Justice (32 page)

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something great.”

“Maybe I’ll talk about the weekly Torah reading.”

“That’s always appropriate.”

Rina laughed at his enthusiam. He was trying so hard. She said, “During the Rebbitzin’s absence, we’ll read
Parashat Pinchas
. He was quite an interesting character.”

“Which one was Pinchas?”

“The zealot. He was the one who took a huge spear and skewered Zimri and Kozby, the Midianite princess, while they were in the act.”

Decker smoothed his mustache. “Uh…I bet the women would have lots to say about that.”

Rina smiled, too. “The
parashat
addresses morality, yes. But it’s also about Pinchas and his zealotry. Which was a double-edged sword. It was something to be admired but always something that needed to be reined in.” She looked at her husband. “But isn’t that always the way it is with fanatics?”

Decker gave a slow grin. “Are you talking about me?”

“Heaven forbid.”

“No hidden references beneath your scholarly words?”

“None.” She tousled his head. “Let’s go to bed.”

“A very good suggestion.”

“I’m just full of them tonight.”

First came the shot
of staticky music followed by hyperspeed radio talk. A press of the snooze button and Decker silenced the unwelcome intruder. He longed to pull the covers over his head and wake up at a reasonable hour. But doubts roused him to consciousness and he lumbered out of bed, throwing on a bathrobe as he tiptoed to the kitchen. Ginger was curled up on her blanket. She lifted her head when Decker came in, then buried it back into the folds of her front legs when she realized it was still dark outside.

He turned on the table lamp and reached for the phone. Wilshire’s front desk put him through to the Detectives squad room. The phone rang and rang until someone finally picked up.

“Detectives. Bellingham.”

Decker identified himself, then said, “You’re not in Homicide by any chance?”

“Grand Theft.”

“Anyone there from Homicide?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you can help me anyway. I’m looking for the primary Homicide detective on a two-year-old case. The victim was an African-American female, seventeen years of age, found raped, bound, and strangled in her bedroom.”

“The Green case,” Bellingham said. “I remember it.
Real terrible thing. She was alive when nine-one-one caught the call. Still going when the cruiser and ambulance got there, but was pronounced DOA. Harold Creighton was primary. He retired a year ago. Moved to Arizona.”

“Who inherited his files?”

“They were split up. I think Marty Crumb got Green.”

“Do you have his phone number?”

“Marty’s on vacation.”

Decker swore to himself. “Any way of getting hold of the file?”

“I could probably…help you out.”

Meaning he could pick Marty’s desk lock. Decker said, “I’d certainly appreciate it.”

“You want the entire thing or just something specific?”

“Lab reports would be nice.”

Bellingham said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

While Bellingham was doing his bit for petty crime, Decker made coffee. He was on his second cup when the Grand Theft detective came back on the line. “I got the file.” He paused. “There’s lab work here. I don’t know if that’s all of it but it looks pretty complete.”

“What was done?”

“Uh, semen, blood, saliva…looks like they did a fingernail and toenail scraping. Foreign hairs, foreign fibers.”

“Don’t suppose anyone did a DNA analysis?”

“I don’t see it here.”

Decker said, “If you could fax me what you have, it would be helpful.”

“Sure thing. Hold on. Let me get to the machine.”

“I’m going to have to hang up and put my machine on fax mode. Just dial this number and I’ll let you know if it came through.”

“You bet.”

Decker hung up and adjusted his phone fax machine.
He waited, tapping his toe, slugging down coffee by the mugful, the hot liquid burning his throat. But he didn’t even feel it. Five minutes later, he heard his phone ring once. The fax machine kicked in. Thank God for modern technology. He promised he would never curse his computer again. The machine seemed to go on forever. Decker couldn’t wait that long. He tore off what was there and began his comparisons.

In bright light that hurt his eyes, he laid down papers crammed with scientific data he didn’t fully understand. But he knew how to read charts and numbers and that was all the start he needed. He took out the Diggs files, specifically lab analysis taken from Diggs’s fluids.

He laid the sheets with the numbers and the substrates side by side.

Granted, he was no lab expert. There were so many figures and facts, he knew he was only doing preliminary scanning. But damned if there weren’t enough matching markers to hurry his heartbeat. Blood groups, proteins, isoenzymes, antigens. Between the coffee and his excitement, his chest was thumping.

He called Bellingham back. “Got the information. Thanks.”

“Helpful?”

“Very. I’m coming down.”

“I’m just about to leave. But I’ll leave the file on top of my desk in a manila envelope with your name on it. Take good care of it. I don’t want Marty pissed off at me.”

