Stone Kiss

22

Not a whit.

That was how much Decker believed Donatti.

Walking back to the car via Riverside Drive, Decker kept his hands in his pockets as he stared over the parkway. The sun had burned several holes in the cloud cover, casting an intermittent glare over the sluggish Hudson. The streets were a traction nightmare, a mixture of motor oil and ice-chunked water. Cars were splashing sludge and mud curbside, causing Decker to do a two-step to avoid the mess. He touched his swollen face, biting back the pain with stoicism and Advil. He concentrated on his choices, the two very different paths he could take.

The first was to follow the bastard: to find out what was on Chris’s dance card. Five seconds later, Decker nixed the idea. The man was savvy and would pick up a shadow as easy as a firearm. Plus, Donatti knew the city streets, and Decker did not. A tail would not only be useless, but would also alert Donatti to the already known-but as yet unstated-fact that Decker didn’t trust him.

Give the man a round of applause. Donatti had put on a good exhibition. But the shock and outrage meant nothing. Chris was a pathological liar, having stalemated several lie-detector tests given by veterans in the field. He hadn’t been perfect, but good enough to make the experts wonder. The most convincing piece of evidence that Chris had going for him was the “Why bother?” What would he have gained by having Shayndie murdered? No real money in it, and now he had Decker bird-dogging his ass.

C.D. don’t do nothing unless there’s something in it for him.

For right now, it was handy to put Donatti on hold, not to discount him, but to direct the efforts elsewhere. Decker’s second and slightly more viable option was to go back to square one and try to figure out what the hell went wrong. That required another look inside the Lieber family. Help from Chaim and Minda was a lost cause. They hated him with an irrational passion, having converted him into a convenient scapegoat-azazel in Hebrew, the symbolic sheep thrown off the cliff on Yom Kippur that atoned for the community’s past sins. Tackling Minda and Chaim, in such horrendous times, was absolutely out.

But Jonathan was another matter.

Decker thought about Jonathan’s reaction to the news of Shayndie’s death. The surprise and shock were real enough, no debate there, but something about Jonathan’s incredulous response was off, as if he hadn’t even considered Shaynda’s death a possibility. It had been out of character because Jon had been so skeptical during the five days prior to her death. He should have anticipated murder as a possibility, readying himself to help out his in-laws should things go bad. Jon was a clergyman; that was his job. Yet when the news hit, it seemed as if Jon were knocked down even harder than Chaim.

And then there was that irksome suspicion, the tweak in the gut that Decker had had during his shiva call just before his literal run-in with Minda.

Chaim and Jonathan are sitting on something.

Combining their secretive stance with the knowledge that Shaynda had either bolted from Donatti or disappeared, Decker concluded that the girl must have contacted Jon or Chaim somewhere between six in the morning-when Donatti last saw her-and her death roughly four hours later.

So it really wasn’t a matter of going back to square one. What he needed to do was retrace those crucial four hours. Of course, what had occurred during those four hours were probably by-products of the murder five days ago.

He decided to start with the easiest chore: to change the plane tickets.

Decker had to remain in the city, but there was no earthly reason for Rina and Hannah to stay with him. That meant he’d have to convince his wife to go on to Florida with his daughter, and without him. Dealing with Donatti was a cakewalk compared to dealing with Rina. She seemed in constant denial of danger. But while she didn’t have much regard for her own safety, she did care about Hannah. He’d use that angle-that too many deaths were traumatizing, and it was abusive to keep Hannah in such a morbid atmosphere.

He arrived at his car, but before getting in, he placed a call to the Lazaruses on his cell. As expected, no one answered. Rina wasn’t carrying a cell phone, and he had no idea where she was. Presumably, she hadn’t heard the news, because if she had, she would have called him. He had no choice but to wait to hear from her.

The second call was to Jonathan’s cell. The voice on the other end was a mixture of anger and fear. “I can’t talk right now, Akiva. As you know, things are a mess. Getting messier by the moment.”

