Faye Kellerman - Decker 05 - False Prophet Page 9

  "I'm well aware of that." Decker stood. "I'll go up with you... sec if Lilah's up for talking."

  "And if she isn't?"

  "I'll come back tomorrow."

  "I'll phone the nurse's station and find out if Lilah's up," Brecht said. "Save you a trip if she's still sleeping."

  Decker hesitated.

  "Or you can make the call, if you'd like," Brecht suggested.

  Decker pointed Brecht to the house phone in the cafeteria. Brecht made a quick call, then hung up.

  "She's still sleeping."

  Decker evaluated his face and felt he was telling the truth. Even if he wasn't, he couldn't get much of an interview from Lilah with

  Freddy standing over his shoulder. Maybe it would be better if he came back tomorrow, refreshed from a good night's sleep. He thanked Brecht for his time. Only thing left to do was running Lilah's bagged clothes over to forensics. Then his working day

  was over.

  The house was deserted. Almost seven and no dinner on the table, no sons greeting him with a hug at the door, no wife taking his coat and nonexistent hat, and no dog bringing him the paper.

  His fantasy of marriage—shattered in a single blow.

  "Yo," he called out. "Anybody live here?"

  He walked into the kitchen. Empty. Then he looked out the back window. Rina was barbecuing, tending the fire with savoir-faire. She wore a denim shift under a white butcher's apron. She was laughing and her long black hair was loose and blowing in the wind. The boys were racing the horses, yarmulkes flapping as they cantered, profiles burnished by the sinking sun. Ginger was chasing after them, panting and yelping, enjoying the exercise.

  Domestic bliss, except he wasn't in the picture.

  He went outside.

  "You made it!" Rina kissed his cheek. Her skin smcllcd of hickory smoke. "Go change. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes."

  He glanced at the grill—marinated skirt steaks. Rina had also made coleslaw and macaroni salad, and had a couple of bottles of Dos Equis on ice. The patio table had been set for four so at least she'd been expecting him home. "I didn't know they made maternity aprons."

  "I must look like a tent."

  "A beautiful tent. I'll live inside of you any day of the year." He hugged her from behind. "How are you feeling?"

  "Fine. I took a nap after you left."

  "I like that. You should be babying yourself while you can."

  She turned around and hugged him as best she could. "Arc you okay?"

  "Sure."

  "You seem wound up. You're walking stiffly." She reached up and gently squeezed the nape of his neck. "Oh, you're all tight, Peter."

  "Occupational hazard."

  "Want a massage?"

  "Later, thanks." He picked up a beer bottle, then noticed cans of soda sharing the cooler space. Coke. With caffeine. He shifted his weight, trying to appear casual. "You allowed to drink this stuff while you're pregnant?"

  "I stay off soft drinks. Bad for the weight. Besides, Coke has caffeine and I don't drink caffeine. That's why I don't drink your coffee in the morning anymore." She smiled impishly. "Or hadn't you noticed, Peter?"

  He hadn't and felt stupid because of it.

  Sammy, the older of the two boys, spied his stepfather from afar and waved. "Hey, Peter, look at me."

  He began racing his horse at top speed toward the edge of the mountain. Jacob, seeing his brother hogging parental attention, kicked the flanks of his horse and tried to catch up with him.

  Cupping his hands, Decker yelled out, "Good going, boys. Keep it up." He turned to Rina. "They're having fun."

  "You sound envious. Why don't you join them?"

  Decker hesitated. His arm and shoulder were throbbing. He'd forgotten to take his afternoon dose of analgesics, but wasn't about to do it in front of Rina. "Nah, it's okay. I'll keep you company."

  "Don't be silly, Peter. Go ahead."

  "I said it's okay."

  "Is your shoulder bother—"

  "My shoulder's fine, Rina. Just peachy!"

  Rina looked down.

  Swell, he thought. She was hurt. He felt bad for sniping at her, but he was sick of her asking, sick of telling her it was okay when it wasn't. Why didn't she stop asking?

  Why didn't he stop calling his daughter?

  "Cindy phone?"

  "No, she didn't."

  "Super."

  Rina took his hand but didn't say anything. Cindy was hurting him and there wasn't a thing she could do about it. She couldn't even comfort him. As with his gunshot wound, the topic of his daughter was off limits. "Rabbi Schulman called about an hour ago. He's expecting you in his study at nine tonight."

  "I'll be there."

  "He also told me that he'd asked another man to join you two. A ba'al tshuvah who's in a lower shiur—"

  "Someone is actually below me?"

  Rina didn't answer, hating it when he denigrated himself. His progress in Torah studies was yet another taboo subject. Judaism was a hard religion for a newcomer. Even though Peter had made such marvelous advances, he was still uncomfortable with his newfound faith—nervous about what he didn't know instead of praising himself for what he did. He was so smart. If only he could just relax and enjoy his God-given brains. "Rav Schulman asked me to ask you if that's okay. He thought you'd be the perfect role model for the new kid on the block."

