The Forgotten (14 page)

Decker said, “First off, let me tell you how sorry I am.”

Tears leaked from the fifteen-year-old’s eyes. He rubbed them away.

“Your brother said a lot of things to me in confidence,” Decker continued. “Things that bothered him, and things that bothered me. I’m wondering if he expressed the same concerns to you.”

Karl looked up from his lap. “Like what?”

“Ernesto spoke to me about some of the fantasies he was having. Did he ever speak to you about them?”

The moments ticked on. One…two…three…four…

The boy whispered, “What fantasies?”

Decker kept his face emotionless. “I’m telling you this, not to be lurid, but to help me understand Ernesto. The more I know about him, the more it’ll help me with the investigation. Ernesto was interested…no, that’s the wrong word. He was plagued by awful images of Nazi brutality. Plagued by them, but fascinated by them. The images bothered him very much, but he couldn’t get rid of them. Furthermore, he felt that…that your father’s father—Isaac Golding—hadn’t been up front about his origins.”

Silence.

And then more silence.

“Did he ever express any concerns like these to you?”

Karl sighed. “May I ask what the point of…the point of this is…sir?”

He was trying to be polite, and that counted for a lot, especially under these circumstances. “I’m wondering if Ernesto had had a secret life and had slipped into the wrong crowd. I’m wondering also if he had tried to get out of it, by confessing it to Dr. Baldwin. Perhaps someone wanted the information transfer permanently silenced.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?”

“I don’t know, Karl. That’s why I’m asking you such sensitive questions.”

“Did you talk to my parents about this?”

“Not yet.”

“Can I ask that you don’t?” The big kid swallowed. “I don’t think my mom…” Tears. “She’s in enough pain.”

“Tell me what you know. And then we’ll see if we can work out a plan.”

“First, you tell me what you know…sir.”

“Okay, I will. According to Ernesto, your grandfather’s name was actually Yitzchak Golding.” Decker pronounced the name with the correct gutteralization, something he couldn’t have done five years ago. “Ernesto had done some research and had found out that a Yitzchak Golding had died in a Polish concentration camp. Now it’s entirely possible
that there’s more than one Yitzchak Golding. But Ernesto was under the impression that your grandfather had stolen the dead Yitzchak Golding’s identity. Did he ever mention anything like that to you?”

“Something.”

“So this sounds familiar?” Decker asked him. “That your grandfather was a Nazi in hiding?”

“A little.”

“Like how?”

“Just that Ernesto had some…questions. He went to Dad about them. Dad freaked and that was the end of it. Ernie dropped it.”

Decker took in the kid’s eyes. “So if I mentioned this to your dad, it would strike a nerve?”

“I don’t think you should do that right now.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. What about your mother?”

“He never said anything to her as far as I know.”

“Okay. So we’ll keep her out of this.” Decker smoothed his mustache. “How about you, Karl? Did he stop talking about it to you?”

The boy’s eyes overflowed. He threw his hands over his face and cried out, “It’s all my fault!”

“No, it isn’t—”

“Yes, it is! I should have
said
something! I should have
done
something! I didn’t
know
!”

Decker watched him gulp in big, breathless, heart-wrenching sobs. Seconds passed, then minutes. Finally, Karl was controlled enough to speak. “It started out as a school project—the family tree.” A big sniff. “When this came up…and Dad wigged…Ernie knew that he’d hit something awful. I told him to drop it with a capital
D
! What’s done is done, you know. Grandpa was dead, the Holocaust is more than a half-century old, and stirring stuff up wasn’t going to bring back any lives. He wouldn’t
listen
.”

“You must have been frustrated—”

“More like angry. Ernie was acting like this…like…a
possessed
person!”

Decker nodded encouragement. “What did he do?”

“He wanted to find out who Grandpa really was. He wrote to Argentina, he wrote to Berlin, he wrote everywhere. He went nuts with the idea of who Grandpa was…and his Nazi origins. He started talking to some real strange people. I should have told Dad. I should have told Dr. Dahl. She would have done something smart. But then the temple vandalism went down. And Ernie went into therapy. So I kept my mouth shut and decided to let the experts handle it.”

“You did the right thing—”

“No, I didn’t,” the boy broke in. “Ernie’s dead! I
didn’t
do the right thing!”

