Hangman (31 page)

“You think he’s a thief?”

“Something’s not right.”

“I’ll have Wanda do an inventory cross-check with burglary. I’ll also find out when Tinsley’s mother died.”

“Good idea. And while you’re at it, find out Mama Tinsley’s first name.”

W
ITH THE BOYS
out of the house and Hannah rarely home, Decker had forgotten how cramped twenty-six hundred square feet could be. Rina liked euphemisms, referring to the situation as “compact” or “cozy.” She was making last-minute adjustments on her Shabbos
tichel
—her special Sabbath scarf. In accordance with Jewish law, married women covered their hair. The one she had chosen was silk shantung interwoven with lamé threads. Her face was barely showing signs of age: laugh lines at the corner of the eyes, a wrinkle or two on her forehead. She still had some years to go before fifty, making her a filly in Decker’s book.

“How much time do I have before Shabbos starts?” he asked her.

“About fifteen minutes.” Rina applied a pale pink gloss to her lips. There was a pause. “It’s nice to have everyone here together.”

“It’s terrific,” Decker said. “The boys look good.”

Rina’s eyes got misty. “I don’t see them too often. They’re men.”

“That they are. It was really generous of them to take the time out to come here.”

“It was a special occasion.”

“I suppose it was a convenient excuse. At least sixty is good for something.”

“It’s a celebration of life.” Rina looked in the mirror. “Which is passing by at record speed. It’s just lovely having everyone here.”

“It is. And you know what’s even lovelier?” He kissed the top of her head. “They’re going back in a few days.”

He thought Rina would admonish him. Instead she said, “I know what you mean: six strapping adults taking up space. Seven if you count Gabe. And he’s eating here, so I guess we have to count him. I think I cooked enough, but I might have forgotten how much men eat.”

“I’ll take last,” Decker said.

“No, you’re the birthday boy,” Rina said. “You take first. I made lamb. It’s not only your favorite, but it’s Yonkie’s favorite, too. The boy is downright gleeful.”

“Lamb as in rack of lamb?”

“Yes.”

“Yikes. How many racks did you make?”

“When you french the bone, it doesn’t leave all that much meat. So I needed a lot.”

Decker made a face. “How much did all that cost?”

“You don’t want to know.” Rina stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “You might as well eat it. I can’t take it back. I also roasted an entire turkey. There will be enough for tomorrow and then some. I know you love sliced cold turkey sandwiches.”

“I probably won’t be home in time for lunch tomorrow.”

Rina paused. “Probably or definitely.”

“Adrianna Blanc’s memorial service is at eleven. I’ll try to be home by two.”

“Don’t rush, Peter. We’ll wait for you.” She slipped on her shoes. “Poor parents. What a brutal crime. What was she? Like Cindy’s age?”

“A little older than Sammy. There’s no good age for murder, but it really hurts when they’re that young. Only thing sadder is chil
dren.” He was quiet, then shook it off. “What’s for dessert tonight?”

“If we were sticking to tradition, I would have baked you a cake. Instead, I baked pies.”

“Good call. I love pies.”

“Hence my decision. You have your choice of peach, strawberry, and cherry with or without pareve vanilla ice cream and/or pareve whipped cream.”

“I have to choose between pies?”

“You may have all three,” Rina told him. “It’s the prerogative of the birthday boy.”

“In that case, I will take all three. I’ll probably stuff my face and get sick. You should have just made a salad.”

Rina laughed. “My family is together for the first time in ages, and I should make a salad?”

“I have no self-control when it comes to your food.”

“If you open the medicine cabinet, you’ll note that it’s fully stocked with Prevacid, Pepto-Bismol, and Tums. You know my slogan: eat, drink, and take antacids.”

THE CHURCH SERVICE
lasted forty-five minutes, and at the end, the minister invited anyone who wanted to speak to do so. There were about a hundred people at the gathering, none of them anxious to get up onstage. Finally, Sela Graydon braved the microphone, sobbing her way through a heart-wrenching eulogy of her two best friends. She had aged, with sunken eyes and a pasty complexion. Sela was followed by a woman named Alicia Martin, who introduced herself as Kathy’s best friend. Then another friend took the microphone, followed by another friend, and then another. By the time the service concluded, it was a few minutes past one.

