The Forgotten (11 page)

Decker smoothed his mustache. “Ernesto may have gotten the Nazi crap out of his system, but he didn’t vandalize the synagogue by himself. I’d sure like to find out who else was behind the vandalism. Ernesto won’t name names, but maybe we can uncover someone who will.” He turned to Webster. “I take it the stakeout was worthless?”

“Not entirely. I heard some cool books on tape.” Tom shrugged. “I didn’t see either Holt or the girl go in or out of the place. I left at one-fifteen.”

“We don’t have any suspects at the local level except the
Preservers of Ethnic Integrity,” Wanda said. “But there are lots of fringe groups in the outer areas…in the mountains and canyons.”

Martinez said, “Speaking of mountains and fugitives, remember Ricky Moke?”

“The friend of Darrell Holt’s?” Decker asked.

“Yeah, him. The FBI has a file on Ricky Moke. But not for bombing.”

“What?”

“Computer hacking. He’s a mystery. The Feds have almost nothing on him.”

“What do they have?”

“There was a guy who used the screen name Ricky Moke whom the feds caught hacking into Lunar Systems Inc. from a location near Frisco. When the feds went to check it out, the port belonged to a grocery store that had no awareness of the crime. Someone had wired the port to a condemned building. No one knows who this Moke guy really is.”

“No picture?”

“Nothing.”

“So we don’t even know if Moke is a real person or not.”

“Darrell Holt claims to know him,” Webster said. “I could ask him for a description.”

“We could do that for the sake of completion. But it’s irrelevant if Moke isn’t tied to any hate crimes.”

Martinez said, “Personally, I think Moke’s a dead end as far as the vandalism is concerned.”

Decker said, “So forget about Moke. Concentrate on the hate groups we have. Lord knows there’s enough of them.”

“If y’all want to take this hate thing to the next level, we need to go regional,” Webster said. “That could take a while. Is this a good use of our time, especially since Ernesto has admitted to doing the vandalism?”

“Ordinarily, I’d say it would play very well with local politics. Showing that the police have zero tolerance for racism, especially after what happened with Buford Furrow at the
Jewish Center. On a personal level, I want to take these bastards out. But…” Decker sighed. “But we can’t do much with Ernesto because he’s a minor and the deal’s gone down.”

Martinez said, “Where does an upper-class kid like Ernesto get such graphic pictures? Off the Internet?”

“Maybe,” Decker said.

“So maybe someone should check out what’s available out there…on the Web sites.”

“That’s a good idea,” Decker said.

“I can do that in my spare time,” Webster said. “As long as we make sure that the powers know what’s going on. I don’t want the feds at my doorstep, demanding that I download my computer.”

“I’ll clear it for you,” Decker said.

“I’ll do it, too, if you want,” Wanda said.

“I’ll clear you both,” Decker said. “Or better yet, you two should just go over the hill to the Tolerance Center. I’m sure they have everything you need.” He thought for a moment. “Rina knows some people who work there. I’ll have her make a few phone calls.”

“Good,” Webster said. “So where are we now?”

Decker said, “I’ve got one more lead—a possible girlfriend of Ernesto Golding. From what I’ve been told, she’s into some very scary stuff. But we’ve got a problem with her. She’s over twenty-one, so we can’t scare her parents into allowing us to interview her.”

“Maybe we can scare her,” Wanda suggested.

“This one doesn’t sound like she scares easily.” Decker shrugged. “But since we don’t have much else, we’ll give it the old college try.” He checked his notes, then wrote the vitals on a piece of paper. “Here you go.”

Martinez took the paper. “Ruby Ranger?”

“She sounds like a porn star,” Webster said.

“Maybe she is,” Decker said.

Webster brightened. “Want me to check out the adult tapes at the local Blockbuster?”

“There are better ways to use your time, Tom,” Decker answered.

“My wife has been preoccupied with our daughter for the last six weeks. If you can think of a better use for my time, I’m all ears.”

“It’s just that his hand is getting tired,” Martinez said.

“Do I have to hear this?” Wanda covered her ears.

Decker smiled. “Do me a favor, Wanda. You drive. At the moment, you’re the least likely to get distracted by fantasies.”

The brass plate
on the gate named it Hacienda del Ranger. The villa was several levels of pink plaster, green shutters, and red-tile roofs, with a round two-story turret that contained the front entrance. To get in, Webster rang a bell that connected to an intercom. Once buzzed in, he, Martinez, and Bontemps stepped through a shaded courtyard lushly filled with potted plants, the floor tiled with Mexican pavers. The centerpiece was a three-tiered, scallop-shell fountain that dribbled rather than spouted.

