Authors: Faye Kellerman
T
ULLY’S SCRAP HAD
been a fixture in the west hills for almost forty years. It was currently under the care of Caleb “Audi” Sayd, a twenty-eight-year-old dude whose ancestry might have once been Egyptian, but now he was pure California twang. He stood around six feet, a hundred eighty pounds, black hair, and dark eyes. His uniform of choice was low-rider jeans, a white T-shirt, and combat boots. He stood with his arms folded across his chest, his hands tucked under his armpits. He shook his head when Decker showed him the picture of Terry McLaughlin.
“Never seen her before,” Audi said.
“You’re sure?” Eliza Slaughter asked.
Audi hit the picture. “That face…I’d remember her if I saw her.”
They were standing in an ocean of junked, gutted, and flattened cars. Most of them hadn’t seen any road time in many a moon. The piece of metal that they were interested in was a gutted and compressed silver frame that gave hint to a Mercedes E550 in a former life. It had jumped out at Eliza like a frog on meth.
Decker viewed the hunk of metal. “What can you tell me about it? From the lack of rust, it looks like a new one.”
“It is new,” Audi said. “That got my attention. You don’t usually scrap a good car.”
“So you were suspicious,” Eliza asked.
“Of course I was suspicious. It wasn’t brought in by one of my main contacts.”
“Do you know who brought it in?”
“Never seen the guy before. But he had the pink slip and I checked it out with the DMV before I gave him an offer. It was all legit.”
“You have a name?” Decker asked.
“The paperwork’s in my office.” Audi pointed to a trailer. “Last name was Jones.”
“First name?”
“Don’t remember. Don’t know if I ever knew it.”
“What’d he look like?” Eliza asked.
“Dark complexion. Dark straight hair, brown eyes. Shorter and thinner than I am.”
“Hispanic?”
“Could be. He had a slight accent, but I couldn’t place it.”
“Mideastern?”
“No, ma’am, that I would be able to place.”
“When did he bring it in?”
“Uh, last Saturday or Sunday. I have the date.”
“Saturday or Sunday?”
Decker asked.
“Yeah, it was over the weekend.”
That certainly threw a monkey wrench into Decker’s thinking. Now he was wondering if he even had the right car. “How was he dressed?”
“Like a mechanic—overalls, T-shirt. But his nails were clean. Hands were soft like he’d never done manual labor in his life. Odd, but hey, we’re always getting stories.”
“So what was his story?”
“Something about the car being a heap of bad memories with his ex-wife or girlfriend. It sounded like bull, but like I said, everything checked out with his ownership.”
“So you didn’t question?” Eliza asked.
“In this business you deal with a lot of weirdos. Who else deals in car parts and scrap metal?” He began to tick off his fingers. “If the car hasn’t been boosted, hasn’t been used in a crime, hasn’t been owned by someone associated with crime, and the ownership is legit, you don’t question. I don’t want any trouble, Detective.”
“How much did you pay him?” Decker said.
“I gave him a lowball offer and he took it. He didn’t care about the money, what he wanted was the car trashed and junked ASAP. He came back to make sure it was done and asked me to hide it in the middle of the lot. I told him that would cost a little extra and he agreed. After he got what he wanted, he walked away from it.”
“What did you do with the parts?”
“He towed in the shell. Don’t know what happened to the car’s guts.”
“And you never did business with him before?” Eliza asked.
“I’d tell you if I did.”
Decker said, “Could you look up Mr. Jones for me? A first name would be helpful.”
“Sure.” The three of them walked over to the trailer and stepped through the door. Inside it was hot, with several humming fans going at once. Furnishings included a desk that held several neat piles of paperwork, a desk chair, four folding chairs, and a bank of files. Audi sat down and drank water out of a Big Gulp cup. He picked up one of the stacks of paper and found what he was looking for right away. He handed the yellow invoice to Decker. “Here you go.”
“Thanks.” The first thing that Decker noticed was that the date corresponded to last Saturday—the day before Terry had disappeared. So maybe he was off base. The client’s name was Atik Jones. “Unusual first name.”
“What is it?”
“Atik,” Decker said.
“Doesn’t sound familiar. He probably didn’t tell it to me.”
