Serpent's Tooth (39 page)

Abel broke the embrace, leaned against his cane. “Don’t you look like a million bucks.”

“Green and wrinkled,” Decker answered. “I don’t believe…to what do I owe this unexpected surprise? Are you trying to mooch a holiday meal or something?”

“More like the or something.”

Decker continued to look at him. “What’s wrong? Are you in trouble?”

Abel smiled. “Not this time. Actually, I’ve been working, found a temporary job.”

“Really? Doing what?”

“Know that big wheelchair tennis tournament that went down ’bout two weeks ago?”

Decker tried to keep his face flat. “Of course. It was for the victims of the Estelle’s massacre.”

“Yeah, that was some horrific thing, wasn’t it?”

“Horrific is a good adjective, yes.” Decker paused. “How’d you get involved with the tournament?”

Abel hit his false leg. “Through the network. I heard they were hiring gimps. Sounded like it was an easy way to pick up some spare change. Lots of food, too. The woman…Jeanine Garrison…man, she catered one party after another. ’Course, we peons weren’t invited to the festivities. But there was always plenty of leftover grub. Her
beau, Wade Anthony, he brought us the leavings the next day.”

“Considerate of him.”

“Yeah. If it had been up to her, she would have pitched it in the garbage. She is one interesting lady.”

“Yes, she is.”

“And beautiful, too.”

“Yes.”

Abel stroked his beard. “Actually, she’s kinda the reason why I’m here, doc.”

A long, long pause.

“Oh?” Decker said.

Abel shifted his weight on his cane. Decker hit his forehead. “Where are my manners? Come in. Sit down.”

“I’m all right. Let me just get this off my chest…’bout this Jeanine. You know when you’re doing manual labor, no one pays you too much mind. Certain people think that when you work with your hands, it means you don’t have a brain. They talk freely…like you’re not there. So you pick up a thing or two especially when people fight…”

Another pause.

“Go on,” Decker urged.

“This woman, Jeanine Garrison. You know Jeanine t’all?”

“I’ve met her.”

“Wade Anthony is her beau now. But before that…I mean to tell you that this gal has all sorts of admirers. Big admirers, little admirers, old ones and
young
ones, too. Specifically a kid named Malcolm Carey. You know the name?”

Decker stared at Abel’s face. It revealed nothing. With great effort, he kept his voice even. “Yes, I know the name.”

Abel nodded. “He’d come around to see her—on the sly.”

“Interesting. Why on the sly?”

“Probably Jeanine wanted it that way. Even so…us termites…we’d hear things…see things. Like a stolen kiss. He was mighty fond of the lady.”

Abel paused.

“Fond is too weak a word. He was smitten. She, on the other hand, was nervous when he was around. Told him it was dangerous to talk to her. Still, whenever Mal would come sneaking in, Jeanine would talk to him.”

“Know what they talked about?” Decker asked.

“Don’t know what they said when they talked in low voices. But oftentimes things got heated. Ended up with her saying something like: ‘It’ll work out, but it takes time. You’ve got to have patience.’ Clandestine talk. You’d think they were making a drug deal.”

Again, Abel shifted his weight. A million thoughts flooded Decker’s brain. Though tense and nervous, he refrained from barraging Abel with questions. His old friend’s style was slow and casual. Best to keep it that way. Decker said, “Sure you don’t want to sit?”

“No, I’m fine, thanks. You really look good.”

“You look too thin. We’ve got to feed you.”

“In a minute. Got a little more to tell you.”

“Sure.”

Abel cleared his throat. “I read in the paper that Malcolm Carey was arrested in a big drug bust.”

“Yep.”

“Your case?” Abel asked.

“Yes. That’s why I know the name.”

“Ah…” Abel paused. “Thing is…I felt kinda sorry for the kid. ’Cause it sounded to me like he was taking the fall for someone.”

“Taking the fall?”

“All this talk about him needing patience. Then the next thing the kid knows, he’s bagged. I was wondering just how did the police find out about that drug party?”

“A tip,” Decker said.

“By whom?”

“It wasn’t Jeanine.”

“Sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“So you know who tipped you?”

“I know who tipped Narc, yes.”

Abel paused, tapped his only foot. “And you’re sure they received just the
one
tip?”

Heat coursed through Decker’s body.

Just the
one
tip.

The tip had come through Narcotics. Niels never identified the sex of the caller.

Why…
why
would Joachim have called
Narcotics
when he had been given
Decker
’s number, had been given
Oliver
’s number, had been given
Marge’s
number?

In fact, Joachim
did
call Marge.

