Hangman (21 page)

M
ANDY STILL WASN’T
answering her door, but with her car gone, Oliver and Marge were less worried than they were curious. Maybe the woman had asked for a few days off to soak up the sun on some close-in Mexican beach. Of greater concern was Crystal Larabee. When the friends got worried, it was time to sit up and take notice.

The two-story dingbat that Crystal called home was lit with hot white spots throwing the occasional patches on the white-fade-to-gray stucco. Sela Graydon was waiting outside, dressed in a fiery red suit with an enormous black leather purse perched on her arm. She was pacing and jingling her keys, but stopped when she saw Marge get out of the car. Her attempt at a smile was a dismal failure.

“Hi.” Sela adjusted her purse over her shoulder and held out a hand. “Thanks for coming. It makes me feel less crazy.”

Marge shook her hand. “Your friend just passed on a few days ago. You have every right to feel concerned.”

“I’m a nervous wreck. I can’t concentrate at work. I have to read
everything over twice.” She bit her thumbnail. “I’m very sad, of course. It’s so horrible. I keep wondering what Adrianna got herself into.”

Marge said, “Until we know, it’s good to be cautious.”

“Cautious about what? I mean, this doesn’t have anything to do with me, right?”

“Can you think of a reason why Adrianna’s death would have something to do with you?” Marge responded.

“No. I mean just because we were friends doesn’t mean that we were involved in the same things.” A long pause. “Should I be worried?”

“One step at a time,” Oliver said. “Do you have the key to Crystal’s apartment?”

Sela held up a ring with about a dozen keys on it. “Help yourself.”

“Crystal gave you the key,” Marge said. “With it, she gave you implicit permission to enter her property. So we’ll let you do the honors.”

The trio walked upstairs. When they reached Crystal’s door, Oliver knocked hard. “Crystal?” Another knock. “Crystal, are you there?”

Sela bit her thumbnail. “Is it my imagination or am I smelling something yucky?”

“No, something stinks,” Marge said. “Could you open the door?”

“I don’t want to go in.”

Oliver said, “Tell us that you called us and wanted us to check out her apartment because you suspect something might not be right.”

“I called you to check out her place. I suspect something might not be right.”

“Great,” Oliver said. “Unlock the door and we’ll take it from there.”

With a shaking hand, Sela managed to insert the key and turn the dead bolt. As the door fell open, the stench blew stronger. Not exactly the stink of a rotting body; more like overripe garbage.

Sela was ashen. Marge said, “How about if you wait downstairs in your car?”

“Good idea.” She swooned and Oliver caught her arm. “Let me help you down the stairs.”

“I’m…okay.”

“I’m sure you are, but the steps are steep and you’re wearing heels.”

She offered no resistance as Oliver guided her to the first floor. A minute later, he came bounding back up. Marge was already inside, scoping out the kitchen. She had put on latex gloves and had opened one of the two bags of garbage stacked against the wall. “Whew, that’s strong! I should have brought up a face mask.”

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda.” Oliver put on gloves as well, shooing away a couple of buzzing flies—never a good sign. “Find any body parts?”

“No, just a lot of slimy vegetables.” She looked up, waved a fly away, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “As long as I started the dirty job, I’ll finish it up. Why don’t you look around and tell me if you find something interesting.”

He waved air in front of his face with rapid hand movements. “I won’t argue.”

Marge continued to rifle through the trash. In addition to decomposed produce, there were several discarded cartons of milk, a discarded carton of orange juice, moldy cheese, and old green-tinged deli meat. She tied up the bag and opened the next one. Its contents included a slew of half-used condiments including but not limited to ketchup, mustard, mayo, soy sauce, hot-dog relish, a jar of crystallized strawberry jam, vinegar, wasabi horseradish, maraschino cherries, pearl onions, and pimento-stuffed olives.

Oliver returned to the kitchen about twenty minutes later, just as Marge was tying up the second bag. “There are clothes on the floor and the bed’s unmade.”

“Any signs of a struggle?”

“More like she’s a slob than a crime scene.”

“How about recent sex?”

“No used condoms. The room didn’t smell particularly clean, but
it didn’t reek of sperm. The bathroom is also messy, but nothing overtly gruesome like bloody towels or wall spatter. How about you?”

“For a slob, she just did a major cleanup on her kitchen.”

