Street Dreams

45

There was ample technologyout there for an affordable videophone, but we humans with our frailties and our fears and our bad hair days just weren’t ready for it. Case in point was my phone chat with Buck. The conversation went surprisingly well, mainly because he couldn’t see my pacing and my sweating and my clammy hands. He only heard my deadpan ripostes to his sarcastic comments, making me appear witty and in control. He suggested a café; I mentioned Star$s; we settled on Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, on the Strip in West Hollywood.

As per my father’s request I had had a run-through using Klinghoffner and a few others as my guinea pigs, and we discovered that a multitude of things could go wrong. Since the meeting with Buck wasn’t until Sunday at eleven, there was time to fine-tune. Still, as the hour approached, I felt butterflies in my stomach. The last time I felt this nervous was when I was in tenth grade about to make my entrance onstage inGuys and Dollsas a stand-in Adelaide for Helen Karp, who had come down with the flu. I had pulledthatoff. There was no reason I couldn’t pull this off as well.

I was early, but he was earlier. The place was decent in size for the typical coffee bar, and the table he had chosen was not the best for our purposes. But since it wasn’t that bad, I decided it was more prudent to stay put than to explain why I wanted to move. Buck was as thin as ever, but his complexion had improved from judicious sunbathing. There were still some remnants of acne, but his cheeks were much smoother. His dark hair was almost shorn, his brown eyes feigning indifference when he saw me. He wore jeans and a black muscle shirt, showing off thin arms with some sinewy muscles. He was reading theSunday Timesand had ordered an Ice-Blended, his cheeks hollowed as he sucked on a straw, wrapping his thick lips around the plastic, pressing down with force. It was so wonderful when I thought about all that glorious DNA.

I sat next to him. “You’re here early.”

He didn’t bother to put down the paper. “Am I?” A careless look at his watch. “I suppose I am. I’m hungry. You can get me a bagel.”

“You can also get one yourself.”

He gave me a bored look. “You asked me. That means you pay. Besides, you’re not going to pay. LAPD is going to pay. So let’s stop the pretense and just get on with it.”

I let out a chuckle. “Plain or cinnamon?”

“I get a choice?”

“I’m full service, guy.”

For the first time, I saw that he was actually registering my presence, his eyes skimming up and down my body. I was wearing a sleeveless sundress that showed some cleavage and lots of leg. His cheeks took on a rosy glow. He hid his face with the front page of the newspaper.

“Plain’s fine. Two cream cheese.” He finished his Ice-Blended. “And something else to drink.” He held up the empty cup. “I’m dehydrated from my workout.”

I couldn’t believe my luck. “What else?”

“Oh… I don’t know. How about a decaf soy latte?”

“How about it?” I stood, looped my purse around my shoulder, and picked up his cup. “I’ll take care of this for you. Be back in a sec.”

I went to the trash can, opened the swing door, but placed his cup in the evidence bag that was hanging off the back of Justice Brill’s chair, hiding the drop with my body. I had been practicing this step with Brill and had become smooth at the hidden maneuver. In this case, I didn’t have to bother. Buck was intentionally ignoring me.

I went up to the counter and ordered. Ten minutes later, I was carrying a paper tray with two bagels, four cream cheeses, a soy latte for him, and a regular latte for me. He made no effort to help me, still buried in the paper. I sat back down and distributed the food. He picked up his latte and continued to read as he sipped coffee. “Cream cheese my bagel for me, will you?”

“No way,” I told him.

He peered out over the top. “That was rude.”

“So is asking me to cream cheese your bagel.” I sipped my own latte. “Anything I cream cheese, I eat myself.”

Lazily, he turned the paper. “How about you cream cheese the bagel and I’ll give you a bite?”

I knocked the paper out of his hands. “How about if you cream cheese your own bagel and look at me when I talk to you?”

Buck folded the paper. “Now I remember you, the one with the nasty temper.”

“Well, Buck, people don’t change that much in three months.”

“Has it been that long? I wish it were six.”

“You know, you could have said no when I asked you to meet me.”

“And miss out on the wit and wisdom of LAPD’s finest? Tell me, Officer, just what little ditties do our public servants in blue have up their sleeves?”

“Meaning?”

“You didn’t ask me out for my charming company. So what gives?”

“Ah, Buck, you cut me to the quick.” I smeared cream cheese on my bagel and took a bite. “Good stuff.”

Buck lavished on the topping, took a big bite, swallowed, then drank coffee. “We can play games, Officer. I don’t mind looking at you while you eat.”