Decker didn’t want to intrude on the grieving parents, but it had seemed important to Kathy that he make an appearance. He waited patiently behind a line to offer words of solace and condolences. Kathy, as usual, was dressed in style—a knitted black dress with a gold belt, black pumps, and tortoiseshell sunglasses. She saw Decker
hovering in the back and waved him forward. Although he could see her clearly—he stood above most of the mourners—it wasn’t easy for a big man to weave through the mass of human flesh. When he finally made it up to the front, Kathy took his extended hand with both of hers.

“Thank you for coming.” Kathy’s eyes moistened. “The burial is just for family. I hope you understand.”

“I do. You need your privacy to say good-bye.”

She looked away and dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. Then she returned her gaze on Decker’s face. “This is Pandora Hurst.” She was referring to a woman on her right. “Crystal’s mother.”

Decker offered his hand, which she took. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Ms. Hurst.” The woman looked him over with pale, dry eyes: long nose, thin lips, and a ghostly complexion. She remained silent.

Kathy said, “Will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Of course,” Decker answered. “Please offer my condolences to your husband.”

“I will.” Kathy walked a few steps and collapsed into the arms of Alicia Martin, sobbing on her shoulder.

Decker returned his attention to Pandora Hurst. She wore a long black dress that bordered on a witch’s costume. Her gray hair was in a bun secured with several ivory combs. “If there’s anything that you need right now, Ms. Hurst, please let me know.”

“You can call me Pandy.” Her voice was emotionless. “When are you going to release my daughter for burial?”

“I’ll check with the people who are in charge.”

“I want to take her back to Missouri with me.” Pandy crossed her arms. “They gave me all sorts of paperwork to fill out. I was never good at that kind of thing under the best of circumstances.”

“I’ll see that someone helps you out with the forms.”

“When would that be?”

“Whenever you want. Monday would work best for me, but I can do it sooner.”

“Are they going to release my daughter on Monday?”

“I don’t know. I have to call and find out. Sometimes things slow down over the weekend.”

“No one dies on Saturday or Sunday?”

“The staff is usually smaller. If they can, they’ll hold things over until Monday.”

“So they work at
their
convenience.”

“I’ll call right away and let you know as soon as they call me back,” Decker told her. “Also, I know this is a very hard time, but it might help me with your daughter’s case if I could talk to you about Crystal.”

“Not now.” She shook her head. “Not now.”

“How about tomorrow or Monday?”

“I suppose on Monday. You’ll help me with the forms?”

“Absolutely.”

“I want to take her back to Missouri.” Pandy rubbed her arms. “She never liked Missouri, you know.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Well, then…there you have it.”

“I thought you raised Crystal in L.A.”

“I did. I moved out here for my husband. Then he left me five years later to chase young men. I was either stupid or in denial when I married Jack. When he came out to me, I told him no hard feelings. But I think it was hard on Crystal.”

“Divorce usually is.”

“That and finding out your father’s gay.” She shrugged. “After Jack and I split up, I took Crystal back to Missouri to visit my folks. I wanted her to know her grandparents. She just hated it. She complained about the heat, she complained about the bugs, she complained about the humidity, she complained about the camp I sent her to, she complained about the kids. When I moved back, she was flabbergasted. Why would I want to live in a swamp with a bunch of hicks? I tried to explain to her that I missed my family. That as I got older, I wanted to be around people who cared about me.”

“I understand,” Decker said.

“You may understand, but she sure didn’t. But that was Crystal. She never really got the concept of intimacy and relationships. Everyone she met was her best friend.”

THE DRIVE TO
Vegas on the I-15 was a direct shot: around 270 miles that should have taken about four hours had they not stopped at one of Oliver’s favorite diners. The place was noted for cheap prices, big portions, and clean bathrooms—the trifecta of the open road. Scott decided to treat himself to a cheeseburger and fries, while Marge selected a tuna melt. Both had apple pie for dessert.