Oliver looked around. Like the first time, there were crusted dishes in the sink and the counters were dirty. “What do you mean? The place is a sty.”

“She cleaned out her refrigerator.” The two of them looked at each other. “Or
someone
cleaned out her refrigerator.” She wrapped her gloved hand around the handle of an old white Amana and gave it a yank.

An arm flopped down.

No body followed.

The two detectives peered inside. The nude body of Crystal Larabee had been crammed in so tightly that even gravity had failed to dislodge her from her gelid tomb. Shelving had been removed to make room for the corpse. She had been folded into accordion pleats. Her feet had been bent forward at the ankles, her legs folded at the knees so that her thighs sat on her stomach and chest. Her head had been pulled forward, turned to the right, and was smashed between her knees and the top nonremovable shelf.

Oliver blew out air. “You call it in to the coroner’s office. I’ll get the crime-scene kit from the car.”

Marge took out her phone. “While you’re down there, talk to Sela Graydon. We should keep an eye on her.”

“As a potential suspect or a potential victim?”

“Right now I’m thinking victim.” Marge punched in Decker’s phone number. “We don’t know what’s flying. We certainly don’t want a case of two down and one to go.”

SELA WAS IN
the backseat of the unmarked. The poor woman had thrown up her dinner. Right now she was shaking and sobbing. “Why…is this…happening?”

“It must seem like a nightmare,” Marge said.

“It is a…nightmare!” Sela sobbed into a Kleenex. “I’m scared. What if it’s like one of those horror movies? Someone…from high school is getting back at us with a vendetta?”

“Do you live alone?”

“Yes.”

“Is there someone you could stay with for the night?”

“My parents…” She broke into a fresh round of sobs. “I want to go home!”

“Where do your parents live?”

“In Ventura.”

About forty miles away from L.A. Marge said, “I don’t think you’re in a good state to drive right now. How about if I call them up and have them come fetch you.”

“I need my car.” Sela blew her nose. “I have to go to work in the morning. I’m already behind because I’ve been so distracted…because of Adrianna.”

“Are your parents married?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Maybe they can drive down together and then drive back to the house separately.”

Sela dried her eyes. “I’ll call them up now.”

“Before you do, I want to ask you a couple of questions.” Marge took out her notebook. “Who should I call about Crystal?”

“Oh God!” The tears started up again. “I guess her mother. She doesn’t live in L.A. anymore. She moved away.”

“Do you have her number?”

Sela shook her head.

“How about a name?”

“Pandy Hurst.” Sela spelled it. “It’s short for Pandora.”

“And you have no idea where she lives?”

“I’m sure her phone number is on Crystal’s cell phone.”

“Okay. We’ll find her.” Marge paused. “Can you think of a reason why someone would want to hurt Crystal and Adrianna?”

“The only thing I can think of is that guy that Adrianna was talking to in the bar. Maybe he’s a serial killer.”

“Yes, we’re looking into him. On a more personal note, we still can’t find Garth Hammerling. From what we heard, the man wasn’t true blue. Could he have had something going with Crystal on the side?”

“It’s totally possible. Garth’s a jerk.”

“What about Aaron Otis? He had a brief fling with Adrianna.”

“I don’t know him well…” She suddenly paled. “I think I feel sick again.”

She threw open the door and heaved on the curb, retching and coughing. In the background, Marge heard the approach of wailing sirens.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Marge got out of the backseat and met up with the two black-and-whites, giving the four uniformed officers orders to block off the street and secure the apartment building. A crowd was gathering and Marge needed their help. Oliver was already upstairs cordoning off the apartment.

Sela had stopped vomiting and was sitting in the backseat with her head between her knees. Slowly she brought her head up and then wiped her eyes and face. “God, I’m a mess!” She was drooling and dabbed the corners of her mouth with a tissue. “It’s funny.” A pause. “Not ha-ha funny but ironic funny. For the last year or so, I’ve been trying to distance myself from those two. And now they’re gone…and I feel so horrible! Like I caused it by wishing it.”

“You didn’t cause anything, you know that.” Marge had slid into the backseat of the car. “You’re as much of a victim as they are.”

“Except I’m still here.”

Survivor’s guilt. “Thank God for that. I’ll call your parents now if you want.”