Kid’s thorough
, she had said.

It was clear as a bell. Joachim didn’t call Narc. There had been two phone calls made. Two phone calls, two tips. One had been from Joachim to Marge.

And Jeanine had tipped Narcotics.

Using Malcolm Carey as an ally, Jeanine had set up both Harlan Manz to take the fall for Estelle’s and Sean Amos to take the fall for David Garrison. Then—in the end—she had set up Malcolm himself, tipping Narc to the dope party.

Unbelievable. Incredible. It defied logic.

It was evil.

It was Jeanine.

He wiped his mouth with his fingers, rubbed his neck.

“Thinkin’ ’bout something, Pete?” Abel asked.

“An interesting theory.”

Abel nodded. “Thing is, Pete. Even though the kid’s a punk, I kinda felt sorry for him. You know how I feel sorry for the underdog.”

“You got a kind heart, Abel.”

“See, I really think he was set up—”

“You heard someone make a phone call maybe?”

“Well, maybe if you look up the phone records of a certain public phone booth I’m gonna tell you about, you might find a call that went into Narc.”

“Interesting.”

Abel rocked on his feet. “Actually, that’s not the only reason I’m here. See, I just come back from jail, Pete. Paid the kid a visit—”

“
What
—”

“Kid didn’t want to see me till I told the jailer that I had a message for him from Jeanine.”

“Did you?”

“Of sorts. But not the kind of message he wanted to hear. See, I told Mal my theory, Pete. Told him how I thought Jeanine set him up. The boy wasn’t pleased. Told me to stick it where the sun don’t shine—”

“Sounds like Malcolm.”

“Yeah, I was about to leave. Then I delivered the kid my
real
message from Jeanine—a photograph from Tuesday’s paper of Jeanine and Wade, announcing their engagement.”

Abel laughed.

“Kid went absolutely apeshit. My opinion is that Jeanine made the boy some promises. Promises that she didn’t keep. Promises that she never had any intention of keeping. And that’s why she set him up.”

“What kind of promises, Abel?”

“Romantic promises
if
he agreed to do certain things.”

“
What
certain things?”

Abel shrugged. “To be patient and wait. If he’d do his time nice and quiet, then she’d wait for him. And he agreed to it. What can I say? Sometimes a man does strange things for a beautiful woman. Especially if that man is a teenage boy with a constant boner who thinks he’s in love. He just might go through all sorts of shit.”

Abel cleared his throat.

“But once the bubble’s been burst, and it’s clear the boy ain’t gonna live happily ever after…that’s another story. I showed Mal the article and the boy’s demeanor changed considerably. He started screaming that he was framed, started asking for a lawyer, just spouting off all kinds of things—”

“
What
kind of things?”

“Talking about Jeanine’s brother, David, for one thing. How she popped him with a needle. Talking about the murders at Estelle’s—saying very different things from the official story. I told him…I told him, ‘Mal, my friend, it looks like you been had. Might as well grow some donkey
ears and a tail and bray ’cause you’ve just been made into an ass.’”

Decker’s heart sank. “Why’d you tell him
that
?”

“Because it was the truth.”

No one spoke.

“Boy was real upset,” Abel said. “Man, I told him not to get mad. I told him to get
even
. Then I thought of you. Mentioned your name. Son of a gun, he said you were responsible for the bust. You were the reason he was in the clink in the first place—”

“Shit—”

“Wait a minute. Just hold on. I told him you weren’t the reason, I told him
Jeanine
was the reason. I told him you had clout with the DA…which wasn’t hard for him to believe, being as you sent him to jail. I suggested he talk to you…about David Garrison…about Estelle’s.

Silence.

Decker took a breath, let it out. “Is he willing?”

“Yeah, he’s willing. Says he’s got some interesting names for you. Names and dates and letters: Things like notes from Jeanine to Harlan Manz. Apparently, Malcolm was in Manz’s apartment right after the murders at Estelle’s, cleared the place of some interesting mementos. Notes from Jeanine. Also some audiotapes. Stuff he hid, just in case. Tapes where she says stuff you’d be interested in.”

Decker could feel his body float. “When would he like to speak with me?”

“I b’lieve right now.”

“
Now
?”

“Boy is fighting mad at the moment, Pete. Don’t think it would be wise for him to cool off—”

“I’ll get my jacket.” Decker tried to keep his thoughts coherent. “I’ve got some of my detectives on the case here at the house—”

“Don’t think it would be wise to overwhelm the boy, Pete. Let’s make it the two of us. We can reminisce about old days on the ride over.”

