Hangman

“That means nothing.”

“Of course. I’ve phoned Elko PD and have asked them to tell me when he comes into town.”

“Are they cooperating?”

“Hard to tell. The brothels make a slew of money, so it could be that the department wouldn’t be anxious to give up one of their own. I’m trying to retrace Donatti’s steps, starting with when he came into L.A. I’m checking commercial airlines, leasing companies, and jet card companies. And rental car companies. He has to be driving something, but I haven’t had any luck with that.”

“Have you done a search of the hotel?”

“Not yet. If it shakes out that way, I’ll call West L.A. It’s their district. Right now, I’d like to handle it myself…with a little help.”

“I’m on my way.”

“I came back to the hotel from dinner…turned around as soon as the kid called. I don’t have any of my kits or evidence bags with me.”

“Is something amiss?”

“No, it seems to be pretty much as I left it. There’s a drinking glass I’d like to bag.”

“I’ll bring the stuff down with me.”

“I can think of only two reasons why Terry would leave without notifying her kid. Something scared her off or she had a gun to her head. She took her purse, her keys, and her car, but she left behind a wad of money and her jewelry.”

“Oy, that doesn’t look too good. Didn’t you say that the meeting between them went well?”

“I thought it did. But Donatti is unpredictable.” He gave Marge the address. “It’ll take you about forty minutes without bad traffic.”

“Where’s the boy?”

“He’s with Rina. I’m keeping him at our house for the night.”

There was a pause. “Aren’t you getting a little overinvolved?”

“You should talk,” Decker snapped back. “If you hadn’t adopted Vega after that Father Jupiter debacle, she would have been declared a ward of the state and placed into the state foster care program. She would have probably become a delinquent, gotten pregnant ten times, been hooked on drugs, and turned into a prostitute. Instead, you got overinvolved and now Vega is almost done with her dissertation for a PhD in astrophysics. So you tell me if I’m wrong to get a little overinvolved.”

There was a long pause over the line. Then Marge said, “Hard day, Pete?”

“A little challenging.”

“I’ll see you soon.”

“Sooner is better than later.”

MARGE ARRIVED WITH the kits, the bags, and the gloves. She had put on a little weight in the last year but almost all of it was muscle. At five ten, she was a lean one-sixty and had added workouts in the gym as part of her daily routine. Her face had lines across her forehead and faint spiderwebs crisscrossing at the corners of her brown eyes. Her blond hair—formerly light brown—was tied back in a ponytail and she had pearl studs in each earlobe. She had dressed in gray slacks and a black sweater, rubber-soled shoes on her feet.

“Thanks for showing up,” Decker said.

“Someone has to take you home,” Marge told him.

It took the two of them over three hours to conduct a preliminary search of the hotel, first going to the bar and the restaurant, then room to room, and finally checking the spa, the storage areas , and the empty banquet hall. Another hour was spent searching Terry’s room. When they had finished bagging whatever paltry evidence there was to be taken, the clock had struck one and Marge saw that Decker was still agitated. The lieutenant was usually the consummate professional. He said, “What am I going to tell that kid?”

“He’s probably asleep.”

“Would you be able to sleep if you were him?”

“No.” A few moments passed. “If he’s up, this is what you’re going to tell him. You’re going to tell him that you’ve done everything you could do on a Sunday night. Tomorrow you’ll call the phone company to see if his mother’s cell has been used, you’ll call the credit card company and see if there has been any activity, and you’ll call her bank to see if there’s been any suspicious withdrawals.” Marge smiled. “More like you’ll assign someone to do it because you’re a busy guy and this isn’t even your jurisdiction. Have you called in to West L.A. yet?”

“I did indeed. I put in a need-to-locate on Terry’s car shortly before you arrived. It’s a 2009 Mercedes E550. Somebody has to come back and interview all the personnel. I’ve only talked to the desk clerk and she doesn’t know a thing.”

“It’s a skeleton crew right now. It’ll keep until the morning. ”

“The desk sergeant told me that someone from West L.A. Missing Persons will call me. Whoever catches the call has to know who they’re dealing with.”

“So everything’s under control. Let’s go.”

“I’m too worked up to face the kid right now.”

“You’ll be okay by the time we get back to the Valley. If not, I’ll buy you a cup of hot cocoa at one of the twenty-four/seven convenience stores.”

