The Mercedes Coffin (15 page)

“Thank you.”

“Rudy Banks… what kind of music does he produce?”

“From what I can tell, he mostly does old compilations of has-been groups like his own. From what I could glean on the Web, he’s also tried contemporary groups — lots of hip-hop and rap.”

Garrett said, “Martel listed his occupation as an aspiring rapper. That’s not unusual. The cage is full of rappers in the making.”

“Good call, Garrett, it’s worth checking out,” Decker told him. “FYI, Ekerling was also a music producer. Matter of fact, he had a scheduled dinner with an up-and-coming hip-hop, R & B group. He was hoping to produce their album.”

“Yeah, I know. How’d you find that out if you didn’t have the file?”

“I interviewed Ekerling’s girlfriend, Marilyn Eustis, the one who called you up and got you in an uproar when she asked about my poking around. Not that I would have reacted differently. I don’t like my feet stepped on, either. If Travis Martel was an aspiring rapper and Ekerling turned him down, it could be a working motive for Martel whacking Ekerling.”

“How would that connect to your Little case?”

“I don’t know. I’m just blurting out ideas as I think of them. I’m giving you the benefit of my years of experience.”

Garrett smiled and finished his sandwich. “You don’t look happy with your lunch, Decker. You on a diet or something?”

“Not really, although I could take off a couple of pounds.” Decker drank up his coffee. “You know how it is, Rip. Sometimes it’s just not a cottage cheese kind of day.”

THE CELL PHONE
went off at five in the afternoon. The window told Decker that the number was private. The man on the line was screaming. “Who the fuck is this?”

Decker took a few moments to gather his thoughts. “Lieutenant Detective Peter Decker of the LAPD. Who’s this?”

“A lieutenant? Sal Crane’s got a lieutenant in his pocket? Well, I’ll be damned!”

“I repeat. Who is this?”

“Rudolph Banks. Did you know that on my phone plan I have to pay for incoming as well as outgoing calls?”

Decker wanted to say:
Then you could have saved a few bucks by answering my calls the first time, buddy.
Instead he said, “First of all, I’m not in anyone’s pocket, let alone Sal Crane. I used the name to get your attention because you hadn’t returned any of my numerous calls.”

“I haven’t returned anyone’s calls because I’ve been on fuckin’ jury duty for the last five days. As an alternate! Do you believe that shit! I have to sit through some bullshit trial that was a total waste of
my
taxpayer time and
my
taxpayer money and I can’t even be part of saying whether the son of a bitch is guilty or not guilty. No, no, no, I have to park my ass on a rock-hard bench outside the courtroom waiting for those twelve motherfuckers to render a verdict just in case one of them happens to keel over And for this privilege, I get paid fifteen big ones a day plus fifty-three cents a mile gas
one way
.”

“You’re doing your civic duty.”

“No, it’s them who did their doodie on me. Thank God it’s over. What do you want, Lieutenant?”

“Thanks for asking. I’m currently working Homicide, Mr. Banks—”

“So what do you want with me? Whoever got whacked, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“I’d like to talk to you about Primo Ekerling—”

“They caught the bastards. It was in all the papers, Lieutenant. If you give me your e-mail address, I’ll send over the articles.”

“I have a few questions that you might be able to help me out with.”

“So ask.”

“These kinds of questions are better asked in person.”

“I didn’t whack him. End of conversation.”

“His murder was remarkably similar to another individual who died fifteen years ago. A teacher named Bennett Alston Little. I understand you went to North Valley High where Dr. Little taught history, civics, social studies…”

The slight pause was very telling.

“I went to North Valley. So did thousands of other teens. I dropped out in eleventh grade way before he died. What’s that gotta do with me?”

“Mr. Banks, it’s really in both of our interests if we get together and talk. When can I meet you?”

“Do you know how far behind I am on my work?”

“Sir, this really is in your interest. And the sooner we talk, the sooner you’ll be rid of me.”

Another slight pause. Decker heard the man take a breath. “I’ll call you in a week.”

“No, that’s too long, Mr. Banks. I guarantee you, it won’t take more than an hour of your time. I can even meet you, tonight if you want—”

“No, I don’t want, goddamnit. I know what you’re going to ask. You’re going to ask about Primo. Yes, I knew Primo. Yes, we were suing the shit out of each other. Yes, we’ve been going at it for a while. No, I did not murder him.