“Fine. I’ll come out to Quinton. I’ll see you there in an hour-”

“No, don’t do that!”

“Then where-”

“Akiva, I can’t meet you right now. I have Chaim and Minda to deal with.”

“Jonathan, listen to me.” Decker spoke with purpose. “Something was going on this morning before we all heard the terrible news. You know something. Or at the very least, you thought you knew something. Now, you can either deal with me, or I’ll call in the police and you can sort it out with them. Take your pick.”

Silence over the phone.

Jonathan said, “You’re blackmailing me.”

“That’s not fair. But I’ll let it slide because you’re under duress.”

“I didn’t mean… What do you want from me?”

Now it was pure anger.

Decker said, “I’ll meet you in Quinton-at Liberty Park right outside the Community Hall.”

“Not in public.”

Decker held back his own anger. “Ashamed to be seen with me?”

“Akiva, please!”

It was a low blow. Decker apologized, but he didn’t back down. “Jon, you don’t know me all that well, so let me clue you in. You brought me out. Now I’m involved. I don’t get uninvolved just because you and your brother-in-law decide to scrap me. As a matter of fact, that kind of about-face makes me very curious.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“So let’s meet and you can explain it to me.”

Again no one spoke.

Decker said, “Where’d they find her?”

“Fort Lee Park.”

“Where’s that?”

“Jersey.”

Decker’s heart started hammering. “Where? Like the middle of the state?”

“No, Fort Lee is right over the George Washington Bridge… five minutes out of the city. The park is commemorative grounds.”

“Big?”

“Yes.”

“Populated?”

“During the day, yes. It’s a big place.”

Decker didn’t know where he was last night, but he knew he had been more than five minutes out of the city. More like an hour from Manhattan. One possible scenario: Chris had murdered Shaynda after Decker had seen her, then dumped her on his way back to his place. But why would Donatti make the drop somewhere so visible and so close to his digs? He was a pro; he didn’t like to advertise. Unless he was the type who’d do it for kicks-which really gave Decker something to worry about.

Jonathan cleared his throat over the line. “Cops were thinking that maybe”-he cleared his throat again-“maybe she’d been hiding out there. Lots of spaces to hide because it’s so big. Historical… goes back to revolutionary days. That’s why it’s so close to the bridge. Actually, they named the bridge after George Washington because it’s so close to Fort Lee.”

Jonathan was rambling. Decker interrupted him. “I’d like to talk to the Quinton Police again. It’s no problem for me to travel back upstate. If you don’t want to meet with me in public, give me a private place.”

“We could meet in the city. They want me to go to Jersey… to identify the body…” There was a deep, depressed sigh over the line. “Akiva, I don’t know if I’m up for it.”

“Would you like me to come with you?”

“They need a relative to identify-”

“I know, Jon. I’ve never met the girl.” The lie came out as smooth as tanning oil. “I just meant I’d accompany you for moral support.”

“That’s very generous of you.” An exhalation. “Thank you.”

“It’s fine, Jon. When do you want to go?”

“Someone was going to meet me at the… the morgue at about five.”

Four hours from now. Decker said, “That gives me enough time to come out to your neck of the woods. If you want to meet with me, fine. If not, we’ll talk later. I’ll go see the police. When you’re ready to leave upstate, let me know and I’ll follow you into New Jersey.”

Jonathan’s voice dropped to a whisper. There were tears in his words. “I think I might have messed up.”

Decker said, “I’m sure you didn’t. I’m sure you did what you thought you had to do. Let’s meet in Quinton and talk about it.”

“Yes, that probably would be a good idea.” Now the anger was directed at himself. “It’s what I should have done this morning.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had hindsight,” Decker consoled him. “I know I’m persona non grata at the Liebers’. Tell me where we should meet.”

“I don’t know… my mind’s a blank.”

“Is there a Starbucks somewhere?”

“No, that wouldn’t be good. Someone might see us.”

