Authors: Faye Kellerman
Prayer in front
of a mirror was forbidden.
Which was fine with Decker. At six in the morning, the last thing he wanted was to look at his haggard face. Of course, that wasn’t the reason for the prohibition. The eyes were supposed to be focused inward to God, not outward, seduced by vanity. Yet every so often Decker caught his reflection in the living room’s bay window. A large figure wrapped in a
tallith
—a long fringed religious shawl—and
tephillin
—known by the clumsy English word “phylacteries.” They were small prayer-filled boxes which were secured to the body by leather straps. One set of long thin strips of hide had been wound down the length of his right arm; another set encircled his skull, then dangled past his shoulders. A black leather box rested on his forehead; a second was perched on his biceps.
Weird.
Still, the primitive ritual worked. Every morning as he girded his arm and head, Decker thought about God even if only for a twinkle of time. Thinking about Rav Schulman’s explanation…the beautiful allegories he had used. The box on the forehead representing God’s gift of intellect to man, the other on the biceps connoting man’s brute strength tethered to the spiritual.
But he looked strange. As he removed the paraphernalia, he wondered what his fellow professionals would think if they saw him bound in leather, as if embroiled in an S&M
sex game. He pondered this as he undid the straps, freeing himself of symbolic servitude.
The phone rang. The business line. Still partially tied, he picked up the receiver. “Decker.”
Strapp spoke. “David Garrison was found dead in his apartment ten minutes ago. Looks like an OD.”
Decker refrained from cursing. He still had God’s name resting on his forehead. “Who found him?”
“Cleaning lady.”
“She’s sure he’s dead?”
“As cold as Russian vodka.”
“An OD. Okay. Let me guess. There was a needle conveniently gripped in Garrison’s fingers.”
“By his side.”
“Jeanine’s slipping—”
“There’s no evidence that Jeanine was anywhere near the place.”
“There’s where you’re wrong, sir. We’ve got concrete, carved-in-stone evidence that Jeanine
was
there.”
“What are you talking about?”
“David Garrison’s body.
There’s
your evidence.”
“Decker—”
“I’m coming down.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
He ducked under the yellow crime-scene ribbon that had been stretched across the door.
The first detective at the scene, but not the first cop. Four officers, one of them talking to a young Hispanic woman in a white uniform, who was rubbing her arms. Beside her was a pail filled with bottles of cleaning solutions and brushes. The cleaning lady. She’d keep for a moment. He flashed his badge to the uniforms, went over to the body.
Stretched out on the floor, Garrison’s arms and legs were bent at all angles. He had landed or had been positioned on his back, his head arched back, white lips apart. Clean blond hair framed a gray face, fell across open dead eyes, the pupils already fixed. A knocked-over chair was at his left side, the needle and tourniquet at his right. He wore
jeans and a short-sleeve T-shirt. Two puncture wounds in the cubital fossa—the triangular depression below the elbow crease. The common plexus of veins where junkies first shoot up—until those vessels collapse. Then they go for the backs of the hands, the legs, the feet, the stomach, finally settling on anywhere with a pulse.
Such ugly business.
He heard a grinding sound, looked up. Out of nowhere, a wheelchair broke through the yellow ribbon, as if it had just won a race. The machine’s occupant was very muscular from the waist up. Blond curly hair, manicured three days’ growth of beard.
Wade Anthony.
Behind him was Jeanine. Wide-eyed. Her mouth agape. Dressed in loose sweats.
“I got a call from David’s landlady!” she shrieked to no one in particular. “What’s going on?”
Decker stepped in front, blocking her view of the body. “Ma’am, can you step outside for just a moment?”
Instant anger in her eyes. “What are
you
doing here?” she snarled.
“Ms. Garrison—”
“Get out of my way! Now!”
Anthony spoke up. “Can someone tell us what’s going on?”
“Be glad to tell you, sir, once we’re outside—”
“Get out of my way!” Jeanine charged him, bounced off his chest. It was then that Decker noticed she was wearing makeup—including foundation. Because it had come off on his shirt. She also wore earrings and had put on perfume.
Two uniforms—a man and a woman—rushed over. Injected themselves between Jeanine and Decker. Stood their ground, legs apart, arms folded across their chests.