They rolled onto the Strip around two in the afternoon. Not a cloud sat in the sky and the mercury danced around eighty-five. As they tooled down Las Vegas Boulevard going north, the sun was fierce, reflecting off the Four Seasons onto the gold glass walls of Mandalay Bay, the glare following them as they drove down the Strip. The gigantic hotels did little to shade the heat since they arose straight up like monoliths, their verticality even more pronounced because they had been erected in the middle of the Mojave Desert. Oliver had booked a small but serviceable motel off the Strip. The lobby was a brightly lit atrium that held coffee-shop tables, a reception desk, and a bank of slot machines that beeped and flashed even when no one was playing them.

After checking into their respective rooms and unpacking, Marge plopped down onto the bed and called Detective Lonnie Silver on her cell. “Sergeant Dunn here.”

“Welcome to Vegas. How was traffic?”

“Not bad at all. Weather is accommodating.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful outside. Way too nice to be bogged down in homicides.”

Marge said, “Any news at all on Garth Hammerling?”

“I haven’t found him or the woman. But something interesting came through the wire about an hour ago. It’s good that you came down.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Interesting, not ominous. Not yet. I’m right in the middle of fleshing out a lead on another homicide we’re working on. How about we meet in a couple of hours?”

“Tell me where.”

Silver asked Marge where she was staying. “I’ll come to you, give you a call when I arrive. There’s a coffee shop in the lobby. We can talk there.”

He hung up. A moment later, Oliver knocked on the door between their adjoining rooms. Marge got up and opened it.

“We have a meeting in a couple of hours. He hasn’t located Garth Hammerling, but he was glad we came down. Something interesting just came through the wire.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don’t know, but I suppose we’ll find out soon enough.” She checked her watch. “We’ve got some time. Weather’s perfect. I think I’ll take a dip in the pool.”

“Have fun.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve been sitting for the last five hours. It’s beautiful outside. I think I’ll take a walk around. See what’s happening in town.”

“You know what’s happening in town, Oliver. Gambling, gambling, and more gambling. How much money did you bring to flush down the toilet?”

“Since when did you become so judgmental?”

“I don’t care if people gamble. I just don’t want my friend and partner to lose his shirt.” She held out her hand. “Give me half. You’ll thank me later, after the gambling rush has died down and your pockets are empty.”

Oliver thought about it. Then he peeled off five one-hundred-dollar bills and stuffed them in her palm. “I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“Maybe because I’m right.”

Oliver grumbled. “I’ll be back in an hour. I’m going to play the tables. The ante is cheaper in the daytime. I’ve got this new system I want to try out. And by the way, I don’t intend to lose.”

“No one ever does, Scott. That’s why the masses keep piling in and the hotels keep getting bigger.”

OUT OF HABIT,
Decker turned on his cell phone after he left the memorial service for Adrianna Blanc, and as always, there were messages. He figured he might as well clear them so he could eat lunch and enjoy his family in peace. Dinner last night was noisy and opinionated, with the younger set talking a mile a minute. There were times when he felt as if he were at a tennis match with his head moving back and forth to catch the flow of conversation. But the energy was great. He enjoyed it because he knew it was temporary. By Monday, he’d have his semiquiet house back to himself.

There were two messages on his voice mail.

Number one:
Hi, Loo, it’s Wanda. I’m sorry to disturb you on your Sabbath, but something’s come up that you’d want to know about. Give me a call as soon as you can.

Number two:
Hi, Lieutenant, it’s Gabe Whitman. Detective Bontemps left a message on your home machine and is trying to get hold of you. She says it’s important. Rina said that you should go to the station house and not worry about lunch. She’ll eat with you whenever you come back. I was elected to call you since I’m not Jewish. It’s nice to be good for something.

Although Gabe’s humor made Decker smile, the contents of his message made him sigh inwardly. He turned the car around and headed for work.

A
S SOON AS
Decker walked into the station house, Wanda Bontemps got up from her desk, a stack of papers tucked under her arm. Decker gave her a wave and grabbed a cup of coffee from the communal pot. He unlocked the office door, turned on the light, and offered Wanda a seat. She wore a long-sleeved lime green shirt over black pants, and rubber-soled shoes. Gold hoops adorned her ears, and her long nails were painted medium brown, matching her skin tone.

