Day of Atonement (20 page)

In the past
year, Mike Hollander had gone up another pants size. But the increase in girth did not stop him from stuffing a doughnut into his mouth. Crumbs fell onto his shirt and lap, another wad became trapped in the bristles of his walrus mustache. Between chomps, he said to Decker, “Couldn’t keep away from us or did Rina turn out to be a typical pain-in-the-ass wife?”

Decker stared at him, resisting the urge to brush off his tie. “Batting oh for two, Mike.” He glanced around the squad room, what had always seemed like a crowded, archaic place to work. Wood-scarred or metal desks, tables and chairs of the cheapest industrial grade. Never enough room to walk freely. The floors were dingy, the walls needed a paint job. A few computers, but most of the communications were done with rotary phones. The place was hot in the summer, cold in the winter—the interior temperature made tolerable by portable fans or heaters. Yet, compared to the Six-Six in New York, the room seemed state-of-the-art.

He pulled out his chair, put his feet up on his desk. For the first time in umpteen years, the top was clear of paperwork.

Paul MacPherson was snickering. The black detective was on robbery detail this rotation and Decker knew he had better things to do than sit around with a smirk on his face.
But damned if he was going to let it bother him. Coolly, Decker said, “Something on your mind, Paul?”

“It’s not nice to leave your wife on your honeymoon, Rabbi,” MacPherson said. “Or do they do that in your religion?”

Decker wondered if he deserved an answer, decided he wasn’t going to let Paul get away with it. “Fact is Rina came out with me. Guess she can’t stand the thought of us being apart.”

“Touching,” MacPherson said.

“I think the man looks pretty content,” Hollander said.

“I think you’re being charitable,” MacPherson said.

“Hey, Rina came out with him,” Hollander said. “He didn’t say he brought the kids.”

“You bring the kids?” MacPherson said.

“No,” Decker answered.

“See,” Hollander said. “He has big plans when he gets home.”

“The rabbi’s makin’ plans,” echoed Ed Fordebrand. He was a big, beefy dick from Homicide, always in need of mouthwash. He claimed his halitosis was a weapon used against the perps. Decker felt it came from Ed’s love of strong cheese. “Let’s hear it for a man with plans.”

MacPherson said, “Yeah, well, if he’s got such big plans, why’s he here in the first place?”

Decker turned to Hollander. “You didn’t tell him?”

“I told him,” Hollander said. “He didn’t believe me.”

MacPherson said, “You expect me to believe you canceled a honeymoon with that delectable wife of yours to look for a runaway?”

Putting it that way, it really did sound absurd. “God’s honest truth,” Decker said.

“You’re an asshole,” MacPherson said.

Decker laughed.

“Kid related to Rina?” Fordebrand asked.

“No,” Decker said. “Just doing a favor for one of her friends.”

“Hell of a favor,” Fordebrand said.

“You know how it is,” Decker said. “Starts out as an ‘I’ll look into it’ and turns out to be a mess.”

“All runaways are messy,” Hollander said.

Ain’t that the truth, Decker thought. He should have removed himself from the case when he had a chance. Should have packed up the crew and gone to Florida—to his
real
family.
Why
didn’t he back out?

Then he told himself, You know why, schmuck. Something to do with a grandmother’s eyes.

“Well, I’m off to court,” Fordebrand said. “This case gets any more continuances, the foreman of the jury’s gonna keel over. Think the guy’s ninety-two or something.”

“Why do they pick them that old?” MacPherson asked.

“The victim was old,” Fordebrand said. “That juror was one for the prosecutor’s side.” He started singing: “I owe, I owe, so it’s off to work I go…”

The off-key song was accompanied by off-key whistling. After he left, MacPherson said, “There goes Dopey.”

“Dopey couldn’t talk, Paul,” Decker said. “Maybe you should try to emulate him.”

MacPherson sighed. “Can anyone do something about the man’s breath?”

His request was met with silence.

Hollander said, “Marge should be in momentarily, Pete. She has a pile of papers for you, but I don’t know where she put them.”

“I’ll wait for her,” Decker said. “I don’t think she’d appreciate me ravaging her files.”

“As long as you’re here,” Hollander said, “you remember that sexual assault you picked up before you left—”

“Don’t want to hear about it—”

“It’s turned into a real mess,” Hollander said. “The girl has a psychiatric history and they want to subpoena your notes.”

