False Prophet (10 page)

“Your secretary said your cancellation message was already on the machine when she arrived at eight.”

Again Brecht’s scalp deepened in tone. “Well, maybe Mother called at seven-thirty. I really don’t remember exactly.”

Decker let his words hang. Forget about the phone call for the moment. From Malibu to Tarzana was a toll call. If Mama Eversong did dial sonny boy up, Decker could get the
exact
time by checking phone records. “What’s wrong with your mother?”

“Age.” Brecht sounded weary. “She’s over seventy with diabetes, arthritis, bursitis, osteoporosis — oh, why bore you with the details? Conventional drugs alone have had little success. In conjunction with my holistic regimen, Mother does a bit better handling the pain and skeletomuscular problems. But basically she’s just wearing out and not doing it gracefully.”

“You usually treat her whenever she calls?”

Brecht sighed. “I evaluate each incident individually. If I hear a demand for attention and not genuine pain in her voice, I put her off. This time she sounded as if she really needed help.”

“And you received her call around seven-thirty?”

“I suppose. Anyway, if you need her to verify my presence at the beach house, I’ll have her write you a note. I’m afraid I can’t give you her home number.”

“That’s all right,” Decker said. “I have it.”

There was a moment of silence.

“You have my mother’s
beach house
number?”

“All of your mother’s numbers. I’ve called all day and nobody answered.”

“My mother doesn’t believe in answering phones. She claims that’s for secretaries.”

“Does she have a secretary?”

“No.”

“There were no machines answering the numbers, either.”

“She claims machines are uncivilized.”

“So she never answers the phone when it rings?”

“Not at the beach house. Or at her apartments. At the spa, anyone wishing to speak with her leaves a message at the desk. She does pick up her messages from time to time.”

“Then why does she bother having phones?”

“To make outside calls — as she did to me this morning.” Brecht blew air out of his mouth. “As I started to say, if you need her to verify my presence, I’ll make sure she writes you a note.”

As if a note from Davida Eversong would carry enough weight to explain anything away. The arrogance of the rich. Or maybe Brecht was used to Mama taking care of him. A note — as in grade school.
Please excuse Dr. Freddy for being absent
.

“I’ll even insist Mother have the note notarized,” Brecht added.

Decker said, “I’d like to interview her.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

“Why?”

“It just is. At least right now. I can’t elaborate. Perhaps in a day or two.”

Decker let it go. Brecht was being cooperative but only up to a point. Was he protecting Mama or protecting himself? Not that Decker had any reason to actually suspect Brecht. Still, Lilah’s safe was wide open. What the hell was inside?

“You went out to dinner with your sister last night.”

“Yes. I picked her up around…” Brecht stopped, stared at Decker. “Now do I have to tell you the
precise
time?”

“Do the best you can, Doctor.”

“I came to her house around eight. We went out to a vegetarian restaurant in the Fairfax district. A Sikh establishment that uses only rennetless cheese. You’d be surprised how many of these vegetarian places use cheese with rennet. Rennet is—”

“I know what rennet is, Doctor. It’s a chemical used as a binder in cheese making, derived from the gut of a cow.”

Brecht stared at him. “Your nutrition IQ just rose a notch in my book, Sergeant.”

Actually, Decker knew about rennet from keeping kosher. Rina had explained to him in great detail why ordinary cheese without certification was considered unacceptable. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him for a chemical to be considered unkosher — a designation he’d thought was reserved for edible food only. But it didn’t matter. Kosher cheeses were just as good and it made Rina happy. If she was happy, he was happy.

“When did you arrive back at your sister’s home?” Decker asked.

“Around eleven, eleven-thirty. The restaurant is a ways from her house. There’s quite a bit of traveling time.”

“Did you go in the house afterward and talk?”

“No, I was fatigued from a rather stressful day and I was anxious to get my rest.”

“You dropped your sister off?”

“Of course not! That would be cloddish and I am not a clod. I parked the car and walked her to the door. After she was safely inside, I drove away.”

“Everything appear normal when she went inside?”

“Yes. She turned on the living-room light, told me good night and closed the door.”