Decker was still in his black suit and uncomfortable loafers. He had taken off the tie in the car and elected to remove his jacket and hang it over his chair.

“How was the service?” Wanda asked Decker.

“Sad. Kathy Blanc introduced me to Crystal Larabee’s mother.”

“How’d that go?”

“Sad. Her name is Pandora Hurst and she’s coming to the station house on Monday. She’s been living apart from her daughter for a while, but there’s always something new to learn.” Decker leaned back in his chair. “So what’s up?”

Wanda took the papers from under her arm and laid a colored jpeg on Decker’s desk. “Look familiar?”

Decker was staring at a yellow-gold diamond-crusted
R
on a gold chain; it sat around the neck of a girl with shoulder-length dark hair and brown eyes that gazed off to the side. The photograph was a torso shot and the girl was in a dark boatneck sweater against a sage green background. “High school senior picture?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

Using past tense, Wanda noted. “Roxanne Holly—a twenty-six-year-old bank teller who was murdered by strangulation. Her mother gave the detectives this picture of her because it showed the necklace clearly. Roxanne wore it all the time, but it was missing when they found the body.”

“How long ago was this?”

“Three-plus years.”

“Where was the homicide?”

“Oxnard. I looked up the case when this came through. She went out drinking and never came back. Her body was discovered a day later by a homeless man named Burt Barney, a chronic alcoholic, who died a year ago from cirrhosis of the liver. He had always been the primary suspect, but police had never amassed enough evidence to charge him with the crime. There was no shortage of suspicious characters. It’s an agricultural city, but it’s pretty big—around two hundred thousand people.”

“A big city and parts of it are very tough. Lots of migrants, lots of day laborers.”

“Lot of construction people who probably like to go out drinking…like our friend Mr. Tinsley.”

Decker studied the picture. “How’d you get hold of this?”

“I ran through statewide homicides linked with jewelry. This popped out.”

“Did anyone find out the name of Tinsley’s mother?”

“I did. It was Julia.”

“Interesting. Have you contacted Oxnard PD?”

“Not yet. I wanted to talk to you first. I can do that right now, if you want.”

“Right now, what I want is an increased watch on Tinsley.”

“Done. Sanford and Wainwright are on him.”

“Good.” He drummed the table. “Okay. Playing devil’s advocate for the defense, I would say that there must be hundreds of necklaces out there like this one. Just because Tinsley has the jewelry doesn’t mean he killed anyone.”

“But it makes him a liar since Julia doesn’t start with an
R
.”

“It’s also possible that Tinsley’s just a thief. He stole a necklace that looks like the one Roxanne wore. He could be a fence.”

“If he’s a fence, why is the necklace still in his possession and he’s still holding on to eight pieces of jewelry?” Wanda licked her lips. “I’m not locked into anything, but we’d have to be idiots not to consider that these are trophies.”

“We could bring Tinsley in. And we could question him.” Decker’s head was spinning. “But it would be hard to
hold
him on something.”

“What about the marijuana you found in his apartment?”

“That’s a misdemeanor possession. He’s out in an hour. When I say ‘hold him,’ I mean
hold
him. He gave us a buccal swab. Let’s get a DNA profile. Is this the only piece that you found on the computer?”

“So far, yes.”

“All right.” He thought a moment. “Has Tinsley lived in the area all his life?”

“I have him paying taxes in California for the last ten years.”

“So look at all unsolved strangulations in the region. Call up the detectives on the open cases you find and ask if there was any missing jewelry associated with any of the victims. Since this one was found in Ventura County, direct the search up and down from L.A. If we find that Tinsley has another piece of jewelry that’s linked to another murder victim, we’ll talk to the D.A. and I’m betting that would be enough for us to hold him for a while. Tinsley could explain away one necklace as a coincidence. But it would be hard for him to explain away two.”

“Do you want me to call up Oxnard?”

