Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 12 Page 2

  “Jason!” Farin scolded. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant—”

  “You don’t have to apologize for my behavior,” Jason interrupted. He turned to Decker. “What are you doing about it?”

  Five women working undercover, Decker thought. And it ain’t easy, bud, because we can’t use babies as decoys. We’ve got to use dolls or dogs or other undercovers dressed up like elderly. Something to make these motherfuckers think they’ve got a mark.

  “I wish I could tell you more, Mr. Henley.” Decker spoke calmly. “But I can’t.”

  “Probably doing nothing.”

  Decker didn’t answer him. To Farin, he said, “Are you up for walking me through the ordeal?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you sure?” Jason asked.

  “I’m sure.”

  Decker looked at Jason. “Do you want to hear this?”

  “Of course, I want to hear it.”

  “It’ll make you mad.”

  “I’m already mad!” Jason snapped. “I’m furious! I’m…I’m…” He stopped talking and rubbed his forehead. “Do you have an aspirin on you? I’d ask the nurse, but the hospital charges five bucks per tablet.”

  Decker took out an ever-present bottle of Advil from his coat pocket and tossed it to him. “Will this do?”

  Jason popped two pills in his mouth and tossed them back. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” Decker pulled out his notebook and said to Farin, “Take it slowly.”

  Farin nodded.

  Pencil poised, Decker said, “Fire when ready.” He grimaced. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.”

  Farin smiled. “That’s okay.”

  A bad choice of words that Decker had used with the five other carjacking victims. It had gotten a smile out of all of them, and it brought a smile to Farin, as well. Batting one thousand in the smile department. Too bad his solve rate wasn’t nearly as impressive.

  2

  Cindy wasn’t the first cop to show on the scene, but she was the first female officer. By the time she and her partner, Graham Beaudry, were curbside, there was already a sizable gathering in front of the house. The group was confined to the sidewalk area, the lawn having been roped off by yellow crime scene tape. Items ejected from the dwelling lay on the ground, mostly woman’s clothing strewn across the desiccated grass like an impromptu garage sale. Within seconds, a toaster came flying out the open window. Crash landing, it spilled its coiled guts over the sidewalk.

  The masses cheered.

  Great, Cindy thought. Giving the jerks encouragement.

  Immediately, the couple launched into screams, most of them female and shrill. The sounds cut through the stilted midmorning air like a siren.

  The original complaint had come through the RTO as a domestic dispute, the cases most despised in the department because of their propensity to turn violent. Three other cruisers had already arrived, including Sergeant Tropper’s black-and-white. So it’d be Sarge who’d call the shots.

  The urban neighborhood consisted of postwar Vet-bill housing. The homes were one-storied, stucco jobs that held three bedrooms and two baths on the inside, plus a yard big enough for a swing set. The area was predominately Hispanic; lots of Hollywood was. And what wasn’t Hispanic was some other ethnicity surfing the lower third of the socioeconomic strata. Some richer Caucasians lived in the district, inhabiting the private hillsides or the secluded canyons. But these whites weren’t the screamingly wealthy. Those of the rarefied resided in the more posh West Hollywood (its own city) or Beverly Hills (also its own city) or the Westside section of L.A., which was patrolled by LAPD. But the elite might as well have had their own city with all the mansions being stashed behind private gates patrolled by rent-a-cop security guards.

  As Cindy got out of the car, she felt her lungs sting. It was turning into a smoggy day in the basin, the glaze hanging over the mountains like a wash of rust. She and Graham joined the others, Beaudry doing his famous duck waddle. Graham was low-waisted and had overly developed thighs to boot. It made him a slow runner, something that Cindy had learned the hard way. Once when they had been giving chase to a street mugger, she had left him in the dust.

  But Beaudry had his good points. He treated her respectfully, but that was probably in deference to her high-ranking lieutenant father.

  Megaphone in hand, Sergeant Tropper nodded to both of them. Sarge was around her father’s age, probably older. Mid-fifties, about six feet with a dense build. His head sprouted uneven strands of fine gray hair combed to the side, trying to hide a smooth, bald pate. His jaw was square, its thickness exaggerated by bulging muscle. His eyes were fixed and cold. Today, Tropper was riding with Rob Brown, who took them aside and filled them in.

