Hangman (8 page)

“You sounded grumpy over the phone,” Cindy said. “Being totally narcissistic, I figured my presence would cheer you up.”

“It does.” He faced Hannah. “How was your day?”

“Uneventful.”

“How’d it go with Gabe?”

“Fine. He’s in his temporary room. Any luck with his parents?”

“Nothing with his mother, but his father called me.”

“That’s good,” Hannah said. “Any reason why he called you and not Gabe?”

“No idea. I’ll talk to Gabe in a minute. Where’s Koby?”

“In the kitchen with Eema.”

Decker headed for the kitchen and came in just as Koby was lifting an oversize iron-clad casserole from the oven. “Something smells incredibly good.”

“Good and heavy,” Koby said.

“Chicken-and-sausage paella.” Rina kissed her husband’s lips. She was wearing an apron festooned with butterflies and her black hair was pulled into a ponytail. “I love one-dish meals.”

“There is also a salad.” Koby plopped the hot casserole onto the stovetop.

“Two-dish meals, then.”

“And all the appetizers. And dessert.” Koby grinned. “Don’t worry, Rina. I will eat it all. I always do.”

“How do you eat so much and stay so thin?” Decker asked.

“I don’t know, Peter. I would say that most Ethiopian men are thin, but most of us in Africa are also on a subsistence diet. I think it’s genetics and luck.” He patted his stomach and picked up a stack of dishes. “I’ll set the table.”

“I can do that,” Decker said.

“You stay with Rina and play sous-chef. My wife and sister-in-law will help. They will probably relieve me of my table setting duties anyway, which is fine with me. I haven’t read the paper today.”

“It’s on the dining-room table,” Rina told him.

After Koby left, Decker regarded his wife’s inquisitive bright blue eyes. She was bathed in a sheen of sweat and looked incredibly sexy. He said, “I’ve found Chris Donatti. Rather, he found me. He’s driving in from Nevada and should be in town by midnight.”

“That’s good…I think.”

“We’ll see. I’ve got to talk to the kid.”

“I haven’t seen him yet.”

“He and Hannah came home about five minutes ago. He’s in the bedroom.”

“Okay,” Rina said. “Will your chat take long?”

“I suspect not. Do you need any help?”

“I was going to ask you to choose a bottle of wine, but I can do it. How about a Sangiovese?”

“Anything as long as it has alcohol.” Decker paused. “But not too much. I’ve got some work to do with a fresh homicide and then I have to deal with Donatti. I need to be on my toes.”

“Yeah, the hanging. That’s horrible. How’s it going?”

Decker blew out air. “It seems the girl enjoyed partying. Nothing wrong with that, but risky behavior widens the net of suspects. We’ve barely scratched the surface.”

“It’s going to be a long evening for you.”

“When is it ever not?” Decker pulled his wife into his arms. “Lucky for me, I’ve got an understanding wife who cooks like a demon.”

She gave him a lingering kiss. “Let me ask you this. What’s more important to you? The understanding part or the cooking part?”

“Depends how hungry I am. Right now, you could be mean to me and I wouldn’t care a fig. Just so long as I get my fair share of paella.”

LYING ATOP ONE
of the twin beds, his hands behind his head, Gabe felt his eyes close a few seconds before he heard the knock. It wasn’t tentative, it wasn’t overly strong. It was a detective’s knock. He sat up. “Come in.”

Decker came in and sat down on the twin opposite. “Nothing on your mom, but your father called me about an hour ago from Nevada. He couldn’t get a flight out that made sense, so he’s driving in. He should be here around midnight.”

Gabe felt his voice catch in his throat. He nodded.

Decker said, “How do you feel about that?”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?” When the boy didn’t answer, Decker said, “No sense being coy. We both know who and what your dad is. How safe do you feel being with him?”

“Safe. He’s okay.”

“He beat up on your mom. Has he ever beat up on you?”

“No.” Gabe paused. “It was the first time he ever beat up on her, you know.”

“Maybe,” Decker said. “But I also know that your dad has way more sophisticated methods than his fists to intimidate. If you really knew your father, you’d be scared to death of him.”

“I know my father.” Gabe licked his lips. “I can handle him.”

“No one should have to live in fear. That’s just basic.”

“The thing is…” He bounced his leg up and down. “If my mom remains missing, my dad’s not gonna stick around to raise me. Even when he’s home, he does his own thing. I’m like a nuisance to him. Besides, I don’t need anyone to raise me. All I need is a place to live, access to a car and driver, and a piano teacher. Chris will give me money.”

