Justice (14 page)

“Has anyone matched up the condom semen with the vaginal semen to see if it’s from the same person?”

“Not yet. All the fluids are still…excuse me…”

“Bless you,” Decker said.

A sneeze. “Thank you. All fluids are still under analysis at the lab.”

Decker was quiet. “Are you sure the black hairs were from an Afro-American man?”

“Secure enough to state it in court.”

Well, that sure threw a monkey wrench into the investigation. All of Cheryl’s friends were white.

Decker said, “Can you tell which sexual activity came first—the condom sex or the unprotected sex?”

“Am I able to date the age of the semen? No. I can tell you that there were fewer live sperm in the condom semen. Which makes sense since the vagina is a protective environment. Sperm deposited inside would on the average probably live much longer. Especially because the particular condoms used in this case had also deployed a spermicide. Even if the condom user had been the first one to have sex with Cheryl, his sperm might still look older and deader than the sperm deposited inside her vagina.”

“So there’s no way to know.”

“Not unless someone had a video camera inside the room.”

Decker blew out air, wondering exactly how hinky the group might have been. Maybe someone took pictures, although he couldn’t imagine any of them callous enough to sit by idly, watching Cheryl get trussed up and strangled to death.

“An African American,” Decker said into the phone.

Craine said, “Yes, Sergeant, the pubic-hair pattern is consistent with those of black descent.”

Decker’s lids were dropping despite his iron will to stay awake. It was time to call it quits. “Thanks, Doc.”

“Any other questions you might have, Sergeant, feel
free to call me.” The doctor paused. “In the
morning
. Shall we get some sleep?”

“Indeed,” Decker said.

Sleep sounded like a dandy idea.

Arriving before sunrise
,
Decker had free access to the computer. He managed to enter all seventy-six names that had come up during his investigation of the Diggs case. The first list was arranged in alphabetical order. The second roster was fashioned in order of importance, Christopher Whitman at the top. Printouts in hand, he took the papers to his desk and proceeded to mark the race of each name known to him. Not surprisingly, all the knowns were white. But there were still fifty-odd unknowns—clerks, bellhops, restaurant personnel, and the other guests at the hotel.

He started making phone calls. By eight-thirty in the morning, he had identified three blacks out of thirty-five names. Five minutes passed and Lieutenant Davidson walked inside the squad room, taking an empty seat next to Decker. He was big and broad, his scalp freshly mowed into his favored crew cut. He placed his beefy hands on the table and leaned back in the chair, nearly breaking it with his weight.

“There’s another crew outside from the networks, Pete. Get rid of them.”

Decker continued marking his papers. “Sure you don’t want to field it, Loo?” He grinned. “I heard you did a bang-up job yesterday with the media.”

Davidson snarled. “Go.”

“Can I just finish what I’m doing?”

“What’s that?”

Decker turned serious. “Jay Craine did a pubic comb on Diggs. Two different types of foreign hairs were found—one type was blond, corresponding to a white Anglo male—”

“Whitman,” Davidson interrupted.

“No doubt,” Decker agreed. “The other type corresponded to a black male. I’ve gone down the names and marked the black males on the list. As soon as I’ve got the entire list completed, I’ll call up all the blacks and ask them for a sample. See if we can’t come—”

“You’re going to ask the black males on your list for a pubic hair sample?” Davidson interrupted.

“Yes,” Decker said. “There are only three so far. It should be easy.”

“And what if they don’t comply?”

“Then that tells us something, doesn’t it?”

“Maybe.”

Decker paused. “What do you mean?”

“It may tell us that they have something to hide. Or it may tell us that they don’t want to cooperate with the honky white-ass police in crackerville valley.” Davidson faced him. “Are these blacks also friends of Cheryl Diggs?”

Decker regarded the names. “No. One was a bellhop, one was a guest, the last one was—”

“You can stop right there,” Davidson said. “Since they’re not friends of Diggs, you can’t single them out
unless
you’re planning to get a pubic sample of
every
male on your list. Otherwise, your investigation could be charged with racism.”

Decker paused. “
What
?”

“You’re asking for blacks, why not whites?”

Decker said, “If I can’t get a match from the obvious white males—that is, Cheryl’s friends—I will go through all the whites on the list. I’m doing the easiest first.”

Davidson rubbed his nose and dropped his voice.
“Pete, there are intervening factors here. You start accusing blacks in what looks like a white murder, you don’t just have a homicide, you have a loaded situation.”

He swiped a quick glance over his shoulder.

“And after
you-know-who
, last thing the city wants or needs is another loaded situation. Look, Diggs had an orgy in her hotel room with a bunch of white male friends—all of them out of control. So I’m just suggesting you concentrate on them as suspects first, starting with the mafioso boyfriend.”