“How about we just talk in the car?” Decker suggested. “With the windows fogged up, no one will be able to see inside.”

“No, that’s…” Another clearing of the throat. “The only thing that comes to mind is a Tattlers between Quinton and Bainberry.”

“Sounds good.”

No one spoke.

Jonathan said, “Are you familiar with the chain?”

“Nope.”

“It’s like a raunchy Hooters.”

“This is where you want to meet?”

“I’ve never been there, Akiva. It’s the sole place I can think of where it’s unlikely we’ll meet anyone from the community. And if by chance we do see someone there, believe me, he’ll pretend we don’t exist.”

Dividing Quinton and Bainberry were six miles of untamed woods holding hundreds of bare trees and scores of tangled brush. The border between the two townships was demarcated by the Bainberry mall, a series of connected brick buildings sitting in a slick pool of asphalt parking. Like an errant child, Tattlers sat by itself, unattached and off to the left. Jonathan was waiting for him, his eyes jumping behind his glasses when he saw Decker’s face.

The hostess, whose nametag said BUFFY, offered them a wide smile of capped teeth and a chest of cleavage and silicone. After seeing Donatti’s pieces of work, Decker delighted in seeing a healthy, clothed-albeit scantily-woman who was clearly out of her teens. Because the uniforms lacked a lot of fabric, the temperature inside “the gentlemen’s club” was turned up to sauna level, encouraging the patrons to remove jackets and ties. Someone wanted the guys to feel comfortable. It probably made for better tips.

Decker slipped the hostess a twenty. “A private booth in back.”

She averted her eyes-probably because he looked so disheveled-but still managed a sly smile. “Anyone in particular, sir?”

While he had out his wallet, he showed her his gold shield. “Anyone who can bring me a large pot of strong coffee and make herself scarce.”

Immediately, the woman was all business. “I think we can help you out, Detective. This way.”

She led them past the stage spectacle: three topless women in thongs gyrating under multicolored klieg lights. Men were hooting and catcalling, egging the girls to do lewder and lewder things. They were prevented from doing even ruder things by a sign that stated ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY NO TOUCHING!

Jonathan looked away, but Decker took them in, his eyes moving up and down their perfect bodies. They were young, beautiful, and energetic. They probably made good money, more bucks than working on circuit boards or changing hospital bedpans. Not to mention all the attention they got. The scene was pure circus, lacking only the big top.

Not that Decker was offended or surprised. In a Donatti society that emphasized outcome rather than process, and stardom was worshiped above all, in a country where porn stars were trophies for rock stars, and people confessed to adultery and incest on national TV, well, then, why the hell not?

Except that Rina still ascribed to this outmoded concept of modesty as dated as Mayberry, USA. Over the last ten years, he guessed he had become an old-fashioned guy, and outmoded was just fine by him.

As requested, Buffy gave them a hidden booth in the corner, away from the flesh display, more like a peep show from where they were sitting.

“I’ll get you the coffee, Detective.”

And she did… right away. “Anything else?”

“Jon?”

The rabbi shook his head, keeping his eyes off Buffy’s ample bosom.

“A bagel if you have it,” Decker answered.

“We have a bagel, lox, and cream cheese platter.”

“That’s fine. And I’d also like a cup of ice and a napkin.”

Buffy nodded. “Does it hurt?”

“Not too bad.”

“I’ll place the order and get you the ice,” Buffy said. “Ambrosia will be your server.”

“Thank you.” When she was gone, Decker said, “Where do they come up with these names?”

Jonathan attempted a smile, but his eyes were glued to Decker’s bruises.

Decker ignored the unstated question mark. “When I worked Sex Crimes, I used to come to places like this all the time. Sleazier places, actually. Real down-and-dirty stuff. The girls were older, much more shopworn, perfect fodder for psycho bullies who liked to punch and rape. It was very sad.”

Jonathan nodded.

“These girls look healthier.”

“But for how long?” Jonathan asked. “They’re all under twenty-five, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

“It’s only a matter of time before their looks go. Then what?”

