Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 12 Page 10

  “It’s ratio, Marge. Me, I like something, I buy it. With women, it’s not just shopping, it’s an adventure. You’d think they were stalking a snow leopard instead of buying a T-shirt.”

  Marge rolled her eyes. “Bad night, Oliver?”

  He realized he was whining. He stared out the windshield. “These places just depress me.”

  Marge was disconcerted. It wasn’t like Oliver to act this way. Cynical, yes. Obnoxious, yes. But not depressed. She wondered if there was something wrong with his health, but she didn’t ask. There was work to be done.

  He said, “As a matter of fact, I had a fine night!”

  Marge waited for him to explain. When he didn’t, she asked, “Does that mean she had a brain?”

  “For your information, I can attract women that aren’t bimbos. When I put my mind to it, I can actually carry on a conversation—”

  “Scott, you’re acting constipated. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “I told you, I don’t like malls…there.” He pointed. “At three o’clock.”

  The place was roped off by a yellow crime scene ribbon. Marge eased the Honda over to the spot and pulled in behind one of the four cruisers. Milt Korman had arrived at the scene in a black-and-white. The brass had dictated that unmarkeds were to be used only when the element of surprise was necessary. Otherwise, it was preferred that the Dees use standard cop cars. It gave the appearance of more police out on the road. Marge thought about that as she got out of her Honda. No one said anything to her, so she was a happy camper.

  The door to Korman’s cruiser was open, and the victim was sitting in the back, her sandal-shod feet dangling outside, brushing the asphalt. She looked to be in her early thirties with a round face and saucer-shaped brown eyes, made bigger by judicious application of eyeliner. Some of the liner had run down her cheeks, giving her an Emmett Kelly sad clown look. She had wedge-cut platinum hair and wore bright copper lipstick.

  Korman was leaning against the black-and-white, writing in his pad. He was in his late fifties. A no-nonsense second-grade Dee, he had thick, peppered hair, florid skin, and a misshapen, bulbous nose fashioned from boxing and drink. Upon seeing Oliver and Marge, he waved them over. “This isn’t just a standard GTA, it’s a jacking. You should have been called right away. Anyway, I’ll tell you what I know, and you can question the vic according to your needs…. The deal was this. She was shopping, looking for her car…” He glanced up, his eyes panning the parking lot. “Big mother place.”

  “Don’t you just hate malls?” Oliver said.

  “Yeah, I hate shopping,” Korman groused. “Anyway, she was lost and was so intent on finding her car, she didn’t notice if the perp was following her or not.”

  “The perp was definitely a he?” Oliver asked.

  “She said it was a he.”

  Marge became animated. “She saw him?”

  “No. Hold on a minute.” Korman turned cranky. “Let me get this out, okay? She didn’t notice anyone following her. She finally found her car by pushing on the panic button.”

  Oliver said, “Another thing wrong with malls. You always forget where you parked.”

  “Can I get this out?” Korman asked. “She pushed the panic button, then found her car. Started to open the door, then, at that point, she did sense another being. Never saw the guy. He pushed her down, facedown, on the hood, then shoved her to the ground.”

  “So she doesn’t know it’s a he.”

  “He talked. It was a he.”

  “Accented?” Oliver asked.

  “Don’t know.” Korman squinted as the chrome bumpers reflected sunlight. “The perp took her keys and her car. I put out an APB right away on the car. No response?”

  “Not so far,” Oliver answered.

  “Weird,” Korman said. “How far can you go with a red BMW convertible? It’s pretty conspicuous. Unless he had the semi waiting and the perp immediately drove it into the trailer. Maybe we should put out a bulletin to look for a rig big enough to house a car.”

  “Either that or there’s a chop shop nearby.”

  Korman said, “I haven’t heard about it. But there sure as hell been enough carjackings to justify a chop shop in these parts.” He shook his head. “You want to interview the vic now?”

  “Fine with me,” Marge said.