  “A pair of real sweethearts. She says she’s got a gun aimed at her husband’s balls. He ain’t denying it.”

  Cindy looked around. “Shouldn’t we clear the area?”

  “That isn’t the big picture right now, Officer Decker. There’re kids inside. Mamacita starts shooting, we’ve got real problems.”

  “How old are they?” Cindy asked.

  “Seven and nine.” Brown popped a stick of gum into his mouth. “Sarge is figuring out the next move.”

  “Can’t you talk her down?” Beaudry said.

  “Not so far,” Brown said. “She is pissed!” He looked at his watch. “Three-fucking-fifty-two in the afternoon. Couldnah waited for the four o’clock shift.”

  “Decker!”

  Cindy turned and saw Tropper beckoning her with a crooked finger; then he handed her the megaphone. “We’re pretty sure she has a gun. If she uses it, it would be bad.”

  “Very bad,” Cindy agreed.

  “I want you to talk to her, woman to woman. Keep her distracted. The rest of us are going in to rescue the kids.”

  Her eyes darted between Sarge and the amplifier. “What if she hears you coming in?”

  “You just make sure she doesn’t. Just keep her engaged in conversation. Keep the tongues wagging. That shouldn’t be so hard to do. Here’s a chance for you to use some of your fancy college psychology training.”

  Sarge’s lips gave way to a smirk, showing straight but stained teeth. But underneath the sarcasm, Cindy could tell he was tense. At college, she had studied postgraduate criminology, not psychology. But now was not the time to correct him.

  “What are their names, sir?”

  “Ojeda,” Sarge answered, overenunciating. “Luis and Estella Ojeda.” Then he walked away to confer with the others.

  She stood alone, megaphone in hand. Left out of the raid even though she was far slicker on her feet than Beaudry. Then she told herself to be charitable. Perhaps—just perhaps—Tropper really did feel she was the only one who could handle this woman. The situation was far too dangerous to be a simple rite of rookie passage. Even so, win or lose, she knew she was going to be judged.

  Maybe Tropper wants you to garner some firsthand experience. Hmm. Did he even know what garner meant?

  As much as she tried to be one of the gang, deep down, she was an elitist snob. You can take the girl out of the Ivies…Sarge was gesticulating…giving her the “go” sign. Confidence, she told herself. Show ’em how it’s done, college girl. Depressing the button on the megaphone, she said, “Hey, Estella! You know you have some clothes out here?”

  No response. Sarge was making frantic motions that said, Keep talking, keep talking.

  Cindy said, “Looks like pretty good stuff—”

  “Eeez sheet!” Estella yelled out from inside. “All de clozzes is sheet! He give all de nice clozzes to his puta!”

  Luis said, screaming, “I no have puta! She es crazy!”

  “He es liar!”

  “She es crazy!”

  “I kill him!”

  “Es true,” Luis shouted. “She kill me. I no move ’cause she kill me. She es crazy woman!”

  Cindy spoke calmly. “Do you have a gun, Estella?”

  “She have a big gun!” Luis answered. “She e
s crazy woman! Loca en la cabeza!”

  Luis wasn’t helping his case. Cindy said, “Come on out, Estella. We’ll talk about it.”

  “I no talk no more times,” Estella answered. “He talk. All he essays es lies!”

  What next, Decker? Say something! Again, Cindy depressed the button. “Hey, where’d you get that little red dress, Estella? Over at Pay-off? I saw one just like it in the store window. I thought it was real cute. You’ve got good taste.”

  A moment. Then Estella said, “You buy it?”

  “Nah, I didn’t buy it.”

  “Why you no buy it?”

  “I’m a redhead,” Cindy said. “You gotta have dark hair for that number. You have dark hair, Estella?”

  “I have dark hair,” Estella answered. A pause. “Some peoples es in my house!”

  “No, I’m outside,” Cindy said.

  “No, I hear peoples in my house!”