“Fine. Just let me find Ri—” Decker stopped talking.
Rina was a few feet away, her head down, blushing scarlet.

Decker said, “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to hear.”

Decker blew out air. “You remember Abel?”

“Of course.” Rina held out her hand to him. “So, you two are on your way to County?”

Decker nodded.

“For how long?”

“Whatever it takes, Rina. I can’t let this opportunity—”

“Of course.”

Decker ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t tell Oliver and Marge about this. Not just yet. Make excuses for me. Tell them…God, I can’t use work as an excuse—”

“You can use me, doc,” Abel said. “They know I’m a needle in your rear. Tell them I needed your help.”

“Good idea,” Rina said.

Decker patted Abel’s shoulder. “You’re a good friend, Abe.”

“Likewise, I’m sure.”

Rina said, “I’ll keep the turkey warm.”

“You already do that every night.” Decker smiled, but it was wistful. “I’m never around when you need me.”

“Nonsense. Besides I don’t need you now. Go.”

“You’re crying. I’m so sorry—”

“No, no, no!” Rina wiped her eyes. “I’m not crying. I was peeling onions.” She looked at Abel. “Of course you’ll stay for dinner afterward. Whenever it is. Even if it’s two in the morning. And don’t say no. I’m very persistent.”

“I figured as much. I’d love dinner, Mrs. Decker.”

“It’s Rina.”

Decker slipped on his jacket, made sure he had his official identification and his gun. “Let’s move it.”

Abel held the door open for him. Before he left, he turned around, winked at Rina.

She winked back, dammed back tears. One day Peter would figure it out. By then, it would all be past. She watched them peel rubber, zoom off in Peter’s Porsche. Closing the door, she went back into the kitchen to baste the turkey.

And it came
to pass at midnight.

A line from the Passover Seder. Decker didn’t know why it had flashed into consciousness since the holiday was still months away. Guess it had something to do with the magic of the witching hour: the first ticks of a new day so promising with hope. It had been a long night, replete with frantic activity and never-ending paperwork. Maybe there would even be a payoff.

He brought the Volare to a stop at a red light. A deserted intersection. He looked around, charged through the light. From the backseat, Oliver chuckled.

Decker said, “Hell with it. I’m tired. Just let some punk uniform
try
to stop me.”

“The man is on a mission.” Marge sat shotgun, nervously sipped cold coffee from a paper cup. “You lost out on a great meal, Pete. Never seen so much variety. Rina outdid herself.”

“Rina and Mom are a deadly combination.”

Oliver grinned. “Mom’s got a bit of a ’tude, don’t she?”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Hey, I behaved myself.” He turned to Marge for support. “Didn’t I behave?”

“You were a very good boy.”

Decker felt his stomach growl. “So I’ll have leftovers. Sometimes that’s better. The flavors are blended.” Anx
iously, he tapped the wheel of the car. “Just want to finish up and call it a night.”

Marge slapped the warrant against her knee. “I can’t believe we’re actually
doing
this.”

“It’s long overdue,” Decker said.

“More than overdue, Deck,” Oliver stated. “It’s
weird
! Abel popping up…like pulling a rabbit from a hat.”

“
Deus ex machina
.” Decker licked his lips. “Providence. What else could it be? Abel hasn’t worked even a
part
-time job in years.”

Oliver said, “Okay. I can see him working this job, doing something for the tournament. After all, your friend’s a gimp—”

“An amputee,” Decker corrected.

“A lame-o.” Oliver was undeterred. “Okay. So he worked the tournament. I still don’t understand
why
he took an interest in a bit player like Malcolm Carey.”

“Lord only knows,” Decker said. “Abel always had an eye for the bizarre.”

But his own explanation didn’t sit well. Something was off.
Way
off! But he couldn’t concentrate on that now. More important things to do.

They rode for a few moments in smothering silence. The minutes before an arrest were always tense. Time elongated, time contracted. Everyone on edge, overly focused. The blackness of night seemed bright and shiny, reflective roadway surfaces slick with mist.

Marge spoke in a tight voice. “You should have let Scott and me handle Malcolm, Pete. That way, you could have eaten with your family.”

“Carey asked for me specifically. I didn’t want to take the chance—”

“I know how particular perps can be,” Marge cut him off. “But you didn’t have to lie.”

Decker knew she was hurt by the exclusion. He should have taken both Marge and Scott into his confidence. But everything had been so rushed. He tried to keep his voice even. “I was thinking expedience. I brought you both in as soon as I could.”

“I know,” Marge said. “I’m just sulking.” A sigh. “I would have
loved
to have been there.”

