Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 18 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-One

  Thirty-Two

  Thirty-Three

  Thirty-Four

  Thirty-Five

  Thirty-Six

  Thirty-Seven

  Thirty-Eight

  Thirty-Nine

  Forty

  About the Author

  Other Books by Faye Kellerman

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  Blindman’s Bluff

  Faye Kellerman

  To Jonathan:

  forever my inspiration

  Contents

  One

  AH, FANTASY: the stuff of life.

  Two

  THE LABYRINTHINE HALLWAYS should have confounded any ordinary burglar’s escape…

  Three

  THE TWO VOICES were deep and demanding. From the back,…

  Four

  IT TOOK MARGE and Decker nearly forty-five minutes to make…

  Five

  SINCE IT WAS L.A., the scene might have been a…

  Six

  ONCE BEHIND THE wheel, Marge got comfortable in her seat…

  Seven

  DECKER WAS DEAD to the world from twelve midnight until…

  Eight

  LEANING AGAINST THE wall, he slowly unwrapped a peanut power…

  Nine

  THE PRESS DEBRIEFING had gone well, although Strapp had little…

  Ten

  THE TWO COPS stationed outside Gil Kaffey’s ICU room momentarily…

  Eleven

  THEY STOOD TWENTY abreast, police officers interspersed with volunteers trained…

  Twelve

  AS THE DAYLIGHT drew to a close, the sun’s rays…

  Thirteen

  HE CURSED BRETT Harriman the entire ride home.

  Fourteen

  DECKER BROUGHT OVER a cappuccino and a croissant and placed…

  Fifteen

  KARNS WENT BACK to his grooming. When Decker didn’t disappear,…

  Sixteen

  THE GOLF CART stopped at the service entrance of Wind…

  Seventeen

  DECKER BROUGHT IN two platters of home-baked cookies. Oliver complemented…

  Eighteen

  THE RANCH WAS a contrast between nature and nurture. The…

  Nineteen

  RINA RECOGNIZED THE sunglasses first: chic, dark, expensive. Wearing a…

  Twenty

  IT’S HIM.” RINA pointed to the mug shot of Alejandro…

  Twenty-One

  THE LAST KNOWN address of Alejandro Brand was in Pacoima,…

  Twenty-Two

  THERE HAD BEEN a lot of remodeling since Decker worked…

  Twenty-Three

  AS SOON AS the plane took off, Oliver reclined the…

  Twenty-Four

  MACE’S ROOM WAS down the hall from Brady’s. His injury…

  Twenty-Five

  EVEN IF IT wasn’t an actual legal breach, showing up…

  Twenty-Six

  THE HOUSE THAT Grant pointed out was a 1960s modern…

  Twenty-Seven

  THE PAIR LOOKED like Marge and Oliver. The woman had…

  Twenty-Eight

  IT HAD BEEN Decker’s hope that County Jail might make…

  Twenty-Nine

  SOME WHITE DUDE who flashes a lot of cash?” Marge…

  Thirty

  THE LANDSCAPE OF channels and furrows brought back memories of…

  Thirty-One

  LIKE T HAD said, it wasn’t what Decker thought.

  Thirty-Two

  AS MARGE APPROACHED the white Accord from the rear, its…

  Thirty-Three

  THE LOS ANGELES Unified School District was a dinosaur: a…

  Thirty-Four

  THE FIRST STEP was to locate Martin Cruces.

  Thirty-Five

  AFTER REACHING THE hallowed Halls of Records at twenty minutes…

  Thirty-Six

  MAN!” DECKER EXCLAIMED over the line. “That just saved us…

  Thirty-Seven

  HARRIMAN COULD HEAR the banging at his back door. His…

  Thirty-Eight

  THE PACING SERVED a twofold purpose. It kept Decker warm…

  Thirty-Nine

  THE UNOFFICIAL TRANSCRIPTS were dozens of pages long. Marge handed…

  Forty

  THREE WEEKS LATER, Martin Cruces agreed to turn state’s evidence…

  About the Author

  Other Books by Faye Kellerman

  Credits

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  ONE

  AH, FANTASY: the stuff of life.

  As he dressed for work, he looked in the mirror. Staring back at him was a handsome man around six feet four…

  No. That was way too tall.

  Staring back at him was a six-foot-one, devilishly handsome angular man with a surfer mop of sun-kissed hair and preternatural blue eyes, so intense that whenever any woman looked at him, she had to avert her eyes in embarrassment.

  Well, the eyes part was probably true.

  How about this?

  In the mirror, staring back at him was an angular face topped by a nest of curly, dark hair and a shy smile that made women swoon-so boyish and charming, yet masculine at the same time.

  He felt his lips turn into a smile, and he raked fingers through his own curly locks, which were on the thin side—not thinning, but not a lot of weight to the fibers. Pulling up on the knot of his tie, he eased it into the folds of his collar and felt the fabric: deluxe, heavy silk handpainted with an array of colors that would go with almost anything randomly chosen from his closet. As he tucked his shirttail into his pants, his hands ran over the rises and falls of a six-pack courtesy of crunches and weight lifting and a very strict eating regimen. Like most bodybuilders, his muscles craved protein, which was fine as long as he trimmed the fat. That was why whenever he looked in the mirror, he liked what he saw. More like what he imagined he saw.

