The Forgotten (12 page)

“What should I be doing?”

“He’s talking to you. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. I’ve got a patient in two minutes. I’ve got to go pull her chart.”

“Can I call you again?”

“How about if I call you if Jake and I think I should call you? That way you don’t have to keep asking Jacob’s permission, and he won’t feel you’re horning in too much.”

Decker resigned himself to being kept in the dark. “That sounds acceptable. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Bye.”

In other words, no news would be good news. Decker’s take on it was no news meant less excess stomach acid.

The vandalism case
stalled, but crime did not. With new homicides, rapes, assaults, burglaries, robberies, domestic disturbances, and car thefts, even Decker couldn’t think too much about a once defaced synagogue now freshly painted and restored to its former mediocre glory. The vandal or vandals did succeed in mobilizing community support for interfaith dialogues on hate crimes. Rina had thrown herself into the thick of it, organizing this panel and that panel. It was her way of dealing with the insult. Once in a while, she asked him about the progress in finding more culprits. When he made excuses, Rina didn’t push it.

For months, things proceeded apace, Decker’s family mercifully going through a quiescent period. His daughter Cindy had completed her second year as a cop, and had done so without major incident. This year, all the bad guys against her were actually felons. Jacob had been officially accepted to a joint program with Johns Hopkins and a local yeshiva in Baltimore. He worked hard without complaint and kept most of his opinions to himself. Decker resisted the parental urge to pry. Instead, he concentrated his energies on Hannah, who truly wanted his attention.

By school’s end, in June, Ernesto Golding had completed his ninety days of community service. From time to time, he had dropped in on Decker just to shoot the breeze, speaking
at length about therapy and how he was finally getting it together. And how good community service had been for him: to get out and not be so spoiled and see what was happening in the real world. Because he sure as hell knew he didn’t live in the real world. And he was glad that Ruby was out of his life because although she was a good lay, she was very bad for him. She had filled his head with all sorts of weird ideas. And now he wasn’t even so sure about his grandfather being a Nazi, and maybe he had made it all up in his head because Ruby had messed with his brain.

In three weeks, Ernesto was off to the Baldwins’ nature camp.

“I’m glad you’re doing well,” Decker had found himself saying.

“I guess.”

“You’re satisfied with Dr. Baldwin?”

“Actually, I think I talk more to you than to either one of the Baldwins. I think you should start billing my parents for your services.”

Tempting, considering the Baldwins were making around three hundred an hour. He was making around three hundred a
day
: good money when he didn’t compare it to anything else.

“I’d like to talk more, Ernesto, but unfortunately, I have a meeting in about ten minutes.”

“I know you’ve got to go. Look, I’m graduating in two days. If you aren’t doing anything, maybe you could come to the ceremony. I wouldn’t mind.”

“What day of the week is it on?”

“Friday at six.”

Saved by the bell. Decker said, “It’s the Sabbath—”

“Oh, yeah. Right. Anyway, I’m off to Brown. Pretty good for a felon, huh? Thanks for saving my butt, by cutting me a deal and keeping it all quiet. Thanks for giving me another chance. I’m going to do better. You’ll see.”

“Are you looking forward to the nature camp?” Decker asked the teen.

“I don’t think I need it anymore, but it was part of the deal. What the hell? It’ll teach me good survival skills. The main instructor is a former Marine. Sounds like fun, huh?”

“A riot,” Decker said.

Ernesto rolled his eyes. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. How’s Jacob?”

“Fine.”

“He’s got one more year to go, right?”

“Yes, but he’s going back east actually.”

“Really? Where?”

“He’s in a joint program with Johns Hopkins University and a local Jewish high school.”

“That’s cool,” Ernesto said. “That’s real cool. Say hello to him for me. I know he doesn’t hang with my buds from Prep, but you know, that’s okay. Tell him I said hi.”

“I will.”

The young man’s smile turned into a grin. “I’ll write you from the wilderness. Send you a postcard by carrier pigeon.”

Decker laughed. “Good luck!”

After he had left, Decker realized that he almost liked the boy. And he did wish him well. Which was why he felt sickened to the core when he caught the call.