“Well, if they haven’t sucked it up their veins or blown it up their noses, they might be okay. There’s money to be made here. It’s not as if they lost their opportunities to become rocket scientists.”

Buffy came back with the ice and napkin. “I have some aspirin.”

Decker reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of Advil. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” He poured the cubes into the napkin and placed them on his face.

“What happened?” Jonathan finally asked.

“Some street psycho took an instant dislike to me.”

“That’s awful!” A hesitation. “He just punched you?”

“I probably shouldn’t have made eye contact. At least, he didn’t jab any lethal bacteria up my veins.”

“Good Lord, don’t say that!” Jonathan shook his head, rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I am so sorry. Are you in pain? I could probably get you a prescription for something stronger.”

“I’m fine. How bad is it?”

“You haven’t looked in a mirror?”

“I’ve avoided it.”

“The entire right side of your face is reddish purple.”

“I’ll just tell people I got hit in the face with a blueberry pie.”

“This is all so horribly depressing!”

“We’ve both had better days… better years.” Decker poured two cups of coffee. “Anyone say how she died?”

“She was shot.” Tears in his eyes.

“Where?”

He shuddered. “Why?”

“I’m just curious to see if there are any similarities to Ephraim’s murder.”

“I would think it’s a given-the same people who murdered Ephraim murdered Shayndie.”

“That’s logical, but you can’t assume anything.” The ice felt soothing. “Are you ready to tell me what you were holding back this morning?”

The rabbi fiddled with his napkin and doused his coffee with cream and sugar.

Decker said, “Just start talking, Jon. It’s easier after you get the first few words out.”

“Chaim called me around seven, seven-thirty. He told me he needed to talk to me in person.”

“You came out to Quinton?”

“Immediately,” Jonathan answered. “His voice sounded agitated, but at least it was animated. As soon as I got there, he brought me into the basement so we could talk alone. He swore me to confidence. And that is why I didn’t tell you, why I couldn’t tell you.”

“I understand.”

“I’m only telling you now because you’ve threatened to go to the police. Not that I’d tell them anything-I’m entitled to claim pastoral confidentiality-but it would open up wounds. I thought it might be easier to deal with you than the police.” He lifted his eyebrows. “Maybe not.”

“Believe it or not, my purpose is not to give people a hard time.”

“I know that.” Jonathan sighed. “Now that she’s gone, I suppose it’s all irrelevant anyway.”

“Talk to me, Rabbi.”

“Chaim told me he had reason to believe that Shaynda was still alive. He said he had heard from certain people that she was okay.” He blinked back tears. “Obviously, someone was mistaken. Perhaps Chaim misunderstood or it was wishful thinking on his part.”

“Or whoever Chaim talked to was lying. Who are these people?”

“At the time, Chaim couldn’t or wouldn’t say. He said he only confided in me because he knew I’d keep a secret. And secrecy was very important. If word got out, bad things could happen.”

“Did word get out?”

“I don’t know, Akiva. I know that Chaim told me, but I don’t know who else he told. At some point, when things are quieter, I’ll ask him.”

“And that’s all Chaim told you. That he had reason to believe that Shaynda was alive.”

“No. He also hinted that maybe there was some kind of ransom demand in the works. And if things went as planned, and someone needed to do an actual exchange of money for Shaynda, would I be willing to help?”

“What did you say?”

“I said of course I’d help. Anything.”

“And Chaim gave you no hints about Shaynda’s location?”

“No.”

“So let me make sure I understand.” Decker took the ice off. “Chaim heard from some anonymous source that Shaynda was okay.”

“Yes.”

“And he thought that there might be a ransom demand. And if that happened, he asked you to be a go-between.”

“Yes.”

“Did Chaim actually talk to Shayndie?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“So the source could have been lying or mistaken, or Chaim could have misunderstood.”

“Yes.”

“Is exchanging the money for Shayndie the only favor that Chaim wanted you to do for him?”