  DECKER WAS GENUINELY perplexed. “I don’t understand how you got past the voir dire.”

  “Maybe the judge believed me when I said I could be objective,” Rina answered.

  Adding artificial sweetener to his coffee, Decker grunted. He had always taken his java straight up, but of late he had developed a sweet tooth, especially after a meat meal. Not that dinner was all that heavy—skirt steaks and salad. He liked simple cooking whenever it was just the two of them. “Even if the judge shamed you into serving, the public defender should have booted your attractive derriere off the panel.”

  “Maybe the P.D. believed that I could be objective.”

  “For the last eighteen years, you’ve heard me piss and moan about the sorry state of the justice system. How could you possibly be objective?”

  Rina smiled behind her coffee cup. “You’re assuming
I believe everything you tell me.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “Being a detective lieutenant’s wife has not leeched all rationality from my brain. I can think for myself and be just as rational as the next person.”

  “It sounds to me like you want to serve.” Decker took a sip of his coffee—strong and sweet. “More power to you, darlin’. That’s what our jury system needs, smart people doing their civic duties.” He gave her a sly smile. “Or it could be that Mr. P.D. enjoys looking at you.”

  “It’s a she and maybe she does.”

  Decker laughed. Anyone would enjoy staring at Rina. Over the past years, her face had grown a few laugh lines, but she still cut a regal pose: an alabaster complexion tinged with pink at the cheekbones, silken black hair, and cornflower-colored eyes.

  “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to get out of it,” Rina explained. “It’s just that past a certain point, if you want to be excused, you have to start lying. Saying things like ‘no, I can’t ever be objective,’ and that makes you sound like a doofus.”

  “What’s the case?”

  “You know I can’t talk about it.”

  “Ah, c’mon!” Decker bit into a sugar cookie, home baked courtesy of his sixteen-year-old daughter. Crumbs nested in his mustache. “Who am I going to tell?”

  “An entire squad room perhaps?” Rina replied. “Do you have any court appearances in L.A. coming up?”

  “Not that I know of. Why?”

  “I thought maybe we could meet for lunch.”

  “Yeah, let’s get crazy and spend those fifteen dollars a day the courts give you.”

  “Plus gas, but only one way. Indeed, serving on a jury is not the pathway to riches. Even selling blood pays more. But I am doing my public duty and as one employed to protect and serve, you should be grateful.”

  Decker kissed her forehead. “I’m very proud of you. You’re doing the right thing. And I won’t ask you about the case anymore. Just please tell me it isn’t a murder case.”

  “I can’t tell you yes or no, but because you have seen the worst of humanity and have a very active imagination, I will tell you not to worry.”

  “Thank you.” Decker checked his watch. It was past nine in the evening. “Didn’t Hannah say she’d be back home by now?”

  “She did, but you know your daughter. Time is a fluid concept with her. Want me to call her?”

  “Will she answer her cell?”

  “Probably not, especially if she’s driving…Wait. That’s her pulling up.”

  A moment later, their daughter came barreling through the front door, lugging a two-ton knapsack on her back and carrying two paper bags filled with groceries. Decker relieved her of the backpack, and Rina took the food.

  “What’s all this for?” Rina asked.

  “I’m having a few girlfriends over for Shabbos. Other than what I bake, we don’t have anything good in the house anymore. Do you want me to put the groceries away?”

  “I’ll do it,” Rina said. “Say hello to your father. He’s been worried about you.”

  Hannah checked her watch. “It’s ten after nine.”

  “I know I’m overprotective, I don’t care. I’ll never change. And we don’t have junk in the house, because if it’s there, I eat it.”

  “I know, Abba. And being as you pay all the bills, I respect your wishes. But I’m only sixteen and this is probably one of the few times in my life that I’ll be able to eat junk without gaining massive amounts of weight. I look at you and I look at Cindy and I know I’m not always going to be this thin.”

  “What’s wrong with Cindy? She’s perfectly normal.”

  “She’s a big girl like I am, and she watches her weight like a hawk. I’m not at that point yet, but it’s only a matter of time before my metabolism catches up with me.”

  Decker patted his belly. “Well, what’s wrong with me?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with you, Abba. You look great for…” Hannah stopped herself. For your age were the unspoken words. She kissed his cheek. “I hope my husband will be as handsome as you.”

  Decker smiled despite himself. “Thank you, but I’m sure your husband will be much handsomer.”

  “That would be impossible. No one is as handsome as you are and with the exception of pro athletes, hardly anyone is as tall as you. It gets a tall girl down sometimes. We either have to wear flats or tower over most of the class.”

  “You’re not that tall.”

  “That’s only because to you everyone is short. I’m already taller than Cindy and she’s five nine.”