“So how’d you write it down on the invoice?”
“I got it from the pink slip. I’ll get it for you.” Audi swiveled his desk chair around and began rooting through files. A moment later,
he was puzzled. “I can’t find it. I musta misfiled something. Give me the invoice again.”
Decker handed it back to him. Audi wrote down some numbers and again hunted through the files. “I goofed up something. Man, that’s annoying. Let me start at the beginning of
J
. It may take me a few minutes. I got a lot of them.”
“We’ll wait,” Eliza said.
After several minutes, Audi said, “Okay, okay, here we go. I got the name wrong on the invoice. I could have sworn he told me Jones.”
He gave the pink slip to Decker. The name wasn’t Jones but Jains. Atik Jains. Decker thought a moment. “Could this guy have been Indian?”
“Like a Navaho?”
“Like an Indian from India. Jain or Jains is an Indian name.”
Audi nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what he was. He was from India.”
Decker looked at the pink slip. “Can we get a copy of the pink slip and the invoice from your fax machine?”
“Sure.” As Audi copied the papers, Decker spoke to Eliza. “Jains owned the car for six weeks. And then he junked it on Saturday.”
“Saturday?”
“That’s what the invoice said.”
“If he owned the car for six weeks and junked it before Terry disappeared, do we even have the right car?”
“I don’t know. But I do know that Teresa McLaughlin moved out here six weeks ago,” Decker said. “We have the VIN number from the pink slip. That should help trace its history.”
Audi handed Eliza the copies. “Anything else?”
“Yes, actually.” Decker pulled out a picture of Chris Donatti. “Ever see this guy before?”
Audi’s gaze shifted to the photograph then back to Decker’s face. “Tall guy about your size?”
Decker felt his heartbeat quicken. “Yep.”
“Yeah, he was here…looking older than the picture.”
“He is older than the picture. When was he here?”
“A day or two ago. He was poking around when I came into work.”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t buy anything, didn’t sell me anything. Just looked around. When he left, he gave me a fifty for letting him hunt around.” He grinned. “Just peeled it off a big wad like he’d done it a thousand times before. I expected him to tell me to keep his visit between the two of us, but he didn’t say anything like that. Just gave me the fifty and said thanks.”
“How long was he here?”
“About an hour.”
“And he didn’t tell you anything about the purpose of his visit?” Eliza asked.
“Nope. Another weirdo, but I’m used to them.”
“If he comes again, can you give me a call?” Decker gave him his card and Eliza did likewise. “And unlike Mr. Donatti, I’m telling you to keep this visit between us. Don’t tell him that you’ve spoken to either Detective Slaughter or me.”
“Donatti?”
Decker nodded.
“Guy’s Italian?” Audi made a face. “He sure didn’t look Italian. Is he like a criminal Mafia guy or something?”
“Right now, he’s just a person of interest,” Eliza said.
“Interested in what?” Audi said. “The card says you’re from homicide.”
“That’s why you don’t tell him anything,” Decker said. “He might react funny.”
“Funny how?”
Decker made a finger gun and pulled an imaginary trigger.
“So he’s dangerous?”
“Especially when riled. And right now, knowing what I know, I’d say he’s pretty worked up.”
“MANDY’S NOT WORKING
today.”
Oliver and Marge were talking to Hilly McKennick, the head
nurse on the eighth floor, which housed the thoracic/cardiac care unit. Hilly was in her forties, a gamine-like woman with wide-set brown eyes, a thin nose, Cupid’s-bow lips, and boy-cut short platinum hair. Mandy Kowalski had been doing Intensive Care for the last six months and Hilly had only laudatory things to say about her.
“When was the last time she was on shift?” Marge asked.
“I think she did a double shift on Sunday/Monday so she could have yesterday and today off.”
“Why did she change her schedule?”
“I don’t know. She just asked for the time and I was able to accommodate her. Mandy never asks for any favors. In general, she works like a dog, picking up the slack when I need it. Since she asked for this one favor, I figured I’d help her out.”
“You like her,” Oliver stated.