“No.” Jonathan rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. “No, there was more.” Tension had crept into his voice. “It seems that you’ve become an obstacle-a sticking point.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know, Akiva. I do know that Chaim said that the kidnapper or ransom demander or whatever… that he wanted you out of the picture. As soon as possible.”

Decker raised his brow. “Out of the picture in what way?”

“That you should leave the city, of course.” Jonathan’s eyes got wide. “That’s what it means, right?”

Ambrosia-a robust blonde wearing a bikini top and broad shorts-served Decker a bagel and lox platter. He gave her a twenty. “More coffee; then we’re fine.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Ambrosia frowned.

“It’s nothing personal,” Decker said.

“Hey, you think I’m complaining?” Her accent was as broad as a flatiron. She stuffed the twenty into her shorts pocket. “So far today, this is my best tip for the least work. ’Bout a half hour ago, another gentleman tipped me a fifty. But I had to bend over a lot and pretend I didn’t know he was copping a feel.” She looked at Decker. “You’re a cop. Why do they call it ‘copping a feel’?”

Jonathan said, “ ‘To cop’ means to steal.”

“Heh-heh, that’s funny.” Ambrosia tittered. “That ‘cop’ means to steal.”

Decker and Jonathan sat stone-faced.

“You don’t see the humor in that?”

“You keep talking, I’m going to take back the twenty,” Decker said.

“Gotcha.” She came back with a new coffeepot, then left.

Decker said, “Any idea who Chaim talked to?”

“No. Since Shayndie was fine, I felt it wasn’t my place to ask questions.” Jonathan looked down. “I’m sure they just meant for you to leave the city.”

“A strange way of putting it, then.” Decker shrugged. “ ‘Out of the picture.’ Has kind of a permanent ring, don’t you think?”

Jonathan broke out in a sweat. “I didn’t take it that way at all.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Decker smeared cream cheese on his bagel. “I don’t suppose this place has a becher for washing hands.”

A fleeting smile. Jonathan hid his shaking hands by clasping the coffee mug.

Decker felt sorry for him. “I’ve been threatened more times than I care to remember. I take them all seriously, but so far, it’s all been talk.” He plopped a sheet of lox over the bagel bottom, then put the top on. He bit into his sandwich. His lip and jaw hurt as he chewed, but not as bad as he thought. “You should eat.”

“The way Chaim said it… it sounded like that’s all they wanted. For you to leave the city.”

“Then maybe you’re right. Calm down.”

“Chaim asked me if I could get you to leave.”

“Get me to leave?”

“He wasn’t having much success.”

“He was that eager?”

“Yes, he was, Akiva. Why? I don’t know. Anyway, I told him it wasn’t necessary, that you were leaving in the afternoon anyway. He seemed satisfied with the answer.”

“Did he ask you for my flight number or anything like that?”

“No. Why would he-” Jonathan blanched. “What are you thinking? That he wanted to check up on you to make sure you left?”

“Maybe.” Or maybe Chaim was thinking about seeing me off in a more permanent fashion. Decker kept his thoughts to himself.

Jonathan dabbed his sweaty forehead. “This psychotic who punched you… Was it a warning from someone?”

“Nah, that was pure bad luck,” Decker assured him. “It’s okay, Jon. I’m fine. Did Chaim ask any other favors from you?”

“Actually, he asked me to keep an eye on you,” Jonathan admitted.

“You mean to spy on me.” Decker took another bite. “What’d you tell him?”

“I told him it wasn’t necessary. It’s a complete mystery to me, Akiva. Why would Chaim ask me to ask you to come out-just to push you away?”

“Because I didn’t do what he wanted me to do. I didn’t do anything. He and Minda wouldn’t let me do anything. And maybe that was the whole point. To make a show of wanting something done, but not really wanting something done.”

“I don’t follow you,” Jonathan said.

