False Prophet

She wandered into the master bathroom. Its walls were ceramic tiles of mint and hunter green in immaculate condition. The taps were old-style fixtures but the chrome was high-polished and scratch free. There was a beveled mirror on the back of the door. Open glass shelving served as the medicine cabinet. The racks held pottery crocks labeled in calligraphy—witch hazel, foxglove, mint, trefoil. No over-the-counter meds, not one prescription vial. The top shelf held a bowl of cinnamon-smelling pinecones and acorns. The bathroom window was clear glass, but obscured by a curtain of dangling crystal beads. They sent prismatic rainbows onto the walls.

Whoever messed up the bedroom hadn’t bothered with the bathroom.

Marge returned her attention to the bedroom. It was papered in something silky and cream-colored and dotted with a couple of dozen black-and-white photos of Lilah Brecht buddying up to celebrities. Or maybe it was the other way around. The stars looked thrilled to be in the snapshot. All the photos had been autographed.

To Lilah and Valley Canyon: With my fondest love, Georgina DeRafters.

To Lilah Brecht: the only woman who has seen me without makeup. Keep that cellulite off my thighs. Love, Ann Milo.

Georgina DeRafters and Ann Milo: old-timers who’d made strictly B movies. The As were probably hung on the spa’s walls. How did that make the Bs feel? Did they even notice? They were bound to; all actresses are narcissistic. What did Lilah tell them after they’d paid her hundreds a day and didn’t even see their pictures on the wall?

I keep my closest and dearest friends at home?

Marge shrugged. For every picture still on the wall, there were at least that many scattered about the room. The glass protecting the photographs had been deliberately smashed, as if someone had taken the pictures off the wall and smacked them with a hammer. One bull’s-eye in the center of each picture, broken seams radiating outward. The room twinkled with glass reflecting the bright midmorning light. The sunbeams coursed through two large windows—one on the eastern wall, one on the northern. Pete had found the bedroom windows locked: The lab men hadn’t found any pry marks on their sashes.

The nightstands flanking the bed had been pushed over, the table lamps crushed to dust. The impact of the lamps falling to the floor couldn’t have pulverized the ceramic bases to that extent. The table-to-floor distance was just not that great. Someone had smashed the suckers.

Someone had been pissed.

The dresser had been cleared of its contents, drawers pulled out and emptied, clothes tossed about carelessly.

Only Lilah’s bedroom had been trashed.

Maybe the perp was expecting to find something in the safe. When it wasn’t there, he’d searched the entire bedroom.

But then, why wasn’t the rest of the house tossed?

Maybe he found what he wanted.

Then he raped her.

Marge carefully fingered the broken glass on the bed with her gloved hand. She’d have Benny bag the pieces. Could be someone cut himself, leaving traces of blood. The lab man came out of the closet.

“I’m done inside, Detective. You want to search it for evidence, go ahead. I’ll start dusting the walls.”

“Find anything other than those female prints?”

Benny shook his head.

“Detective?”

Marge turned around. Officer Bellingham had returned, a very grave look on his face.

“We finished our interview with the stable hand. I think you’d better check him out personally.”

“Stable hand?”

“Yes, ma … Detective. He claims he lives there. There is a small hot plate inside one of the stables, some cooking utensils and work clothes. And there’s a chemical toilet just outside the barn. He could be telling the truth. But I don’t think the man has his full faculties.”

“He’s retarded?”

“Or very stupid, Detective. He answers in one-word sentences, won’t look you in the eye. Very suspicious. Of course, he claims he didn’t hear anything. And the stables are pretty far away from the house. But I think this man needs to be questioned. Officer Potter is with him now. Should we bring him here?”

“No, I’ll go out to the stables. You make sure no one unauthorized comes in the bedroom. This stable hand have a name?”

“Carl Totes. He says he’s worked for Miss Brecht for many years. Like I said, there’s evidence that he does reside inside the stables but I think he could be a suspect.”

“I’ll check it out.”

“By the way, Detective, there are six stalls and five horses inside the stable.”

Marge patted him on the back. “Good job, Officer.”

Bellingham tried to hold back a smile but didn’t quite make it. The left corner of his mouth spasmed upward. Through crooked lips, he said, “Thank you, Detective.”

