Authors: Faye Kellerman
The message was
on his desk when Decker walked into his office.
See me immediately
.
Not a good omen. What could Strapp want with him at seven-thirty in the morning? He went around the corner to the captain’s office.
Strapp waved him inside. “Shut the door.”
Decker complied, regarded the man. In his thin face sat intense, angry eyes and a hard mouth. But his hands…fingers kneading one another. He was anxious.
“Sit down.”
Decker sat without speaking, eyes scanning the room. Walls filled with diplomas and certificates as well as pictures of the captain with VIPs—the mayor, the governor, the president. Still, the furniture was strictly departmental issue. A serviceable desk and standard chairs. Metal file cabinets. The man had an ego, but he wasn’t peacock vain.
Decker directed his eyes to his superior. “What is it, sir?”
“Do you have hard evidence against Jeanine Garrison?”
Decker continued to stare, said nothing.
Strapp met his gaze. “I got a wake-up call this morning. You’ve been implying an involvement between her and Harlan Manz—”
“So much for keeping confidences,” Decker muttered.
“You toss Jeanine Garrison’s picture around with Harlan
Manz to Garrison’s friends, you think it’s
not
going to come back on you? Are you out of your mind? She’s furious, screaming police harassment. Threatening a lawsuit.”
“I didn’t toss anyone’s picture around. I mentioned the picture to a mutual friend, trying to get a fix on Garrison’s relationship to Manz. I’m running an investigation, Captain—”
“That’s right. You’re running an investigation, not a witch-hunt.”
Decker looked at the ceiling. “Get a call from the mayor, Cap?”
“You’re fucking outta line, Decker!”
Decker was quiet and so was Strapp. The captain was breathing audibly, cheeks and the tip of his nose bright red. But there was more than that. Decker knew that someone had tied Strapp’s hands. It didn’t sit well with him.
Quietly, the captain said, “We’ve got a society woman, Pete. She’s hosted umpteen charity events for some very good causes. A philanthropic woman with a lot of contacts. And she just lost her parents in a horrible, devastating tragedy—”
“Ah, yes, the
thing
.”
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Strapp glared at him. “You go around talking about a newspaper article that’s over two years old, implying that she played a part in her own parents’ murder—”
“Not at all. You want to hear the truth?”
“Not particularly. I want you to stop whatever the hell you’re doing until you get evidence. Good, solid, concrete, carved-in-stone
evidence
.”
“If I stop what I’m doing, I won’t get evidence—”
“You don’t have evidence, you quit pestering her. You can go now.”
Silence.
Decker said, “At least Jeanine’s not a liar. She does have her connections—”
“Decker—”
“An O.J. and Menendez rolled into an eye-pleasing package.”
“Are you done with the sarcasm?”
“Yes, I suppose I am.”
“Then get back to work.”
Decker took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “Cap, you tell me how I’m supposed to get evidence against
anyone
if I can’t conduct an investigation.”
Strapp said, “Harlan Manz came into Estelle’s and mowed down thirteen people, maimed thirty-two others, then shot himself. We got forensics, we got witnesses, we got a cut-and-dried case. Why are you turning this into a conspiracy?”
Decker was about to speak.
Strapp blurted out, “She said you came on to her. She refused you and now you’re seeking revenge.”
Decker kept his face flat, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.
Strapp said, “You want to tell me about it?”
Decker said, “She’s a very sexy woman.”
“And?”
“And that is it.”
Strapp rubbed his temples. “You didn’t come on to her?”
“No.”
“Let anything slip out?”
Decker was about to respond, then laughed at the unintentional double entendre. They both did. “No. I was completely professional. I was aware of her attraction. So I was especially conscientious.”
“Maybe you’re going at her because of your strong attraction to her?”
“I didn’t say
strong
attraction—”
“Don’t argue semantics with me, Decker. Are you out to get her?”
“No, I am not, sir. I am out to explain some gross inconsistencies in a very puzzling case.”
Strapp eyed his man. Quietly he asked, “She come on to you, Pete?”
“Looked straight at my wedding band, then invited me to a private tour of the new museum.”
“What’d you say?”