  "Fine."

  His face was impassive as he rebuffed the compliment. Rina looped her arm around his waist. "You want me to run you a hot bath?"

  "Thanks, darlin', but I'll wait until after dinner to bathe."

  Again, he stared longingly at the boys. Rina knew he was caught between a desire to ride and the pain the activity might inflict.

  Jacob shouted to his stepfather. "Look, Peter." He took off for the mountain again.

  "I wish they wouldn't ride so fast," Rina said.

  "They're okay."

  "Maybe you should go out there and supervise them. Why don't you take White Diamond, Peter? She's gentle. She shouldn't jostle you too badly."

  Between clenched teeth, Decker said, "I told you I'm fine."

  Rina sighed. "So you did. Rather forcefully, I might add."

  "Okay." He ran his fingers through his hair. "Okay, I'll be honest. Maybe my arm hurts a little." With that admission, he pulled out two Advil tablets and gulped them down with a swig of beer. "I'll be fine in a few minutes, but right now I'm a tad uncomfortable. You win. I emoted. Are you happy?"

  "I'm still in a state of shock."

  Decker laughed and threw his left arm around her. "You're a good sport, know that?"

  "Yes, I know that."

  "I try."

  The boys headed up the mountain.

  "You're going too far!" Rina yelled. "Come back!"

  Ignoring their mother's pleas, they rode farther on the steep trails.

  "Peter, tell them to stop!"

  "They're having fun."

  "It's getting dark. They're going to get lost."

  "They'll be fine, darlin'. Stop worrying."

  "I'm not worried, I'm concerned. There's a difference."

  "All right," Decker groused. "I can see you won't relax until I go after them. I won't even bother to change my clothes. Will that make you happy, Rina?"

  "If your arm—" She stopped herself. "Yes, that will make me happy, Peter."

  "Swell." He planted a kiss on her forehead and muttered as he walked away. But inside he was thrilled that she'd given him an excuse to saddle up. And no White Diamond for Cowboy Pete. The hell with the pain, he was going for Cobra, the biggest damn stallion in the stable. Up on the mount—man, he was king. But damned if he'd tell Rina how he felt. He'd emoted enough for one day.

  What better way to start the day than with a bowl of wheat flakes and twenty-five files of registered sex offenders. As Decker scanned the rap sheets, Rina poured him a glass of orange juice. She glanced down at the table. A scowling mug shot met her eye.

  "At least they're
not morgue pictures."

  Decker looked up. "I can do this later."

  "No, I'm fine." She wrinkled her nose. "I think. Must be a big case if you're working at home."

  "Nothing out of the ordinary as far as the crime goes." Decker pushed his cereal bowl away. "But the brass think there's potential for publicity. Foothill's a tad camera-shy since the King beating."

  Rina sat down and picked up a spoonful of soggy flakes. "If you're going to make the world safe, you must get adequate nutrition. Open up."

  Decker smiled, took the spoon, but didn't cat. He aligned the papers and placed them in his briefcase. Rina frowned.

  "No one's blaming everyone in the division, Peter."

  "Ah c'mon," Decker snapped. "The entire police force has been tarred with the same ugly brush. Makes me Jurious at the guys who did it. And deep down inside, I get furious at myself, too. Because truthfully, I remember times when I felt pretty damn inhumane."

  "But you didn't act like an animal. That's the difference." Rina took his hand. "Your guilt is irrational, Peter. They beat the guy.

  you didn't. It was horrible, it was sickening. But you had nothing to do with it!"

  "Collective responsibility. Whole department's sinking under the weight. You know Morrison. He's not the type to get hands-on with my cases. Do you know he's called Marge and me four times with this current case. No direct pressure, just wanted to know if we've got something. Because, like I said, it's a case that could get some public attention. Before Rodney King, he wouldn't have given a hoot. A crime was a crime was a crime, no matter who was involved."

  "So he's a little more hands-on," Rina said. "That's not terrible... as long as he's not an obstacle."

  "Yeah, well, there's a fine line between being hands-on and being a stumbling block." Decker threw up his hands. "I'm just nattering. Don't pay any attention to me."

  "Of course I pay attention to you," Rina said. "I love you and worry about you."

  Decker smiled and patted her hand. "I'll be fine."

  "That was an 'I don't want to worry Rina' smile."

  "So what's wrong with that?" Decker said.

  "You worry too much."

  "I ain't gonna change."

  "I didn't ask you to."