  “If you’re taller, it’s not by much. And there are many boys over five nine.”

  “Not Jewish boys.”

  “I’m a Jewish boy.”

  “Not Jewish boys who are still in high school.”

  Decker liked that. It meant she’d have to wait until college to find a boyfriend. Hannah noticed the subtle smile. “You’re not being very sympathetic.”

  “I’m sorry I gave you the Big T gene.”

  “That’s okay,” Hannah said. “It comes with its benefits but also its detriments. When you’re tall and thin and dress nicely, people think you’re trying to be a model and that you don’t have a brain in your head.”

  “I’m sure you get lots of sympathy from your friends about that.”

  “I don’t tell my friends that, I’m telling you.” She looked at the dining room table. “Did you like the cookies?”

  “Too much. That’s precisely why I don’t want junk in the house.”

  “Enjoy the cookies, Abba,” Hannah told him. “Life is short even if you’re not.”

  IT STARTED AS a soft tinkling in the background of her dream until Rina realized it was the phone. Marge Dunn was on the line and her voice was a monotone.

  “I need to speak to the boss.”

  Rina regarded her husband. He hadn’t changed positions since falling asleep four hours ago. The nightstand clock said it was almost three in the morning. Because Peter was a lieutenant, he didn’t get many middle-of-the-night calls. The West Valley didn’t teem with crime, and his elite squad of homicide investigators usually fielded whatever mayhem happened in the wee hours. Murders were rare, but when they occurred, they were usually nasty. But even nasty did not necessitate waking up the Loo at three in the morning.

  A sensational story was another animal altogether.

  Rina rubbed goose bumps on her arm, then gently shook him awake. “It’s Marge.”

  Decker bolted up in bed and took the phone from Rina. His voice was still heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?”

  “Multiple homicide.”

  “Dear God—”

  “At last count, there were four murdered and one attempted homicide. The survivor—a son of the couple murdered—is on his way to St. Joe’s; he was shot but he’ll probably live.”

  Decker stood up and grabbed his shirt, buttoning it while he spoke. “Who’re the victims?”

  “For starters, how about Guy and Gilliam Kaffey—as in Kaffey Industries.”

  Decker gasped. Guy and his younger brother, Mace, were responsible for most of the shopping malls in Southern California. “Where?”

  “Coyote Ranch.”

  “Someone broke into the ranch?” He tucked the phone underneath his chin and talked as he slipped on his pants. “I thought the place was a fortress.”

  “I don’t know about that, but it’s gigantic—seventy acres abutting the foothills. Not to mention the mansion. It’s its own city.”

  Decker remembered a magazine feature someone had done on the ranch a while ago. It was a series of compounds, although the main quarters were big enough to house a convention. Along with the numerous other buildings on the ranch, there were the requisite swimming pool, hot tub, and tennis court. It also had a kennel, a riding corral big enough for Olympic equestrian courses, a ten-stall stable for the wife’s show horses, an airstrip long enough for any prop plane, and its own freeway exit. About a year ago,
Guy Kaffey made a bid to purchase the L.A. Galaxy after the team had secured David Beckham, but the deal fell through.

  As Decker recalled, there were two sons and he wondered which one had been shot. “What about all the bodyguards?”

  “Two in the guardhouse at the front and both of them dead,” Marge answered. “We’re still searching. There’s something like ten different structures on the property. So there may be more bodies. What’s your ETA?”

  “Maybe ten minutes. Who’s down there now?”

  “About a half-dozen squad cars. Oliver called in Strapp. Only a matter of time before the press gets wind.”

  “Secure the property. I don’t want the press messing up the crime scene.”

  “Will do. See you soon.”

  Decker hung up and made a mental checklist of what he’d need—a notepad and pens, gloves, evidence bags, face masks, magnifying glass, metal detector, Vaseline, and Advil, the last item not for forensic use but because he had a pounding headache, the result of being awakened from a deep sleep.

  Rina said, “What’s going on?”

  “Multiple homicide at Coyote Ranch.”

  She sat up straight. “The Kaffey place?”

  “Yes, ma’am. No doubt, it’s going to be a circus by the time I arrive.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  “It’s going to be a nightmare in logistics. The place is around seventy acres—absolutely no way to totally wall off the area.”

  “I know, it’s tremendous. About a year ago, they did a showcase home there for some kind of charity. I heard the gardens were absolutely magnificent. I wanted to go but something came up.”

  “Doesn’t look like you’ll get a second chance.” Decker opened the gun safe, took out his Beretta, and slipped it into his shoulder harness. “That’s a terrible thing to say but I make no excuses. Dealing with the press in high-profile cases brings out the bastard in me.”

  “They’ve called the press at three-fifteen in the morning?”

  “Can’t stop death and taxes—and you can’t stop the news.” He gave her a peck on the top of her head. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” Rina sighed. “That’s really sad. All that money is a deadly magnet for leeches, con artists, and just plain evil people.” She shook her head. “I don’t know about being too thin, but you certainly can be too rich.”