  Korman walked them over to his car. “Ms. Mills, I’d like you to meet Detective Dunn and Detective Oliver. They’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  The woman stole a glance at Marge, then focused her gaze on her nails—long, hard acrylic nails done in the same bright copper tone as her lipstick. Her voice had an air of resignation that comes from being victimized. “I’m tired. I’d like to go home. Can’t we do this another time?”

  Marge said, “We won’t take too long.”

  Oliver said, “You want us to call somebody for you?”

  “I already called my sister.”

  “And she’s coming?”

  “Yes.” The woman held her head. “I suppose I can talk to you until she gets here. What do you want to know? I didn’t see him.”

  “But you heard him,” Marge stated.

  “Yeah.”

  “Male?”

  “Definitely.”

  “What did he sound like?” Oliver asked.

  “A maniac!” She glared at him, then returned her eyes to her lap. At this point, Oliver knew that any male was probably at the top of her shit list.

  He said, “Did the voice sound accented?”

  Stacy pursed her lips. “No, he sounded American. Why?”

  “Just trying to gather infor—”

  “No, you asked me that for a reason.” She became agitated. “Why’d you ask me that? Do you suspect a foreigner?”

  Marge said, “I wish I could give you more information, but—”

  “You cops are all alike!”

  What did she know about cops? Oliver wondered. “Did he have a weapon?”

  “I didn’t see one. But I think he held a gun to me. I felt something hard against my head.” Tears leaked from Stacy’s eyes. “He kicked me…once in the ribs and once in the back. I’m very strong, but shit…he hurt me. I’m in a lot of pain!”

  “I’m so sorry.” Marge turned to Korman and mouthed the word—Ambulance?

  Stacy caught it. “I sent the paramedics away.” She shrugged. “These ambulances are a scam. All they ever do is rack up hospital bills. They’re all in cahoots…. I don’t want anyone I don’t know touching me.”

  Marge could understand that. “But you will get checked out—”

  “My sister will take me to my doctor. She’s already called him.” She caught her breath. “Think you’ll find my car?”

  “We’re working on it,” Korman answered.

  “That means no. I’d really like to be left alone until my sister gets here.”

  Oliver said, “You didn’t recognize this guy’s voice or anything?”

  Stacy regarded him as if he were a moron. “No.”

  “So you don’t think this was some kind of revenge thing?”

  “No!” Stacy became jumpy. “Why would I think that? What are you driving at?”

  “Ms. Mills,” Oliver asked, “did you ever know a man by the name of Armand Crayton?”

  Stacy’s face lost all expression. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

  A surprised Oliver regarded Marge. “I’m sorry if I upset—”

  “This entire episode upset me! You’re just another cog on the wheel.” She got out of the patrol car. “Can you leave now?”

  But Oliver pressed on. “It’s just that this jacking reminded me of Crayton—”

  “Except I’m alive and he’s dead!” Stacy shrieked. “Please leave now!”

  “I’m trying to help you—”

  “I don’t need help! Go away now!”

  “This isn’t going to go away, Ms. Mills—”

  “Out!” she screamed. Then her face crumpled. “Please, leave…please?�
��

  “All right.” Oliver nodded. “I’ll leave.” He waited a few moments, then fished through his wallet. “If by any chance you want to talk to me, here’s my card.” He held out the square piece of paper.

  To everyone’s surprise, Stacy Mills took the card.

  10

  Feeling a headache coming on, Decker rubbed his temples. From across his desk, he glanced at Oliver, looking his natty self, and Marge, wearing a utilitarian black pants outfit. He said, “Who brought up Crayton?”

  “Yo,” Oliver replied.

  “Why?” Decker asked.

  “Because she drove a red BMW convertible. Crayton’s car was a red Corniche, and Tarkum’s car was a red Ferrari. Maybe a pattern?”

  Marge said, “He hit a nerve. You should have seen the way she reacted. She freaked. Told us to get the hell out. But she took Oliver’s business card. Stacy’s sitting on something. The question is, what?”

  Again, Decker rubbed his temples. What color was Cindy’s Saturn? Some weird teal green. It certainly wasn’t a luxury car. He sat up straight and tried to appear objective. “What do you think she’s hiding?”