“We’re not friends per se, but she’s dedicated.” Hilly paused. “Too much, I think. Most of us who work intensively need a break. Gardening is my refuge. I’m a fixture at the local camellia nursery. Camellias are my passion. Janice loves to ski. Darla sings at a local bar where she lives. Mandy was all work. No hobbies, not even a boyfriend that I’ve ever met. Since she asked for a few days off, I was hoping that maybe she had something brewing. But I didn’t ask.”
“What about girlfriends?” Marge asked.
“Well, I know she and Adrianna went to nursing school together. I’ve seen them eating lunch together, so maybe they were close. I know that when she heard about Adrianna, she broke down. I asked her if she wanted time off, but she declined.”
Hilly looked pensive and Oliver asked her about it.
“I was worried,” the head nurse said. “I felt a little strange having her work such an intensive unit when she was upset. But she did her usual fine job and left.”
Marge showed Hilly a black-and-white snapshot. “Would you say that this woman is Mandy Kowalski?”
Hilly stared at the black and white. “It’s fuzzy.”
“It was taken off of a tape from a security camera.”
“Maybe.” Hilly studied it carefully. She picked her head up. “Why?”
“This was pulled from a camera in the emergency vehicle area,” Oliver told her. “If this is Mandy, we’re just wondering what she was doing there.”
“I have no idea,” Hilly said.
“So she wasn’t assigned to that area.”
“No, not at all. So maybe it isn’t her. But even if it is her, why would it matter?”
“Just trying to place everyone on the Monday of Adrianna’s death,” Marge said. “This picture was taken on Monday. We’re trying to narrow down the time frame from the end of Adrianna’s shift until the body was discovered.”
Oliver said, “Right now, we’ve got a blank between eight in the morning and two in the afternoon.” The head nurse appeared troubled. Oliver asked her what was on her mind. “Now’s not the time to hold back.”
Hilly bit her thumbnail. “The day of Adrianna’s death, the two of them were having coffee together…in the cafeteria. So it’s not like it was a secret or anything.”
Marge shot Oliver a look. “Do you remember the time?”
“It was morning. I remember smelling the bacon.”
“Did you say anything to them?”
Hilly looked down. “This is so strange to remember this just now. I didn’t say anything to them, but I was annoyed. Mandy shouldn’t have been on break. It was actually my break time. I remember being short-staffed because I couldn’t find her. I figured she just went to the bathroom because she’s usually so responsible. So I went downstairs to grab a bagel. I was starving. When I saw her talking to Adrianna, I was peeved. I pointed to my watch and Mandy got up right away. She apologized later on and I told her to forget it. I knew she was working a double shift and chalked it up to fatigue, that maybe she needed a caffeine pit stop.”
Marge was scribbling on her notepad. “Is there any way you can approximate a time?”
“Let me think…I signed back in at nine-fifteen. So it was around then. Does that help?”
“We just gained another hour!” Marge said in triumph.
“Any idea what they were talking about?” Oliver asked Hilly.
“No. But I do remember Mandy looking sheepish when she saw me, probably because I had silently reprimanded her.” Again, Hilly paused. “You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I don’t know what they were talking about, but the conversation was intense. When I first walked in and saw them together, Mandy didn’t even notice. And when she saw me, she blushed. Clearly, she knew she shouldn’t have been on break.”
“Intense in what way?” Marge said.
“Mandy was leaning over the table and Adrianna was talking with her hands. But I only had a chance to observe them for a couple of seconds.”
“And Adrianna was doing the talking?”
Hilly nodded. “She seemed upset. Maybe that’s why I didn’t come down too hard. Mandy, as usual, was trying to help.”
“Would you have Mandy’s home address?” Oliver said. “If Adrianna was upset, maybe Mandy could tell us what was upsetting her.”
“Didn’t you already talk to Mandy?”
Marge said, “We did. But Mandy didn’t mention having coffee with Adrianna. Now we’re curious why.”
Hilly said, “It was out in the open. It wasn’t clandestine or anything like that.”
“Which makes us all the more curious why she didn’t mention it to us,” Oliver said.
“I suppose even if I didn’t give you her address, you could get it from another source,” Hilly told them. “So I might as well make it easy on you.”
“That would be lovely,” Oliver said.
“You’ve been very open,” Marge said. “We appreciate that.”