“Back off, ma’am!” the woman ordered.
Arms flailing, Jeanine started screaming. “You goddamn son of a bitch, bastard—”
“Back off!” the female officer insisted.
Jeanine screamed, “I want to see my brother and this bastard won’t let me through!”
Decker shouted over her, “Ms. Garrison, can you let me talk?”
“You son of a bitch! Get
out
of here!”
Strapp chose that moment to make his entrance. Jeanine whirled to him. “Get this monster out of my way. He won’t let me see my brother! He’s trying to brainwash him against me! That’s what David told me. The police were brainwashing him—”
Strapp said, “Ms. Garrison, the police are here because we received a call. I’m sorry to say that your brother has reportedly died of an overdose!”
Jeanine’s hands gripped long blond hair. “Oh God! Oh no!” She yanked at her tresses. “My parents, then this! It can’t be! It just can’t be!”
Hate-filled eyes turned to Decker, advanced toward him. “You
killed
him, you bastard!” Abruptly, she drew back her hand, smacked him hard across the face.
Decker’s fingers went to his stinging cheek as fury clouded his senses. The female officer—Heather Morgan—grabbed Jeanine’s arm, turned her, and pushed her face against the wall. “Calm down this
minute
!”
“I’m going to
get
you, Decker!” Jeanine struggled against the officer’s grip. “I’m going to get you
all
!”
Decker said, “Take her
out
of here!”
Anthony hoisted himself upward until his rear was off the seat. He yelled, “Let her go, man! She’s just had a terrible shock!”
Strapp said, “Let her go, Officer Morgan!”
Decker’s eyes grew in shock. “
What
?”
“I
said
, let her go, Officer!” Strapp reiterated. “That’s an order.” To Decker, he said, “Take a walk, Pete!”
A second slap across the face. Not a physical one but much deeper and harder. “I don’t friggin’
believe
—”
“Now!” Strapp gripped Decker’s arm, pushed him forward. “Take a
long walk
!”
Jeanine shook off Officer Morgan, smugness stamped across her face. She shrieked, “You’ll hear from me in
court, Lieutenant. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging on street corners!”
“Is that a
threat
?”
“It’s a
promise
—”
Strapp pushed Decker forcefully. “
Out
, Lieutenant!”
Jeanine screamed, “I’ll ruin you, you
bastard
!”
Decker stepped toward her. “The sentiment runs both ways, lady!”
“
Out
now, Decker!” Using an interlocking finger grip and body leverage, Strapp was barely able to contain him. He slowly managed to inch the big man away from the scene, away from the apartment. Using maximum exertion! Maximum effort!
And Decker wasn’t even
fighting
. Just passively resisting. The guy must have the strength of a bull elephant. Which gave Strapp pause for thought. Had Decker wanted to lash out, there could have been real problems.
Onto the street. Decker was soaked in sweat…panting…shaking…ready to strangle the next asshole who got in his way. Seething at Jeanine, boiling over at Strapp. Angrier at
him
than at
her
!
Goddamn son of a bitch!
As soon as Strapp had taken him to a secluded spot, Decker shook off the captain’s arm as if it were a gnat. He spoke quickly and furiously. “You just cut off my balls in front of that cunt—”
“Go back to basics, Decker!” Strapp snapped back. “First de-escalate the situation—”
“Bullshit!” Decker spat out. “Bullshit,
bullshit
!”
“You’re skirting the border of insubordination!” Strapp cut in. “Take a walk, Lieutenant, and cool off!”
Decker felt his head pounding, exploding fireworks of white light. He closed his eyes, forced himself to count to ten. Heard Strapp speaking softly.
“…been through the mill, Pete. Why don’t you take the day off? Spend some time with that beautiful wife of yours. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”
Again, Decker counted to ten. He opened his eyes. With physical sight came the focus. Clarity of purpose. He
laughed bitterly. “This is unbelievable. You’re shutting me down!”
Strapp blinked. “Pete, you’re the best lieutenant I’ve ever had under my command. Incredibly hardworking, dedicated, not only book smart but street clever. Believe it or not, I’m trying to save you—”
“Thank you, Jesus—”
“—get you away from that bitch before she makes you react…giving her a
real
reason to sue you.”