It was a
short hop from residential real estate to woodlands, from homes and civilization to what once was the dominant terrain of the Southern California mountains. Hills abloom with early summer wildflowers—a palette of deep lilacs, sun-kissed yellows, and a spectrum of greens. Mervin Baldwin ran his back-to-nature camp a few miles into the region where the knolls segued into rocky peaks and the unruly vegetation was lush and thick through endless wilderness. The solidly built, teenage boys whom Baldwin claimed as his clients could walk back to the strip malls in just a few hours, and often they did. Eventually, they were found, reclaimed, and given even more duties to make up for their truancies. Mervin Baldwin found it exhilarating as well as redeeming that these boys could negotiate and navigate their ways from foreign territory back to home base.

He would exhilarate no more. Mervin Baldwin, along with Ernesto Golding, was dead.

The sun had just jumped over the horizon, but was still low enough to cause that blinding postdawn glare. It was a little past six in the morning, and Decker had already finished a thermos of coffee. Usually, he depended on a brisk workout on the treadmill to get the heart started, but today it was a chemical rush that kicked the system into action.

He drove a Jeep Cherokee, once black, but now turned
charcoal thanks to a layer of fine-grained dust. Driving up a gravel road until it dead-ended, he then switched into four-wheel drive and took the Jeep off-road up the stony incline. The SUV bounced and bumped, the motor straining as it neared the Baldwin campsite. Within moments, official vehicles and uniformed people came into view, their vehicles taking up the precious level ground. Decker maneuvered the Jeep about fifty yards to the left, where he found a relatively clear patch to park, but it left the wheels at a slant. He got out with great caution. Below him was a hundred feet of rock, not a sheer drop, but if he were to fall, he’d get pretty banged up from rolling downward.

The actual stomping ground was a mesa, fronted by a panoramic view and surrounded by a moat of deep drops and gorges. Not a whole lot of room to square-dance, but it did allow the camp officials to do roll call with a sweep of the eye. Off to the left, two large canvas huts had been erected. The rest of the flattened ground was covered with sleeping bags. Eleven dazed teenagers—Decker had counted them—were seated on the ground, resting, staring, or playing cards using sunflower seeds as money. They were in various states of dress—from pajamas to jeans and an undershirt. None of the kids made eye contact as he walked by, but Decker could feel them watching his back with suspicious, hardened eyes. It took an act of will not to look over the shoulder.

The wilderness was an unincorporated area, co-manned by Decker’s substation, the conservatory park rangers, and the sheriff’s department. Usually, homicides up in the hills were taken over by the sheriff’s department, but since Mervin Baldwin and Ernesto Golding were locals, someone had been smart enough to phone him up. Decker hoped that the call indicated interdepartmental cooperation instead of a macho-uniform pissing contest. He wanted the case and the other agencies would give it to him if he treated all involved with respect. He smiled first and then flashed his badge, approaching one of the park rangers. Her name was Landeau, and she was a big woman with thick wrists. Her hair was tied back in
a ponytail, and sweat dotted a protruding forehead. It wasn’t that hot, so Decker concluded that the perspiration came from physical exertion.

She said, “The crime scene’s the bigger of the two shelters.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. “There’re about a dozen officers combing the area.”

Decker stared at the view. “What are they looking for?”

“Pardon?”

He turned to face her. “What are the officers in the mountains looking for?”

“Oh. The perpetrator, of course.”

Which meant the area was already trampled upon.

Decker said, “Do they know who the perpetrator is?”

Landeau stuttered, “N-no…I mean I don’t know…maybe someone else does.”

Decker didn’t say anything. He looked around, his gaze taking in the boys, then skipping over to a man dressed in battle fatigues, being questioned by two uniforms. In the background, he heard the strain of more vehicles making their way up the mountain.

Decker pointed to the combat guy. “Who’s that?”

“Corporal Hank Tarpin.” She consulted her notes. “Formerly from the USMC. He calls himself the Chief Nature Master—the camp coordinator in charge of the day-to-day activities. He found the bodies and identified them.”

“As Golding and Merv Baldwin.”

“Yes.”

Decker nodded. “I’ll go talk to him.”

“Yes, sir,” Landeau answered. She was clearly glad to get rid of him.

