Justice (41 page)

His eyes were red and moist. “Calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. I love you too much. Except right now I hate you an awful lot. You know why, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“You keep quiet about all this, you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Very quiet. You talk, you’re dead. Understand?”

I nodded.

Slowly, Chris lowered the firearm and rested it on his lap. My eyes stealing a glance at the hunk of metal, shocked to see such a little weapon, almost comical-looking because the barrel seemed to be wrapped with
Brillo. Looking at the ceiling, he said, “Let me ask you a philosophical question.”

I waited.

“Suppose you have a pit bull—a good specimen. Strong, quick, and a real fast learner. Suppose it gets in the hands of the wrong owner. If it listens, it gets rewarded. If it doesn’t, it gets the shit kicked out of it. The owner teaches it to attack. And it attacks. And it does it real well. Matter of fact, it gets rewarded big time because it does it so well. Is it the dog’s fault he’s like that?”

“No.”

“Terry, I’m not going to hurt you. Answer me
honestly
! Is it the dog’s fault?”

No, it isn’t the dog’s fault. Still, it’s a vicious animal and should be destroyed
. I said, “We’re people, Chris. We can walk away.”

“Not true,” he said. “Just maybe…maybe I could hide from my uncle. But I could never hide from the entire organization. I’m stuck.” He looked at me. “Do you see that?”

I told him I understood, praying the pit bull wouldn’t turn on me.

“God, how I
love
you,” he whispered. “Love you enough to give you a head start. So get out of here, Terry.
Run
out of here! And don’t let me ever see your face again. Because if I do, I swear to Jesus, I’ll blow your head off and give you a mirror to watch.”

Slowly, I stood up on shaky knees and managed to get to his door. I opened it, was about to leave. Instead, I turned to him. “You didn’t kill Cheryl Diggs, did you?”

In a flash, Chris fired off shots in my direction—soft,
zvitt
sounds that sent clouds of steel wool in the air and made me jump and gasp. Two bullets flew over my left shoulder, two over my right. All of them hit the wall, but left me quivering. I almost dropped to the floor. But some inner strength kept me upright.

“Perfect double taps.” Chris smiled eerily. “I’m a real pro. Don’t work unless I get paid. And I didn’t get paid with Cheryl.” He clicked the gun. “Next set won’t miss, Teresa. Go before I change my mind and
never
let you go.”

I closed the door and ran all the way home.

The autumn flower arrangement
practically covered his desk, the card in it congratulating Decker on his new promotion. The entire squad room had signed it, but he knew that Marge was behind the whole thing.

He started unpacking, settling himself into his new office. His official duties would begin five days from now, on Halloween. He had considered coming to work dressed up in costume but a) Halloween wasn’t a Jewish holiday, b) dressing in costume wasn’t him, and c) with his new position, he already felt like an imposter.

Because along with the position came the title—Lieutenant Decker.

The one thing he would sorely miss was working in the field every day with Marge. Not that he couldn’t work with her directly on the big cases—actually, he could work with anyone on any cases he wanted—but that wasn’t his main job anymore.

Everything that went down in the Detectives department was now his responsibility. Being the kind of person he was, he knew that would mean a major personality adjustment. His obsessive nature made him focus on detail. One of the reasons he was such a good detective. Rarely was something overlooked.

Now he’d have to approach everything with a broader outlook, a bigger lens. But that was okay with him.

Because nothing ever stayed the same.

First thing up was the picture of the wife and kids. He smiled at Rina’s face, wondered how she’d put up with his miserable moodiness the last couple of months. Ah, well, maybe the increase in his paycheck would make up in part for his grumpiness.

Next came the picture of the boys riding bareback in the woods, followed by a snapshot of Hannah on her swing. Lastly, Cindy’s senior picture. She had moved back to the campus dorm. Last time Decker had spoken to her she had sounded depressed. Things hadn’t worked out between her and the boy. So she’d be going it alone for a while longer.

Alone
.

Nothing new on the shopping-bag rapist. The bastard had taken his own summer break. Every time Decker talked to his daughter, he reminded her that the madman was still out there, lurking around, just waiting…waiting. By now, Cindy was probably growing weary of the lectures. But Decker wouldn’t ever let up until the bastard was caught.

Someone knocked.

“Door’s open,” Decker said aloud, arranging the pictures on his desk.

Wanda Bontemps stepped inside his new office. She was dressed in civies—a gray suit offset by a white blouse with a frilly collar. She wore makeup and had had her hair done.

“Have a seat,” Decker said. “You don’t mind if I keep unpacking, do you?”