“That’s my family style…to be open. It has pluses and minuses. Often, I put my foot in my mouth. But the flip side is I’ll never get a stress ulcer.”
O
VER THE PHONE,
Marge said to Decker, “She’s not answering her cell and she’s not answering the door.”
“Where does she live?”
“She has a condo about two miles from the hospital.”
“She’s entitled not to be home at five in the evening. Maybe she went out for an early dinner and turned off her phone.” He paused. “It’s warm outside. Do you smell anything weird?”
“Just the faint hint of cat piss outside the door.”
“Can you see inside at all?”
“Window shades are drawn. No pry marks on the front door and windows.”
“Leave your card,” Decker said. “If you don’t hear from her in a couple of hours, you can go back.”
“Oliver and I are going back to Garage. We’ll grab some dinner there.”
“You’re going to question Crystal Larabee again?”
“That and hunt around for the mystery man that Adrianna was talking to. Maybe someone will remember him.”
“It’s a little early for the bar crowd,” Decker remarked.
“That’s the point,” Marge said. “The earlier we arrive, the more likely we’ll find gray matter hasn’t been obliterated by alcohol.”
BY THE TIME
the two of them had put away all the chairs and cleaned up, Hannah’s Volvo was the lone car in a poorly lit parking lot that sat across the street from the school. She jingled her keys.
“I have to lock up the gate.” She tried to find the correct key by feel. “Man, I’m tired.”
“You’re the president,” Gabe told her. “Can’t you assign an underling to put away the chairs?”
“Yeah, I probably should have done that at the beginning of the year.”
They waited at the traffic light. When it turned green, they trudged across the street.
“What time is it?” Gabe asked her.
“Seven-thirty. I should call home. My parents are going to start to worry. I’ll do it from the car. I just want to get out of here.”
She walked over to the wrought-iron gate and gave it a push, struggling to slide it across the track. “Can you help me get this on track?”
“Shouldn’t we do it after we pull out the car?”
“I just want to get it on track first.”
Gabe tucked his briefcase under his arm and said, “You get the car. I’ll do…”
And it was at that moment when he heard the noise, felt something in his ribs before he actually saw the small shadowed figure to his right. An ominous voice talking to him while trying to grab his briefcase.
But he really didn’t hear what the figure was saying to him. Because all Gabe could fathom was his paltry life—summated by official forms and bank accounts—being ripped away. So not only would he be parentless, he’d have no identity. Because to replace every thing stolen would require contact with Chris, explaining to his father why he had allowed some motherfucker to snatch his briefcase.
And he thought of all of this in half of a split second as he crashed his briefcase atop the mugger’s head while simultaneously knee-dropping him, sending whatever was poking into his ribs skittering to the ground. As Gabe kicked it with his left heel, sending it into the bushes behind him, he pummeled flesh—pounding and pounding and pounding until the figure was on his knees, crying and begging.
But he really didn’t hear the figure’s pleas.
What he heard was Hannah screaming at him:
Stop, stop, stop!
And like a dog that had been elevated to red-zone status, the screams suddenly snapped his mechanical throttling, drawing his attention back into the present. At once, he felt a throbbing pain in his left hand and cursed his stupidity. He let go of the mugger’s shirt until the man crawled away on all fours then got to his feet and ran off.
Gabe’s hand was raw and wet. He wiggled his fingers. Nothing broken.
God was a benevolent being—this time.
Hannah was still shrieking. He tried to project his voice over her hysteria. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.”
She screamed, “Are you crazy!”
He was confused. In his mind, he had just done a good thing. Why was she was still yelling at him? “He had a gun to my ribs.”
“He had a gun? He had a
gun?
You could have gotten killed!”
“But I didn’t, okay.” He was still clutching his hand. Nothing broken, but man, it was sore. “I’m fine.”
“You’re fine?” she yelled. “You’re
fine
? You are not fine! You’re crazy!”
“I should have just let that motherfucker rob me?”
“Exactly. Why didn’t you just give him the damn briefcase?”
“Because I didn’t want to!”