“Does she always leave the living-room light off when she goes out?”

Brecht stopped. “Good God, here we go again with the precise details. Next time, remind me to take my Dictaphone and video camera!”

Decker waited.

“Maybe the light was already on,” Brecht said. “I don’t remember.”

“Was the bedroom light on?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“You couldn’t see?”

“I suppose I could technically see her bedroom window from my car, but I didn’t pay any attention.”

“Did you hear anything unusual?”

“Not at all.”

“See any strange cars parked around the house?”

“No.”

“You say you walked your sister to the door around eleven, eleven-thirty?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t go into the house?”

“No. Lilah asked me if I wanted to bunk down in the guest bedroom for the night, but I said I’d rather go home. Now I wish to God that I had. I’m feeling terribly guilty about it.”

Decker nodded.

“Of course, I had no way of knowing…”

“None at all,” Decker said.

“Damn, if only I had
been
there!”

“If you’d been there, maybe you’d have ended up in worse shape than Lilah.”

“Better me than her!”

“All I’m saying is, it might have been both of you.”

“You just don’t understand.” Brecht took a deep breath. “I’m not myself. Do you have any idea who did this horrible thing to my sister?”

“We’re investigating every avenue right now, Doctor.”

“In other words, you have no suspects.”

Decker was quiet.

“Are we done, Sergeant?”

“Almost. By any chance, do you have a key to your sister’s house?” Decker asked.

Brecht’s voice hardened. “Yes, I have a key. Why?”

“Just checking out every avenue,” Decker said. “Did you know your sister has a safe in the bedroom closet?”

Brecht shifted in his seat. “I don’t like this line of questioning.”

Decker waited.

“Yes, I know she has a safe in her closet! What of it?”

“Do you know what she keeps in—”

“Of course not!”

“Not even a hint?”

“
No
, Sergeant.”

“Do you have the combination—”

Brecht rose from his seat. “Why would
I
have the combination to
her
safe!”

“My brother and I have the combination to
my
parents’ safe,” Decker said. “I don’t have any idea what valuables they keep inside, but they gave us the combination in case something happened to them.”

Brecht seemed suspended in midair, then he slowly sat back down.

Decker shrugged. “With you being so close to your sister — you have a key to the house — well, I thought she might have trusted you with the combination.”

“She
didn’t
.” Brecht touched his fingers to his forehead. “May I assume the safe had been opened?”

“You can assume anything you want.”

Brecht clasped his hands together. “There was a robbery in addition to the assault?”

Decker said, “Maybe.”

Brecht said, “You don’t say too much, do you?”

“I’m just trying to do some fact-finding. A few more questions and we can call it quits, Doctor. What did you do after you dropped Lilah off?”

“I went straight home.”

“Make any calls?”

“No, not at that hour.”

“Check in with your service?”

“Uh… no.”

“Don’t you usually check in with your service before you go to bed?”

“If there is an emergency, they’ll page me. I believe in leaving well enough alone.” Brecht folded his hands across his chest. “I think we’re done now.”

“Doctor, please bear with me. How many brothers do you and Lilah have?”

Brecht opened his mouth and shut it. “What?”

“How many brothers do you have? Straightforward question.”

“Uh… two.”

Decker looked at him. “You’re sure, now?”

“Of
course
I’m sure. We have two other brothers — half brothers, really.”

“Their names?”

Again, Brecht paused. “What do they have to do with any of this?”

Decker shrugged. “Every avenue.”

“Good God,” Brecht said. “No, they couldn’t have. They couldn’t. Could they?”

Decker didn’t answer. Brecht hadn’t brought up his brothers, but now he sure seemed eager to implicate them.

“It’s my understanding that your sister had quite a noisy argument with King.”

“The maid must have told you that.” Brecht made clucking noises with his tongue. “Kingston scared the daylights out of her. If it wasn’t for Carl, who knows what he might have done to Lilah. Not that I’m implying Kingston had anything to do — with Lilah.” He looked at Decker. “I shouldn’t be telling you this…”

But he was going to tell it anyway, Decker thought.