“Not at all.” She regarded his working space, looked at the empty walls. Then she sat in one of the two folding chairs. “I just stopped by to congratulate you on your promotion.”

Decker stopped working and smiled. “Well, that was nice of you.”

The room went quiet.

Wanda said, “I got a promotion myself—Detectives.”

Decker offered her a handshake. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you. You didn’t know about it?”

“May have heard something floating around. Anyway, that’s great. Good luck!”

“It’s in Van Nuys.”

“Quite a commute for you.”

“Yes, but that’s okay. That’s where the opening was.”

“You take what you can get.”

“There was an opening in Van Nuys because Detective Bert Martinez was moved here.”

“That’s the truth.”

“So that left an opening in Van Nuys Detectives.”

“Yes, I can see where it would work like that.”

Wanda kneaded her hands. “Was Martinez moved here at your request?”

Decker stopped unpacking, tossed her a smile and sat down. “You’re prying, Detective Bontemps.”

“Did you go to bat for me?” Bontemps blurted out. “Please. It’s important for me to know.”

Decker smoothed his mustache. “I mentioned you to some people. And I’m sure it didn’t hurt that you’re a black woman. But you got the promotion with your own scores and your own record.”

Bontemps was quiet, looked at her lap.

“Detective,” Decker said, “don’t worry how you got there. Instead, start looking at what you have to do. I think you’ll do great.”

She looked up and smiled sheepishly. “I’m nervous.”

“It’s a big step. I’d be nervous, too.”

“You just got promoted. You don’t look nervous, sir. You look like you own the place.” She suddenly blushed. “I just wish I could be so calm.”

“I hide things well.” Decker stood up and continued to unpack his belongings. “They give you a detail yet?”

“Juvenile, naturally.”

“I worked juvey for eleven years. Great detail…and a good one to cut your teeth on.”

“Any advice?”

“No.”

Wanda laughed. “Well, that was to the point.”

“You’re honest and so am I.”

Bontemps paused. “I’ve done some thinking, sir. I realize that you don’t have to be white to be prejudiced. And I apologize for my own biases. My grandparents had problems with some Jewish people. Big problems. A Jewish man owned the apartment building where they were living. Then my grandfather hit on hard times. The Jewish man didn’t want to listen.”

Decker nodded and kept unpacking.

“I loved my grandparents. And I felt real bad for their pain.” Wanda sighed. “But that was then…and this is now. We’re all adults and we all make our own beds. It’s time to move on.”

“I have an uncle that I dearly love,” Decker said. “Still calls blacks niggers. No matter how many times people correct him—and lord knows, my mother alone has corrected him more times than I can count—he won’t stop. Bugs the heck out of me, but the old bastard ain’t going to change. We all have baggage in our closets. Unless we deal with it, we’re not going to change it. You and I working on the Green case…it was instructional for me.”

“For me, too.” Bontemps stood. “Thank you, sir. Thank you very much. I won’t forget it ever.”

“See, the way I figure it, a veteran mother should outrank her incoming daughter.”

Bontemps grinned. “Yes, sir. Definitely need to keep the rookies in check.”

Decker laughed. “Bye, Detective.”

“Want me to close the door, sir?”

“You can’t. It’s warped.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard for someone to fix that.”

“I could take a plane and do it myself.” Decker paused. “But why bother? I think I’ll just leave it that way.”

She looked burdened
but somehow that only added to her beauty. It made her look older and wiser. Her complexion was paler than Decker last remembered, her cheeks a bit thinner. She wore a flowing dress; the mini-print held hundreds of pink roses. Her long, auburn hair was pinned back by a flower clip. She could have been a Victorian noblewoman.

Decker pointed to a chair at the side of his desk. “You didn’t go with him, Terry?”

“Appears that way.”

“Are you in UCLA?”

She nodded. “For the moment, yes.”

“Are you mad at me?”

The question took her by surprise. “I never thought about it. Maybe.”

Decker smiled gently, but she didn’t smile back. Her eyes moistened. “I thought you might be interested in this,” she said. “I got it in the mail yesterday.”

She handed Decker a newspaper article.

Society page.

A black-and-white photo. The bride was a heavyset girl with an ordinary, round face. But somehow her expression of joy offset her God-given plainness. The groom looked less than thrilled but not grossly unhappy. More relieved than anything else. As if he had hit rock bottom and things
had
to get better.

Decker read:

DONATTI AND BENEDETTO EXCHANGE VOWS
.

He skimmed the article as he spoke. “Christopher Sean Donatti…” He stopped. “Chris changed his name?”

“Guess so. After all, he is Joseph Donatti’s son.” Terry took the article back and stowed it in her purse. “Chris’s subtle way of telling me to screw myself.”