“As far as your victim, I don’t remember him, but I vaguely remember the murder. I was living in L.A. when it happened. That’s all I can tell you. At the time, I was not only fucking every girl I could get my hands on, I was perpetually stoned. Jesus, I could use a good doobie now.”

“How about if we meet some time tomorrow?”

“Why are you putting the screws on my balls?”

“Just a few simple questions, Mr. Banks. I can come to your place in Hollywood. I’ve already been there. I left you my card—”

“All right already. Fine. Come tomorrow at three. If I’m in, I’ll talk to you. Don’t bother ringing the bell, it’s broken. And if you knock, no guarantees that I’ll answer. Three in the afternoon is my low period. Sometimes I doze off, and when I do, I’m a sound sleeper. You come at your own risk.”

“I’ll expect you to be in, sir.”

“Expect? Just because you expect, I have to jump? Let me tell you something, Lieutenant, I
expect
lots of things. But I don’t always get what I expect. Instead what I get is a lot of fuckin’ a-holes breathing down my neck. What I get is ingrates suing me for no goddamn reason other than greed. What I get is jury duty as a fucking alternate. What I get, Lieutenant, is a bagful of disappointments because the hard truth is people are liars, hypocrites, and thieves. I know damn well that life is basically a tall mound of shit, but I’ll be a cocksucker before you or anyone else is gonna make me step in it!”

THE ELEVATOR STILL
wasn’t working, and the stairwell hadn’t gotten any cooler. Decker was steaming, but not from the heat and the humidity in Banks’s hallway. Ten minutes of red-knuckle knocking passed without a response. Decker’s impulse was to kick in the door, but instead, he took a deep breath and tried to figure out his next move. Normally he’d wait around, but it was Friday and his religious observance prevented him from doing evening surveillance.

Maybe Marge or Oliver would be willing…

There were footsteps in the stairwell. The door opened, and Liam O’Dell ambled toward Decker as casual as denim. “Hey, mate.”

Decker was nonplussed but tried to hide it. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Just come back from Millie’s. You should try the enchilada special. It’s tasty.”

“What are you doing here, Liam?”

“Same thing as you, mate, and that would be lookin’ for Rudy.” He reached in his pocket and handed Decker a crumpled piece of paper. “You must rate. The bugger took the time to write.”

Smoothing out the paper, Decker read:

Emergency situation. Monday, same time, same place.
Don’t bother to call, I won’t call back.

“Bastard!” Decker whispered.

“You’re first discoverin’ it?”

“He could have called.” Decker shoved the note back into his pocket. “Now I’ve got to deal with rush-hour traffic back to the Valley.”

“If that’s the only way he’s screwed you, consider yourself lucky, mate.”

Decker regarded O’Dell. Today he chose to wear cutoff shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. Tattoos had been inked on every limb. “Do you stop by every day, O’Dell?”

“I thought I’d try one more time before heading back to Venice.” He smiled at Decker with stained teeth. “’Fraid I did the bastard in? You can kick in the friggin’ door and we can both see what’s going on.”

“I can’t kick in the door unless there’s suspicion that harm has come to Mr. Banks.” He gave O’Dell a meaningful look. “Is there a reason why you think Mr. Banks has met with harm?”

“I can’t say for sure, but eventually some harm is comin’ his way. You can’t be a bastard for
that
long to that many people and not suffer consequences.” He stared back at Decker. “If you’re concerned, kick in the door.”

“No need.” He took a pick from his key ring and played with the tumblers until the lock popped open.

O’Dell was round eyed with surprise. “You’re a handy gent.”

Decker said, “Stay back. If you step inside, I’ll have you arrested for trespassing.”

“You call the shots, mate, I’m just a bystander.”

“I’m serious, O’Dell.” Decker stepped over the threshold and was immediately blasted with a waft of heat. The place had no air-conditioning. “Mr. Banks?”

No response.

The living room was blanketed in shade because the drapes were drawn. The area was nicely decorated, deco in style. There were oil paintings on the walls, and most of them were nudes.

“Mr. Banks?”

Quickly, he moved through the unit: two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a laundry room with a trash chute.

“Mr. Banks?”