Decker stared at Davidson.

Davidson fidgeted. “Now, Whitman’s coming in today at five, armed with his lawyers, right?”

“If he doesn’t jump, yes.”

“So make sure he doesn’t jump. Put a tail on him.” Davidson shook a finger. “Because I think Whitman’s the guy. He’s the boyfriend, he won’t talk without lawyers, and let’s face it, scum breeds scum.” He sneered. “Donatti’s kid. What the hell is he doing out here anyway?”

Decker shrugged.

Davidson said, “You concentrate on him and forget about the black pubic hairs, which probably were lab error.”

“Craine was positive—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. Labs never make mistakes, right?”

“Lieutenant, I don’t think the black hairs were a result of lab error.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “I can’t disregard evidence.”

Davidson’s eyes were sheepish, but his tone was hostile. “Decker, I am not requesting you to disregard anything. But I am
ordering
you to prioritize.
Get
it?”

“Oh, I get it, sir.”

Davidson ignored the sarcasm. “Did you pull a warrant for Whitman’s apartment?”

Again Decker paused. He still couldn’t get over Da
vidson. Tug was breaking a
cardinal
rule of Homicide investigation. The evidence should lead to the perpetrator, not the other way around. Finally he said, “I’ve asked for a warrant, yes. Both judges wanted me to specify what I’m looking for and why.”

“And?”

“I told them I wanted to confiscate Whitman’s tux for fiber analysis. See if it matches the bow tie found at the crime—the one that’d been used to bind Cheryl. Both benches said that since I haven’t talked to Whitman yet, they didn’t believe I had enough probable cause to justify a warrant at this time. They told me to try again after Whitman’s interview.”

“Assholes,” Davidson yelled. “And in the meantime, Whitman could have destroyed the damn thing.”

“He might have,” Decker said. “Except, at this point, he doesn’t know I’m looking for it.”

“You haven’t asked him about it?”

“I haven’t questioned him at all since he immediately asked for his lawyers.”

Davidson drew his hand over his near-shaven head. “I’ll try to get us that warrant. Let’s meet by…ten. Go over the way you’re going to question the bastard.”

“Fine,” Decker said. “Also, Whitman offered to take a polygraph. I’ve set one up with Reuter.”

“Now, that’s good. Reuter’s the best in the business.” Davidson stood. “So we’ll meet at ten.”

Decker paused. “How about around noon?”

“Why?”

“You’re wondering what Whitman’s doing in LA and so am I. I’d like to look into it. The kid’s a cipher—incomplete transcripts at his school, no real paper trail, no criminal record—”

“Now, that don’t mean nothing. Donatti could have bought someone off.”

“Possibly,” Decker said. “I’m just saying that since I’m going to question Whitman, I’d like to know something about him. If that’s not possible, maybe I can
check up on Donatti’s activities out here since Whitman arrived.”

“Donatti sent him west to set something up.” Davidson nodded. “I like it. Sure. Look into it. More you know about this scumbag’s family, better off we are. See you at noon.”

Decker waited a beat. “And what should I do about the evidence staring me in the face, Loo?”

Davidson gave Decker a long, hard look. “You’ve got a
lot
of evidence staring you in the face, Sergeant. Like I said before, there’s nothing wrong with prioritizing!”

“For the record,” Decker said, “I’m doing your priorities, not mine.”

“And for the record, I’m your superior. So you’re doing the right thing by doing it
my
way.”

Decker looked straight into Davidson’s hard eyes. “For the time being.”

Davidson gave him a mock smile. “You want to feel self-righteous, Pete, go ahead. In the meantime, go get rid of the media. We’ll deal with one cancer at a time.”

After checking in with the Organized Crime Intelligence Division of the LAPD, Decker discovered that Donatti’s activities on the West Coast had been kept to a minimum. Most of the talk had been centered around his involvement in the film and recording industries—two areas known for wealth and excesses, the nutrients that fed Donatti’s voracious appetite. Beyond a few rumors in gossip columns and the occasional arrest of an underling, Donatti hadn’t been much of a headliner. Either he had kept his business private or hadn’t been deeply interested in the Big Orange.

Decker thought a moment.

It could have been that Whitman was sent out here to start something up for Donatti. But if that was true, Donatti’s influence should have increased since Whitman’s arrival. In fact, it had
decreased
.

So what
was
Whitman doing out here?

Decker checked his watch. Only ten-thirty. He was still doing okay on his time. He doodled as he thought.