“Oh my!” I smiled. “Was that a compliment?”

Again he reddened. “Statement of fact.”

This was the time for the sincere smile. “Thank you.”

Buck took another bite and stared at me.

I stared back. “Okay, I confess. I do have a motive.”

He waited.

“We were cleaning out some open files, trying to breathe some life into the dead cases. Belinda Syracuse came up. I was asked to run through the sprinklers one more time.”

“What specifically?”

“Nothing too heavy. Just to reinterview anyone who knew her, who saw her on a regular basis. I started with Klinghoffner, then went on to the secretary, Jamie Hostetter, then Myra Manigan. You’re next in line.”

“Why are you wasting time with people from Fordham?” Buck said. “She was killed on a weekend pass.”

“Apparently, her brother said something about a phone call, that someone from Fordham had offered to pick Belinda up from her brother’s and take her back to the center.”

Buck shrugged.

“Did you ever take her anywhere?”

“Me?” He acted as if he were taken aback by the absurdity. “I write papers, I file papers, and I organize papers. I have basically nothing to do with the students.”

“Never take them out for coffee or…”

“Occasionally, I bring in doughnuts. Does that count?”

“I don’t mean to annoy you, Buck, just trying to give the girl some justice.”

Our eyes met. Buck broke the contact. He finished one bagel half and started on the other. “I believe we covered this ground before. I don’t know who would want to harm Belinda or any of the kids.”

An interesting answer, especially since I hadn’t asked the question.

“None of them ever confide in you?” I asked.

“I don’t have a relationship with them. My job is strictly administrative.”

“But you’re around. Surely they talk to you.”

“Not really…” He shrugged and finished his bagel. “Not beyond an occasional ‘Hello’ or ‘No, it’s not time for lunch,’ or ‘Who stole my stapler?’ The kids really don’t notice me. I’m more or less a fixture like the corner coffeepot.”

That wasn’t what I saw. I said, “I think you sell yourself short.”

“Ah, a weak stab at charm.”

But he was unnerved by the comment.

I laughed. “Remind me again-what were you doing on the night Belinda was hit?”

“Frankly, I forget.”

“Before you mentioned a girlfriend to me. You took her out to brunch that day? At Café Romano.”

“If you say so.”

“The name of the girlfriend?”

“Back then it would have been Erica Tross. The comely lass has moved back to New York.”

“When?”

“A month ago.” He smiled. “But don’t get your hopes up, Officer. I’m currently dating someone else. Are you going to eat that bagel?”

I slid the plate over to him. “You said that day that you had rented a movie,In the Bedroom?”

He devoured half of my bagel. “Why are you asking me all these questions?”

“Leaving no stone unturned. Can you play along?”

He glanced at his watch. “For another minute or so. Then I have another obligation.”

“Where do you rent movies from?”

“I probably rentedIn the Bedroomfrom Crystal Video, but that went out of business a few months back. Now it’s just plain Blockbuster.”

“Your girlfriend moves back to New York; your video store goes out of business…”

“I have the Midas touch.” He stood and gathered up his Sunday paper. “Thank you. It’s been charming, but I have to go.” As he walked away, he said, “You can clean up after me.”

I watched him walk away. Then I stood and carefully gathered up his discards.

Help you clean up?

Gladly, Buck.Gladly.

?

Buck was Bradley Durvain.

His DNA was not a match.

So much for my gut.

But since I was the one who had instigated this interviewing charade, I dutifully went through every working member associated with the Fordham Communal Center for the Developmentally Disabled. When it came to gathering genetic information from José, the center’s janitor for two years, I interviewed him at Fordham, talking to him during a smoke-and-coffee break. Afterward, I picked up the Styrofoam cup and the two cigarette butts and placed them into two separate evidence bags.

It was only after the DNA match came through that I recalled Sarah’s words and kicked myself mentally. She had given me the information when we first found out about the gang rape, but I hadn’t been paying attention. Dad and I had asked her to describe her assailants. She had said they were Mexicans… like the school’s janitor, José.

But he’s a nice Mexican. Sometimes he gives us candy and treats.

His real name was actually Hasan Fazul Al-Liby and he was from Iraq, not Mexico. But he called himself José because in the present political climate, being Hispanic rather than Arabic increased his prospects of employment. His being a scumbag did nothing to improve the standing of his people.