The woman who answered the intercom was of average height and terminally thin, with a weathered face made even older by her big bleached-blond hair. Her hands were snaked with veins and knobs and sprouted long red nails. She was dressed in black knit, which gave her a spectral look. The three detectives showed her proper ID, but she didn’t bother to read any of the information. “What do you want?”

“Mrs. Ranger?” Martinez asked.

“Yes, what do you want?”

Wanda said, “If you don’t mind, we’d like a word with your daughter, Ruby—”

“She’s not in.”

“Alice, stow the bullshit!” a female voice broke in. A moment later the thin woman was unceremoniously shoved out of the way. She teetered on black spiked heels.

“What are you doing, Ma?” The voice came from a young woman who stood with her hands on her hips. She was tall and bony except for ample breasts. Her hair was black and poker-straight, clipped just below the earlobes, with bangs grazing the tops of her eyebrows. Her complexion was chalk white, red lipstick outlined her mouth, and green eyes peered from black-lined sockets. Her hands were long, but unlike Mom’s, her nails were short and ragged. She wore black leather pants and a midriff denim vest that barely contained her cleavage. Her navel was pierced, as were one eyebrow and her nose.

“I’ve been expecting this, Alice. They know I’ve been with Ernesto. It’s guilt by association. Wrong, but what the fuck?”

Alice said, “Do you have to use such crude language?”

“Yes, I do—”

“Why do you have to do it in front of me?”

“Because it’s so much fun to see you squirm. But don’t sweat it, old cow. I’m leaving.”

Mom marched off, tears in her eyes. Ruby flashed the cops some white teeth and a tongue pierce. “Ah, the unholy trinity. I must rate to send over three little coppers.”

“Ruby Ranger?” Martinez asked.

“Duh, yeah!” She knocked her temple. “Anyone home?”

“May we come in?” Wanda asked.

“Yes, you may come in.” Ruby swung the door open. “You can talk to me while I pack. Because when I’m done, I’m gone.” Abruptly, she turned and headed up the stairs.

Wanda raised her eyebrows. “Oh, my, my!”

“Whatever she is, porn star ain’t that bad of a guess,” Webster said.

They started in after her, but then Alice suddenly reappeared. “Can I get any of you some coffee or tea?”

“No thank you, Mrs. Ranger, we’re fine,” Webster said.

Alice was filled with short, spasmodic movements, as if tension was delivered through her nervous system in discrete bundles. “You shouldn’t think badly of Ruby. She’s a free spirit because we’ve raised her that way. Maybe too much a
free spirit, but I know she’ll settle down.” The woman smiled, but her eyes were still moist. “We were all free spirits and look at us now.”

In Wanda’s mind, that wasn’t an endorsement. “We’d like to talk to your daughter before she leaves. So if you’ll excuse us.”

“Of course. I’m just trying to explain…” She stopped. “To understand and explain…”

They left her groping for words, still trying to explain. The door to Ruby’s room was open. She was literally throwing her things into an oversize black duffel. Most of the clothes were black, waving like funeral banners as they leapt from the drawer to the bag. Her room was prison-cell spare—a full-size bed with a blanket on top, and a dresser topped with a boom box. Nothing hung from the walls, and there was nothing on the floor other than the hardwood. No mirrors, no TV. Yet the woman was immaculately groomed. Wanda walked a few steps and peeked into the bathroom. It was filled with bottles and jars sitting on the rim of the bathtub. And it did have a mirror over the sink.

“Where are you going?” Wanda asked in a disinterested tone.

“None of your business.” Ruby didn’t bother to look at them when she talked. “Now that I said that, I’ll tell you. Probably back up to Northern Cal. But maybe not.”

“Silicon Valley?” Webster said.

“Depends what’s in it for me.” She stuffed a pair of Levi’s into a side pocket. Then she took out a very skimpy leather bustier and placed it over her midriff top. “What do you think?”

No one answered.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re thinking…no support for my boobs.” She cupped her breasts. “Thirty-six D. All flesh, no implants. Weep your heart out.” She tossed the bra over to Martinez. “Give it to your wife or your girlfriend.” She tossed him a pair of panties. “Think of me the next time you fuck.”