“I was the poster boy, my man, something Chaim could point to and say he tried. But in fact, he didn’t try at all. And before you get all offended, I’m not saying that’s the case. I’m just making suggestions. That’s what I do. Suggest some theories and see which ones make sense after the dust settles.”

Jonathan was quiet. “I wish I had a response. Because it is strange, Akiva. Even in his grief, Chaim made it a point to ask me where you had gone after you heard the news. He seemed obsessed by your actions.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him I didn’t know. Where did you go, Akiva? You left very suddenly.”

“I wasn’t wanted, Jon. It would have been inappropriate for me to intrude on their grief.”

“So where did you go?”

“Back into the city.”

“Why?”

“I figured maybe Detective Novack could fill me in on some crime details. He wasn’t in. I took a walk and got punched out for my efforts.”

Jonathan was satisfied with the explanation.

Decker said, “It might have helped me out if you had told me everything this morning, although I understand why you didn’t. You didn’t want to jeopardize anyone.”

“That, and I couldn’t break a confidentiality.”

“I wonder why the ‘source’ was so anxious for me to be out of the picture.”

“I can only assume that you were close to something, even if you didn’t know it.”

“So then I have to go back and figure out what I was close to.”

“No, what you have to do is leave, Akiva. Tonight. As scheduled.”

“What difference does it make now, Jon? She’s dead.”

“But you’re still alive. Now that I think about it, ‘out of the picture’ doesn’t sound promising. And I’m not sure if your punch wasn’t a warning, despite what you say. If something were to happen to you, I’d never forgive myself. I think we should leave it up to the local police.”

“You’re right, but I’m not ready to let go. I’m sending Rina out, but I’m staying until Friday.”

“Akiva-”

“It’s decided, Jon. Don’t argue. You won’t win. You want to help me or not?”

“Of course I’ll help you. What do you need?”

“I need your wheels. As soon as Rina leaves, I’m going to find a cheap place in the city. Which means I’m going to have to give back Sora Lazarus’s car.”

“You will not find a cheap place anywhere in the city. You’ll stay with me. Don’t argue. It’s a done deal; I can be stubborn, too. And yes, you can have my car. But now you let me speak my mind. What you’re doing isn’t fair to Rina.”

Decker put another twenty down on the table. “Let me be the judge of that.” He got up. “Let’s go get the morgue out of the way.”

Jonathan rose from the table. “I suppose we should.”

“I’ll be with you the whole time.” Decker put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “We’ll get through it.”

“What choice do we have?”

Together they walked out, passing the stage production as they left. Same show, but different girls shaking tassels that hung from their nipples. Decker’s eyes went to the patrons, flushed from sexual arousal and drinking, trembling hands and sweating palms stuffing twenties into the dancers’ thongs. Cheering the girls with each bump and grind, making kissy noises and obscene gestures.

Decker walked a few more paces, then did a double take. Sitting at a front table, drinking and hollering like an ace, was Quinton Police chief Virgil Merrin. His ultrablond hair was plastered wet against his pink scalp, his belly jiggling as he laughed and whooped.

Decker stopped moving. “Wait a sec, Jon.”

“What?”

“Just wait here for a sec.” Decker went over to Merrin. “Hi, Merrin, remember me?”

Merrin turned and looked up. He was in civilian clothing, his face and armpits wet, his body reeking of musty sweat. He stared at Decker, his pale eyes without recognition. It could have been the bruises.

“Lieutenant Peter Decker… LAPD. I asked you some questions about Shaynda Lieber.”

“Ah! Yeah, sure, I remember you, young man.” A stare. “What happened to your face?”

“Gotta watch those baseball bats.” He smiled. “I’m kidding.”

“I hope so.” A smile, but something behind it. “Have a seat.”

“No thanks. I was on my way out.”

The chief winked at him. “I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

Decker winked back. “How about this? You can tell-and I can tell.”

Merrin’s expression turned chilly. Decker continued to smile.

Locking eyes, but only for a few moments.

Then Decker left.

He glanced over his shoulder just the one time.