“At least you had a good meal.”

“A fantastic meal,” Oliver expounded. “You know your brother’s a real funny guy. Not at all a stiff.”

Not like you
was the implication. Decker laughed, too exhausted to be insulted. “Glad you found a soul mate.”

“He does remind me of me. Kinda a fuckup. I got the feeling you’ve pulled him out of some rough spots.”

“What can I say? He’s my bro.”

Oliver said, “You got Randy, you got me, you got Marge, you got Abel. You just love the strays, don’tcha, rabbi?”

“I beg your pardon,” Marge said, stiffly.

Decker smiled. The chitchat eased the gripping tension.

A beat. Then Marge said, “Unbelievable that Jeanine thought she could work around Malcolm.”

“With him in the hole, she had at
least
four-plus years breathing room.”

“But she had to figure that Carey would find out about the engagement,” Marge persisted.

“Jails keep you isolated. Malcolm was completely dependent on Jeanine for outside news.”

“They get newspapers,” Oliver said.

“Obviously Carey didn’t read the social section because Abel’s revelation came as a total shock. He was still under the delusion that she intended to wait for him. Because that’s what she told him: Behave yourself and I’ll wait.”

Marge said, “Carey could have learned about the engagement from Sean Amos.”

“Amos wouldn’t dare to go
near
Carey. Kid’s been handed an undeserved reprieve. Even
he’s
not stupid enough to spit in Lady Luck’s eye.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “Jeanine was Carey’s eyes to the outside world. As long as she strung him along, he remained quiet.”

“Idiot that he is,” Oliver said.

“Idiot that he
was
,” Decker said. “He thought he was in love.”

“How’d he get involved with Jeanine in the first place?”
Oliver asked. “Through Amos or Greenvale?”

“Both actually,” Decker said. “Carey happened to be at Greenvale one day when Jeanine and Sean were playing tennis together. Sean introduced them. Mal was smitten. Or in his words…‘Fuck, I had the hots for her.’ Talked at great length about the boner she gave him.”

Oliver smiled. “He’s still a kid.”

“A kid but a lethal one.”

A pause.

Marge said, “Who approached Mal to do Estelle’s? Sean or Jeanine?”

“Sean had nothing to do with Estelle’s or Garrison. He was just a dumb dupe.”

“Like Manz?”

“Yep.” Decker tried to relax his shoulders. “According to Carey, Jeanine approached him to shoot up the restaurant. Now his word isn’t worth a damn. But he does have tapes to back him up.”

Oliver said, “I haven’t heard them yet. You have Jeanine soliciting Carey to shoot up Estelle’s?”

“No such luck. But Carey’s tapes have them talking about the shootings. Lots of details. We’ll go over them at great length in the morning.”

Another drawn silence. This time Decker broke it.

“Carey told me that Jeanine had been thinking about popping her parents for a long time. When they met, she was working on Harlan, trying to get him irate enough to go in and blast the place. Of course, she was failing miserably. Harlan was a fuck-up, but no killer. It was Carey’s idea to use Harlan as a dupe. Jeanine got him mad enough to charge into Estelle’s and confront the management…specifically the manager who fired him months earlier. Mal followed on Harlan’s heels, went inside and just
sprayed
the place, leaving a dead Manz to take the blame.”

A pause. Marge squeezed her empty coffee cup. “Jeanine and Mal. What a pair.”

Decker said, “Two really…
evil
people who found each other. It’s true that Estelle’s was Jeanine’s idea. But Carey jumped at the opportunity. I think he liked shooting people.
You’ll note that even though he wanted Jeanine, he demanded payment for the job. Carey
wanted
to be a hit man…talked about how being a ninja was a time-honored, noble profession. Incredible how far we’ve fallen as a society.”

“But shooting up Estelle’s was
Jeanine’s
idea,” Marge said.

“Yes. I guess it just took her a while to find an acceptable cast of characters. The woman was right about one thing. She was one hell of an organizer.”

Marge asked, “Did Jeanine ever state
why
she wanted to kill her parents?”

“Money, Dunn! Why else?” Oliver cleared his throat. “Carey probably did it for money too. What’d you say she gave him? Something like thirty grand in bearer bonds.”

“Thirty-five.” Decker cleared his throat. “Carey liked the money. Matter of fact, I think popping David Garrison was also Malcolm’s call and he did it for money. Of course, he really liked Jeanine and wanted to impress her. The one thing Carey never factored into the equation was Jeanine’s genuine affection for Wade Anthony. Since Anthony was a paraplegic, Carey didn’t view him as a romantic threat. But later, Carey began to suspect things. Especially since Sean kept complaining about the two of them. Even so, Carey couldn’t seriously believe that Jeanine would marry a guy stuck in a wheelchair.”