It took three cups of tea and a half hour for the maid to calm down. Her name was Mercedes Casagrande, a thirty-five-year-old native of Guatemala who’d worked for Lilah Brecht for seven years. She wasn’t forthcoming with the answers, but guarded as she was, Decker sensed she wanted to help. She just didn’t want to jeopardize her job or the privacy of her patrona.

They sat at an oval dining-room table, the room furnished in early-twentieth-century pieces. The interior of the house had been done up in the style of Art Nouveau or Art Deco. Decker never could remember the difference between the two periods. As he made chitchat with the maid, she began to relax and answer his questions in halting English.

Decker slipped out his notepad and asked, “How many days a week do you work here for Missy Lilah?”

“I work all the days except Saturday and Sunday. I don’ work on those days ’cause I go to church.”

“What are your hours?”

“Seven to fife. But sometime I work diferente hours. If Missy Lilah need help in the night for the dinner. I work eleven to eight, mebbe nine o’clock. If someone take care of my kids.”

Decker said, “You never sleep in?”

“No.” Mercedes shook her head. “No duermo en la casa, no.”

Decker said, “So you weren’t here yesterday?”

“I work yesterday, jes.”

“But it was Sunday.”

Mercedes looked confused. “I work only four hours. Missy Lilah call me and say house is a mess. So I come. That is not every week. Mebbe I work Sundays one time a month. But only if someone watch my kids.”

“And what time did you leave?”

“I leave fife, fife-thurdy, mebbe. Everythin’ is okay. Missy Lilah tell me she go out with her brother so I don’ have to make dinner.”

Decker smoothed his mustache. “Missy Lilah was going out to dinner with her brother?”

“Jes.”

“Was she with her brother when you left?”

“No, he don’ come yet, but she say she go to dinner with him. She go to dinner with him mebbe one or two time a week.”

“What’s her brother’s name, Mercedes?”

“El Doctor Freddy.”

“El Doctor Freddy?”

“Jes.”

“Does El Doctor Freddy have a last name—nom de familia?”

“Same as Missy Lilah.”

“Freddy Brecht?”

“I thin’ his name is Señor Frederick.”

“Frederick Brecht?”

“I thin’ so.”

“And he’s a physician? Un doctor de la medicina?”

“Sí. He work at the spa. But he don’ work there all the time.”

“He has another office?”

“I thin’ so.”

“Do you know where his other office is? Usted sabe donde está su otra oficina?”

Mercedes shook her head.

Decker said, “You’re doing great. Muy bien. You didn’t see El Doctor Freddy come inside the house?”

“No.”

“Does Doctor Freddy have a key to the house?”

Mercedes scrunched up her forehead in concentration. “I thin’ … jes.”

Decker wrote down: No forced entry and Dr. Freddy may have a key. “And Doctor Freddy wasn’t there when you left to go home.”

“No, he don’ come yet.”

“But Missy Lilah was home.”

“Jes, she come home around four from the spa, all wet. She do very much exercise. She very, very skinny, but es okay ’cause she don’t throw up like muchas mujeres at the spa. She tell me all the women throw up to be skinny. I thin’ that’s no good.”

“I don’t think that’s good either.”

“But Missy Lilah no throw up to be skinny. But she do muchas exercise. Mucho tiempo corriendo. En la calle, en la montaña, todo el tiempo, ella corrió.”

Decker wrote: Lilah obsessive runner. “Does she ever run at night?”

“I don’ know.”

If she did, it would put a new slant on the incident. After dinner with her brother, Lilah went out for a midnight run. Then someone familiar with her habits waited for her to return exhausted from her jog, and forced his way in. After she opened the safe, he attacked her, then tossed the room. That play-by-play would also be consistent with no forced entry.

Decker excused himself a moment, stood and walked around the room, wincing as pain pierced his upper body. Even though the gunshot wounds were in the left arm and shoulder, he found that stretching his spine mitigated the throbbing in his extremities. He extracted a couple of extra-strength Tylenols from his shirt pocket and popped them into his mouth, swallowing without water, the movement as reflexive as breathing. Having worked his way off codeine, then Percodan, he’d been alternating with the over-the-counter analgesics—one day Tylenol, the next Advil. Almost eight months to the day, his recovery was good but still incomplete. The OTC tablets helped take the edge off, but he knew there’d come a time when he would have to learn to live without the medicine and with the pain.

He stretched again, then sat and said, “Mercedes, when you came in this morning, did you notice anything different about the house before you went into Missy Lilah’s bedroom?”

“No, nothing.”