“I told her thanks but no thanks. My family likes me home at night. Would you like me to reconstruct the conversation verbatim?”
“Don’t get smart-assed with me.”
Decker blinked a couple of times. “Is she slapping me and/or the LAPD with a formal suit?”
“Not yet. But I got a call from her lawyer…among other people. He made noises, Pete. Told me to control my men.”
“Christ!” Decker reminded himself to unclench his jaw. “Okay.
What
do you want me to do?”
Strapp said, “If it was anyone else…anyone else…”
No one spoke.
“The fact that I believe you doesn’t mean squat. If she presses charges, I’m hogtied. You go through the whole routine.”
“I know.”
“Do you think she’s doing this to keep you from doing your job? Or is she a spurned woman who’s getting even?
Or
is she just a nutcase?”
“Maybe all three.”
“What do you have?”
Decker paused, then pulled out his notebook and began to recount the case, item by item. He told Strapp about the suicide position, about the inconsistent bullet trajectories, about the number of bullets per number of empty magazines. Then he discussed Jeanine: how she had put him off the first time. Later, when he returned, her friendly attitude had turned hostile. He spoke about how she stood to inherit millions, her interest in tennis, and her acquaintance with Harlan Manz. How close, no one knew. At the moment, that’s what Decker was trying to figure out.
“What you have isn’t conclusive of anything.”
“Of course not. That’s why I’m running an investigation. If I had
conclusive
evidence, my job would be over.”
“What you have doesn’t give you the right to accuse victims of murder.”
“I don’t point fingers, I gather evidence. Accusations are for the District Attorney’s Office. Would you like to hear what I have so far?”
Strapp was quiet. “Go ahead.”
“I’ve got witnesses claiming that gunshots were coming from every direction—”
“Because they were hysterical.”
“Granted. They were all hysterical. And if that’s all we had, I would have dropped it. But then Forensics comes back…we got bullet trajectories inconsistent with the position of the shooter
and
a suspicious suicide.”
For the first time, Strapp’s interest was piqued. “In what way?”
“Harlan apparently held the gun about two and a half feet from his head.”
“Some people have problems putting a gun to their temple.”
“Six inches, maybe…but thirty? I got long arms…but even I would have problems bringing my arm out two and a half feet, then precisely aiming the gun at my temple.”
“How long is Harlan’s arm?”
“About three feet from the shoulder to the tip of his fingers. But you’ve got to remember that to shoot himself, he would’ve had to flex his wrist backward to aim the gun at his head. Which takes away his hand as part of the distance. I’m not saying it’s impossible. But it
is
an unusual angle.”
“What else?”
“I’ve got more shell casings than magazines—”
“In all the hullaballoo, we lost magazines.”
“Sir, everything you’re saying is possible. But all these glitches…they have a cumulative effect, Captain. So I took it a step further. I asked myself the logical question. What could explain the inconsistencies?”
“A second gunman.”
“Exactly.” Decker tried to hide the excitement in his
voice. “First thing I zeroed in on was Harlan Manz. Estelle’s wasn’t a robbery, we know that. So if it wasn’t a robbery, and if it wasn’t the work of a lone madman who committed suicide, what was it? To me, it was beginning to shape out as a hit.”
“Keep going.”
Decker paused. “Here’s the speculation part. I’m thinking that the person who hired Harlan to do the hit also hired a second gunman. Two people to do the job. And then the
second
gunman did a double-cross—either on his own or as part of the plan.”
The captain spoke in a flat voice. “A conspiracy worthy of Oliver Stone.”
Decker went on, ignoring the skepticism. “If we assume a hit, then someone who died in that restaurant was set up.”
Strapp said, “So you went through a list of the victims, looked up their loved ones and friends and enemies. Figured out who had the most to gain by the victim’s death.”
“You got it.”
“Narrowed it down to those who had a lot to gain
and
those who might have known Harlan Manz.”
“Right on the nailhead—”
“Came up with Jeanine Garrison.”
