The Mercedes Coffin (14 page)

“Sure. If you have time for lunch, I could probably get away for an hour.”

“I think that’s a go.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave her husband a peck on the cheek. “Give me a call if you don’t get swamped with work. And please, please, please, be careful. Your snitch may be able to provide you with a wealth of information, but it also means you’re swimming with a great white.”

Decker didn’t answer right away. Rina was swift in the logic department, but then again how many sources did he have three thousand miles away? “I’m always careful,” he reiterated. “I know whom — or what — I’m dealing with.”

“I hope so.” She bit her lip. “Just make sure that if anyone is chopped-up chum, it’s him and not you.”

Decker gave her a confident thumbs-up. As soon as she left the kitchen, he dialed his elder daughter’s cell. “Hey, I heard you called.”

“I did. Hold on.” The line went quiet but not dead. In the background was the roar of traffic. “Can you hear me?”

“You’re outside. Are you at the station house?”

“Yes, so I’ll make this quick. Rip Garrett got wind of your poking around the Ekerling case. He and Tito are grumbling. Thought you might like to know.”

“Are you getting flack?”

“No, because I’m acting like I’m on their side. When they pointedly asked me what was going on — and you knew that I was going to be called on this — I immediately offered to call you up and ask what you were doing. Of course, I knew what you’re doing. Later I told Rip and Tito that you said you were working on a cold case, but you were playing it close to the vest. Then I said something like ‘That’s my dad’s style, sticking his nose into everything. Is there anything you’d like me to say to him?’ And then they said something like, ‘Tell him if he has questions to give us a call and stop hotdogging it.’ Hence the call.”

“There’s nothing in the file that I couldn’t have gotten from Marilyn Eustis.”

“Who, by the way, is the one responsible for your grief. She contacted Rip and told him you were looking at suspects other than Geraldo Perry and Travis Martel. She wanted to know what was going on. It didn’t settle well with him.”

“I’ll call Garrett and Diaz to let them know what I’m doing. Thanks for the heads-up. I’m sorry I got you involved in this mess. I’ll take it from here.”

“I sure hope so. I’ve got to work with these guys. If some sleazeball holds a gun to my head, I don’t want to wonder if my partner likes me or not.”

MARGE WAS NOTHING
if not efficient, having downloaded her notes from the airport in Ohio at six in the morning EDT. By the time she arrived at Decker’s office, he had already read them twice and had made his own marginal notes. He looked at his favorite sergeant clad in a blue jacket, vanilla top, brown slacks, and flats. Her face was clean and bright, and she appeared downright perky for someone who had been up since one in the morning PDT.

“I slept on the plane,” she explained. “I took two Benadryls as soon as we took off and didn’t wake up until we were landing. Drugs have their purpose… legal ones.” She pointed to the notes. “What do you think?”

“Several things come to mind.”

“Shoot.”

“Why did Darnell say that he was in the school’s chorus with Rudy Banks when their time in high school didn’t overlap?”

“An obvious blip in the man’s honesty radar or a simple mistake.”

“And you’re sure your dates are correct?”

“No, I’m not positive, so I’m rechecking everything. As it stands, Rudy dropped out a year before Darnell entered high school.”

“Is it possible that they were in a community choir together?”

“Darnell didn’t mention anything about a community choir. The second thing that mars Mr. Arlington’s good citizenship record is a little white lie. How could he not remember Cal Vitton?”

“And it’s a really stupid lie because the interview is in the case files.”

“Clearly, he wants to really distance himself from the murder.” Marge scribbled some figures. “According to my math, Ben Little was murdered about five years after Rudy dropped out. At that time, Arlington was a senior, living in Ohio, and Rudy and Primo were in L.A. cutting albums as the Doodoo Sluts.”

Decker said, “If Darnell said Rudy Banks’s name sounds familiar, he damn well knows the guy. Being in high school chorus was the first thing Darnell could think of. So we’ve got to ask ourselves how the two really are connected and what, if anything, it has to do with Little’s murder.”

“Maybe music, maybe drugs, and maybe both,” Marge said. “Arlington admits selling drugs. Maybe he was a runner for the industry and that’s how he met Rudy.”

“But where’s the connection to Little?”