“I hear you. Does the file mention which uniforms were originally sent out?”

A pause. Then Bellingham said, “George Ridley and Wanda Bontemps. I’ll transfer you to Day Watch commander.”

Decker said wait, but it was too late. A flick of the phone, a moment later he was talking to Sergeant Lopez.

Lopez said, “Ridley’s on midafternoon, but Bontemps’s on the morning shift. She should be strolling by
in a half hour or so. You want to talk to her?”

“Yes.” Decker looked at his watch—five-twenty
A.M.
Wilshire Substation was on the far side of the mountain. He said, “It’ll take me about forty minutes to get out there.”

“That would put you here at roll call. You want me to tell her you’re looking for her?”

“Please.”

“What do you want with the Green case?”

“Just general information. I’ve heard it was a tough one because she was alive when the uniforms arrived.”

“Yeah.”

“She was actually breathing?”

“More like twitching…convulsing. Seeing that was hard on my officers.”

“I can believe that. Was the victim ever conscious?”

“Not to my knowledge. A real, real sad thing all the way around. The victim was an honor student. A good kid from an intact family.”

“Her death must have destroyed her parents.”

Another pause. “Her parents were…not exactly uncooperative. More like…withdrawn. I know everyone grieves in different ways. But truthfully, I don’t think they ever fully trusted us. Anyway, I’ll grab Bontemps at roll call…tell her you’re looking for her.”

“’Preciate it.”

Decker cut the line, juiced up and ready to get a jump on the day. He said his morning prayers, adding his own personal benediction for the welfare of his family. Then he took a quick shower but didn’t bother shaving. The result was a clean but sinister-looking face. But hey, too damn bad. Two dead teenagers were calling his name. It had just taken him a while to hear the summons.

Making record time, Decker arrived just as Day Watch Commander Lopez announced the last item on the rotator. It had been a long time since Decker attended roll
call. At six in the morning, looking out at the sea of uniforms, he found he didn’t miss it. The room, built as a lecture hall with long wooden slab tables fronting plastic butterscotch-colored seats, was about two-thirds full. The officers were busily scratching notes as Lopez talked, because who knew which data byte might lead to the apprehension of a suspect or, even more important, what bit of trivia might save a life. Lopez pointed, spoke a few minutes more, then dismissed the group. The officers got up, gulping down the last of their lukewarm coffee, and filled the hallway, descending the staircase en route to the kit room. Decker briefly scanned the crowd, then walked up to Lopez.

He was average height but thin, with a smooth, caramel-colored complexion. He wore a pencil-line mustache and had a wide, open smile. He shook hands with Decker. “Detective Sergeant, sir. Welcome.”

“Thanks.”

“A minute for me to gather my papers.”

“Take your time.”

Lopez shuffled some loose leaves, then stuffed them into a briefcase. “Let me introduce you to Officer Bontemps.” He talked as they walked down the flight of stairs. “I sure hope you make some headway with the Green case. It’s been bothering a lot of people over here. I know Homicide will want to speak to you if you have anything new.”

“Nothing yet, but who knows?”

When they reached the bottom, the hallway was jammed with officers waiting in line to receive their equipment—shotguns to be anchored inside the patrol cars, batons, mace, tazers…the war packs. Lopez crooked a finger at a black woman near the back of the line. She appeared to be about five seven or eight, well built and well proportioned with muscular arms and big wrists. Her complexion was midnight, jet-black hair cropped very short, a few calculated loose strands straightened and plastered to her forhead. Her eyes were
wide, lashes thick and long. Her nose was broad, her mouth was serious with thick lips that were slightly pursed.

Lopez said, “Officer Bontemps, this is Detective Sergeant Peter Decker from Devonshire Homicide.”

Decker and Bontemps shook hands.

“Sergeant Decker would like to speak with you for a few moments…” Lopez looked at Decker. “In private?”

“Just somewhere quiet.”

Lopez smiled. “I think there’s an empty interview room in the jail.”

“How about the snack room?” He smiled at Bontemps. “I’ll even buy you a cup of stale coffee.”

Bontemps’s face remained grave.

Decker dropped his smile and smoothed his mustache. He thanked Lopez for his cooperation, then turned to Bontemps. “You want to lead?”

“Certainly, sir.”

They went back up the stairs into a small snack room replete with several cheap tables, mismatched chairs, and overused vending machines. A wall-mounted TV was making some electronic noise. Decker flicked off the power button. The room fell quiet. A good place. Comfortable but they were still alone.

