walk. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

Decker nodded.

In a huff, she left the office. As soon as Marge heard the door slam, she sighed in relief. “Thank God!”

“Don’t bother,” Oliver said. “She’s probably hiding behind the wall, trying to eavesdrop.”

“You think so?”

“Go check it out.”

“Ah.” Marge waved him off. “Let her listen in.” She slid back into the desk chair and rolled backward a couple of feet. “You know, Pete, after hearing George’s story, I kind of feel sorry for Holt.”

“Even if he’s a mass murderer?”

“Yeah, well, maybe not.”

“If it’s even true,” Decker said.

Oliver looked up. “I thought you said the old man seemed honest.”

“He did,” Decker said. “Now I’m just wondering if he’s maybe exaggerating. You know, trying to create sympathy because he knows that Holt’s in deep water.”

“Doesn’t seem like it would be too hard to check out George’s tale,” Oliver said.

“How?” Decker asked. “The mother is supposedly dead. Who knows what happened to the kid?” He rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. “I suppose we should concentrate on finding Holt first.”

Marge said, “I sure hope we’re right about this…about Holt and Moke being the same person. If not, we’re gonna look awfully stupid.”

Oliver said, “These letters that you got from Karl. Are you sure they’re legit?”

“I don’t know why they wouldn’t be,” Decker said.

“Whole thing could be a setup,” Oliver said. “Maybe Karl did it and is framing Ruby Ranger.”

Decker did a slow burn. “First off, Karl hated Ruby. Secondly, why would he kill his brother?”

Oliver shrugged. “Okay. So maybe he doesn’t know who killed his brother, but he’s framing Ruby because he hated her.”

Decker hedged. “The kid isn’t that Machiavellian.”

“What about Ernesto?” Marge asked. “Was he in on the scam?”

Decker said, “I’m not sure. All of Ruby’s letters to him held veiled threats or worse. It’s possible Ernesto may have had a change of heart and was thinking about blowing the whistle on this entire thing. And that’s what did him in.”

“So this kid, who vandalized a synagogue and painted swastikas, had this big change of heart?” Marge was dubious.

“I talked to Ernesto a few times,” Decker said. “He felt bad about the incident. That combined with Ruby warning him not to do anything he may regret.” He mulled over ideas. “Maybe that’s what he was doing in the tent at three in the morning talking to Merv Baldwin, giving the doc the low-down on his wife’s scam—”

Oliver blurted out, “Or threatening to go to the police if Merv didn’t pay him hush money.”

“And that’s why Holt popped them all?” Marge made a face.

“Why not?” Oliver said. “They were all a threat to him. They knew about Holt’s scam.”

“Then that would mean that Ruby Ranger’s a threat as well,” Marge said.

“Unless she’s in on it,” Decker said.

“So how did Holt and Ruby Ranger hook up?”

Decker said, “They were both up at Berkeley at the same time.”

Oliver said, “Holt’s older, right?”

“Two years,” Decker said.

“So Darrell has been in L.A. for the last four years. They only had a year up there in common.”

“Maybe they met down here,” Marge said. “Didn’t your son say something about Ruby being interested in Nazis or supremacist groups?”

“She made comments about Hitler being a hero or something. I don’t remember the exact words. Could be she once flirted with PEI.”

Oliver broke in, “This is what I don’t understand. How can Holt be a mouthpiece for a group that basically fronts for white supremacy when he’s part black?”

Marge said, “Holt hated his black father because Daddy sent away his mother and his brother. So Holt denied his black heritage and identified with the victim—his mother—who was white.”

“Not at first,” Decker said. “He was a typical Berkeley radical.”

“But he went through a big metamorphosis. In the end, he sided with Mommy because she was the underdog, and Dad was a bastard.”

“I didn’t say his father was a bastard.”

“You said he was a schmuck,” Oliver added.

“Yeah, but his wife might have been horrible, too.”

“Maybe bad as a wife, but maybe she was a good mother. And Darrell really never got a chance to find out who she was, because she and Darrell’s brother were exiled.” Marge rolled herself back to the computer. “You like my explanation? I’ve been working it over in my mind for the last hour.”

“Freud would be proud,” Decker said.

“No, really.” Marge was emphatic. “Doesn’t it make sense?”

“It floats my boat,” Oliver stated.

Decker said, “We’re never going to be able to break all these files here. We need professionals.”

“I second that,” Marge said. “But she’s not going to let us
take the computers unless we invent a good reason to do so.” She thought a moment. “We need Holt. You don’t think the father was holding back?”

Decker shrugged. His cell phone went off. He pushed the green send button. “Decker.”

“Erin Kershan’s real name is Erin Beller.” Wanda’s voice was filled with excitement. “She’s a fifteen-year-old runaway from Scarsdale, New York. Her parents have been looking for her for six months. She’s run away before but only for a week at a time. This last time, she flew the coop with some lowlife biker that she had met in Woodstock, New York, while on a family vacation.”

“Any clue as to where she might be right now?”

“Yes. They have relatives here in L.A.—in Brentwood. Relatives they don’t like.” Wanda gave him the address. “The Bellers had called the Frammels—the Brentwood relatives—just to let them know that Erin was missing and would they please call if she showed up. Of course, the Frammels said that they would contact them if she showed.”

“But so far there’s been no contact.”

“Exactly. But lack of contact with the parents doesn’t mean that Erin isn’t there now.”

“And you did instruct the Bellers not to call their relatives in Brentwood.”

“Yes. I did. I told them that if they gave Erin a heads-up, both of us would lose her. The parents didn’t like it—they want to talk to her—but they’re cooperating for now.”

“I’m not too far from Brentwood,” Decker said. “Maybe I should pay them a
surprise
visit.”

“I think that would be a very good idea, sir.”

Alice Ranger was as thin as ever, her face made even more severe by layers of foundation that gave her a ghostly appearance. The makeup looked newly applied, as if she were planning on going somewhere. If that were the case, she gave no indication of being in a hurry. On the contrary, she acted welcoming, as if the visit from Martinez and Webster were a so
cial call. A brown knitted pantsuit hung on her bony frame; her feet were bare with toenails painted eggplant purple.

“Come in, come in.” Acting like old friends. “Would you like something to drink?”

Webster shook his head, but Martinez told her that water would be nice. He came from a culture that considered it an insult to refuse hospitality.