“Little knew Darnell was pushing. Maybe Little was going to expose the operation, leaving Rudy without his main supplier. So Banks had Little whacked.”

“Arlington was already gone when Little was whacked. Surely Rudy could have found another source.”

Marge mulled over the words. “Okay, how about this? Darnell was the pusher at North Valley, which is why he didn’t drop out of school. Let’s say Darnell got busted. Little managed to hush up the bust and get Darnell out of the picture. But then let’s say a few months later, Rudy takes over Darnell’s former turf and starts selling. Little finds out and gets in the way of Rudy’s operation.”

“That’s a leap — from buyer to seller.”

“Not really,” Marge said. “From what we’ve found out, Rudy’s pretty damn entrepreneurial.”

“Okay. For argument’s sake, let’s say you’re right. That would explain a connection between Banks and Arlington. How does Primo Ekerling fit in?”

“Maybe Ekerling and Banks were in it together. Maybe eventually conscience caught up with Ekerling. He hated Banks. Maybe he finally decided to do the right thing and report Rudy. So Rudy whacked him as well.”

“Fifteen years later?”

“Yeah, that doesn’t make any sense at all. Nor does it explain why Cal Vitton decided to commit suicide right after you called him up to ask about the Little case.”

Decker said, “While you were gone, Oliver’s been working on Little’s financials.”

“And?”

“He owned a lot of toys — a Mercedes, a small boat, a trailer, a camper… plus, he had a little money in the bank and there was a college fund for each of the boys. That might have come from insurance… or from other sources.”

“Ah…” She digested the new information. “So you’re thinking that maybe Little was running drugs?”

“We have no indication that he was anything but a straight shooter.”

“But we do know that his wife developed a big gambling problem after he died… meaning she probably had a little gambling problem before he died. Maybe Little needed some disposable income. A few hundred here or there can add up, especially since the income is unreported.”

“Who would he be selling to?” Decker asked. “I’m sure Little was smart enough not to foul his own nest.”

“Maybe Little got drugs from Darnell and sold them to Banks and his punk musician crowd. That’s why when Darnell was busted, Ben Little went to bat for him.”

Decker began to draw some diagrams. “Okay. This is what we have. We have a clear connection between Arlington and Little. And it feels like there’s some kind of connection between Arlington and Banks.”

“We also have a link between Arlington and Cal Vitton. Cal interviewed him.”

“Yeah, Arlington does seem to have a few fingers pointing at him.” Decker drew arrows. “We have Arlington and Little, Arlington and Banks maybe — and Arlington and Cal Vitton. Nothing so far between Arlington and Primo Ekerling.”

“We have Banks and Ekerling, Banks and Little, and maybe Banks and Arlington. But not Banks and Vitton.” Marge thought a moment. “And let me add something more to the mix. When Darnell was in high school, he hung out with a bum crowd. He gave me a list of his old peeps. His two best friends had hopes of becoming rappers.” She consulted her notes. “Jervis Wenderhole, who went by the name of A-Tack, and Leroy Josephson, who became Jo-King. I found out that Josephson died. I don’t know where Wenderhole is, but I do know that he cut a couple of demos. He wasn’t very successful, but Rudy wasn’t a very successful music producer.”

“I’ll look into it.” Decker shrugged. “I think we need to explore this Banks and Arlington link. At least those two are still alive. Now Banks isn’t returning my phone calls. I’ve got one more secret weapon. If that fails, I’ll start hitting the streets.”

ALTHOUGH DECKER HAD
never met Rip Garrett, he recognized him by the look: overworked, underpaid, and pissed off. Physically the detective appeared to be in his thirties, medium height, medium weight, with a full head of dark hair and light brown eyes. He wore a tan suit, a white shirt with a wrinkled collar, and a red tie. Decker introduced himself, and the two shook hands. As soon as both men were seated at a corner booth and the waitress had taken their orders, Decker explained the situation and began in earnest to eat a few bites of crow.

“I should have called in the beginning. I wanted to see what I could find on my own before I bothered you.”

Rip Garrett looked him over. There was still anger in his voice. “Doesn’t look like you’re any farther along than when you started.”

“No, I’m farther along. I’ve now got a dead cop to contend with.” Decker gave a shrug. “He took a lethal dose of sleeping medication and had powder burns on his right hand. But I’m waiting for the official report. The fact that it’s taking a while makes me suspicious… that someone could have done it for him postmortem.”