“Christ.”

“I told them you were out of town—”

“Consider me not here—”

“PD’s throwing a shit fit,” Hollander said. “Claims his man put the injuries on her, but it was part of a game—”

“So what?” Decker stated. “She claims she told him to stop when it got too rough and after seeing her wounds, I believe her. She was beaten to a pulp.”

“Sexual games gone wild.”

“PD doesn’t have a good defense. That’s why he’s angry.”

“Just keeping you up to date,” Hollander said.

“Well, I don’t want to hear it until I’m officially on duty,” Decker said. “I’ve got enough crap to worry about—”

“Yeah, speaking of that, a Terry Vadich called yesterday…day before yesterday, something like that. Sounds like another loonybird. Says she’s got something of importance to tell, but she’ll only talk to you. I left her number on your desk.”

Decker slouched in his chair and closed his eyes. “I’m out of commission for the next ten days.”

“I suppose you don’t want to hear about—”

“You suppose right, Mike,” Decker said.

“I don’t blame you,” Hollander said. “I’m out of here day after tomorrow. Mary’s niece is getting married.”

“Who’s going to cover for you?” Decker asked.

“Beats me,” Hollander said. “Somebody’s gonna be in the shop. Let him…or her take it up with the Watch Commander.”

Decker knew “her” was Marge. He felt bad, but not bad enough to cut short his so-called vacation. Besides, Noam needed him more than Marge did.

A moment later, a pair of strong hands pushed his legs off the desk.

“I work and he sleeps? What a deal!”

“I’ve been thinking about you.” Decker smiled.

“How long have you had those nightmares, Rabbi?”

“I’ve missed your lilting tones, Detective Dunn.”

“You missed someone kicking your butt,” Marge said.

“Rina kicks my butt,” Decker said.

“But I pack a bigger wallop.”

“True.” Decker opened his eyes. A looming mass of female flesh was staring down at him. But the eyes—soft and brown—they sparkled. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, her wispy blond hair stuffed into her coat collar. Her face was even-featured. She was a good-looking gal, especially when she bothered to put on makeup. Decker usually didn’t think of Marge in sexual terms. But Shimon’s questions about her made him aware of her femininity.

“What do you have for me?” Marge asked.

Decker sat up. “You don’t have to do overtime, Marjorie.”

Marge smiled, held herself back from tousling his hair. She didn’t bother to remind him of the extra hours he’d spent with her at the academy shooting range. All those long nights over coffee, Pete bolstering her ego, keeping her spirits up after an asshole blunted her forehead with an iron. If it hadn’t been for Pete, she would have folded, probably been reassigned to some ass-spreading desk job meant to baby-sit those lost to combat fatigue.

“I don’t mind,” she said. “Come over to my place, honey, and I’ll give you what I got.”

“Best invitation I’ve had all day.” Decker stood and pulled some snapshots out of his desk drawer. “Our boy, Hersh Schaltz, captured on film.”

Marge took the pictures. Class photos from the seventh grade in a Williamsburg school. A group picture—all the boys dressed in black coats, slouch hats, white shirts, and ties. None had any visible hair but all of them had those funny long earlocks. Hersh seemed grim but nothing unusual in the sea of serious faces. What was noticeable were his sunken cheeks—not a molecule of fat on the gaunt face.

She turned her attention to the next photograph. Tenth-grade high school shot. Public school. Gone was the somber dress. Hersh was wearing a Def Leppard T-shirt, the short sleeves tight around his developed arms. His face was still lean, but it seemed like an affected look of hunger rather
than one created by lack of food. An expression designed to connote toughness.

She asked, “Did Hersh graduate from high school?”

“I haven’t found any record of it,” Decker said.

Marge studied the photograph again. Hersh’s expression. Very scary. Especially the eerie smile. Then she focused in on the mug shots. Same lean face, same crazy smile. Wiseguy leer.

“A real sweetheart,” she said. “You have some of Noam as well?”

Decker gave her Noam’s school photograph. She said, “He looks kind of cocky, too.”

“Yep,” Decker said.

“But it’s more adolescent cockiness,” Marge said. “A kid trying to be tough.”

She sat down at her desk, unlocked her files, and pulled out a folder. “I started at the beginning. The rental cars at the airport. No one named Schaltz or Stewart or Stremmer, et cetera, rented any vehicles from the airport at least.”