Tarpin was over six feet and built with a broad chest and very big arms suggestive of an iron pumper. He had a remarkably small head for the thick frame. Or maybe it just looked smaller because his scalp was shaven clean. Deep, brown eyes, prominent nose, thick lips, and a big chin. He reminded Decker of the T-shirted genie on the household liquid cleaner, only without the earring.

The officers looked up and Decker flashed his badge, making sure Tarpin took it in. The man’s face was emotionless. Not hostile or defiant, just a total blank. It could be shock; it could be a controlled effort not to give himself away. Decker introduced himself.

“Lieutenant Decker.” Tarpin’s voice was muted. “Good you made it down so quickly. I know you had some prior dealings with Ernesto, because the kid told me.” A pause. “He liked you. I thought you should know that.”

“Thanks for telling me.” Decker regarded the khaki-clad sheriffs. They were clearly below him in rank but didn’t like being usurped. From the stripes, Decker could tell that the smaller man was a sergeant. “I had prior experience with the deceased minor. That’s why I’m here.” Decker’s eyes fell upon the two domed huts, waterproof and colored neon orange. “That’s the crime scene?”

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant answered.

Tarpin said, “It’s unspeakable in there. Not that I haven’t seen bodies in Serbia and Rwanda, but…it’s been a while. And I knew them…shook the hell out of me.”

That’s what his words said. But Tarpin’s face was still empty.

“You identified them as Ernesto Golding and Mervin Baldwin?” Decker asked.

“Yes, sir, it’s them.” Tarpin looked away, his nose wrinkling for a split second—as if he smelled something rotten.

“When did you discover them?”

“When I got up…around five in the morning.”

“And you immediately went into the tents?”

“The closest hut is where the provisions are kept. The farther shelter belongs to the Baldwins. I went to get breakfast going, and…something didn’t smell right. If you’ve ever been in combat and had a whiff of the stench, you just don’t forget it.”

Decker took out his notepad. “What did you do?”

“Lifted the flap to Dr. Baldwin’s tent.” He averted his gaze. “God help them now…. He’s the only one who can.”

“And you knew right away that they were both dead.”

“Yes, sir. No doubt about that.”

“Look for a pulse?”

“Of course…nothing.”

“Were the bodies warm?”

He waited a moment. “I don’t recall.”

Decker thought a moment. “So Ernesto Golding was in Merv Baldwin’s hut.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Doing what?”

Once again Tarpin wore an enigmatic expression. “Therapy. That’s where Dr. Baldwin does therapy with the boys.”

“At five
A.M
.?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You said you found them at five in the morning. They were already dead. Does Dr. Baldwin do therapy in the wee hours of the morning?”

“He does therapy twenty-four hours a day, Lieutenant. That’s what makes him remarkable. I hope you’re not implying something.”

“No, I’m just asking questions.”

“Then you should start asking questions about the other Dr. Baldwin—Dee Baldwin. I can’t seem to reach her. She’s not answering her pager or the phone. I’m concerned.”

“Can you give me the numbers? I’ll send over some officers to her residence.”

“You bet.” Tarpin fished through his pockets. “Have a pencil?”

Decker handed him his notepad and pen.

“I hope this isn’t any kind of vendetta. They’ve worked with all kinds of unbalanced teenagers.” Tarpin scribbled down numbers. “This is her pager, this one’s the cell phone, this is the office, and the residence.”

Decker reclaimed his pad and pen, then dialed from his cell phone—dead in the wilds. “I’ll have to use the mike in the SUV. This isn’t working in this range.”

Two murdered, one missing.

Decker said, “All the rest of the camp’s boys are accounted for, Corporal Tarpin?”

“Yes.” Tarpin turned his head and spit on the ground. “Are you going to question them?”

“I’d like to.”

“It wasn’t one of them. None of them could pull this off and be so quiet about it. I didn’t hear a damn thing. Besides, these boys here are rank amateurs. The Baldwins don’t take the hardened juvenile cases in their camp. Too much risk.”

“What did these boys do to bring them here?”