Oliver said, “At some point, Mal must have felt Anthony’s threat. We did find all those pictures of Wade and his daily schedule at the bust. Looks like he was planning a hit to me.”

“I can believe it. Kid was stricken with bloodlust.”

“And he’d probably try to pin it on Sean,” Marge added. “Just like he did with David Garrison.”

“Makes sense.”

Decker felt himself clutching the wheel and relaxed his fingers.

“I guess Jeanine figured she could string Mal along until he lost interest in her. But when Wade came into the picture, she accelerated her plans. She knew Mal would drop
a dime if she bailed out on him so soon. So she got rid of him. Making the call to Narc to get him busted.”

Oliver shook his head. “Carey’s a dumbshit. By going state’s witness on Estelle’s, he ain’t going to lessen his own jail time.”

“Not by a minute.”

“It’ll probably screw up his parole, make him serve an even longer sentence.”

“No doubt.”

Marge said, “At least this way he can’t be prosecuted for Estelle’s.”

“Dunn, without Carey turning state’s witness and his tapes, the state
has
no case. All he did was create a mess for himself.”

“Teenagers are impulsive,” Marge said. “They don’t think things through.”

“C’mon. Had to be more to it.”

Decker said, “You never craved revenge?”

“Not if it screwed me blue.”

“A sane man,” Marge said.

Decker said, “Lucky for us that Carey wasn’t so sane. And like Marge said, lucky that he was impulsive. Because at that point, more than anything, Carey craved
revenge
. And you know what, Scott? When he spoke about the big get-even with her, I can tell you that old Mal and I were of one mind.”

The condo was set atop undulating hillside that peered out into city lights, and looked down into deep sweeps of lush canyons. The air was wet and sweet-scented; a gentle breeze rustled through the brush. A lovely setting to plan a mass murder.

Instinctively, Decker felt for his gun. Never could tell what was on the other side of the door. But he didn’t anticipate trouble. He nodded to the others; they walked up to the building. A twenty-four-hour doorman sat at a desk behind locked glass doors. He was heavyset and moved with effort. His face was moon-shaped and registered surprise when confronted by the badges of the midnight posse.
Slowly, he unlocked the doors, let them cross the threshold. He was wary but cooperative.

“Should I ring Ms. Garrison?”

“No,” Decker said. “But I want you to come up with us.”

“All right.”

“Unlock her door if necessary.”

Pink permeated the doorman’s face. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Oliver said, “Surely you don’t want us to break it down.”

“All the noise,” Marge added. “Plus it’s not an easy thing to do.”

The doorman looked over his shoulder as if trying to spot a hidden ally. “Well, all right. I guess…” He nodded.

Decker said, “Can you tell me if Ms. Garrison has any visitors at the moment?”

“Just Mr. Anthony.”

Decker pushed the elevator button. “Let’s go.”

The ride up to the penthouse was stone silent. The elevator stopped. They got out. Decker took a deep breath, balled his hands into fists. The rap on Jeanine’s door was rapid and loud.

Waiting.

Nothing.

Decker tried again. Firmer. Louder.

Shuffling noises. Stomping noises. Seconds later, Garrison’s voice asking who it was. She spoke in an angry tone.

Decker said, “Police, Ms. Garrison! Open up now!”

“Of all the
nerve
!” The door swung open. Jeanine dressed in black sweats, a rosy face damp with perspiration. Beads of moisture were resting above her upper lip, tendrils of blond hair cascading across her cheeks and down her shoulders.

Obvious what she had been doing.

A male voice emanated from the other room, asked what was going on. Her livid face glaring upward. “Just
who
the hell do you think you are?”

Decker said, “Jeanine Holly Garrison, you are under arrest for the murder of—”

Immediately the door flew at Decker’s face. He blocked it with his shoulder, shoved it back open. She was waiting for him, her arm raised high above her shoulder, a furious open palm arcing downward to smack his face. He caught her wrist in midair and set it firmly behind her back. Brought the other wrist down and around and cuffed her hands together.

Once restrained, Jeanine melted. She burst into unrestrained sobs, water exploding from her eyes.

At last!
Decker thought.
Genuine tears! Camus would have been proud
.

Jeanine wailed out, “But you have no
right
!”

Decker said, “Ms. Garrison, this is America. Everyone has rights. Now let me tell you some of yours.”