  “Nah, we’re all outside!” Quickly, Cindy said, “You know, Estella, there are lots of people looking at your terrific clothes. You’ve got great taste. You ever think of doing a yard sale? You could make some real money.”

  “The clozzes is sheeet!”

  “No, they’re not shit. I’m telling you, you have good taste.” Cindy resisted the temptation to look at her watch. She knew she hadn’t been talking for more than a minute, though it felt like hours. “I like that slinky little purple dress. You must look dynamite in it.”

  “Porple no good for redheads,” Estella answered.

  “Yeah, you’re right about that,” Cindy said. “I also like the green satin blouse. Green’s good for redheads.”

  “You like it, you take it. I no need no clozzes after I kill him.”

  Cindy said, “I’m telling you, Estella, you could make some real money with these clothes.”

  A long pause. Then Estella said, “How much you thin’?”

  “Hundred bucks—”

  “I no care! He gives all de money to de puta!”

  “I don’ have puta!” Luis screamed. “She es crazy!”

  The woman’s voice was laced with frenzy. “I no crazy!”

  Cindy butted in. “Estella, come out here and we’ll talk about it.” From the corner of her eye, she saw Sarge leading the kids into one of the cruisers. Thank goodness for that! But her job was far from finished. “I’ll help you pick up the clothes—”

  “You arress her!” Luis shouted. “You put her crazy ass in jail!”

  Cindy said, “Luis, shut the hell up!”

  “I shut him up for you—”

  “No, no, no, Estella. Come on out. We’ll talk—”

  “I no move, Missy Redhead. I move, he take de gun. He estrong man. I no move. I no go no place. He move, and I shoot hole in his cojones.”

  “I no move, I no move,” Luis said. “Estella, mi amor. Te quiero mucho. Tu sabes que tu estás mi corazón!”

  Estella was quiet and that was scary. Sarge suddenly materialized at Cindy’s side. “Tell her we’ll send a couple of men into the house. Tell her they’ll handcuff him. That way, he can’t hurt her if she moves. He can’t take the gun away. And we’ll be there to protect her.”

  Cindy nodded, and told the woman the plan. Estella was less than convinced of its workability. “I no wan no menses in de house. De menses no listen to de womans never! I hate de menses!”

  “How about if I come in?” Cindy blurted out.

  “What?” Sarge whispered. “Retract that immediately!”

  Cindy took her finger off the button. “Why?”

  “Because she’s a loose cannon, Decker. Take it back or I’ll charge you with insubordination.”

  Cindy knew he wouldn’t do it. Her father wielded far too much power. She said, “I guess I misunderstood you, sir. You said you were sending officers into the house. I’m an officer, so I didn’t understand the problem. As a matter of fact, I still don’t.”

  It wasn’t exactly what Tropper had said. Sarge had talked about sending men inside. Still, Sarge was stuck. She could claim discrimination. He swore under his breath.

  “You come in, Missy Redhead?” Estella was asking.

  Cindy looked at Tropper. “What do I say, sir?”

  Tropper’s jaw was working a mile a minute. “Tell her you’ll come in with several other officers—”

  “How about with just my partner—”

  “Decker, you want more of us than them. That way, Luis Ojeda doesn’t even think about an overtake. Now shut up and do what I tell you to do!”

  His point was a good one. Depressing the button, Cindy said, “Yeah, I’ll come in, Estella. But I’m bringing a couple of buddies with me. Just in case Luis tries something funny.”

  “I no try nothin’,” Luis protested. “She kill me.”

  Cindy said, “Is that okay with you, Estella?”

  An elongated moment of silence. Then Estella said, “You come in and put de hancuff on? You arress him?”

  “I’ll put the handcuffs on him, Estella. You got my word on that.”

  “Hokay,” the woman answered. “You can come in, Missy Redhead.”

  3

  She felt Tropper’s breath on her neck, his presence so palpable it was as if he was giving her little shoves. Flanking him were Graham Beaudry and Rob Brown. Plenty of backup, but she was still point person—the first one out as well as the most vulnerable. They had decided that Estella must see her first. It showed that the police could be trusted. In the currently charged atmosphere of police corruption, every point scored by the good guy carried some weight. Cindy’s heart smashed against her chest. Yet, the fear invigorated instead of paralyzed.