“You have other options, Gabe.”

“I barely know my grandfather and I’m not living with my aunt. She’s a slob and I’m obsessive-compulsive. Her habits bother me way more than my dad’s temper. At least he’s as neat as I am.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “If you need anything, just give me a call. You’re certainly welcome to stay here a few days to figure it all out.”

“Thanks.” He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. The boy mustered a smile even though his eyes were on the brink on tears. “Thank you very much. I take it you haven’t heard anything about my mom.”

“You’ll be the first to know.” Decker stood up. “We’re about ready to eat. Lots of food. I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am. Be there in a few.”

Decker closed the door and gave the kid his privacy.

He pretended not to hear him cry.

H
ANNAH KNEW SOMETHING
was going on when Cindy didn’t drink the wine and Eema kept pushing food on her.

“How about some more cobbler?” Rina asked.

“If I eat another bite, I will explode,” Cindy answered.

“Then how about a care package for later. I’ll also give you some paella.” Rina got up from the dining-room table and went into the kitchen before her stepdaughter could protest. Cindy looked at her watch. It was after nine.

“That went fast. We’ve got to go. I’ll go help her pack up.”

“I’ll help you pack up.” Hannah raced after her sister and met up with her in the kitchen. She said, “Are you sure you don’t have anything you want to tell me?”

Cindy felt her face go hot. “Aren’t you nosy?”

“Yes, no, maybe?”

Rina said, “Hannah, you’re acting entirely inappropriate.”

“Puh-leeze?”

“Keep your voice down,” Cindy said. “The answer is yes, but I couldn’t very well say anything in front of the boy.”

Hannah clapped her hands with the tip of her fingers. “When?”

“End of December.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Rina said, “Hannah, that’s enough!”

She turned to her mother. “How long have
you
known?”

“As long as Cindy’s wanted me to know. And keep your voice down, please.”

Cindy said, “Your mom is right. Let’s keep it low-key.”

“Can I come shopping with you for cribs?”

Rina said, “You can shop with me for a crib. We’ll keep one here.”

“I can’t believe you and Abba kept it from me.” Hannah paused. “I can believe that you kept it, but not Abba. He must be so happy!”

“That’s an understatement,” Rina said. “It hasn’t been all that hard because you two rarely intersect with your busy schedules.”

Hannah couldn’t keep the grin off her face. “I’ll help Eema pack up for you. You go sit and relax.”

“I’m feeling fine, I’m not a cripple.
You
go sit. Every time you leave the table, that poor boy looks like he’s swallowed lye. Do him a favor and ask to be excused so he can be excused.”

“Okay.” Hannah gave her sister a giant hug. “I love you.”

Hannah pranced back into the dining room, where she exchanged wide, knowing smiles with her father. Gabe didn’t appear to notice. He and Koby were talking about music. It turned out that Gabe played a zillion other instruments. He said to Decker, “I noticed that your sons have a couple of cases in the closet. Mind if I have a look?”

“It’s a guitar and a bass,” Decker said. “I don’t think either one of them has been played much. Knock yourself out.”

“None of us have any musical talent,” Hannah said. “Koby has a beautiful voice, but that’s only because he isn’t a blood relative. Can I be excused?”

“I still see dishes on the table,” Decker said.

Hannah sighed impatiently and started gathering the dessert dishes. When Gabe got up to help, Decker said, “You’re a guest. She can do it.”

“I don’t mind, Lieutenant. It makes me feel normal.”

Decker nodded his assent. Fifteen minutes later, the couple was gone and the door to his son’s room was shut. Actual music was coming from behind the walls even though the amp was turned way down. Decker listened for a moment as notes flew out in rapid succession—bent, twisted, warped. Atonal riffs, but interesting. When Decker knocked softly, the music stopped. Gabe opened the door a crack. “Too loud?”

“Not at all. I just want to tell you my schedule if you need me. Your dad’s due in around three hours from now. I’ve still got a little work left to do. I’ll be back here around eleven. I want to be here when he comes to pick you up. I’ve got to talk to him anyway. If you need to reach me earlier, give me a call on my cell, okay?”

“Thanks. I’ll be okay.”

“You’re all packed up?”

“I will be. Not much to pack.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.” The teen paused. “Thanks for everything.”

“Gabe, if you want a few days to think about things, I can make that happen. You don’t have to go with him right away.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Just so you know, all right?”

He nodded.