“Everything was in order.”

“Jes.”

“None of the furniture was moved or the vases put on a different table … anything like that?”

“No. Jus’ the door to Missy Lilah’s bedroom is open. She like it closed.”

“But nothing different in the living room, dining room?”

She shook her head.

“The front door was locked?”

“Jes. I use my key to come in.”

“You have a key?”

“Jes.”

“Anyone else in your family know you have a key to her house?”

Mercedes’s face flushed with fear. “Ninguna persona! I keep it in especial place.”

“So you’re positive that no one has the key to Missy Lilah’s house.”

“Ninguna persona en mi familia. Jus’ me.”

Decker told her he believed her, but kept the question open in his mind. “When you came in this morning, did you go straight to the bedroom? Or did you do something else first? Hang up your coat and purse, start the washing machine?”

“I hang up my coat and look around. Everythin’ is okay. Entonces, I see the door open—”

“The bedroom door?”

“Jes, the bedroom door. I go to close it, I see Missy Lilah—”

Covering her face, she burst into sudden tears, sobbing for a full minute, Decker waiting until the crying subsided. Mercedes reached inside her purse, found wrinkled tissue and wiped her eyes. “She be okay, Missy Lilah?”

“I think so.”

“I pray to Dios—to Jesús—she be okay. I go to church today to pray for Missy Lilah.”

“It’s good to pray,” Decker said.

“Jes.”

“Makes you feel better?”

Mercedes nodded. “Everyone need ayuda—help.”

Ain’t that the truth. Decker patted her hand. “Mercedes, do you clean Missy Lilah’s room every day?”

“Jes.”

“You clean inside her closet?”

“Jes, I vacuum every day there. She don’ like the dust.”

“In the closet, there’s a big safe.”

“Jes.”

“You dust the safe?”

“Jes, every day.”

“Did you dust the safe yesterday?”

“Jes, every day.”

“Do you wear gloves when you dust the safe?”

“I don’ wear gloves, only when I clean the toilet.”

“So it’s possible that your hands touched the safe. Es posible que su mano ha tacado la puerta de la caja de seguridad?”

“Sí, es posible.”

Benny had pulled some latents from the safe. The maid was going to have to be inked for print comparison. But there was a good side to her compulsive cleaning; the safe had been wiped clean every day. If some of the latents belonged to Lilah, she had to have opened the safe after Mercedes cleaned it yesterday. Had she been forced to open it? Or maybe she put something valuable inside yesterday and someone had known about it.

Decker scribbled a few notes—questions he’d bring up with Lilah. Hopefully, she’d be completely conscious by late afternoon, in good-enough shape to be interviewed briefly. “We’re just about done, Mercedes. Just a few more questions. I want to talk about the man who works with the horses.”

“Señor Carl?”

“Yes. He says he lives in the stables. Is that true?”

“Jes.”

“How long has he lived there?”

“Four, fife years. He come after me, but he work for Missy Lilah for a long time.”

“You see him a lot?”

“No.”

“If something breaks in the house, who fixes it?”

Mercedes thought. “Missy Lilah send someone—different peoples. Sometimes people from her work.”

“From her work? You mean the spa?”

“Jes.”

“Which people?”

“Diferentes. I thin’ sometimes a boy comes to pick the vegetables.”

“A boy? A muchacho?”

“No. More old. His name is Mike.”

“Mike,” Decker repeated. “Do you know his last name?”

Mercedes shook her head.

“But he works at Lilah’s spa?”

“Jes, I thin’.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “So Señor Carl doesn’t fix things in the house.”

“No. Jus’ work with the horses, mebbe pick vegetables, también. I don’ know.”

“Do you ever make breakfast or lunch for Señor Carl?”

“No.”

“Do you make him snacks? Give him some juice when the weather gets hot?”

“No, he stay out of the house, I stay in the house. We don’ talk, mebbe jus’ one or two time a year. He come to the house and ask for Missy Lilah. But he never come in the house.”

“Does he ever use the bathroom in the house?”

“No, I thin’ he have a toilet.”

“You ever wash his clothes?”

Mercedes shook her head.

Decker leaned in close and whispered, “Does he scare you?”

The maid wrinkled her lips and shook her head. “No, he don’ scare me. Missy Lilah say he nice. I thin’ he nice, too. But I thin’, he’s a little …” With her right index finger, she made air circles next to her right temple.

“A little crazy?”