Decker smiled. “Hot cocoa?”

“Once a mother, always a mother. Vega may be brilliant, but I still look out for her.” Marge patted his shoulder. “We know better than anyone else on the planet that the smartest people can do dumbest things.”

CHAPTER FIVE

AT TWO IN the morning, the house was dark and quiet, just the way it should be. Decker closed the front door as softly as possible, waiting for the kid to emerge out of his sons’ room. When he didn’t, he tiptoed into his bedroom, undressed, and slid under the covers. Rina rolled over and draped an arm across his back.

“Everything okay?”

“Nothing to report, one way or the other.”

Rina was quiet, but then she sighed. “You’re upset. I’m sorry.” “Yeah, I’m a little upset. I should have talked her out of the meeting.”

“You’d only be postponing the inevitable.” Rina sat up. “From what you’ve told me over dinner, she wasn’t planning to leave him permanently.”

“You’re right, but the fact still remains that she’s missing.” He rolled over and faced her. “Rina, what am I going to tell the kid?”

“That you’re doing all you can and you’ll keep him posted. The bigger issue is what we do with him. He certainly can stay here for a few days, but if it should drag on longer, we’ve got a decision to make.”

“Well, he has a grandfather living in L.A., but he doesn’t like the man. Terry didn’t like him. He said his aunt is nice but ditzy.”

“How old is she now?”

“Around twenty-one…a very young twenty-one is what Gabe told me.”

“Ugh, that’s way too young to be handling a teenager and probably a troubled one at that. Does she work? Does she go to school?”

“I don’t know anything about her except that she recently had an abortion.” Decker exhaled. “I’ll deal with it in the morning. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Sounds good.” They both slipped under the covers. Peter was out within ten minutes, but Rina lay awake for a long time, haunted by images of a lost, lonely boy.

UP BY SIX, but Rina wasn’t the first one out of bed. Gabe was sitting on the living-room couch in the near dark, his head back, his eyes closed behind his rimless glasses, his bags at his feet. He wore a black T-shirt, jeans, and giant sneakers that looked to be around a size twelve.

“Good morning,” Rina said softly.

The kid’s head snapped up. “Oh.” He rubbed his eyes. “Hi.”

“Going somewhere?” When he shrugged, Rina said, “Would you like some breakfast?”

“I’m not too hungry…but thanks.”

“How about some hot chocolate or coffee?”

“If you’re making coffee anyway, that would be good.”

“Come keep me company in the kitchen.”

Reluctantly, the boy got up and followed her. He squinted when she turned on the overhead light, so she immediately turned it off and settled for the under-the-cabinet lighting.

“Sorry.” Gabe sat down at the kitchen table. “I’m like a bat in the morning.”

“It’s too early for a lot of light anyway,” Rina told him. “Are you sure you’re not hungry? It might be a good idea to eat and keep your strength up.” He certainly didn’t look as if he had a lot of reserves to draw upon.

A sick smile. “Yeah, okay.”

“How about some toast?”

“Okay.” A pause. “Thanks for putting me up for the night.”

“Were you comfortable?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“I’m sorry, Gabe. If you need anything, please let me know.”

“So your husband didn’t…I mean, my mother is still missing?”

“So far as I know, yes.” She put two pieces of bread in the toaster. “Lieutenant Decker should be getting up soon. You can ask him whatever you want.”

The boy just nodded. If there was a personification of the word “miserable,” Rina was looking at it. The toast popped up and she placed the plate in front of him, along with jam, butter, and a cup of hot coffee. “Cream or sugar?”

“Please.”

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” The boy nibbled at the dry bread. “Do you know where I’m going?”

“Lieutenant Decker told me that you have an aunt and a grandfather in L.A.”

He nodded. “So he’s gonna call them up or…”

“I don’t know the procedure. Let me peek in and see if he’s up.” Rina went into the bedroom just as Decker finished his shower. “Coffee’s ready.”

“I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Good. The poor kid’s wondering where he’s going to stay until things get resolved.”

“If they get resolved. He’s up already?”

“He’s up, packed, and looking wholly dejected. Do you blame him?”

“It’s a rotten deal.” He put on his pants and shoes.