Maybe the boy hadn’t been sent here to do something. Could be the other way around, that Whitman did something bad back east, requiring Donatti to ship him out west. Going on that assumption, Decker needed to look into Donatti’s and Whitman’s activities
prior
to Whitman’s arrival in LA.

So a trip to the library was in order.

By eleven, Decker was at the computer, using the Astrolab Database information system, asking it for old
New York Times
articles containing Donatti’s name. It spit back twenty-seven pieces, the majority of them having to do with Donatti’s murder trial around four years ago. He’d been accused of setting up a hit-and-run of a high-powered Grocers’ Union leader who’d been talking about reforms. After Donatti’s acquittal, there were several columns covering his subsequent return to private “business.” Donatti’s occupation had been listed as “local entrepreneur.”

One of the articles showed a picture of Donatti’s house in upstate New York, describing it as a Federal-style thirty-room brick manse that sat on ten manicured acres surrounded by thirty-five acres of forest. The house was reported to be filled with antique furniture and original works of art, his collection considered to be top-notch.

Decker sat back in his chair.

Forty-five acres and a top-notch art collection.

Where was the friggin justice here?

Don’t even try to figure it out. All it will do is aggravate the hell out of you
.

He moved on to Whitman. When he asked the Astrolab system for articles containing Whitman’s name, it gave but one and from the society page of all things. It
had nothing to do with any nefarious activities back east. But Decker suspected it might have much to do with nefarious activities out here. He asked for a printout of the entire article, then stuffed it into his briefcase.

School let out
at two-thirty today, ostensibly to give us time to study for finals. But everyone knew the real reason. Nobody could concentrate on anything except the news. Rumors circulated and everyone had a different opinion. As for me, I spoke little and revealed nothing. When the dismissal bell rang, I gathered my books and left the campus without joining the fracas of the spin doctors.

Melissa was at a friend’s house so I went straight home. The place was eerily quiet. Maybe it was in contrast to the buzz of the school. My ears were ringing, my head was throbbing. I scooped up a handful of textbooks from my backpack and went up to my room.

Chris was on my bed.

Immediately, I retreated, taking several giant steps backward until I banged into the corner of my desk, dropping several of the textbooks I’d been clutching. They fell with a crash on my hardwood floor, one bouncing off my toe. I felt pain but didn’t react. Because I couldn’t move.

“You’ve got a good deadbolt on your back door,” he said. “Actually took me some work. I just picked it. I didn’t break it.”

I was silent.

Slowly he stood up, appearing massive to my eye. He looked around the area, never having been up in my
bedroom before. It was tiny—a shelving unit with a built-in desk, a bed, a nightstand, and no space for anything else. I’d tried to spiff it up with homemade lace curtains and lots of fresh potpourri. Right now the sweet smell was making me sick.

He studied my books as he spoke, his voice calm and low. “Where’s Melissa?”

I thought about lying, but what purpose would it have served? It took me awhile to find my voice.

“She’s…” I realized I was still hugging my lone math textbook. I clung to it like a life preserver. “We’re alone.”

He looked at me, his eyes unreadable. Then he reached in his pocket, pulled out something thick and folded.

“Your tutoring money,” he said. “I closed the account this morning. It was something like eight hundred and eighty-six dollars and change. I made it an even thou.” He proffered me the wad of bills.

I remained rooted to my spot.

He kept his arm extended for a moment, then threw the money on my bed. “Here are also some letters from your grandparents.” Three envelopes were dropped on top of the money. “I’ve had them for a while. Sorry about that.”

He slipped his hands into his pants pocket. His eyes never left mine.

“You’re spooked, aren’t you?”

I shook my head no, but my stance told him differently.

He continued to study me. “Yeah, you are. I know it’s natural…but it hurts.” He shut my door, then said, “Go ahead and ask me, Terry.”

I said nothing.

He bit his lower lip. “It’s what you want to know. It’s what everybody wants to know. So I’ll give you an exclusive.”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

“What?” He took a step toward me and immediately I backed away. But my desk served as an immobile barrier. Pressed against the hard wood, there was no more room to retreat. He moved close to me. I could hear his breathing, could see the beads of sweat on his forehead.

“You want to know if I did it? Just
ask
me, Terry.”

I stumbled over my words, then finally got out a sentence. “I waited and…waited for you to call me. Why didn’t you?”

His face registered surprise. It wasn’t the question he had expected. He inched backward until he hit my wall. Spine pressed against the plaster, he slowly slid to the floor, dropping his head between his knees, his hands cradling his temples. He sat rocking himself for a long time. Finally, he ran his hand over his face and looked up at my ceiling.

“Because Cheryl told me she was pregnant.”