Decker said, “I haven’t heard anything bad about your mom or her car. Maybe she just needed a few days to think by herself.”

Gabe swallowed hard as he nodded.

Decker put his hand on his shoulder. “You’re a tough kid. But even tough kids need help every now and then. Don’t be shy about calling.”

“Okay.”

“See you later.”

“Sure. Bye.” The door closed gently.

The music that followed was soft and melancholy.

THE PORT HOLE
was a waterfront restaurant/grill/sports bar boasting free hors d’oeuvres during happy hour, weekday specials, and local sports games broadcast on a ten-foot flat screen. True to their ad, the ginormous TV was airing the Lakers-Nuggets game with Kobe Bryant at the line, his magnified sweaty face revealing every open pore. There was such a thing, Marge thought, as too much high resolution.

Sela Graydon’s description of Crystal Larabee was as follows: blond, blue-eyed, good body, probably garbed in sexy clothes, and she drinks cosmopolitans. There were three candidates, all of them at the bar: a blonde in the sequined tank top and jeans, another blonde in the red tee and lamé miniskirt, and lastly, a blonde wearing a strapless black tube and low-rise jeans whose thong was visible.

“My gut says number three,” Oliver said.

“I’m with you, partner.”

The two of them snaked their way into the three-deep crowd at the bar until Marge was looking over Crystal’s shoulder on the right and Oliver was on her left. She was practically falling out of her tube top and her mascara was as thick as tar. She was talking animatedly to a bullnecked block of man who had his hand on her lower back, a finger slipped under her thong. He looked a good ten years older than his prey.

“Crystal?” Oliver said.

“Hey…” She slowly turned to face him. “Who’re you?”

Her voice was slurred. A dollop of drool sat at the corner of her mouth.

Oliver took out his badge. “Police. I’d like to talk to you.”

Her heavy lids were halfway closed. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Yeah, what’s going on?” Block Man echoed.

Marge took out her badge. “We need a little privacy. Give us a couple of minutes and we’re out of your hair.”

“S’right,” Crystal said. “I’m tired anyway.” She tossed on a black sweater and slung her purse over her shoulder. “I’m outta here.”

She slid off her bar stool and tripped. Oliver caught her before she hit the ground. “How about we take a little walk?”

“I don’ need a walk…” She fished out her keys.

Marge gently took them away. No resistance. “I really think you need a walk first.”

She stared at Marge, blinking several times. “Who’re you?”

“We’re the police,” Marge said. “We need to talk to you about Adrianna Blanc. You remember her. She’s one of your best friends.”

Immediately, Crystal burst into tears.

Marge put her arm around her and Crystal leaned her head against her chest and sobbed. “I know, honey. It hurts.”

“It hurts so bad!” Crystal wailed.

A sleek, dark Latino bartender looked up. “Can you get her out of here, please?”

Oliver took one arm and Marge took the other. Together, they led Crystal out of the restaurant, crossed over the asphalt parking lot, took her down a half-dozen steps until they reached the board-walk. It was an overcast night and the sporadic streetlamps emitted muted yellow light haloed by fog. They schlepped her along the rickety wooden esplanade, passing boat slip after boat slip after boat slip, the spaces holding everything from medium-size motor cruisers to mega-size yachts with antennas and satellites. There was a gentle saline breeze coming off the ocean.

In her wedgies, Crystal was having trouble standing erect. “Why, why,
why
!”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Oliver said. “And you can help us, Crystal. But you’ve got to focus.”

“I don’ wanna focus.” She wiped her eyes on her arm, tattooing the skin with a black ribbon of mascara. “I wanna go home. I wanna sleep!” She sniffed and began rooting through her purse for her keys.

“Where do you live?” Marge already knew the answer. She and Oliver had gone by the place earlier in the evening.

“In the Valley.”

“How convenient! I live there, too. Why don’t I take you home and Detective Oliver will drive your car for you.”

“I’m…okay.”

“I know, honey, but this way you can rest.” Marge was already steering her back to the parking lot. “Where’s your car, honey?”

She squinted. “I think…” She tottered and stopped.

Marge said, “What car do you drive?”

“A Prius. Gotta be like…econonological.”

There were a number of them in the lot. “What color?”

“Blue.”

“I see it.” Marge tossed Oliver the keys. “See you later.”

“Good luck.”

Marge helped her into the passenger seat of the unmarked and buckled her seat belt. “Comfy?” No answer. Marge started the motor and drove toward the freeway.

Crystal snored all the way home.