Martinez tossed both articles back at her. “I’ll pass. Where were you yesterday morning?”

“Masturbating in my bed.”

“What time?” Martinez said evenly.

“I dunno. Nine, ten…I didn’t bother looking at the clock.”

“The act doesn’t take that long,” Wanda said. “What did you do afterward?”

“I dunno. Showered, shaved my legs, took a dump…the usual. I wasn’t anywhere near the synagogue. Yes, I admire Hitler, but painting juvenile slogans on walls and leaving pictures of dead bodies is infantile.” She smoothed her polished hair with bitten fingernails. “I’m not a Nazi…fascism holds no interest for me. It’s the evil leaders that I find utterly fascinating. Those who start out in the extremities of society and somehow wangle their way to the top. It’s more of an indictment of the public than it is of them. Nothing can exist without public support.” She grinned at them. “Even cops…especially cops.” She tossed the leather bra to Wanda. “How about it, sister? Goes well with your complexion.”

Wanda tossed it back. “I’m not your sister, and I prefer colors. I outgrew Goth a long time ago.”

“Judging from the crow’s-feet, I’d say it was a long, long time ago,” Ruby answered. “Do you get what I’m saying here, folks? That totalitarianism can’t exist in a vacuum. I mean, look how fast the Berlin Wall fell. Seventy years of entrenched, hardened Communism brought down like
that
.” She snapped her fingers.

“Did you and Ernesto ever talk about Hitler?” Webster asked.

“About Hitler, Stalin, Ivan the Terrible, Louis the XVI, Marie Antoinette, Bluebeard, Jeffrey Dahmer, Gacy, Ed Gein, Lizzie Borden, Richard III…what else? So I have a fixation about the dark side. The country hasn’t retracted the First Amendment so far as I know.”

Webster said, “You look like you’re in a hurry to leave.”

“You’re a clever one for a hick.” She sat on the edge of her
bed. “If you’re assuming that my rapid exit implies some kind of guilt, you are out of the ballpark, my cutie pie. Ernesto admitted that he vandalized the synagogue. If he had help, I don’t know about it. We didn’t talk much. We had a sex-shu-al relationship. He’s large and that was why I put up with him. I’m twenty-three and a genius on many levels, he’s seventeen—bright but no Einstein. Not that he doesn’t have promise, but he needs a few more years for his brain to gel. We fucked more than we talked.”

“You just opened yourself up to statutory rape,” Webster said.

“I fucking quake. But sure, if you want to arrest me for rape or putting ideas into his head, give it your best shot.” She stood and hefted the duffel. “Not too bad.” She disappeared, then came out of the bathroom holding an armful of hair and bath products, dumping them into the nylon bag. “You talk to your superior’s kid about me? Jacob Lazarus. Now that kid had some genuine gray matter. A certified cutie, but very disturbed. Man, he really hates me!” She grinned. “I’d keep an eye on him. Because isn’t it always the hotshot’s kid who’s the most fucked up?”

She paused.

“Although I can identify with his anger. Life is so stupid when you’re that smart. I think that’s why I’m so obsessed with those who make an impact, albeit an evil one.” She zipped up the duffel and lifted it again. “Man, this fucker is heavy! You want to help me?”

“No, not at all,” Wanda said.

She smiled. “Suit yourself. I’m outta here. Tell my mother that Dad’s still fucking his secretary, so she may as well have that piece of chocolate cake.” She winked and lifted the bag about two inches off the ground. “Bye now.”

They followed her down the staircase. Alice was waiting at the bottom. “When will you be back?”

“I dunno.” Ruby kissed her mother on the cheek. “Buck up, Ma. There’s always the pool man.”

She dragged her bag across the hardwood floor and onto
the porch outside. It left a scratch atop the planks. She towed the duffel through the courtyard and onto the sidewalk, then heaved it into an open trunk on a four-wheel-drive Jeep. She slammed the lid shut, hopped into the driver’s seat, and gunned the engine. Moments later, she was gone.

Wanda took down the license plate, then said, “I wouldn’t fret too much, Mrs. Ranger. Kids always return when the money runs out.”

Alice regarded Wanda, her eyes red and still brimming with water. “You-all don’t know the hell I’ve been through. You try to give up and let them go, but something inside of you keeps trying. One more conversation, one more
attempt
!” She wiped tears from her cheeks. “She was once a baby…goo-goo-ing and ga-ga-ing in her crib, just like any other baby. Her brother isn’t like that. I just don’t understand what happened!”