  Oliver unbuttoned his blue suit jacket, but refrained from loosening his tie. He was hot and wondered why no one else appeared uncomfortable. “Some revenge thing. The same jackers that took down Crayton may be out to get her.”

  “Did the jacker make any attempt to kidnap her?”

  “No.” Marge picked a speck of lint off her black pants. “According to Stacy’s story, he told her to hit the ground and expressed regrets that he didn’t have more time, because she was nice.”

  “Nice, as in he’d like to have raped her?”

  “That was the implication,” Oliver said. “Agreed, Crayton and Mills aren’t mirror images of each other. But I think there’s a connection. Especially given Stacy’s reaction.”

  “The crime sounds more like the Elizabeth Tarkum case,” Decker said.

  “So maybe they’re all connected.”

  Decker said, “And the common thread is…”

  Oliver shrugged. “Crayton made enemies. There could be lots of reasons for people wanting him dead. Maybe he was associated with these ladies. Because these cases don’t fit in with the other jackings. The women weren’t carting kids, and the vics weren’t forced inside their vehicles.”

  “So why jack the women now when the Crayton case is old?”

  Oliver said, “First off, Elizabeth Tarkum was jacked around six months ago. Second, maybe he figured now was a good time to do Mills because the police might lump her jacking with the ones that have been making the news.”

  Marge added, “Stacy also said the perp sounded American. Some of our women with kids said the perp sounded foreign.”

  “But Stacy didn’t see him.”

  “No.” Marge regarded Decker—her former partner who was now her superior. Instead of being excited about the information, he looked stressed by it. “Crayton’s an open case. I think we should root through the case files again and see if Stacy Mills or Elizabeth Tarkum fit in somewhere.”

  Decker sat back in his chair. “Let’s do this. Compile a list of Crayton’s former friends and associates, then go check out if any of them have been threatened or robbed or received any strange phone calls…or been shot at.”

  The room fell silent. Oliver tried to hide his apprehension. But Decker wasn’t paying attention to him. He looked up at the ceiling. “This means I’ve got to talk to my daughter.”

  Marge widened her eyes. “Cindy? Whatever for?”

  “She knew Crayton,” he said.

  In a heartbeat, Oliver felt enormous relief. But he played along with it and acted confused. “What? How?”

  “They used to go to the same gym,” Decker admitted. “They struck up a casual friendship.”

  “A casual friendship?” Marge repeated.

  “That’s her version.” Decker was pained. “What she told me was this. One day they walked out to the gym’s parking lot together. Someone took potshots at them—”

  “Jesus!” Oliver emoted. “When was this?”

  Decker made a face. “Around a year-plus ago. Just before Crayton was murdered.”

  “And you’re just telling us now?” Oliver tried to add outrage in his tone of voice.

  “That’s correct.” Decker’s face was flat. “I’m just telling you now. She didn’t tell me until after Crayton was whacked. When she finally did fess up, I questioned her extensively. She claims she didn’t see the shooter, and had no suspicion as to who might have done it. It didn’t appear like she was holding back, so I took it for the obvious. That Crayton was the intended target and she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “She must have been petrified,” Marge said. “Poor thing.”

  “I’m sure at the time, she was very shaken.” Decker took out a cigarette and played with it, rolling it between his fingers. “When she told me, she seemed to be handling it well.”

  His office fell quiet.

  Decker bit the ends of his mustache. “I told her to keep her mouth shut. I also told her to call me immediately if anything remotely threatening pops up. So far, she hasn’t said anything to me, but Cindy keeps her private life…well, private.”

  Oliver shook his leg. “She needs to be told what’s going on for her own protection. Also, we’ve got to talk to her to make sure she’s leveled with you.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Decker said.

  Oliver said, “Let Marge and me interview her. We can be objective. You can’t. Plus, she’ll talk more openly to us—”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  Marge said, “Pete, she might be embarrassed to tell you if she had a thing with this guy.”

  Decker winced. “I don’t know if she was having an affair with him.”