“I’ll do it. I can handle this.” Sela was talking as much to herself as to Marge. She punched in the numbers, but as soon as her mother answered, she burst into sobs. Her mother started shrieking, loud enough for Marge to hear.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine,” Sela sobbed out.

Marge took the phone and introduced herself.

Another heart-wrenching phone conversation.

Another long night.

T
WO BLACK-JACKETED CORONER’S
investigators had gently removed the body from the refrigerator and laid it on a blanket. The older of the two investigators—a female Hispanic in her forties named Gloria—turned to Decker. “We need to let the body warm up before we unfold her. If you’ve ever worked with raw cold beef, you know that it isn’t as pliable as room-temperature meat. We don’t want to tear anything.”

“Got it.” Decker squatted down to study the body. Freed from the confines of the icebox, it had unfurled a bit. Crystal was now in the fetal position. Her polished nails appeared intact, although the paint was chipping off of them. The coroners would clip them to determine if there was foreign or biological material present. She had been placed in the fridge for a while, because lividity had taken place, the blood sinking down into the lower halves of the woman’s calves, thighs, and torso. With his naked eye, Decker couldn’t see any gunshot or stab wounds. Her skin tone hovered around bluish-tinged gray, with her lips being a deep indigo. He regarded her neck. There appeared to be some purple dots—pete
chiae—around the portion of her neck that was visible. That usually meant strangulation.

He stood up and scrutinized the inside of the refrigerator. It hadn’t been scrubbed down in a while. There were particles of rotted produce clinging to the walls and in the crisper along with a few spills and splotches on the bottom and sides.

He took out a presumptive blood kit and swabbed several stains with Q-tips. Most of them turned blue, indicating the probable presence of blood. No surprise there. Raw meat defrosting in a refrigerator on a plate often sat in its own blood. If one handled the plate carelessly—and Crystal didn’t seem to be the meticulous type—the slush often splashed onto the walls or dripped down. Given the amount of stains, Decker would bet that the blood was animal rather than human. In his mind, Crystal, like Adrianna, had died a bloodless death.

Oliver came into the kitchen. “I bagged the sheets, the towels, the clothes on the floor, the crap on the floor, the garbage in the bedroom and bathroom, the toothbrush, and the hairbrush. Anything else you want from the bed and bathroom?”

“What about flies and maggots?”

“A few flies. Didn’t find a pile of maggots. I guess the girl was smart enough not to leave raw meat around.”

“Or someone was smart enough to put her in the fridge so she wouldn’t attract flies.” Decker blew out air. “Not to mention messing up our time of death.”

“Sela Graydon talked to her yesterday morning.” Oliver checked his notes. “Crystal suggested that they go out for coffee, but then never got back to Sela.”

“What about Crystal’s cell phone?”

“We haven’t found it.”

“Does she have a landline?”

“No.”

“Did you find any personal effects?”

“Just a lot of trash. No purse with any ID in it. Her car is still in the parking space.”

“Makes sense. Let’s get her cell phone records.”

Marge joined up with Oliver and Decker. She snapped off her gloves. “The lady was a slob. Makes it hard to distinguish between evidence and trash.” She looked at the body…slowly unfurling. “Golly, that’s sad. Looks like someone broke her neck.”

Decker said, “I’m thinking that she might have died by strangulation.”

“Yeah, she has the petechiae.” Marge blew out air. “Adrianna died from hanging…which is strangulation.”

“So what are the links between the two girls?” Decker asked.

Marge ticked off the possibilities on her fingers. “They were best friends, they were both at the bar at Garage the Sunday night before Adrianna died, they both were talking to the same strange man at the bar, and they both knew Aaron Otis and Greg Reyburn.”

Oliver said, “Didn’t Aaron admit that he fucked Adrianna?”

Marge nodded.

“Could he have fucked Crystal as well?”

“Maybe,” Marge said. “Maybe Greg fucked them both. Crystal and Greg were good friends.”

“Did Garth fuck Crystal?”

“Don’t know.”

Decker said, “Get Aaron Otis and Greg Reyburn back for more interviews. See what they have to say about the latest developments.”

Oliver looked at his watch. “It’s after eleven. Want us to do it tonight?”

“They’ll keep until daylight. We still have things to do around here.”

“I’ll call them first thing in the morning,” Oliver said. “By the way, Marge had an interesting idea.”