Rina paused. “Maybe we should put him up for another couple of days…just until he gets his bearings.”

“And then what?” Decker said. “I feel for him, but he’s not our problem, Rina.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“I know you. You’re softhearted. I already got overinvolved with Terry and look where it got me…where it got her…Lord only knows where it got her. Where’s the kid?”

“In the kitchen.”

Decker buttoned his shirt. “I’ll deal with him and you wake up our daughter.” He laughed as he knotted his tie. “I’ve got the easier assignment.”

THE BOY WAS staring at the tabletop. Decker said, “Hey, Gabe.”

He looked up. “Hi.”

Decker placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder. “We haven’t found your mother yet.”

A forced smile that hid a quivering lip. “What about Chris?”

“We’re working on the both of them. We’ve still got lots to do and lots of options. So the only thing I can say is sit tight and we’ll keep you posted.”

He blinked several times. “Sure.”

“We’ve got a couple of things to talk about right now, though. I know your father’s an only child and an orphan. And we know about your mom’s relatives. Before we explore that, do you have anyone in New York that you want me to get hold of?”

“Like relatives?”

“Relatives, friends, buddies…”

“I have friends, but no one I’d want to stay with. At least not right now.”

“Okay, so that leaves us with your mom’s relatives.”

“I barely know my grandfather. My mother and he didn’t get along.”

“So we’re down to your very young aunt.”

“I guess I could stay with her.” He looked down. “What are my options if I don’t go with my aunt?”

“On a long-term basis, you’d become a ward of the state—that’s foster care. You don’t want that.” Decker poured himself a cup of coffee. “Tell me why you don’t want to live with your aunt.”

“She has no money to support me. She’s been living off of what my mom gives her. She parties all the time. She smokes pot and her place is a sty. I know she’d let me stay with her. And I actually like her. But she’s not very responsible.” He dropped his head into his hand. “This really sucks in a life that already sucked!”

Decker sat down. “I’m sorry, Gabe.”

“That’s…” He took off his glasses and wiped them with a napkin. “I’ll be okay. Thanks for putting me up.” He drummed his fingers across the kitchen table. “You know, I have my own money. I have savings and trust funds and stuff. Do you think a judge would let me live alone?”

“Not at fourteen.”

He looked at Decker. His voice was melancholy. “Could I just stay here for another couple of days until things get sorted out? I’m really quiet. I don’t eat much and I promise I won’t get in your way. I’ll be happy to pay you—”

“Stop, stop.” The kid was breaking his heart. “Of course you can stay here for a few days. I’ve already talked to Mrs. Decker. She agrees with me. It was actually her idea.”

Gabe closed his eyes and opened them. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate it. I’m sorry to be such a pain.”

“You’re not a pain and there’s no need to apologize. You’re in a bind right now. I feel for you. We’ll take it one step at a time.”

At that moment, Rina walked in with Hannah. Gabe got up. “Excuse me.”

As soon as he was out of the kitchen, Decker raised his eyebrows. “He asked to stay here a few more days.”

Rina looked at Hannah. The young girl shrugged. “It’s fine with me as long as he’s not a psycho or anything like that.”

Decker blew out air and whispered, “He doesn’t appear to be a psycho. But his father is a psycho and I really don’t know a thing about him.”

“He doesn’t want to live with his relatives?” Rina asked.

“Apparently not,” Decker said.

“How many days are we talking about?” Hannah asked.

“I’m hoping to locate one of his parents soon.”

“So let him stay.” Hannah smiled. “Even if he is a psycho, there isn’t a lot here to steal.”

Decker said, “A couple of days won’t make that much of a difference. If it drags on longer than that, we’ll reevaluate.”

Rina said, “He should be in school.”

“Not our school,” Hannah said.

“Why not?” Decker said. “It’s filled with misfits anyway.”

“It’s an Orthodox day school, Abba, and I don’t think he’s Jewish.”

“Neither are half the kids in the school.”

“That’s not true,” Hannah said. “Look, I can take him to school. He’s real cute and I’m sure all the girls will fall madly in love with him. Just don’t blame me if the rabbis have a fit.”

Rina said. “Sitting around here is only going to make him feel worse.” She turned to Hannah. “Go in and tell him that you’re taking him to your school.”

“You want me to tell him?”

“Yes, I do,” Rina ordered.