  They had come into the house through the back door—a safer move and less confrontational than front-door entries. The place was stuffy, the air moist and heavy.

  Cindy shouted, “We’re in the kitchen now, coming into the dining area. Don’t move, Estella. We don’t want any problem.”

  “Keep talking,” Tropper whispered.

  She said, “You don’t want problems, and neither do we.”

  “No, I no like problems,” Estella said.

  “I no like problems, too,” Luis agreed.

  As Cindy stepped behind the dinette set, she could see Estella’s red-shirted back hunched over, a swath of black hair resting over her shoulders like epaulettes. The woman had a shotgun jammed between her husband’s legs.

  Cindy stretched her neck far enough to make out Luis’s face. Drenched in sweat, his skin looked like steaming milk-laced coffee. A small man with small bones, he possessed a narrow face, which was rather effeminate except for a sparse mustache and a plug of hair between his lower lip and his chin. Traces of acne roughened his cheeks. He resembled a petulant teenager rather than the father of two children.

  Leaning backward, she spoke to Tropper. “I see them. He’s facing me, but she’s got her back to us.”

  Tropper gave a signal to the others, and the three men drew their weapons. “Okay. You tell her that you’re coming out in the open. Tell her we’re behind her with our weapons drawn. Tell both of them not to move.”

  “Don’t move, Estella,” Cindy said. “I’m right in back of your dinette set, but do not turn around. I don’t want Luis to make a grab for the gun.”

  “No, I no move,” Estella answered.

  “Good.” Suddenly, Cindy realized that droplets were running down her own forehead. “Now, I’m stepping out into the open so Luis can see me and my buddies. I want him to see that we have guns aimed at his face. So he doesn’t try anything dumb. You see me, Luis?”

  “I see you—”

  “She have red hair?” Estella interrupted.

  “Sí, she have red hair.”

  “Real or no real,” Estella inquired.

  “Es look real?” Luis answered.

  “It is real.” Perspiration rolled down Cindy’s nose. “You see our guns, Luis?”

  “I see.”

  “They work, Luis. They work really well and really fast. So
don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I no move.”

  Sarge whispered, “Tell her to remove the shotgun from his balls and lift it into the air. Tell her to move slowly. Then you take the gun; we take it from you. After that, you cuff her and the party’s over.”

  “I cuff her?”

  “Yeah, Decker, you cuff her,” Tropper barked. “She’s the one with the barrel in his crotch. What’s the problem? Are you gonna do this or not?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course, sir.” A one-second pause. Then Cindy said, “Estella, I want you to take the gun and slowly, slowly lift it in the air—”

  “I move, he take gun.”

  “He won’t move now,” Cindy said. “We have three guns pointed at his face.”

  “I no move, I no move,” Luis said frantically.

  But Estella was also agitated. “I no move de gun. Why you no do what you say, Missy Redhead? You say you put hancuffs and arress him. Why you no do that?”

  Tropper said, “Keep telling her that he’s not going to try anything, that we’ve got the guns pointed at him!”

  Cindy hesitated. “She sounds upset, sir. Why don’t I just placate her, and do what I said I was going to do?”

  “Because, Decker, if you walk around to cuff Luis, you’re in line with her shotgun barrel.”

  Oh. Good point!

  “Go get the gun,” Tropper ordered. “Go on! Start talking!”

  Cindy wiped her face with her sleeve. “I’d like to do what you want, Estella, but if I handcuff him, I’m right in front of your shotgun. That’s not going to work.”

  “Why? I no shoot you, jus’ Luis.”

  “You could shoot me accidentally. I know you wouldn’t mean it, but it’s just not going to work.”

  “You lie to me!” Estella hissed. “You es liar jus’ like him!”

  “Estella, we have three revolvers aimed at Luis’s face. He’s not going to move—”

  “I no move,” Luis concurred.

  “Well, I no move, too,” Estella said. “Luis estrong. I move, he take de gun and shoot me.”