He waited for me to react. I had already heard rumors, but there was nothing like words from the source. I thought I was too numb to feel pain. But I was wrong.

He spoke haltingly. “Rationally…I knew it wasn’t mine. I always used protection. But when you hear the word
pregnant
…you don’t think rationally. An adrenaline rush just takes over.” He looked at me. “I couldn’t leave and ride off to Neverland with you until I found out her story.”

He rubbed his neck.

“Cheryl knew it was over between us a long time ago, but she chose to play charades because she liked me. Prom night, when I told her we were a done deal, she got
real
upset. So she said the one thing she knew would get my attention.”

He scratched his head.

“And it got my attention. I kept trying to get her alone. But she kept dragging me to parties afterward. After all, she was the prom queen.” He let out a bitter laugh. “Papers have her framed like she was the celestial virgin. You know how she got the title, don’t you?”

There had been talk about Cheryl and Mr. Gobles, the English Lit teacher. Mr. Gobles had headed the committee that selected the prom’s queen and her court.

“Anyway, Ms. Virgin Queen had been doping like crazy,” Chris continued. “Flying in the stratosphere. Anything to drown me out. Because she really didn’t want to talk about it. I decided to just wait her out. I was going to call you, but I didn’t know what to say. I figured the best thing to do was to get Cheryl squared away first and deal with you later.

“We eventually reached the hotel…and I thought, ‘Great. I finally got her
alone
.’ Wrong! Suddenly Bull and Trish popped in with a bunch of porno flicks. Then came the rest of the gang. Suddenly, everyone was raging all over again. By then we were all strung out. You know how the parties can be.”

He rubbed his neck again.

“I’d been drinking all night just to pass the time. So by then I was pretty buzzed. I should have just walked away. Should have walked away a long time ago.”

He bit his lip.

“It’s not that I minded Cheryl. I just didn’t have any…
use
for her anymore. See, when you blew me off, Terry, I blew her off. Basically, I stopped sleeping with her. Cheryl was my weapon against you. And when she couldn’t make you jealous, I didn’t want her anymore.”

I said, “What do you mean you
basically
stopped sleeping with her?”

“It’s gonna come out anyway.” He blew out air. “Terry, I slept with Cheryl…that night. Actually, I did it twice.”

I stared at him, feeling something between disgust and horror. “After what you
said
to me, after what we said to
each other
…you had
sex
with her?” I felt my eyes get wet. “You’re a much better liar than I gave you credit for.”

“I’m a pathological liar, but I wasn’t lying that night. I meant everything I said—”

“God,
stop
insulting my intelligence!”

He looked up and caught my rage. Something eerie set into his eyes. I suddenly became frightened and tried to curl inward. His voice became soft and soothing.

“I know you’re scared of me, Terry. Like I said before, it’s natural. But please don’t be. You can tell me anything. I would never hurt you. Okay?”

I didn’t answer.

“You want to know why I slept with Cheryl?” Chris spoke softly. “I did it because I’m self-serving and spineless. Whatever feels good, that’s my motto.” He bit his nail. “I don’t have any character. Never interested me to develop any. Cheryl wanted me. I was aroused…so why not?”

I looked at the Brontë novels resting in my bookshelf. “You certainly never had any trouble controlling yourself with me. Or was I the Madonna and poor Cheryl the whore? Lord, spare me from Catholic boys.”

“You know, first time I ever laid eyes on you in orchestra, I had it in mind to seduce you.” He looked at me. “There was never any school of music back east. Whole tutoring thing was a ruse. A way to get near you so I could make my move.”

“Your
move
?”

“To get you on your back, Terry. I was supposed to
nail
you…chalk up another point for the stud.” He looked at the ceiling. “Instead, I fell in love with you. Yes, even pathological liars have feelings. Believe it or not, I was trying to behave myself ’cause I didn’t want to
hurt
you. I knew I had to go back to Lorraine…but I thought at least we could ride out the year together as close friends or something or other. When you blew me off, I was destroyed.”

“I didn’t blow you off.”

“Of course you blew me off. Man, I was a
basket case
that weekend. Must have dialed your number like a hundred times. But I always chickened out. Then I don’t know…I suddenly got real pissed off. Putting me
through all this shit when I loved you so much. I wanted to make you pay.” He paused. “For what it’s worth—and that’s not too much—I really am sorry.” He checked his watch. “I’m late.”

“For what?”

“I’m supposed to meet with my lawyers at three-thirty…go over things. I’m supposed to see the fuzz at five. They set up a polygraph for me. That should be interesting.”

“Are you nervous?”

He looked at me. “Of course I’m nervous.”

Softly, I said, “Are you going to pass it, Chris?”