“Petty stuff…or just acting out with Mama and Papa. They’re on the wrong track, but when push comes to shove, they’re basically spoiled, rich-kid pussies. They think they’re tough, but they wouldn’t last a week on the mean streets.” Tarpin’s bald head was sweating. “He deals with other kids, more disturbed kids. You might want to start looking there.”

“I’ll start with these boys.” Decker walked toward the Jeep to make his calls. “Mainly because they’re here and so am I.”

Tarpin dogged him. “They didn’t do it. They’re all like Ernesto. You think a kid like Ernesto could have done that?” He answered his own question. “Not a chance. None of them could do it. You’ll see when you talk to them.”

Decker opened the door to the four-wheel drive. “I have every intention of doing that just as soon as I put in the call to find Dee Baldwin—the living before the dead, Corporal.”

He didn’t need to go inside to know what had happened. The ground was inked with streaks of blood, oozing out from under the bottom of the waterproof dome. Several bloody partials of shoe prints formed a trail from the door flap to the edge of the drop. Decker chalked them and looked over the escarpment. No continuing trail down the mountainside as far as he could see, but that meant nothing. Someone would have to climb down there and check it out, because from the way it looked, it appeared that the shoe print went over the edge. Weird, but not impossible.

Gingerly, he trod on the dusty ground below, watching
where he stepped. He opened the door flap and lowered his head. Then, trying not to breathe too deeply, he peeked inside.

The wind of death registered first. It stank of blood and guts, reeking like the back of a butcher shop. The stretched fabric walls had been bombarded with splatter marks; on the ground were puddles of crimson and brown plasma. Once there was a double bedroll, but now it was a blotter of blood-soaked sheets. The two bodies lay on the ground, side by side, both doubled over. No arms hiding their faces: they didn’t even have enough time to assume protective positions. Ernesto had been bare-chested; Baldwin had on an undershirt. The rest of the clothes lay in a heap near the entrance to the tent.

Decker closed his eyes in order to think. A tinge of nausea made pinpricks in his stomach, but he swallowed it down. If the victims’ state of dress implied that this meeting had been more than just therapy, it put a different cast on Dee Baldwin’s disappearance. Was she running from the bad guys or hiding from the cops? Or maybe she had just gone grocery shopping at seven in the morning.

He opened his eyes. The scene did not improve. The faces were bluish white and streaked with blood. They had been shot repeatedly and, from the bullet holes that dotted the bodies, they’d been shot impulsively. No execution-style shooting, this was rage, giving full meaning to the word
overkill
. Exit holes from the shells had made Swiss cheese out of the tent walls. Judging by the sizes of the apertures, the weapon was probably a .32-caliber. The assailant must have had a silencer, because otherwise there would have been lots of noise. If the couple had been awake and had been seized with such firearm force, there would be no way for them to fight back. If they had been asleep, they wouldn’t have known what had hit them.

The coroner would determine a range for the time of death. In this case, Decker’s knowledge as a detective would be just as accurate. The bodies were still warm. At this elevation,
things cooled off at night. The murders appeared more recent than not.

If Tarpin was innocent and to be believed, he hadn’t heard anything. Which meant it had happened in the deepest part of the sleep cycle—usually two hours before wake-up. If Tarpin said he woke around five, the murders probably took place sometime around or after three.

From three to five…

Where was Dee Baldwin?

He closed the flap and gave himself a moment to catch his breath while scanning for details. In the last few minutes, Webster, Martinez, and Bontemps had surfaced. Martinez was writing in his notepad but stopped when he saw Decker. The trio walked over, Webster saying, “How bad is it?”

“It’s awful.” Decker turned to Bontemps.

Before he could talk, Webster broke in. “I called Wanda down because she was involved with Golding in the vandalism case. I thought if this was another hate crime, a bigger hate crime, she should be here.”

“It’s a hate crime, but not a ‘hate’ crime,” Decker said. “But it’s good that Wanda’s here. We could use someone in Juvenile since the majority of our suspects are under eighteen.”

They all regarded the stunned teenagers.

Decker said, “Let’s divide the kids into two groups according to their ages. The ones over eighteen can be questioned. As far as the minors, we can’t do much without parental consent. Get their names and phone numbers and start contacting the parents. You can also ask them very casually if they heard or saw anything and judge their reaction.