“I don’t think he’s overjoyed, Terry.”

“Who knows? He’s more addicted to revenge than to love. He once told me that. Now I believe it.”

“You’re much better off.”

“I’m not so sure. I’m pregnant.”

Decker kept his expression flat, but inside, his stomach dropped. He waited for her to speak, but she didn’t. So he said, “Did you tell your parents?”

“First thing,” Terry said. “That’s me. Responsible to the last drop.”

“And?”

“Well, I have a few options. I can give it up in a private adoption—my parents’ first choice. They’re Catholic and still consider abortion a major sin. And if I go private, they can get the prospective adoptive parents to pay for all my medical care.”

She looked down, then up.

“I can abort it with my own money of course. But
I’m
too Catholic for that. And if Chris found out, I do believe he’d literally kill me. Last option is I can keep it and raise it. But then full-time school would be out. Because I’d have to work. My parents flatly stated that this is my problem, I’d better learn to deal with it.”

No one spoke.

She finally said, “Of course, they’d give me a discount on room and board if I stayed with them.”

“How far along, Terry?”

“Around twelve weeks.” She stared at him, dry-eyed. “In the meantime, being the creative person I am, I’ve come up with my own solution. I’m moving to Chicago
at the end of the quarter…right before Christmas. I have my maternal grandparents there. We’ve been talking quite a bit this past year. They’re wonderful people…retired but not all that old…in their late fifties.”

She wiped her eyes.

“I told them the situation. They insisted I come live with them. Told me they’d help me out if I wanted to keep it…baby-sit while I went to school part-time, while I worked. They said it would be their pleasure. I hope they mean what they’re saying.”

She smacked her lips together.

“So I’m going to keep it. I guess I came here to say good-bye.”

Decker was silent.

Terry laughed softly. “Ironic. It was Chris who got me in contact with my grandparents in the first place. Never know what life has in store for you. I’ll be okay. I’m smart, a hard worker, and I wear adversity well. And even though Chris is damaged, he’s got some impressive raw talent. Mixed in with all that psychopathology are some good genes. I’m going to have a wonderful baby.”

“I’m sure you will.”

“At least I won’t be distracted by social things. I think boys are out of the picture for a long time.”

Again, the room was quiet. Decker said, “Are you going to tell him, Terry?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I thought about it, but it’s out of the question. Our parting wasn’t amicable. I’m scared of him…what he’d do to me…to the baby. Some things are better kept to oneself.”

“He sent you the article, Terry. You’re still on his mind.”

“That was for spite, telling me he
doesn’t
need me. A knife in the back. Chris can totally drop things when he wants them to be totally dropped. I remember how he completely tuned me out in high school. Not so much as a nod when we passed each other in the hallway.”

“You think so?”

“I was there, Ser—It’s Lieutenant now, right?”

“Right.”

“Anyway, I don’t think Chris cares a fig about me.”

“I’m not so sure, Terry. He told me he was obsessed with you. Spying on you in high school when you weren’t looking.”

She said nothing.

“Terry, he’s going to find out. Might be better if it came from you directly.”

She looked up at the ceiling. “He won’t find out.”

Decker didn’t answer.

She shrugged. “And if he does,
que será, será
. I can’t exactly protect myself against a professional hit man.”

Decker felt her anguish. As if the girl sensed it, she smiled.

“I’ll be okay. Somehow, I’ll get through this mess—raise my baby…get an education. I’m smart. And I’m tenacious.”

“I’ll second that,” Decker said.

She laughed with wet eyes. “Thank you for seeing me. I learned from you, you know.”

“From me?”

“From you. I learned you can make mistakes…big mistakes, even…and still go on to do what’s right. Even though you knew what Chris was, you freed him anyway. Because you believed in something higher.”

“That’s giving me an awful lot of credit,” Decker said. “But I’ll take the compliment anyway.”

She stood up. “I’d better get going.”

“Do you need anything, Terry?” Decker asked. “I can set you up with Social Services.”

“No, thanks. I’ll slug it out my own way. Can I write to you from time to time?”

“Absolutely.”

“Congratulations on your promotion.”

“Thanks.”

She gave Decker a tiny wave, then left, trying to close the door behind her.

“Just leave it,” Decker said. “It’s warped.”

Terry gave him a dazzling smile. “Aren’t we all.”

Decker laughed, his eyes following the sway of her dress as she left the squad room. Decker sighed. A strong girl, not unlike Rina, not unlike Cindy. Given some breaks, she’d do just fine.

If Whitman didn’t kill her first.