“That’s a nice way of asking me
the
question.” He closed and opened his eyes. “The crucial stuff I’ll pass. But if they ask me…related stuff, I may not do so well.”

I waited.

He said, “If they ask me if I ever killed anyone, I may not do so hot on that.”

We locked eyes. With sudden insight, I realized what he was talking about.

Only upshot of the whole mess was I hated the son of a bitch. So after the shock wore off, I was kind of happy
.

“You killed your…” I covered my mouth, recoiling from the horror.

Chris nodded. “Yes, I killed my father.”

It all made sense. Why he was so indebted to his uncle. I said, “Donatti set it up like a professional hit, didn’t he? He took the blame for you.”

“He was willing to take the fall, but luckily it never came to that. Technically, it’s still an open file on the books—unsolved. But there isn’t any statute of limitations on homicide.”

“You were a kid,” I told him. “He was abusing you. It was self-defense.”

“Except it really wasn’t self-defense. He’d been chasing me with a knife, but he’d given up. Got himself smashed and passed out dead drunk on the couch.”

There was a long pause.

“Whole thing was…surreal,” Chris said. “I got out of the closet, sneaked away real quiet so not to wake him up. I meant to just…walk away…like all the other times before. Instead…I began to feel real…real…
weird
. Next thing I knew I was holding a gun…not sure how it even got into my hands. My dad was…handcuffed. Don’t know how that happened either. I took the gun…placed it between his eyes.”

He cleared his throat.

“There was this flash…then a loud pop…” He looked up. “I must have fainted. When I came to, I got my bike and fetched Uncle Joey. My dad used to do some odd jobs for my uncle. Joey thought he was a jerk, but he had a thing for my mom, so he kept him on. He won’t admit it, but I did him a favor when I whacked my father. Saved him the trouble of doing it. Because Joey never messed with married women. It was a point of honor with him.”

He checked his watch again.

“You’d better go,” I said.

“I’m fucked up already. Another ten minutes won’t make a difference.” He looked at me. “He was a real horrible man, Terry. He…did things to me.”

I nodded, but he shook his head no. “You don’t know. How could you?” He paused. “You ever been with a guy, Terry? I know you didn’t do much with Bull…much to his chagrin. But maybe you and Reiss…”

I didn’t answer him.

Chris said, “I’m just trying to find out if you know your way around the male anatomy.”

He was leading me somewhere. I said, “I know the sensitive parts.”

He tapped the floor next to him, asking me to sit.

Up until then, I hadn’t realized I was still backed up against my desk, clutching my book. I had been a coiled wire for over half an hour. Suddenly, I gave myself permission to relax. Uncurling my shoulders…unclench
ing my jaw. It felt good. I went and sat beside him. My fear had vanished, but not my apprehension.

Quickly, he undid his zipper and pulled his jeans and Jockey shorts down to his shoes. He was wearing a long T-shirt that hid most of his nakedness, but not all of it. I looked away.

“Give me your hand,” he said.

I complied.

He placed my hand under the warm folds of his scrotum. I could feel skin tighten under my touch…see him growing hard. He noticed how nervous I was.

“Just a reaction ’cause you’re touching me. I’m not going to do anything.” He gently wrapped my fingers around one of his enormous testicles and spoke softly. “This one’s legit.” He brought my hand around his second testicle and forced my fingers to give it a hard squeeze. I tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let me. “Obviously, this one’s a prosthesis.”

He curled my finger around the shaft of his erection.

“I have a rep for having the biggest balls in the school.” His voice was deep and melodic. “It’s probably true. First off, I’m a big guy and lucky enough to be proportional. But because I have only one testicle, when I reached puberty it grew twice the size of normal to make up for my loss.”

“Hypertrophy,” I said.

“Exactly,” Chris whispered. “It hypertrophied. I’ve had two operations to replace the prosthesis…to even things out. I’ve finally settled down. But for a while, I was pretty lopsided.”

“You weren’t born that way, were you?”

“No.” His eyes met mine. “My dad injured me in one of his drunken rages. Held me down and repeatedly kicked me between my legs. I had a massive hemorrhage.”

I flinched, tried to bring my hand to my throat. But he kept my fingers around his erection. I hadn’t realized it—his hypnotic voice had kept me spellbound—but
we’d been stroking him together. I moved my eyes downward. He was fully extended. Quickly I averted my eyes.

“They surgically removed the worst one and used it to repair the better one. I don’t know if my dad meant to hurt me like he did. He claimed he was just trying to teach me a lesson. And he was all apologetic afterward. But that didn’t stop him from getting drunk a week later and coming at my mom with a butcher knife. Nice, huh?”