Martinez rubbed his neck. “Kids are tough. But she isn’t a kid anymore. She’s an adult. You can take the yoke off your neck. She isn’t your responsibility anymore.”

The woman shook her head. “No, sir, the yoke is there…always. Like that African tribe whose women have iron rings around their necks permanently. The rings stretch the neck. They stretch it and stretch it and stretch it. It is said that if the rings were removed, the stretched neck could no longer support the head, and the woman would die. That’s me, Detectives. The yoke is the only support I have left.”

Before Jacob had left the synagogue in the morning, Decker managed to secure the boy’s permission to talk to Dr. Gruen. He knew he had caught his stepson in a weak moment, and felt bad about exploiting him, but Decker needed some guidance. He left a message with the doctor’s answering service, figuring that the psychologist would call him back later in the evening. To his surprise, Gruen was on the phone five minutes later.

“You caught me right before my six o’clock patient.”

“You caught me right before I left,” Decker said. “Thanks so much for calling me back.”

“You’re welcome. What can I do you for, Lieutenant?”

“Jake gave me permission to talk to you.”

“I know. He called me.”

“Oh, good.” Decker stalled. “I was wondering if you could help me out with some of his issues…without breaking confidentiality, of course.”

“What in specific?”

Again Decker paused. “He’s very angry…self-admitted.”

“This is true. He is one pissed-off kid.” The psychologist’s voice was not only calm, but conversational. He could have been talking about a plumbing bill.

“What’s he pissed off about?” Decker asked.

“Pick a topic,” Gruen answered.

“I think he’s worried that he’s a sociopath,” Decker told him. “He asked me if he fit the description of those I have arrested.”

“What did you tell him?”

“No, of course.”

“And that’s how you feel?”

“Of course.” But Decker hesitated a little too long.

Gruen said, “His life would be much easier if he were sociopathic. Then he’d just do his thing, and with his intelligence and good looks, he’d probably be a top corporate raider. Instead, the kid is saddled with an overly developed conscience and a pathological sense of guilt. He’s ashamed by his recent behavior—the drug use that he has admitted to you—and is terrified that his mother is going to find out. I’ve suggested family therapy so he can admit certain things to her in a controlled environment and rid himself of some of the guilt. But he’s not ready for it yet. He has a big stake in protecting her. Does your wife have a clue as to what’s going on?”

“Much more than he thinks she does.” A pause. “I don’t think she knows anything about the molestation. Jacob’s intimated to me that more went on than he had admitted.”

“Uh-huh,” Gruen said.

“Is it bad?”

“That’s what we’re working on.”

“You can’t say anything more?”

“At this point, we’re trying to sort out fact from fantasy. Even he’s not sure. For instance, one of his recollections is his molester threatening that his mother would die if he told her what went on. That’s the one he admitted to you, correct?”

“Yes.”

“I think the threat might have been more like, ‘If you don’t let me do what I want to do, I’m going to kill your mother.’”

“He said that?”

“No. This is my interpretation. But put yourself in Jacob’s seven-year-old mind. This animal tries to rape and kill his mother. The kid’s got to be thinking that it was somehow his fault. If he had let this pederast do what he wanted to do to him, his mother would have been safe. Which is totally false. Now I can tell him, and you can tell him, and the whole world can tell him, that it isn’t his fault. That a monster is a monster is a monster. And intellectually, he’ll believe you. He’ll say ‘Of course, it wasn’t my fault. ’But getting rid of the entrenched guilt is a whole ’nother animal.”

“How does he get rid of it?”

“I’m not sure he can. So I’m telling him not to even bother to assess blame. Instead he should look at the outcome. Mom is fine. More than fine. She’s happily remarried and has kids she adores. Now maybe she isn’t fine. Maybe she’s miserable. But that’s not the point. If he perceives her as fine, that’s good enough.”

“She is doing fine,” Decker said. “At least, she never hinted that she wasn’t fine. Maybe she isn’t fine. I’d think she’d be a lot finer if Jacob was happy.”

“Ain’t that the mantra of all parents. Anyway, you want my opinion. Behaviorally, Jacob will excel in college. He’ll ace it. And he’ll find socially acceptable outlets for all his energy. Emotionally, it would be good if he continued seeing some
one when he’s in Baltimore. His problems aren’t going to be solved by the last commercial break. He’s aware of that, too.”