Decker opened and shut closet doors. He lifted the trapdoor to the rubbish shaft and looked inside. It smelled of ripe garbage but nothing more sinister.

“Mr. Banks?”

Though the place wasn’t compulsively clean, it was orderly. Satisfied that nothing was awry, Decker shut the self-locking door. O’Dell was sitting in the hallway, listening to an iPod, his eyes closed, his body swaying to an unheard beat. Decker walked over and tapped him on the shoulder. O’Dell’s eyes flipped open and he bounded to his feet. “All clear, mate?”

“All clear.” Decker regarded him. “Why’d you take my note, Liam?”

“I was a bad boy.” O’Dell wiped sweaty hands on his shorts. “I thought I might stick around and see who it was for. Then I saw you…” He smiled. “I coulda kept it.”

“Thanks, buddy, for your consideration. Any idea what the emergency was?”

“With Rudy, an emergency could be anything. Mostly the emergency happens when he wants to get out of something.”

“You shouldn’t come around here so often, Liam, especially if you think something’s going to happen to him.” Decker smiled. “See, that would make you a suspect.”

“Ooh, a suspect! Can I play meself in the movie?”

“I’m serious.”

“Yeah, I know you’re trying to do the right thing, Lieutenant.” O’Dell looked at his watch. “It’s going on three-thirty. If I was you, I’d leave soon. Traffic is going to be a real bitch if you wait much longer.”

Decker held open the door to the stairs. “After you, Liam.”

“If you insist.”

“I insist.” He waited for O’Dell a little longer than he should have. Finally, when Liam was in the stairwell and in front of him, Decker let the door close. They went down to the first floor without talking, drowned out by the clops of the shoes banging on steel steps.

WHAT DECKER HAD
pictured in his mind was an almost forty-year-old rock star gone to seed — overweight and with a puffy face from alcohol and drug abuse. But as recently as a year ago, Rudy Banks was a good-looking man — a lean jaw with an aquiline nose, clear blue eyes, a clean white smile, and a cleft chin. He had dark curly hair, a couple days’ worth of beard growth, and his mug could have been on Page Six in the
New York Post,
the caption saying he was an up-and-coming actor.

The man’s image was so out of sync with his rotten personality that Decker checked several “find a face” search engines just to make sure he had the right guy. What had happened in this person’s life to turn someone that handsome into such a bitter, crude, and rude human being?

Maybe it was precisely because he had been good-looking. Being Mr. Adonis often led to failure to thrive; it simply wasn’t necessary to develop more substantial attributes.

Decker felt a presence over his shoulder and looked up from the screen and into the eyes of his elder daughter.

“Very nice,” she remarked.

“No, actually, he isn’t at all.”

“What did he do?”

“So far nothing.” Decker gave Cindy a peck on the cheek. “When did you get here?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

He smiled at his detective daughter. She wore a simple black dress and black heels. Her hair was aglow with the colors of a raging fire. “You look lovely.”

“I try.”

“Where’s my man Koby?”

“He’s coming later.” She pulled up a chair next to him. “So who’s the guy?”

“Rudy Banks. He was a founding member of a punk band called the Doodoo Sluts. So was Primo Ekerling.”

“Aha.” She peered at the computer and started reading the text. “I heard that you and Rip Garrett reached a semi-rapprochement.”

“It’s always better to have cooperation than animosity. And why semi?”

“Rip and Tito still aren’t thrilled by your interference. But at least they don’t
glare
at me anymore.”

“Father knows best.”

“Father is what got me on the hot seat in the first place.” She stood up. “Why don’t you print out some of Rudy’s articles and we can go over them after dinner. Right now I’d like to help Rina in the kitchen. Not that she needs my help. She seems to have everything under control — like always.”

Decker pressed the print button. “I can help Rina. Why don’t you go spend some time with Hannah? She seems to prefer you to me.”

“That’s because I let her have free rein in my closet.”

“Whatever the reason, she smiles when she sees you. It’s the only time I ever get to see her teeth.”

Cindy laughed. “Was I that surly?”

“You might have been, but you didn’t live with me. I think your mother got the brunt of your teenage sulkiness.”

“And the woman still speaks to me. What a saint!” She stood up from the chair. “I promised Rina I’d help with the salad. You find out all you can on Banks and we’ll talk later. After all, Primo Ekerling was originally my case.”