“I have choir practice tonight. I won’t get home until late.”

“Take him with you,” Decker said. “I seem to recall that he plays the piano. Maybe he can accompany you guys.”

“Right!” Hannah snorted and went in to fetch Gabe from her brothers’ bedroom.

When she was gone, Decker said, “I hope this doesn’t come back to bite us.”

“It might,” Rina said. “But even God judges us for our present actions only and not on what He knows we’ll do in the future. How can we mortals do anything less?”

“That’s a nice little speech, but we mortals have to use the past to judge the future because we’re not God.” He shook his head. “What kind of a teenager doesn’t want to live with his young irresponsible aunt who parties and dopes?” “A kid too mature for his age.”

HE SAT ON one of the twin beds, his backpack at his feet, staring at nothing while other people talked about his fate. A position he had been in umpteen times before. The room was filled with athletic trophies, paperback books, comic books, CDs, and DVDs, mostly from the nineties. There were posters of Michael Jordan and Michael Jackson, one of Kobe Bryant when he was about seventeen years old. The CDs included Green Day, Soundgarden, and Pearl Jam.

An utterly normal room in an utterly normal house with an utterly normal family.

What he would give to live an utterly normal life.

He was tired of dealing with a psycho for a father, a totally unpredictable maniac with a violent temper. He was sick of having a psychologically beaten-down mother—recently a physically beaten mother. He feared his dad, he loved his mom, but he was sick to death of both of them. And although he was sincerely passionate about his music and the piano, he detested growing up a prodigy. It drove him to do more and more and more and more.

All he wanted was to be fucking normal. Was that so hard of a wish to grant?

He heard the knock on the door and wiped his eyes. He looked in the mirror and noticed they were red-rimmed. Fucking-A great! The girl probably thought he was a real wuss.

Mom, where the fuck are you? Chris, what the fuck did you do with Mom?

He answered the door. “Hey.”

“Hey.” She smiled. “You know if you want to hole up here for a few days, you’re more than welcome.”

“Yeah, your dad already told me that. Thanks. I really mean that.” He bit his lower lip. “I’m sure things will sort out by then. Tell your parents I won’t be any trouble.”

“I’m enough trouble for the both of us.” She smiled. “Hate to tell you this, bud, but my mom wants you to go to school with me.”

“School?”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“Right.” He laughed. What else was there to do? “Sure. Why not?”

“It’s a religious school.”

“What religion?”

“Jewish.”

“I’m Catholic.”

“It’s fine. You won’t have to do anything against your beliefs.”

“I have no beliefs except in the innate evil of human beings.” He looked at her. “Except your parents.”

“If it’s too much for you to handle, I can probably talk my mom out of it.”

“No, it’s okay.” A pause. “I’ll deal. Do I need a notebook or something?”

“I’ll get you an extra one. You’re in tenth grade, you said?”

“I was.”

“Algebra two or pre-calc?”

“Pre-calc.”

“I’ll take care of it. I also heard you play the piano.”

His eyes showed a twinkle of animation. “Do you have a piano?”

“My school does. Are you good?”

For the first time, Hannah saw a genuine smile. He said, “I can play.”

“Then maybe you can stay after school and accompany our choir. We’re terrible. We could use some sort of a lift.”

“I probably can help you out there.”

“C’mon.” She motioned him forward. “I’ll guide you through it. You may not know it, Gabe, but you’re looking at a BMOC.”

CHAPTER SIX

BY THE TIME Decker broke for lunch, he had done enough phone work and legwork to ascertain that there had been no activity on Terry McLaughlin’s cell since four o’clock yesterday afternoon. Her major credit cards hadn’t been used other than daily charges put through by the hotel, and even those had been earlier in the day. Her name hadn’t appeared on any American or United flight manifest—either domestic or international—but Decker certainly hadn’t the means and the wherewithal to check every single airline and every single local airport. If the woman had wanted to sneak out, she could have done it in a thousand ways. More to the point, her car hadn’t been spotted. All he could do was wait for news and hope it wasn’t bad news.