The excuse sounded lame even to his ears. And for just the briefest of moments, he thought about confiding in her. That he’d met his father yesterday afternoon, that Chris gave him all this shit—his bank accounts, his checks, his estate papers, his passport—and he
had forgotten to take them out of his briefcase because he was an idiot. And because he had been an idiot, he would have had to go back to Chris and admit that some lowlife mugged him. And he wouldn’t ever be able to look his father in the eyes again. It was better to die than to face contempt. He wanted to tell her that. But he couldn’t confess without betraying his father.
He’d simply have to wait another couple of days.
In his book, a fucking promise was a fucking promise.
“You didn’t
want
to?” Hannah yelled. “And that’s worth
dying
over?”
“It’s mine. Why should I give it to him?”
“What was it there that’s so valuable that you risked your life for it?”
“Nothing much. Just my sheet music.”
“You’re absolutely insane!” she said with disgust in her voice.
“You’re screaming at the wrong person!” Her yelling was beginning to piss him off. “I didn’t mug anyone, he did. And if I want to take a chance and get myself blown away, that’s my business!”
“Hah!” She breathed out. “You are sincerely crazy!”
“Stop calling me crazy! I’m not the one you should be mad at!”
“On the contrary, you’re the perfect person to be mad at. You nearly got yourself killed over a stupid briefcase filled with sheet music. What if he tried to shoot me?”
“That’s why I
stopped
him—”
“And on top of that, you look like you wrecked your hands. How stupid is that!”
“You know, I have enough shit in my life without your telling me I’m stupid, okay?” He waved her off. “Fuck all of this! I’m outta here!”
He charged down the street in the darkness without knowing where he was or where he was going. He heard her running after him. She grabbed his arm.
“Let’s just go home.”
“You go home, Hannah.” He was still walking. “See, you have a home. At present, I’m homeless, remember?”
“Gabe, stop. Stop!” She yanked at his arm. “Stop walking!”
Now she was sobbing.
He stopped walking and groaned.
Another ridiculous, sobbing female who couldn’t keep it together. His mom, whenever she was desperate, turned on the water-works. His aunt was absolutely a nutcase, always weeping about something real or imaginary. Sometimes it was easier to deal with his dad’s fury than his mom’s hysteria.
It was dark and he was starved. If he was going to leave to be on his own, he figured he’d do it on a full stomach. “Fine, Hannah. Let’s go back to
your
home and see
your
parents and eat
your
dinner that was prepared by
your
mom!”
“Stop making me feel guilty!” she yelled.
“Stop screaming!”
In a huff, Hannah headed for the car, but Gabe hesitated. “I want to look for the gun. It’s a bad idea to leave it for some kid or another motherfucker to find.”
Hannah stopped walking. “Good idea. I’ll help you.”
“No,
I’ll
do it. You turn the car around and shine the headlights into the bushes so I can see, okay?”
She complied with his wishes. When she realized it was taking a while, she got out and helped him search. They were both on their knees moving through brush that stank of trash, rotten food, and dog excrement. It felt positively yucky to be touching anything. “Maybe it wasn’t a gun, Gabe. Maybe he held you up with these disgusting chopsticks over here.”
“It wasn’t chopsticks, it was a gun.”
“And you know what a gun feels like?”
“You’d better believe it.”
She didn’t say anything. Sometimes it was best not to continue a conversation. A few minutes later, Hannah saw something glint. “What’s that?”
“Where?”
“Under that bush over to the right of the McDonald’s wrapper.”
Gabe dropped onto his stomach and crawled under a bush. “Good eye. Go in the car. I’ll get it out.”
“I’ll wait with you.”
“Hannah, in case it discharges, you shouldn’t be around. Just go in the car, okay?”
“I’ll stand back, but I’m not leaving you here alone.” It was bad enough being bossed around by her dad; she wasn’t about to take lip from a kid three years younger than she was.
“Fine, just move out of the way.” Gabe carefully extended his left hand under the brush. Of course, it had thorns. His fingers were normally very long but the swelling had turned his digits to sausages. Eventually, his fingers wrapped around the butt of the weapon and retrieved it from the brush. He stood up and carefully took out the magazine. “Nine-millimeter semiautomatic. That ain’t no chopstick, sister.” He stowed the gun in his briefcase, then tried to close the gate and winced.
“I’ll do it,” Hannah said.