Decker’s hand involuntarily went to his cheek. He didn’t speak.
Strapp blew out air. “Go home, Pete!”
Decker waited a beat. Then he said, “I’m a good soldier, Captain. But I’m not a mindless one.” He took his badge from his pocket, unharnessed his gun. Presented the package to his captain. “Here you go.”
“Put it away, Peter.”
“I mean it—”
“I know you do. Put it away.”
Decker didn’t move.
Strapp tightened his fingers into fists. “Don’t draw lines in the sand, Pete. You have too much to lose.”
“Fine. I lose. Take my job. I’ll keep my pride.”
“Don’t be a schmuck, for godsakes. You’ve got kids to support.”
“I quit now, I’ll retire with half-time pension. My wife has skills. And a trust fund. A big one. Besides, I’m not exactly without resources. I’ve got twenty-five years of police experience behind me and I’m still licensed as a lawyer. So screw you—”
“Decker—”
“You want to cut off my balls, this is what you get. Take my damn badge. Either take it or stay the hell away from me!”
A standoff.
Strapp’s jaw working overtime. “Just hear me out.”
Decker didn’t answer.
Strapp glanced around, over his shoulder. “Put your
badge and gun away. We have our differences. But we don’t advertise them in public.”
“Yeah, I forgot. This is Hollywood. Image is every—”
“Fuck you!” Strapp blurted out.
Decker expected Strapp to stomp off. But he didn’t. Decker stalled but eventually pocketed the equipment. “Make it quick, Strapp. My bullshit meter is about to blow.”
Strapp glared at him. “You asshole, don’t you dare push me any further! I am still your
superior
officer. You talk to me, Decker, you call me
sir
.”
Decker held up his palms, took a step backward in mock retreat.
Strapp caught his breath. “Pete, I did what I just did for your sake. And I’m doing what I’m doing for your sake as well. I’ve
got
to take you off the case—”
“Fuck this noise—”
“I can’t give the bitch any more fodder for her suit! And I can’t have David Garrison’s death ruling tainted by shouts of police conspiracy. The poor guy is dead! We owe him the truth—”
“What the
hell
do you think I’ve been looking for!”
“Jeanine’s suit is a stumbling block to your involvement. You’re off the case.
But
—”
“Ah, the
but
.”
Strapp continued. “Pete, it doesn’t mean all your prior work on Estelle’s has been shitcanned. It doesn’t mean Jeanine’s off the hook. It means we continue the investigation, it means you have input. But officially, I’ll call the shots. Ergo, I take the heat. You have nothing to lose except aggravation. And maybe a little credit if we ever get to the bottom of this fucking mess!”
No one spoke.
Strapp sighed. “Can you live with that?”
“I don’t give a flying fuck about credit.”
“Then you have nothing to lose. Lieutenant, you are a busy man.
You’ve
got a squad room to run. I refuse to allow that cunt to distract you any longer.”
Decker didn’t answer, his head still buzzing like a jack
hammer. He forced himself to breathe normally, to listen to ambient sounds—birds chirping, dogs barking, the faint rotors of a helicopter, the distant rush of morning traffic.
Strapp said, “We’ll discuss the case daily. All you have to do is stay out of it
officially
. Let me direct.”
“I have no problem with you directing. I don’t give a rat’s ass who directs as long as we get bottom-line results. I firmly believe that thirteen…
fourteen
people died because of that bitch. She’s got to pay!”
“If that accusation turns out to be backed by solid evidence, she’ll pay big time. Just let me handle it.”
Whatever that was worth. Decker regarded his superior. Tense. Nervous. Angry. Upset. Was he telling the truth? Impossible to know.
Strapp took out a kerchief, wiped sweat from his forehead and face. “Call up Dunn and Oliver. You trust them, don’t you?”
“Very much.”
“So we’ll let them secure the scene, gather evidence, and talk to the ME. Let David Garrison’s death be their baby, okay?”
Decker paused. “Fine.”
Again, Strapp wiped his brow. “You know, Decker, as much as you don’t want to believe it, it could have been an OD. David had a history of drug abuse.”
“How convenient for Jeanine.”
Strapp didn’t speak. Decker closed his eyes and opened them. “It’s a good point…
sir
.”
Strapp jerked his head up. “Go home.”