Donatti wasn’t picking up his cell, either. According to Gabe, his father switched cells, often using throwaways. It could be that the number that Decker was given wasn’t the cell phone he was currently using. Decker did discover that Donatti had arrived on Saturday morning in LAX via Virgin America Airlines, the day before his meeting with his estranged wife. There was no record of his picking up any rental car. As far as locating where he had stayed before he had met with Terry, Decker started calling hotels, beginning on the west with the Ritz-Carlton in the Marina and slowly working his way eastward ho. When he was about to call the Century Plaza, there was a knock on his office door. He put down the phone. “Come in.”

Dressed in a wheat-colored shirt, brown pants, and rubber-soled flats, Marge entered his office. Her brown eyes were wide and her face was ashen. Decker felt his heart sink. “What?”

“A foreman at a construction site just found a homicide victim—a young woman hanging from the rafters—”

“Good Lord!” Decker felt sick. “Hanging?”

“From cable wire…at least, that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Any identification?”

“Not so far. The uniforms are at the scene, cordoning off the area.”

“Has any one cut her down?”

“No. The foreman didn’t touch her. He called 911 and the uniforms came quickly enough to preserve the scene. The coroner’s office has been notified.”

Decker looked at his watch. “It’s two in the afternoon. And the foreman just discovered the body? How long had he been at the site?”

“I don’t know, Pete.”

“What’s the location?” When Marge told him the address, Decker’s heart started racing. His brain flashed to Terry’s face with a noose around her neck. “That’s not far from where Cheryl Diggs was murdered.”

“I realize that. That’s why I’m telling you this.”

Way back when, when Chris Donatti né Chris Whitman had been a senior in high school, Cheryl Diggs had been his teen girlfriend. On the night of the senior prom, Donatti had been accused of murdering her, and soon after, he went to jail because of some noble but misguided notion that he was saving Terry McLaughlin from the ordeal of testifying at his trial. It turned out that Chris had been innocent, probably the only crime that he was ever innocent of.

Marge said, “I’m on my way with Oliver. Should I keep you updated or do you want to come?”

“I’m coming.” He picked up his jacket, his cell phone, and his camera. “I’ll take a separate car and meet you two there.”

“Anything I should be looking for?”

“Do you know what Terry McLaughlin looks like?”

“Last time I saw her, she was sixteen. A beautiful girl, as I recall.”

“She’s matured, but she’s still beautiful.” Decker slammed his fist into the palm of his hand. “Of course, if it’s her, she isn’t going to look pretty at all.”

CRIME WAS UBIQUITOUS, and while the community policed by the Devonshire substation had its share of assaults, burglaries, and thefts, it wasn’t considered high in the homicide department. So when murder did occur, it stood out as an anomaly. Hangings were as rare as L.A. snow.

Decker drove down the main boulevard, twisting and turning until he arrived at one of the more affluent residential areas. It was a planned community and the homes were two-storied with three-car garages and half-acre lots. There were a few architectural styles to choose from: Spanish, Tudor, Colonial, Italianate, and Modern, which was basically an oversize box with oversize windows. Several homes were in the process of being built.

At the given address, a sizable group of gawkers was milling about, craning their necks to see what was going on. One radio van had already arrived and no doubt several more were on the way. Decker parked about a half block away from the hubbub and walked over to the action. He flashed his badge to one of the uniforms and then ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape.

The two-story house had been framed: the rooms had been delineated, the windows were in, and the roof was on. The crowd was gathered toward the back, mostly uniformed officers, but Decker could also see flashbulbs discharging at frequent intervals. Marge, riding with her partner, Scott Oliver, had beaten him to the scene.

Scott was his usually natty self, wearing a houndstooth jacket, black slacks, a black jacquard silk tie, and a starched white shirt. As Decker got closer to the corpse, the air had turned fetid, filled with the stink of excretion. A funnel of blackflies, gnats, and other winged insects was encircling the space.

Oliver was shooing the critters away. “Get lost, bugs. Go eat the carrion.”

From his breast jacket pocket, Decker took out a tube of Vicks VapoRub and dabbed his nostrils with the ointment. He waved a hand across his face to disperse the insects as he stared at the body swinging from the rafters. The woman’s face was so discolored and bloated that she was almost unrecognizable as human. She was nude, her long dark hair vainly trying to give her some modesty. Cable wire had been looped several times around her neck, the terminus of the ligature knotted on one of the ceiling joists. Her toenails—painted red—just barely cleared the ground.