“Mebbe. But I thin’ he love Missy Lilah. One time, Missy Lilah and her brother have a bad fight outside. Missy Lilah don’ let her brother in the house and he get mad. Señor Carl hear it and he get real mad.” She demonstrated his anger by wrinkling her nose and balling her fist. “He go in of the stable and get a big shobel. He show it to El Doctor and jell at him, and make him go away.”

“It was a bad fight?”

“Jes, very bad.”

“Does Missy Lilah fight a lot with Doctor Freddy?”

“Oh, no!” Mercedes was wide-eyed. “Missy Lilah no fight with Doctor Freddy, never. This was el otro doctor, su otro hermano.”

Decker digested that. “She has two brothers?”

“Jes.”

“And both are doctors?”

“Jes. El otro doctor come here mebbe two or three time since I work here. Missy Lilah don’ like him. He come and dey fight. Señor Carl, he chase him away last time. Jell at him, shake his shobel. Say: ‘Go away. Go away or I kill you.’”

“What’s el otro doctor’s name?”

“Missy Lilah don’ tell me. She just call him su otro hermano.”

“How do you know he’s a doctor?”

Mercedes was silent. “I don’ remember. I jus’ know he’s a doctor.”

“When Carl chased him away, how long ago was that?”

“I thin’ mebbe two years ago.”

“You haven’t seen su otro hermano in two years?”

“No.”

“Okay, let’s go back to Señor Carl. You think he’s a little crazy? Un poco loco?”

“More estupid.”

“You ever see him be crazy with Missy Lilah?”

Mercedes shook her head.

“Did he ever act crazy with you?”

Again a shake of the head.

Decker checked his watch. It was almost noon and his stomach was growling. But before lunch, he wanted to check out Señor Totes himself. Marge should have picked the stable hand’s brain by now. He’d confer with her, then ask Totes about the fight Lilah had with her other doctor brother. Maybe send Marge down to the spa to check out this Mike character. He pocketed his notepad and thanked the maid for her time.

3

“Be it ever so humble …” Marge smiled. “May not be much, but Totes calls it home. Makes my place look pretty high-end.”

Decker smiled, his eyes examining the horseless stall. The wooden floor was clean, most of it covered by a moth-eaten, hand-loomed rug. An army cot lay in the middle of the area, brown standard-issue blankets folded neatly at its foot. Against the back was a two-burner hot plate plugged into an electrical socket. Jammed into the corners were piles of canned goods, a broom, a mop, and a dustpan. Wooden wall knobs, ordinarily used to hang tack, held dirty denim overalls and dust-covered work shirts on the left side, a bath towel, a circular kitchen towel, and a heavy skillet on the right. Not a lot of living space, but then again, the horses never complained.

“A bit of a contrast from the main house,” Marge said. “Notice all the antiques at her place?”

Decker nodded.

“And not just the furniture—all the vases and bowls and rugs and pillows and shit. She put a lot of money into decorating. Spa must do well.”

Decker shrugged. “Is there a john here?”

“He’s got a chemical toilet out back.” Marge wrinkled her nose. “Why he bothered to put it outside, I don’t know. Whole place smells. Lord, how in the world does he eat surrounded by this stink?”

“This ain’t nothing.” Decker took a deep sniff. “He’s got fresh shavings in here. You should have gotten a whiff before he raked the stalls.”

“Lucky me.”

“Did he rake while you were interviewing him?”

“No, he just sat on the cot and answered my questions—‘Yessim. Nossim.’ But I think he understood everything I asked him, Pete. Claims he didn’t see or hear anything. Now the stable is away from the house, but I would think that sound carries pretty well in these open spaces. There were a lot of smashed items in Lilah’s bedroom. Maybe he just tuned the noise out.”

“Maybe.” Decker related the incident with Lilah and el otro hermano. “Totes was very protective of her according to the maid, threatening Lilah’s nameless brother with a shovel. If he had heard something suspicious, he might have done something. He didn’t mention anything about the fight to you?”

“Not a word. But with a guy like Carl, you’ve got to know the right questions beforehand. He doesn’t volunteer a thing and I don’t think it’s because he’s holding back. He’s just too basic to improvise. I asked him if he knew anyone who didn’t like Lilah. He said ‘nossim.’ Now if I had asked him, did Lilah have a fight with her other brother two years ago, I probably would have gotten a ‘yessim.’”

“Specificity is the name of the game.”