“It’s heavy.”
“As long as it’s on the track, I can slide it. Just take care of your hand.” She closed the gate, locked it, then got into the driver’s seat and turned on the motor. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.” She had tears in her eyes. “I was just scared.”
“Forget it. I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“You were scarier than the mugger.” She eased onto the roadway. “God, I thought you were going to kill him.”
“Better him than me.”
“That’s for sure. Where’s the gun?”
“In my briefcase.”
“We’ll give it to my dad. Maybe he can find out who it belongs to. Let me tell him what happened. I don’t want him to freak out. I can handle the situation more calmly.”
“You can handle the situation more calmly?” Gabe asked.
“I’m calmer now.”
The next few minutes were spent in silence.
Gabe said, “Your dad wouldn’t have let himself be mugged.”
“My dad has been a police officer for like forty years.”
“It doesn’t matter. Either you’re that type of person or you’re not.”
“Fine. You’re a superhero.”
“Jesus Christ, I’m not saying that—”
“Just let me tell my dad, okay?”
“Do whatever you want, okay. It’s your father. I’m just an abandoned outsider.”
“Stop trying to make me feel bad.”
“I’m not.” But he really was. He exhaled. “I think I’ll call up my aunt and stay with her this weekend. I should see her anyway.”
Hannah didn’t argue. “How are your hands?”
“My left one is killing me.” He looked upward. “He was down at the first count. I didn’t have to beat the shit out of him. That was stupid.”
“You’re left-handed?”
“Right-handed, but it just seemed easier to hit him with my left. Actually, that was probably a good thing.”
“We’re going to pass a 7-Eleven. I’ll get you a bag of ice.”
“I’ll get it. You stay in the car.”
She pulled into the parking lot. He got out, and five minutes later, he was carrying a five-pound bag of ice. Once he was seated, he ripped it open and plunged his left hand into the frozen water, kept it there until it was almost numb. Then he pulled it out and did it again. “I didn’t break anything. It’s just a little sore.”
“That’s good.”
More silence until they got home. They both got out. She opened the door and Gabe went inside first. Decker was sitting on the couch reading the paper. “You’re home late.” He looked at Gabe’s hand and the bag of ice. “What happened to you?”
The boy didn’t answer, going straight into his temporary shelter.
Hannah said, “Don’t freak, okay?”
Rina stepped into the living room. “What’s going on?”
“We’re fine…I’m fine,” Hannah said. “Someone tried to mug us.”
“Oh my God!” Rina rushed over and hugged her daughter. “Are you hurt?”
“No, I’m okay.”
Decker stood up. “Did you call 911?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“The guy got away—”
“You still should have called 911. You should have called me.”
“Abba, everything was okay, so—”
“It’s not okay. He’s not okay,” Decker scolded her. “He’s obviously hurt. You should have called me right away. What were you thinking?”
“Could you please not yell at me?” Hannah burst into tears.
“It’s all right, Chanelah,” Rina cooed. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Decker plopped down on the couch and held out his hands to his daughter. “You’re right. Now’s not the time. Come sit down, Pumpkin. Please.” Hannah sat between her parents. “Could you tell me what happened?”
“I don’t even know what happened.” She dried her tears on her shirt. “Gabe and I were closing the gate to the parking lot—”
“Why were you closing the gate?” Decker wanted to know.
“Because we were the last ones in the school to leave.”
“It’s not your responsibility to lock up,” Decker said. “I’m calling up the school—”
“Abba, no!”
“What do you mean,
no
?”
“Peter, can you just let her finish?” Rina said.
Decker clenched and unclenched his hands. “I’m sorry. Go on. You were closing the gate.”
“We were closing the gate. The next thing I knew, Gabe was on top of this guy, beating the crap out of him. I didn’t know exactly what happened until afterward.”
“What happened afterward?”
“He said the guy tried to steal his briefcase. Gabe fought back. He’s a scrappy kid.”
Rina and Peter exchanged glances. Decker said, “That’s how he hurt his hand?”
Hannah nodded.
“So the guy didn’t have a weapon?” Decker asked.
“Uh, he had a gun. He stuck it in Gabe’s rib cage.”
“He had a gun and Gabe
attacked
him?”