  “So let Marge and me find out.” Oliver attempted to be helpful. “Look, I’ll call her, okay? She’s in Hollywood, right?” He spoke glibly. “I had wanted to go over the Tarkum case with Rolf Osmondson anyway. Him and this other Dee named Craig Barrows, who had mentioned to some of the guys that Tarkum had some similarities to Crayton—”

  “What kind of similarities?” Decker asked.

  “Offhand, I don’t know. As long as I’m out there, I’ll set up an interview with Cindy.”

  Decker didn’t say anything. Oliver took his silence for approval. “I’m not busy tonight. Let’s get this over with for Deck’s peace of mind.” He looked at Marge. “How about you?”

  “I’ll have to make a couple of phone calls…rearrange some appointments.”

  Oliver said, “She should be interviewed pronto. If you can’t do it, I’ll do it myself.”

  Decker’s eyes slowly shifted from his desktop to Oliver’s face. Scott was smart enough to catch the implication. He didn’t jump. Instead he shrugged. “Hey, you can come with us, boss, but it might inhibit her.”

  “What makes you think she’ll talk to you?”

  Oliver was frustrated. He really did want to warn Cindy. And he wanted to talk to her alone. But that had to do with personal reasons. He said, “I think I could get something out of her. But if you have doubts, I’ll wait for Margie. She’s your daughter. You call the shots.”

  Decker looked at Marge. “Rearrange your schedule.”

  “It shouldn’t be a problem,” Marge said.

  “Great!” Oliver feigned enthusiasm although he was a tad disappointed that Marge now had to play tagalong. Deep down, he knew it was best. He said, “Around eight, Margie?”

  “Actually that would work out perfectly,” Marge answered. “Where does she live?”

  “Near Culver City,” Decker said.

  Oliver said, “I was planning to go into Hollywood at around six. I’ll meet you at Cindy’s around eight.” He looked pointedly at Decker. “Is that okay with you?”

  Reluctantly, Decker agreed. Although he hated losing control, he knew Scott was right. He couldn’t be objective. He glanced at his watch. “I’
ll call her…explain the situation and let her know you two are coming by at eight. In the meantime, you two reacquaint yourselves with the Crayton file. Divide up the search and interview as you see fit. Also, you should ask Korman if there’s been a proliferation of other luxury red car thefts.”

  Oliver stood. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “One more thing.” Decker got up and opened his door. “In Stacy Mills’s case, the perp ordered her to hit the ground. Now, he could have picked out the phrase from the movies or from those real-life cop shows, but you might want to consider that the guy has had some training somewhere.”

  “Perp’s a cop?”

  “A cop, a former cop, someone rejected from the academy, someone kicked out of the force, HPD, sheriff’s department, a security guard, a former security guard, ATF, the military—anyone who wears a uniform and has power needs.”

  Cindy shifted the receiver over to her other ear. “My father was very vague. How’d this all come out?”

  “Your dad brought it up because of a recent case—”

  “What?” she screamed. “I can’t hear you.”

  “Your dad brought it up!”

  “My dad! Why? What were you guys talking about?”

  “Cindy, I can barely hear you.” He was at a pay phone about a block away from the stationhouse. Traffic on the boulevard was fierce and loud. Oliver looked around. Not a soul to be seen. And even if someone were, what would he see? “I’ll explain when I see you.”

  “How can you explain things with Marge there?”

  Oliver said, “Look…your dad said we’d be there around eight, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Marge and I aren’t traveling over the hill together. So I’ll be there like we planned. Around seven-thirty.”

  “Make it seven. I’ve got a lot of questions for you.”

  Oliver hesitated, then said, “Seven-thirty, Cindy. I’ll be there at seven-thirty.”

  There was silence over the line.

  Coolly, Cindy said, “Okay, seven-thirty.”

  Oliver said, “I have the feeling your dad’s going to show up unexpectedly. He doesn’t like delegating when it comes to his family. You’re his daughter, he’s got a personal interest in all this.” He waited a beat. “I know he’s going to show up at your doorstep with some excuse. I feel it like I feel the wind. Now I can explain being there twenty minutes, even a half hour early…traffic was light, I got done with Hollywood early, blah, blah, blah. But I can’t explain away showing up an hour early. That would mean that I have plans.”