“He could have changed his name again.”

“Could be,” Marge said. “Clerks I talked to see thousands of people. No one recalled seeing him—or him and a teenaged kid. If they were there, they got lost in the shuffle. I also talked to the various bus lines and as many cabbies as I could find. Also zip. Just too many people.”

Decker nodded.

Marge pulled out a piece of paper, turned it over. “Called Hollywood PD, put them on notice. Last night, I checked out the cheapy motels on the strip, also the shelters. Nothing.”

Starting from square one again, Decker thought. This time, no friends for leads. But at least he knew Los Angeles, knew the cracks that hide the untouchables.

“Did you have a chance to check out Westwood Village at night?” Decker said. “Tons of kids hanging out there now.”

“Didn’t get to it,” Marge said.

“I’ll do it,” Decker said.

“Hey, I’m free,” Marge said. “Keep you company if you want.” She thought of Rina. “You know what, Pete, I can do it myself—”

“No way, Charlie.”

“You stay with Rina.”

Decker shook his head. “She won’t mind. She got me into this mess.”

A lie, but a convenient one.

“I’ll get you home early,” Marge said.

“What a peach,” Decker said.

“I’ll pick you up around eight,” Marge said. “What are your plans now?”

“I have a few ideas,” Decker said. “Could be they settled around Disneyland. You know, kids on an adventure. Disneyland might be a big draw for both of them.”

“Sounds okay,” Marge said.

“I’ll head out for Anaheim now,” Decker said. “Pick up Rina, she can keep me company on the long ride over.”

“Any excuse to see the Magic Kingdom, eh?” Marge said.

“Any excuse to be with Rina,” Decker countered. “Another thing that occurred to me. Both Hersh/Hank and Noam/Nolan are or were religious Jews. Noam especially could get homesick and run to what is familiar. Rina knows the Jewish areas in Los Angeles. We can check that one out together as well.”

“Got yourself another partner, eh?” Marge said.

Decker hesitated a moment. Marge was smiling when she said it, but her tone of voice wasn’t light. He joked, “Just trying to conserve your energy for the big ones, Detective.”

Marge’s smile widened. It seemed genuine and Decker felt relieved. Jesus, for Marge to feel displaced by his
wife
…

Women!

“I’d love to come with you to Disneyland,” Rina said.

“If it’s no bother.”

“It’s no bother.”

Decker was sprawled out on his bed, enjoying the feeling of a mattress big enough to handle his entire frame. Curled against him was Ginger, the Irish setter given to him by his daughter for his thirty-fifth birthday. Exhaustion was creeping under his eyes and he would have loved to close them and drift away. But there was no time to lose.

“Boy, is she happy to see you,” Rina said.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Decker said. “Guy come to feed the horses today?”

Rina nodded and scratched Ginger’s scruff. “You want to take her with us?”

“They don’t allow dogs in Disneyland. Besides, we won’t be gone all that long. I want to make it back by eight. Marge and I are going to check out Westwood.”

Rina looked at the clock. Two-fifteen. The ride was two solid hours, maybe three in traffic. “That’s cutting it close. Maybe you should hold off until tomorrow.”

Decker was suddenly irked. “Look, I have a job to do. You don’t want to come, fine with me—”

“It’s not that I don’t want to come—”

“Rina, these kids had to park themselves someplace. The sooner we find out where, the better it is for everyone.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Rina said. “I’m just wondering how well you can cover Disneyland and Anaheim and make it back to Westwood by eight.”

“So we’ll make it back by nine.”

“I’ve been thinking,” Rina said.

Decker said, “
What?
”

“You don’t have to snap at me.”

“I’m not snapping at you.”

“Yes, you are.”

“What’s your brilliant idea?” Decker said.

“I didn’t say it was a brilliant idea.”

“Well,
what
is it?”

Rina sighed, feeling guilty. It was her fault he’d been
brought into this mess. “It may be stupid, but I was just thinking. Since Hersh didn’t seem to rent a car or take a bus from the airport—”

“He could have taken a bus,” Decker said. “Hundreds of people take the bus. Unfortunately, no one remembered him.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Rina said. “Forget it. It’s probably just a waste of time.”

Decker slowed himself down. “You’re right. I did snap at you and I apologize. I’m not used to getting ideas from my wife. Tell me, honey. What’s your idea?”