“Actually I narrowed it down to three parties because all the victims belonged to Greenvale Country Club, where Harlan had also worked.” Decker began ticking off the list on his fingers. “A real estate broker and her entourage, Walter Skinner and his date, and Ray and Linda Garrison. Marge and Oliver took the real estate group, Martinez took Walter’s widow, Webster took David Garrison, I took Jeanine. I went into the interview expecting nothing.
Nothing
. Then, out of
nowhere
, she started going hinky on me.”
“You hit a nerve—”
“The whole damn spinal column.”
“So she wasn’t the only one being looked into?”
“No, she wasn’t the only one. Captain, I didn’t know this woman from Adam. There was no hidden agenda.”
“Webster questioned the brother?”
“Of course.”
“That’s good…strengthens your case…our case.” Strapp made a tepee with his hands. “Still, you have nothing on her. And even if there was a connection between her and Manz, it doesn’t mean she ordered anything.”
“You know, sir, we’re talking thirteen homicides. The woman lost her parents. I think she’d be thrilled to hear about an investigation—if she were innocent.”
“Not an investigation that implicated her. Even innocent people don’t want to be
associated
with a mass murderer. Use your brain, Deck.”
Oliver had said the same thing. Decker said, “She’s
lying
about the harassment. So you’ve got to ask what else she’s lying about. And why does she want me out of the picture?”
“Because you’re implying nasty things about her. She claimed she rolled out the red carpet for you, took time out of her busy day, was civil and answered all your questions. Afterward, you were slow to leave. She didn’t know what to do, offered you something to drink—a soft drink, a glass of wine—”
“I don’t drink while I’m working.”
“You took the glass of wine, had a couple of drinks, then asked her out. She was shocked, tried to be nice, but you were insistent. Finally, she flatly refused your advances and you became angry. Next thing she knows, you’re spreading rumors about her.”
“Her allegations are patently
ridiculous
! I didn’t come on to her, I wasn’t slow to leave, and I didn’t have a glass of anything, let alone wine. I don’t drink on the job. It’s grounds for dismissal. Why would I do something so stupid?”
“Because we think with our cocks.”
“Sir, I’m not impervious to sexual feelings. Still, I keep my mouth shut, my hands to myself, and my zipper closed at all times. Because I love my wife, I love my children, I love my marriage. Bottom line, sir. What do you want me to do? You want me to back off, I’ll back off.”
“Until we work things out with her lawyers, stay away from Jeanine Garrison.”
Decker made a fist. “Crazy bitch—”
“I didn’t hear that,” Strapp said. “These are direct orders. Stop showing that picture you have of her and Harlan Manz together. Makes us look like the tabloid press. And stay away from Garrison’s friends.”
“What about her enemies?”
“Decker—”
“
Who
can I talk to?”
“You talk to anyone you’d like about Harlan Manz. And if Jeanine Garrison’s name happens to come up in the conversation…someone wants to talk about her…I suppose you can listen.”
Quietly, he walked through the door, heard Rina’s distant hum. The gentle soothing song of a mother to her baby. She was putting Hannah down for a noontime nap. He could picture them mentally…his wife’s smile, Hannah’s little head peeking out from the covers of her bed, carrot-colored curls over her forehead, Rina brushing them aside. Such pure love. It almost brought tears to his eyes.
He swallowed dryly, sat down at the dining-room table. Waiting. Waiting some more. Head in hand, his stomach in a knot. His brain played the bongos against his cranium. Finally Rina came into the room, surprised and delighted to see him.
“First roses, then this…” Suddenly, she became alarmed. “You’re ashen, Peter. What’s wrong?”
Decker paused before speaking. “Remember that woman I interviewed a couple of days ago? The one who got the better of me?”
Rina turned pale, sat down herself. She exhaled deeply. “Yes, I remember.”
“Well…there’s a possibility that I might get slapped with a sexual harassment suit.”
She brought her hand to her chest, whispered, “Thank God.”
Decker stared at her. “Thank God?”
“No, I mean…that’s terrible. What happened?”
Decker was quiet. Then he said, “Am I misreading you
…or did you just think I was about to confess something…like an affair?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Rina took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “I mean, first the roses out of the clear blue sky. Then you come in all white and hangdog.”
“Thank you for the trust.” He got up and walked into the kitchen.