“Yeah. Ask them if we can get the file and a DNA profile of the victim. Tell them we’re investigating a strangulation—a hanging specifically—and we’re going up and down the coast. Don’t tell them about the necklace yet. I want to keep a tight lid on this.”

Wanda wrote down his instructions. “You know the business card that Marge and Oliver found in his apartment? That could have been the trophy.”

“Maybe.” Decker tried to organize his thoughts. “Let’s send the necklace to the techs. If Tinsley yanked it off Roxanne’s neck, he could have broken her skin and there may be blood on it. Also, let’s swab the chain for DNA. The neck area is a prime sweat location. Skin cells slough especially in the heat and Oxnard can get very hot in the summer. If, by luck, the victim’s DNA happened to be on the jewelry, Chuck would have some major explaining to do.”

“I’M IN THE
lobby.”

Silver’s voice. He had called just as Marge was toweling off her chlorine-saturated hair. “Be right down.”

“See you then.”

Marge checked her watch. It was close to five. She knocked on the door that joined her room with Oliver’s. “You there?”

She heard muffled footsteps and then the door opened. There was a wide smile on Scott’s face. “I’m here.”

“Silver’s downstairs, waiting for us.” She regarded her partner’s face. “You won?”

Oliver stuffed a wad of money in her hand. “In keeping with what we did before, this is half of it.”

Marge fanned the bills. “There’s over a thousand dollars.”

“One thousand two hundred seventy-eight, to be exact. How about dinner tonight, Ms. Dunn? I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”

“Sure.” Her smile was genuine. “Good for you, Scott. If I keep what you gave me, even if you spend the rest, you’ll still leave with a profit in your pocket.”

“Too late. I blew it all.”

She laughed. “On what?”

“Two premium tickets to Cirque du Soleil’s
O
and a new pair of Gucci loafers. Plus, we are going out to dinner and it’s all on the house.” He pointed to himself.

“Thank you, my man. Let’s go see what Detective Silver has to say about Garth Hammerling.”

“Probably something good.”

“I like your unexpected optimism, Scott. Stay that way.”

“Sweetheart, the way I’m feeling, I could turn Detective Silver into Detective Gold.”

THE ONLY PATRONS
of the motel coffee shop were two middle-aged men dressed similarly in short-sleeved white shirts, dark slacks, and loafers. The men were average build and weight, with one having slightly more hair than the other. Marge waved at the men and they waved back. Introductions were made all around.

Lonnie Silver was the bald one in blue pants. He was drinking coffee and working on a piece of apple pie. Rodney Major had a bald dome surrounded by gray, curly hair. He was in the brown pants, wolfing down a chicken sandwich with fries. As soon as Marge and Oliver sat down, a stick-thin waitress with bouffant gray hair came over and brought them menus. Marge and Oliver ordered coffee and a blueberry-bran muffin at Silver’s suggestion.

Small talk ensued.

How was the ride over? How long you here for? Gonna see any shows? Go to Delucci’s for dinner. All the chitchat allowed them time to finish the food and get down to the real reason for meeting. Silver spoke up first.

“When you called a couple of days ago and asked about Garth Hammerling, frankly, I didn’t give it much thought. Lots of people run to Vegas to reinvent themselves. Maybe your guy is here and maybe he isn’t. One thing’s for certain. It’s gonna be hard to find him. You want to hide, you come to Vegas, although if this guy is
truly a bad guy, we can track him down. Problem is, you don’t know if he’s a bad guy, so it’s hard to justify resources on a maybe.”

Marge said, “That’s why we came down in person. We figured we could do some legwork. All we’re asking for is a little direction.”

“We can help you there.” Major spoke up.

“Yeah, way more than I thought,” Silver said.

“I like the sound of that,” Oliver said.

Silver said, “See, once I get a bug in me, it’s hard to let go. So I get to thinking on how to look for this guy. We obviously can’t go knocking on hotel-room doors in the big casinos. And I can’t ask them for guest rosters. We’re dealing with thousands of people and you don’t even know if this Hammerling guy actually did anything. Besides, I know all the homicides on the Strip and none of them sound like your guy.”

“What kind of homicides?” Marge asked.