“What idea was that?” Marge asked.

“Farley, Charley.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She turned to Decker. “So Adrianna was being chatted up by this mystery guy at Garage. Crystal thought she might have heard someone call him Farley. I was thinking that maybe she heard ‘Charley’ instead of ‘Farley.’ As in Chuck Tinsley.”

Oliver said, “We interviewed a woman named Yvette Jackson a few hours ago who works at Garage. She said she thought that she
could identify the guy Adrianna was with. We were thinking about making a six-pack with Tinsley’s DMV picture and see if she could point him out.”

“Does Tinsley have a record?” Decker asked.

“He’s not in the system. But I didn’t check beyond LAPD.”

Decker shrugged. “Give it a go.”

No one spoke as three pairs of eyes looked down at the body. Gloria, the Hispanic CI, came over and felt her skin with a gloved hand. “She’s still cold.”

“How long is it going to take for her to warm up?”

“A while.”

Decker spoke to his detectives. “I’ll wait here. Why don’t you two start canvassing the complex. Not too many apartments, so it shouldn’t take too long. I’ll give you a buzz when they’re ready to move the body.”

“You bet.” Marge looked at her boss and longtime friend. “Are you all right, Rabbi?”

“Just tired.”

“How’s the kid?”

“He’s still parentless.” Decker messaged his temples. “I feel bad for him. I also feel stupid for getting involved in his mother’s life.” He gave them a minute recap of his day. “I don’t know if she’s legitimately in trouble—in which case I’ll feel guilty for being mad at her—or if she played me, using my home as a safe place to dump her kid while she reinvents herself.”

“And you haven’t heard from Donatti?”

“I haven’t but the kid admitted to me that he saw him yesterday.”

“So he’s in town or…”

“Probably long gone. Donatti gave Gabe his passport, his Social Security card, and a wad of cash. Probably gave Gabe other things but that’s all the kid will admit to. It’s clear to me that Donatti isn’t coming to pick up his progeny any time soon.”

“Doesn’t his aunt live in L.A.?” Oliver said.

“His aunt and his grandfather.”

“So he has options. Why are you shouldering the burden?”

“He’s offered to go to his aunt’s. But he’d rather stay with me.”

Oliver said. “It isn’t his choice, Rabbi, it’s yours.”

“I know. I should let him leave. But my conscience tells me that putting him into the custody of an irresponsible kid herself is not the right thing to do.”

“See, that’s your problem,” Oliver said. “You’re listening to your conscience. I can tell you from personal experience, Deck, that no good ever comes from that.”

BY TWO IN
the morning, the body had been removed, the scene had been dusted, evidence had been taken, and a padlock was placed on the apartment. Decker didn’t need to wait with his two crack detectives but decided to do so anyway. Before he had been called down, he had managed to eat some dinner, although it was tense with the two kids picking at their food. When Marge phoned him the news of Crystal, he was shocked, but part of him was relieved to get away and do something productive.

“See you in the morning,” Decker said. “I’ll be in around eight.”

“Take care.” Marge jingled the keys. “I’d like to go by Mandy Kowalski’s place.”

Oliver checked his watch. “Do you not know what time it is?”

“I’m not going to bang on her door. I just want to check if her car is in the lot.”

“The lot is gated. How do you propose to get in?”

“So I’ll peek through the bars. Look, Scotty, she lied to us about having coffee with Adrianna in the cafeteria. Now Crystal’s dead. I just want to see if her car’s there.”

“You want me to go with her, Oliver?” Decker volunteered.

“Nah, I’ll go,” Oliver grumped. “We’re just having our usual spats. I mean, who needs sleep anyway?”

“Sleep is highly overrated,” Marge said.

“Since when have you become such a night owl?”

“Since my daughter moved out. It’s sometimes hard for me to sleep. I keep wondering about her.”

“But you adopted her when she was a teenager. You lived without her for years.”

“That was then and this is now. I can’t help it if I worry.”

Decker said, “Kids are like heroin—an injection of pain when they’re around, but even when they’re not around, it’s like that next fix. You just can’t stop thinking about ’em.”