“And why would you think that?”

“The timing. It gives me a bad feeling when I call up and arrange an appointment to talk to the guy about a fifteen-year-old case and he turns up dead.”

Garrett said, “Must be your karma.”

Decker was tiring of his persnickety attitude. “And how long have you worked Homicide?” When Garrett didn’t answer, he glared at the young man. “You agreed to meet with me because (a) I outrank you and you don’t say no to a detective lieutenant with over thirty years of experience because someday you may be working under me, (b) you’re curious to see what the hell I’m up to, and (c) if you’ve got a modicum of intuition about homicide cases, deep down inside those arrests don’t sit right with you; two stupid punks jacking and offing Ekerling, stuffing him in the trunk, then joyriding around in a flashy Mercedes.”

“Stupid is the operative word,” Garrett shot back.

“It’s bullshit. Something’s off but
you
don’t know what it is. Right now you know you’ve got a sure solve with the two lowlifes holed up in the cage, each of them with sheets longer than a roll of toilet paper. Even if they didn’t do Ekerling, you’re not too concerned with a miscarriage of justice. Sooner or later, both of them would have ended up doing hard time.”

Garrett started to speak but thought better of it.

Decker pulled back. “Normally, I’m not such a rude motherfucker, but I’m getting a lot of pressure from the brass. In the end, Garrett, I’ll do you way more good than harm. I have a very long memory, and that works both ways.”

The waitress appeared at the table, serving Garrett a club and placing a cottage cheese and fruit plate in front of Decker. The watermelon was fresh, but the rest had come from a fruit cocktail can. Decker stabbed a wedge of pineapple but didn’t put it in his mouth. “It’s more than just a cold case now. I’ve got a dead cop on my conscience. I pressed Cal Vitton for an interview about Little and Vitton balked. Flash-forward twelve hours, the man is dead.”

“You still haven’t told me what Cal Vitton has to do with Primo Ekerling?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“And what’s the connection between Ben Little and Primo Ekerling other than a similar MO?”

For the first time since meeting him, Decker saw true curiosity in Garrett’s eyes. “I don’t know that, either.” He made a swirl in his cottage cheese. “What do you know about Martel and Perry?”

“Long sheets — DUIs, drug possession, shoplifting, illegal possession of firearms, burglary, car theft—”

“Assaults?”

“Don’t recall right away.”

“Batteries?”

“Don’t recall that, either.”

“So you don’t remember anything violent.”

“You carry a firearm, you’ve got the potential for violence.”

“No argument there.” Decker put down his fork and leaned over the table. “I am looking into a guy who knew Ekerling very well and might have known Little. He’s a music producer with a Hollywood address. His name is Rudy Banks.”

Garrett thought a moment, then shook his head no.

“Twenty years ago, Banks and Ekerling were in a punk band called the Doodoo Sluts. More recently, Banks and Ekerling have been clashing legally. Also, Banks went to North Valley High where Ben Little taught. So far he’s my only common denominator.”

“Kinda weak.”

“I’ve got to start somewhere, and Rudy’s a good place. Ekerling’s girlfriend thinks he’s a total scumbag. Everyone I’ve talked to seems to have the same sentiment. I’d like to form my own opinions except Rudy’s not returning my phone calls.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Indeed you are right, Detective, ignoring me is a good plan on his part. Because normally I’d be swamped and disinclined to pursue weak links. But a lot of money is riding on this solve, and the potential donor has been making calls to my captain. I left Rudy an urgent message. If he doesn’t call back, I’m going to start being concerned.”

“Want me to ask around about Banks?”

“If you don’t mind, you can ask about Banks, Ekerling, Little, as well as the two thugs you have locked up. Any information you give me would be appreciated.”

“All you had to do was call me up, Lieutenant.”

“It’s Decker, and I should have called personally. Sometimes I get busy and forget my manners. And while I’m thinking about it, I’d love to have a copy of the Ekerling file.”

“You don’t have it?”

“No, I don’t have it,” Decker lied smoothly, hoping the fib would extract Cindy from the mess he created. “Would I have asked if I had it?”

Garrett sized him up. “I can get you a copy of the file.”