“Bar fights, gang fights, robberies gone bad,” Silver told them. “And none of them took place in the big hotels. The big hotels police their clientele way better than we could do with our budget. They got the money, the motivation, and the manpower to keep the crap out. I’m not saying it couldn’t happen…it has happened…but the hotel corridors are patrolled pretty well. Someone screaming or someone dragging a body out of one of the rooms would likely be noticed.”

“They got more security cameras than the Pentagon,” Rodney Major said. “They got people looking at them night and day. Funny stuff goes on between individuals behind closed doors, they don’t bother with that. But if the powers that be see any hint of a prostitution ring or drugs being dealt out of a room, they’re gonna bust it up with their own people and keep it quiet. The owners aren’t gangsters anymore, haven’t been for forty years. They’re savvy businessmen. Why would they want the illegal crap when they can rake in billions doing legal gaming?”

“I’m not saying that Garth ran a prostitution ring,” Marge said. “But we did hear from his friends that he goes to Vegas all the time, spending way more money on women than on gambling.”

Silver said, “You told me that, and it got me thinking.”

“He’s dangerous when he’s thinking,” Major said.

“Yeah, you can smell the wood burning.” Silver smiled. “Anyway, a lot of the young bucks who spend a lot of time here, like every weekend or every other weekend, they just don’t have the wallet size to stay at the big hotels. If they want cheap action, they go outside the Strip. From my standpoint, that’s easier to handle because the scale is smaller.”

Marge and Oliver nodded. Silver had a story to tell and there was no sense rushing him through it.

“So I start making calls,” Silver said. “I call up downtown…that’s still pretty glitzy and hard to get a fix on. No luck there. I call up Boulder City. They’ve got a small strip there, but I still don’t get anywhere with that. Then I start on the smaller places like the one you’re staying at. These establishments don’t have a posse of soldiers behind them like the big hotels do. They rely on police. I have a good relationship with them. I still don’t get any hits, but I can’t let go. I get that way sometimes…that I’m moving in the right direction, like this invisible hand pushing me. After so many years in homicide, you learn to respect your intuition.”

Marge said, “Absolutely.”

The waitress came by and refilled coffee cups. When she was gone, Silver said, “So I’m thinking about where else could this guy have stayed. And then I think of North Las Vegas and my buddy Rodney.”

Major said, “If you want cheaper thrills, North L.V. is your kind of place.”

“North Las Vegas isn’t handled by Las Vegas Metro.”

“Yeah, we’re like the dot over the big
I
of the Las Vegas Strip. We’ve got our own casinos and they’re cheaper than the Strip in Vegas proper.”

“I call up Rodney and ask him if he can talk to his people and find out if Garth Hammerling was a regular in one of his places.”

“I make my calls and guess what?” Major said. “He used to be a regular in a couple of my places.”

Marge and Oliver exchanged glances. Oliver said, “You found him?”

“No, I’d tell you that right away,” Major said. “There are about seven major places on my strip and they tell me he hasn’t been around for a while.”

“Yeah, I was pretty disappointed about that,” Silver said. “So I ask Rodney, you know, I’m not familiar with all of your homicides like I am with my district. Have you had any unusual recent murders…like a hanging?”

Major laughed. “And I say, if we had a hanging, you’d hear about it.”

“Yeah, the town’s not
that
big. A hanging would make the local news,” Silver said.

“A hanging made
our
local news,” Marge said. “It’s unusual.”

“Right,” Silver said. “So then I ask Rodney, have you had any recent murders by strangulation? Because hanging is essentially strangulation.”

“And I say, not that I can recall.”

Marge laughed. They had a real comic thing going.

Major said, “Most of our homicides are from knives, guns, and broken bottles that were smashed over some drunk’s head.”

Silver said, “So I was about to give up. But then you called and said you were coming down. And then you tell me that Garth might be traveling with a woman named Amanda Kowalski.”

“That’s what we’re thinking,” Oliver said. “Because she’s missing, too.”

“Right,” Silver answered. “So I call Rodney back up. Because by now, I found out that Garth likes his district better than mine. So I tell him that Garth might be traveling with a woman. So could he check out any couples traveling together?”