WHEN THE CLOCK
struck six, Decker gave up. Through the curtains came the hint of light dulled by gray overcast. He slipped out of bed, put on his robe, and decided to start the coffee. Get a little solitude before the onslaught, but it wasn’t meant to be. Gabe had beaten him to the sunrise. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, sitting at the breakfast table, his laptop open but off to the side. He was reading Decker’s morning paper. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Decker answered—a bit sullenly, he decided. Or maybe he was just weary.

“I took the liberty of making coffee. You want a cup?”

“Thanks. I’ll get it. How’s your hand?”

The boy put down the paper and wiggled his fingers. “Sore. I guess now it’s just like going through a process. I’ll be all right.”

“Just take care of it. You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep. I heard you come in last night. It was late. Is everything okay?”

Decker smiled inwardly. No one in his family thought twice about his hours. “Just work.” He poured a cup of coffee and sat down. “How are you?” This time he was sincere with the question.

“I’m okay. Is there anything I can help you with?”

Decker smiled for real. “Your mother said you were a good kid. She wasn’t lying.”

“That’s me.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose. “You can put it on my gravestone. I was a good kid.”

“If I were you, I’d be seething with anger.”

Gabe looked up at the ceiling. “I guess it comes out. Like brawling with that idiot last night.” He shook his head and pulled a sheet of paper out of his back pocket. “Since I couldn’t sleep, I played with my computer. I went into the hospital’s Web site.”

“Which hospital is that?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You can’t read my mind. The hospital where my mom worked.”

That got Decker’s attention. “Find anything?”

Gabe handed him the piece of paper. “I wrote down all the Indian names that have passed through cardiology or cardiovascular surgery in the last eight years. Before then, my mom and I lived in Chicago. I think some of the names might be women. I don’t know if any of these guys was the guy my mom was talking to, but I wasn’t doing anything anyway, so…”

Decker regarded the surnames: Chopra, two Guptas, Mehra, two Singhs, Banerjee, Rangarajan, Rajput, Yadav, Mehta, and Lahiri. “None of them sound familiar?”

“Just Mehta, and only because of the famous conductor. Like I said, she didn’t tell me the guy’s name.”

“Would you recognize him from a picture?”

“I don’t think so.” He took a sip of coffee. “If you want, I could Google the guys, one at a time, and see if any of them had maharajas for a father. I’m not going to school today. It would give me something to do.”

Decker studied the boy. “And what would you do with the information?”

“Give it to you.”

“How about giving it to your father?”

Gabe crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why would I do that?”

“Why wouldn’t you do it? He’s looking for your mom, too.”

“Lieutenant, if he’s looking for her, it means that’s he’s as in the dark as we are. If he can find her quicker than you, why would that be bad?”

“Are you serious?”

“He won’t hurt her.”

“He already has hurt her.”

“Well, I don’t think he’d do it again.”

“Is that what he told you when you saw him?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes, I do.” His eyes grew angry. “But he isn’t calling me up for help and I can’t reach him, so this whole discussion is moot. If I had wanted to give Chris the information, I could have mailed it to one of his places. But I didn’t. If you want help, I’ll look them up for you. If not, that’s okay, too.”

Back off, Decker. Chris is still the kid’s father and you’re not going to change that bond
ever. “Talk about looking a gift horse in the mouth. Anything you can help me with is appreciated. So sure, look them up for me. And for the future, what you do with your dad is your own business.”

Gabe was quiet. Then he said, “I don’t know why I’m defending the bastard.”

“He’s your dad. He’s got all the history with you.”

“Yeah, and most of it’s bad.” A pause. “That’s not entirely fair. He has some good points. He just chooses not to show them very often.” He looked at Decker. “I don’t trust my dad. I never have. But I wouldn’t want to be the one to put him in jail.”

“Totally understandable.” If Decker wanted an ally, he had to start treating the kid like one. He held up the list. “This is very helpful. I’ll make a copy and both of us can see what we come up with, all right?”

“Sure.”

“Gabe, my main objective is finding your mother, not screwing your father.”

“I know. But I also know that if it came down to it—that my dad hurt my mom—you’d go after him without any consideration for my feelings.”

“That’s true.”

“I’d do the same thing. I mean, if I were you, I would.”

“How about if
you
were you?”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant. Like my therapist would say, perhaps it’s not a good time to visit that issue.”

Decker laughed. “You know the lingo.”

“I’ve always had an excellent ear.”