Hasan not only gave the girls candy and treats, he took them to the movies. Afterward, he’d take them to his apartment in downtown Los Angeles and have sex with them in front of a video camera. A search warrant produced a cache of snacks and six tapes with compromised women-two mentally disabled girls, including Belinda (the other wasn’t from Fordham) and what looked like four homeless women. At least, they weren’t little children. With the tapes entered as evidence, Brill brought the DA enough for the case without Sarah Sanders having to make a confession, saving wear and tear on the poor girl’s psyche. My father, ever deliberate and methodical, had once again called the correct shots.

When the news of Hasan’s “detainment” reached Fordham, another girl-his current “girlfriend”-came out of the woodwork, much to Klinghoffner’s dismay. The case began to grow exponentially. It took on a life worthy of newspaper coverage. Brill, along with the assistant DA, began to appear in front of television cameras. I had managed to avoid any kind of association, other than being the first officer at the scene of the hit-and-run. Fine with me: Let Brill take the credit. I figured I had paid off my debt to him and then some. By the time I left for Israel, Hasan was on remand. Denied bail, he was being held at County jail pending trial and was being investigated by both the FBI and CIA for terrorist links. My opinion, for what it’s worth, was that Hasan was just your ordinary rotten scumbag with no political affiliations.

He had lured Belinda out only to mow her down because Belinda was going to report his bad behavior after he had stopped “being her boyfriend.” I had the correct reasoning, but the wrong suspect.

And I was so damn sure.

It gave me pause, how fortunate it was that the law required evidence to back up hunches and intuition. One day-hopefully sooner rather than later-I’ll get a gold shield. Hasan’s arrest was one of those seminal events, one of life’s lessons that I’d carry with me long after I got used to being called detective.

?

A week later, Koby and I were scrunched into two coach seats on El Al Airlines headed for the Holy Land. Nervously, I rehearsed my imaginary conversations with his family. In the end, it didn’t matter. I was with Koby; I was automatically fine with them. I trulyadoredhis kinfolk, but there were just somanyof them, something I wasn’t used to having grown up as an only child. The minute we walked into his parents’ apartment, my brain went into overload.

The scene could have been a fraternity prank for rush: Exactly how many people could you cram into a tiny speck of an apartment? It was two parents, nine siblings-including twin teenage sisters who kept asking me about all the stars I see working in Hollywood-spouses, assorted cousins, and dozens upon dozens of children of all races and ethnicities. One stepbrother had married a Russian woman, another a French Moroccan, and a third had hooked up with an American dentist. His two brothers had Ethiopian wives, but his sister had married a Yemenite Jew whose father was a policeman. It was a living, breathing United Nations, but the good part was they all spoke some English. Still, their sheer number was simply overwhelming.

There wasn’t much time to sightsee, only a quick overnight in Jerusalem because everybody said I had to see Jerusalem. It was ancient and exotic and in parts very labyrinthine, but also filled with traffic and it was nearly impossible to find a parking space in city central. It wasn’t at all a war zone, not nearly as dangerous as I thought it would be. There were people on the streets, but we were reminded constantly not to drive certain roads at night; the couple of times we did, we carried a gun.

Mostly, it was hopping from one relative to another, one meal after another, everyone ending the repast with the accusing words “So when will you be coming back?” Meeting the family gave me fresh insight into my beloved. Doted on by his parents, cosseted by his five older brothers, worshiped by his four younger sisters, Koby was the favorite, the designated “pet,” and when the conversation wasn’t centered around politics-which was most of the time-it was a swap of Koby stories. The oldest brother of all ten, Yaphet, summed it up succinctly one day at the dinner table. Yaphet bore a resemblance to Koby, but was two inches shorter and twice as wide. His voice was low and gravelly, and he spoke English haltingly.

But he got the point across.

“Yaakov,” he growled out. “He got the looks… He got the brains… He got the physical…gevurah…”

“Strength,” Koby whispered.

“I think he is adopted,” Yaphet snarled out. “Or my mother decides to playtricks!”

Immediately, the table broke into raucous laughter… led by Koby’s father.It was then that Koby turned to me and whispered, “It is time to go back.”

We were both thrilled when we touched down at smoggy old LAX. After a day of recuperation, Koby returned to work. I, on impulse, went downtown during the midafternoon heat to check out skid-row denizens. I walked from block to block taking in sad, discarded faces, trying not to bleed for the world. I had almost given up when fate tapped my shoulder.