  Decker caught Lilah just as she was about to tumble to the floor. With one hand around her tiny waist, he carefully led her back to her hospital bed and she crawled under the sheets. She seemed so frail. With a Kleenex, she wiped the cold sweat off her forehead and peered directly into his eyes.

  "You seem to have made a habit of rescuing me." Decker didn't answer. Her voice was sultry and bored at the same time, like a Tennessee Williams character. He regarded her face. The swelling below her eyes had gone down, though the skin was still black. It was the first time he'd seen her eyes open. The whites were bloodshot, the irises bright blue. Her lips were covered with something waxy, but the cuts underneath looked to be healing nicely. Her flaxen hair fell over one eye, cascading down to her bare shoulders. Her skin was pale except for a tinge of red over pronounced cheekbones.

  He pulled up a chair and sat to the right of the bed. She shifted

  to her left until their faces were no more than a foot apart. Just like yesterday, he felt some desperation in her, a need for something to hold. But there was something unhealthy about the way she was asking for comfort. He inched back in his scat, trying to regain a margin of personal space.

  "You know who I am then," Decker said.

  "Sergeant Deckman, was it?"

  "Decker. Very good. You must have heard a lot more than 1 thought. It's good to see you talking, Miss Brecht."

  Her eyes glazed over. "Thank you." Her voice was a throaty whisper. She flung hair over her shoulders. "Thank you for saving my life."

  "I didn't exactly do that, but you're welcome. Everyone treating you all right?"

  "This hospital is dreadful."

  "Most hospitals are. Nature of the beast."

  "Well, let it be a beast for some other poor soul. I'm leaving tonight."

  Decker paused. "Dr. Kessler's discharging you already?"

  "I'm checking out either with a discharge or against medical advice. Freddy will take care of me." Her eyes found his. "I understand you've met Freddy."

  "Yesterday while you were asleep."

  "He didn't like your questions. He thought you had a hidden agenda."

  "Not at all. Just being thorough."

  "Freddy is distrustful. It's a trait he's picked up from Mother."

  "I hope you trust me enough to answer a few questions. Miss Brecht."

  Lilah lowered her eyes and nodded.

  "Are you in a lot of pain?" Decker asked.

  "It's not the physical, but emotion..."

  She burst into tears. Decker handed her a box of Kleenex and waited. Ordinarily, he might have patted her hand or shoulder. But something stopped him from touching this woman.

  "I'm very sorry," he finally said. "I really want to find the bastard who did this to you."

  "Bastards," she said. "There were two of them."

  "You're sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Only two?"

  "Yes. Just two."

  "Were you asleep when they came into your bedroom?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you hear them come in?"

  "Hear them?"

  "Did they wake you up?"

  She looked down. "This is going to be harder than I thought."

  "Take your time, Miss Brecht—"

  "Lilah!" she interrupted. "I'm sorry. Just... please. Call me Lilah. The... distance... the formality. I need to feel close to you. To be able to tell you... do you understand?"

  Decker nodded.

  "Do you have a first name?"

  "Peter."

  "Peter," she repeated, then looked away. "Do you do these kinds of interviews often, Peter?"

  "I've dealt with many sexual-assault cases."

  "How do you do it?"

  Decker raised his brow. "They're hard on me, but not as hard as they are for the survivors. I get a good deal of satisfaction when I apprehend a perpetrator. I like putting bad people behind bars. And that's what I'd like to do here. But to do that, I need your help."

  She met his eyes, then retreated. "I woke up... and then... this... something was on top of me, smothering me."

  "Literally?"

  She shook her head. "There wasn't anything over my face... just this horrible presence crushing down. And then the gun. It was... terrifying."

  "Did you scream?"

  "I was in shock! Should I have screamed? Did I do something wrong?"

  "No, you acted perfectly—"

  "I should have done something."

  "You did do something, Lilah. You survived. That was all you had to do and you did it."

  Again her eyes moistened. "You say the most perfect things, Peter. Thank you!" She grabbed his hand. "Thank you so much!"

  That familiar grip. He waited a beat, gave her a light squeeze, then wriggled out. Her eyes held his for a moment, throwing him off balance. He looked down at his notepad. "Did you happen to

  catch a glimpse of either of your attackers?"

  She closed her eyes and seemed to enter a trance. "I see them perfectly. The first one is slight, dark-complexioned, blue eyes, black hair, thick eyebrows, a mole right under his lower lip. High cheekbones, thinnish lips, prominent chin but no cleft, birdlikc neck..." She opened her eyes. "You're not writing. Am I talking too fast, Peter?"

  Decker said, "I'm a little confused."

  Lilah looked puzzled. "How so?"

  "Miss Brec— Uh, Lilah, you're giving me a lot of detail—"

  "Faces—as well as bodies—are my business, Peter."

  "I'd like to ask a police artist to come down. I want you to describe your attackers to him."