“Kingston has always been insanely jealous of Lilah, though he disguises it as being protective. The fact is, he’s irate that she’s the sole heir of Mother’s estate. For years, he’s been pressing Mother to change her will. Even though Mother slips him money from time to time.”

“Slips him money?”

“Just to shut him up, I think. I really don’t know much about Kingston’s affairs. We’ve been estranged from each other for quite a while.”

Decker nodded, knowing that old Freddy Brecht was no objective character witness for brother King. Still, it never hurt to listen to opinions.

“You think Kingston might have broken into his sister’s safe to steal money?”

Brecht suddenly reddened. “I have no proof… I really don’t know why I said that. Probably because Kingston’s always hard up for cash. Even though he makes untold hundreds of thousands at that mill he’s running.”

“Mill?”

“Abortion mill.” Brecht scrunched up his face. “I think he’s branched out into other things — infertility is the latest rage. First women pay money to kill their babies, then they pay money to have them.”

“Kingston is an OB-GYN?”

“Yes. Imagine a specialty for something as natural as childbirth.”

“Excuse me, Doctor, but isn’t your other brother an OB-GYN as well?”

“Indeed. But at least John seems to be a little bit more respectful of fetal life.” He wagged his finger. “Not that I’m against abortion like those crazy right-to-lifers. But Kingston’s mill is positively repulsive. His so-called practice is the antithesis of what we physicians profess to represent.”

Decker couldn’t tell if Brecht’s ranting was a heartfelt opinion or yet another way of venting against his bro King.

“Are you close to John, Doctor?”

Brecht shook his head. “He’s closer to Kingston. The two of them are of the same generation and in the same field, so I suppose it’s natural.”

“Does your mother slip John money as well?”

“I don’t know,” Brecht said. “John seems to mind his own business. I have little to do with him, but I harbor no animosity toward him.”

“Can you spell Kingston’s name for me, please?”

“Spell?”

“I want to make sure the maid gave me the right spelling.”

“K-I-N-G-S-T-O-N M-E-R-R-I-T-T.”

Kingston Merritt. Obviously, he and John Reed were half brothers as well.

“Do you have phone numbers for either of them?”

“No. They’re both in the book. John’s practice is in Huntington Beach; Kingston’s is in Palos Verdes.” Brecht stood. “If you don’t mind, it’s been a terribly long day and I’d like to check on my sister. With all these questions, I hope you haven’t lost sight of the fact that there is some maniac out there who hurts people.”

“I’m well aware of that.” Decker stood. “I’ll go up with you… see if Lilah’s up for talking.”

“And if she isn’t?”

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“I’ll phone the nurse’s station and find out if Lilah’s up,” Brecht said. “Save you a trip if she’s still sleeping.”

Decker hesitated.

“Or you can make the call, if you’d like,” Brecht suggested.

Decker pointed Brecht to the house phone in the cafeteria. Brecht made a quick call, then hung up.

“She’s still sleeping.”

Decker evaluated his face and felt he was telling the truth. Even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t get much of an interview from Lilah with Freddy standing over his shoulder. Maybe it would be better if he came back tomorrow, refreshed from a good night’s sleep. He thanked Brecht for his time. Only thing left to do was running Lilah’s bagged clothes over to forensics. Then his working day was
over
.

The house was deserted. Almost seven and no dinner on the table, no sons greeting him with a hug at the door, no wife taking his coat and nonexistent hat, and no dog bringing him the paper.

His fantasy of marriage — shattered in a single blow.

“Yo,” he called out. “Anybody live here?”

He walked into the kitchen. Empty. Then he looked out the back window. Rina was barbecuing, tending the fire with savoir faire. She wore a denim shift under a white butcher’s apron. She was laughing and her long black hair was loose and blowing in the wind. The boys were racing the horses, yarmulkes flapping as they cantered, profiles burnished by the sinking sun. Ginger was chasing after them, panting and yelping, enjoying the exercise.

Domestic bliss, except he wasn’t in the picture.

He went outside.

“You made it!” Rina kissed his cheek. Her skin smelled of hickory smoke. “Go change. Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes.”