I knew him instantly. He was sitting on the stoop of a condemned building in an industrial block of warehouses, eating food from a can. His kinky hair had grown bushy and wild, but somehow he had managed to remain clean shaven, a lucky break for me because a beard would have covered his recognizable Down’s-like face. He had open sores on his hands and his face was dirty, just caked with grime. His body was swathed in layers of clothes, even though it was fiery hot.

My heart was pounding when I approached him. He looked up and hooked an arm over his meal, a gesture of protecting his food. I extended my hand to him, but he didn’t respond.

“C’mon, David,” I told him. “Let’s go home.”

He regarded me with yellow eyes but didn’t move.

“People are waiting for you, David. Lots of people.”

No response.

“Sarah… Mr. Klinghoffner, Mr. Paxton… You remember Mr. Paxton, don’t you?”

He growled out, “I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” I said. “Sarah had a baby. She had a little girl. That means you have a daughter. She named her Cinderella. We call her Ella. I think”-I studied his face-“I think she has Sarah’s eyes, but your mouth.”

He continued to eat.

I said again, “C’mon, David, let’s get out of here.”

“Don’t got nowhere to go. Don’t got a home.”

“You could have a home if you wanted one.”

“Well, I don’t got one now.”

“You may not have an apartment at this moment, but we can get you one.”

“I want to see Sarah.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged.”

“No. Her sister won’t let me.”

“Have you ever asked Sarah’s sister?”

David didn’t answer.

“Things might be different with the baby. It’s worth a try.”

Again I extended my hand. This time, he took it and I hoisted him to his feet. His smell was strong, even in the open air. He was short and appeared squat, but that could have been the layers of clothes. Immediately, he began to scratch his hands, arms, and head. I got itchy just looking at him. “Those cuts and sores… do they hurt?”

“Sometimes.”

“They look like bites.”

“Could be. Lots of bugs and rats around when I sleep.”

“We need to get you looked at and cleaned up. I have a friend who works in a hospital. Mind if we go there?”

“What hospital?”

“Mid-City Pediatric.”

“That’s for kids.”

“They have adults. And they have lots of good doctors.”

“All right.”

“So should we go now?”

“All right.”

I looked at the piles of clothing on the ground. “Anything you want to take with you?”

He thought a moment, then shook his head. “It’s all garbage.”

“You deserve better than garbage.”

He didn’t answer me. He concentrated as he walked. I could tell his feet were tender. Slowly, we made it back to my car and I settled him inside. In closed quarters, his stench was foul, not just a dirty smell but reeking of infections. I rolled down the windows, started the engine, and pulled away from the curb.

“When can I see Sarah?” he asked me.

“First we have to clean you up.”

“How long will that take?”

“I don’t know. We just have to make sure you’re not sick before you see Sarah-because of the baby.”

“How is the baby?”

“She’s wonderful. Very, very cute.”

“Good.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a McDonald’s at the hospital. If the doctor says it’s okay, I’ll buy you a meal.”

“Thank you.”

As I drove to Mid-City, I called up Koby on my cell. It was wonderful to know someone in the medical field; it just streamlined everything. By the time I pulled up to the main entrance, Koby, dressed in scrubs, masked, gloved, and wearing a hair cap, was outside with a wheelchair. I helped David out of the car and into the wheelchair.

“This is David.”

“Hey, David,” Koby said. “I’m going to put a cap on your hair, all right?”

“Okay.”

“Maybe we take it off later.”

“Okay.”

“Maybe we give you a short haircut like in the army.”

“Okay.”

Koby picked up the boy’s hands and I saw his eyebrows go up. “I take you to see a doctor, David. But I tell you now, I’m sure we admit you overnight.”

“David, I’m going to call Mr. Paxton,” I told him. “He can help you with all this.”

“Okay.”

“Your daughter was brought here after she was born,” Koby said. “I took care of her.”

David looked up at Koby, and for the first time, I saw him smile. It opened his face and clogged in my throat.

Koby said, “I take it from here, Cindy.”

“He’s hungry, Yaakov.”

“We take good care of him. I shall talk to the attending. I make sure he gets fed. I see you when I get off… around eleven.”

“I’ll be waiting.” I went around to the driver’s side of the car.

“Cindy?” Koby said.

I turned around.

“He has infestation of lice. Go to the pharmacy and buy a special shampoo-Nix or Rid. You can buy them over the counter. Take a hot shower when you get home and use it as directed. Also, they make a special spray for upholstery. You need to disinfect your car.”

I looked at my beautiful, recently washed-and-waxed Lexus. I frowned. What could I do? The drawbacks of altruism, but on balance, the positives greatly outweighed the negatives.