“Have a seat.” Decker dropped a couple of coins in the coffee machine and pulled out a steaming paper cup. “How do you take your coffee, Officer?”

“Nothing for me, sir.”

Decker took his coffee, sat down, and pulled out his notebook. “Sergeant Lopez tell you why I’m here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You and Officer Ridley were the first to arrive on the scene of a murder about two years ago.”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was soft. “The Green murder. We arrived about a minute or two before the ambulance.”

“I heard the victim was still alive.”

Bontemps winced. “Yes, sir. She…was alive, yes.”

Decker looked up. “The victim have a name, Officer?”

“Deanna.” Bontemps spelled it for Decker. “Deanna Lark Green.”

“The victim was convulsing when you arrived, Officer?”

Again Bontemps winced. “Yes, sir.”

“Where was the victim when you arrived?”

“In her bedroom.”

“What’d you do for her?”

Bontemps looked distressed. As if whatever she had done hadn’t been enough. “The victim…was tied to her bed. We cut the constraints. Her complexion was very…bad. She didn’t appear to be breathing. Officer Ridley and I…attempted mouth-to-mouth resuscitation until the paramedics arrived.”

“Then what?”

She pursed her lips. “Officer Ridley began to secure the crime scene for the detectives…I stayed with the parents…Deanna’s parents.”

“Did they place the nine-one-one call?”

“Yes.”

Decker smoothed his mustache. “Where was the actual crime scene, Officer?”

“In her bedroom…Deanna’s bedroom.”

“And there was no sign of a perpetrator?”

“No, sir. Not when we arrived.”

Decker took a moment to write some notes. “So someone broke into Deanna’s bedroom, bound and gagged her in an unusual way, then raped and choked her to death. And this all happened while the parents were sleeping?”

Bontemps thought about the question. “It’s a large house. Two stories. The master bedroom is on one side of the hallway; the kids’ rooms are across the hall. Maybe the parents were heavy sleepers.”

“How many children are in the family?”

“Two—a son and a daughter?”

“Who’s the elder?”

“The son.”

“What’s his name?”

“I think it was Steven, sir.”

“Do you know how old he was?”

“I think a couple of years older than Deanna.”

“So he would have been what? Nineteen?”

“I suppose.”

“Where was he when you arrived, Officer?”

“I don’t know, sir. He wasn’t at home.”

“He wasn’t home the night his sister was murdered?”

“That is correct.”

“Was anyone else in the house at the time?”

“Not to my knowledge, sir. But I don’t know everything. The case was turned over to Homicide and I wasn’t kept up to date.”

Decker paused. “You weren’t kept up to date?”

Her eyes were unwavering. “Homicide likes its privacy.”

Sipping coffee, Decker locked eyes with Bontemps. “Was there a special reason why you wanted follow-up on the case, Officer?”

“No, sir. Except it was a…” Finally, she looked away. “It was a very difficult case, sir. It would have been nice to get some resolution.”

Decker nodded. “Who was the primary detective on the case?”

“Harold Creighton.”

“Who else was assigned to the Green case?”

“Detectives Taylor, Brody, and Crumb. I think there was a fifth person. I don’t remember his name.”

Decker finished his coffee. “By any chance, did you have any contact with Deanna’s parents after the case was turned over to Homicide?”

Bontemps pursed her lips, her eyes focused somewhere over Decker’s head. “The parents did call
me a few times—inquiry phone calls. Nothing beyond that.”

“What were the inquiries about?”

For the first time, Bontemps squirmed. “The usual, sir. A laundry list of complaints. Why weren’t the police doing more? I assured them that we were doing everything we could be doing.”

Decker scratched his cheek. “Did you tell Homicide about the calls?”

Bontemps bit her lower lip. “Pardon?”

“Did you tell Homicide about the calls?”

“No, sir.” Bontemps stiffened. “They…were grieving parents. Their calls had much more to do with rage and frustration than with actual facts. I didn’t feel the need to disturb the detectives.”

Decker said, “Sergeant Lopez told me Deanna’s parents were withdrawn almost to the point of being uncooperative. You’re telling me they were venting their spleen to you. There’s an inconsistency here.”

Bontemps didn’t speak.

Decker said, “So…Detectives Creighton, Brody, Taylor, and Crumb were assigned to the Green case, is that correct?”

“I believe so, sir.”

“I don’t know the gentlemen…or ladies.”

“They’re all men.”

“Are any of them black?”

A pause. “No, sir.”

Decker rubbed his stubble. “Deanna’s parents complain to you about that?”

Bontemps’s sentences stopped and started several times. “The parents felt the police weren’t doing their job. I told them—”