“And short questions,” Marge said. “Anyway, he swore he didn’t hear or see anything when he got up this morning at four-thirty.”

“That’s his usual rising time?”

“Yes. It was dark outside. He didn’t see anything.”

“You think he was being truthful?”

“I think he was, but it’s hard to say. Remember that beekeeper’s retarded son last year? Totes was wary in the same way when questioned. Both didn’t look you in the eye.”

“He’s as retarded as Earl Darcy?”

“No, Carl’s higher-functioning,” Marge said. “He takes care of himself and the horses. Besides being the stable hand, he’s the grounds keeper. Takes care of the fruit trees, maintains the huge garden out back. She’s got a few acres here. Keeping it up is a lot of responsibility.”

“You know, the maid mentioned that Lilah sends people from the spa to fix things in her house, pick stuff from the garden. She mentioned someone named Mike.”

Marge said, “I’ll check him out.”

“What about Totes as a suspect? What does your gut say?”

“Gut-speaking, probably not. You told me Lilah didn’t know who attacked her. I don’t think Carl has enough smarts to plan an assault without being recognized.”

Decker said, “How long has Carl been working out the horse?”

“He took it out maybe a half hour ago, says he tries to work out each horse for an hour. Jesus, that’s six hours in the saddle every day. Guy must have nothing but a big callus for a butt.”

Decker slapped his notepad against his palm. “You get used to it.”

“Macho Pete.”

Decker smiled, thinking that Marge wasn’t so bad in the machismo department herself. At a fit five-ten, one fifty-five, she could successfully floor most men without breaking a sweat. Her most feminine feature was her eyes. Soft and doelike, they inspired trust. Everyone told Marge their secrets.

She said, “Why don’t you take a look around while I organize my notes?”

Decker agreed, strolling the stables, taking in the scenery. Lilah had prime horses—well-muscled with straight backs and princely gaits. The Lippizaner was the jumper, the two Thoroughbreds were young with fine-looking legs. The Appaloosa in the middle stall looked to be about twelve—probably dead broke and a great trail rider. Aps were good range horses—fearless and surefooted. He returned to Totes’s stall, sniffed the towels and bedsheet.

“His clothes are dirty, but his linens are clean. The maid said she doesn’t do his laundry.”

Marge said, “He’s got a small empty washbasin outside. Next to the toilet.”

“Who buys his food?”

“He told me Lilah gives him some canned goods—tuna, chili and beans. And then there’s the garden—actually it’s more like a farm. A half acre’s worth of vegetables, most of the greens and herbs grown for the spa. VULCAN advertises homegrown fruits and vegetables. Guess Lilah needs something to justify those rates.”

Decker smiled and rolled his shoulders.

Marge said, “Totes helps himself to the veggies. To the fruits in the orchards, too. I guess if you don’t mind simple living and the smell, it’s not a terrible life.” She checked her watch. “How about we grab some lunch after you’ve spoken to Mr. Totes?”

“I want to stop off at home,” Decker said. “I’ve got some baked goods in the car that were supposed to be Rina’s breakfast. Want to come over for lunch?”

“I’m sure Rina would love that.”

“I’ll need you as a buffer.”

“She giving you a hard time?”

“Nah,” Decker said. “She’s just being pregnant. Stop by with me. She likes you. Sometimes I think she likes you better than me.”

“You go it alone this time.” Marge stood on her tiptoes and patted his cheek. “You’re a big boy, you can handle it.”

Decker smiled. “You want to explain to Totes that I’m your partner? He’s already had one interview today. I don’t want to confuse the guy by suddenly presenting myself.”

“Sure.”

“While I’m talking to him, can you do me a favor?”

“Name it.”

“Frederick Brecht’s not at the spa and supposedly no one had his office number. The Vulcanites are very closemouthed.”

“I’ll look him up. You want me to call him?”

“I don’t know if he’s aware of what’s happened. The maid didn’t call him; the spa isn’t concerned about Lilah’s absence. The manager there … what the hell was her name?” He flipped through his notepad. “Uh … Kelley Ness … she told me that Ms. Brecht wasn’t expected in today, but she didn’t sound uptight.”

“Did you ask Kelley about this Mike person?” Marge said.

“No. If Mike’s there and involved, I don’t want to spook him. I don’t want to interview this Mike guy or Doctor Freddy by phone. I want to see their reactions to the news in the flesh.”