“Yes, you did,” Decker said. “You have to believe me on this, Karl.”

The boy didn’t believe him. But he didn’t refute him, either.

“Are you scared, Karl?” Decker asked. “Do you think you need protection?”

“I
don’t know
!” The boy’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t know!”

“Do you have any names?”

“No, goddamn it! I wish to God I did, but I don’t, sir. I swear I don’t.”

“I believe you.”

Karl said, “The whole synagogue thing was…I had no idea that Ernesto had gotten involved so deeply!
I
thought he was making the whole thing up just to look like a badass to his girlfriend.”

“Ruby Ranger.”

“Queen Goth. If anyone was behind this, it would be her! She’s crazy and mean!” He looked up at Decker. “I’m not the only one who feels that way. Your stepson hates her, too, you know.”

Decker knew.

Karl looked away. “I probably shouldn’t have mentioned him.”

“No, it’s fine. Several people, including Jacob, had told me that Ruby and Ernesto were an item.”

“You should arrest her!” Karl looked at Decker. “You are gonna talk to her, right?”

“Last we heard, she had left town right after the vandalism. When was the last time Ernesto saw her?”

“I don’t know.”

“So you don’t know if she and Ernesto had maintained contact after the vandalism?”

A long, suffering sigh. “There were a few letters. I think I know where he hid them….” Karl got up. “But it could be that Ernesto took them to camp.”

“Why did Ernesto hide the letters?”

“Because my mother snoops. Ernie did drugs. It nearly did him in.”

“Literally?”

Karl nodded. “About a year ago, we found him unconscious one Sunday morning. It was a miracle that he survived. Up until that time, my parents were really on his case—study, study, study, study. Do this because it’ll look good on your college application, do that because it’ll look good. Ernie’s a bright guy. But these days being plain bright isn’t good enough. When Ernie OD’d, all hell broke loose. My parents were one step from sending him away to boarding school. Then suddenly, they eased up.” The boy snapped his fingers. “Their therapist probably told them to do it. They wouldn’t do anything without talking to the therapist. Even so, Ernie felt that they didn’t trust him. So he hid stuff. Mostly weed, but personal stuff, too.”

“Like the letters?”

Karl nodded. “I just can’t understand
why
Ernie was taken in by that
bitch
! I know sex was part of it. But Ernie had lots of girls. Why her?”

Because she was forbidden, dangerous, and Ernesto had been a rebellious boy. But Decker maintained silence. It seemed like the smartest option.

“I’ll be right back.” Karl walked off to his dead brother’s
room. Ten minutes later he came back empty-handed. “Nothing. Sorry. I would have liked to help you nail her.”

“You think the letters might be at the camp?” Decker asked.

“Possibly.”

“Did he ever read you any of the letters?”

“Once or twice, Ernie read me parts—sexual stuff. Ruby thought she was this hip anarchist. She was loco!”

“Do you think she was behind the temple vandalism?”

“Probably.”

“Ernesto never mentioned any names to you after he vandalized the synagogue?”

“No.”

“How about names of Nazi or white supremacist groups?”

“No.”

“Does the group the Preservers of Ethnic Integrity sound familiar?”

A shake of the head.

“Erin Kershan?”

“No.”

“Darrell Holt?”

“Nope.”

“Ricky Moke?”

“No. Sorry.”

Decker said, “Do you know if Ernesto got involved in any supremacist groups maybe over the Internet?”

“I don’t know what he found or where he found it,” Karl said. “Ernie was my brother, but we’re very different.”

“Did he ever mention to you any of his motivation behind vandalizing the temple?”

“Motivation?”

“I’m thinking that maybe it was some kind of ritual needed to prove his dangerous side to his girlfriend?”

“Beats me.” Karl looked down. “After it happened, Ernie said, ‘Don’t ask!’ He was upset about it, though. I could tell that.”

“Did he say anything about being in danger?”

“No, not worried upset. Upset upset. He felt bad.”

“He told you he felt bad?” Decker asked.

“Not in words. But I know he felt bad.”

“Do you think that he kept you in the dark to protect you?”

“Possibly.”

“And Ruby Ranger’s name never came up?”

“Nah. I think he would have rather died than to rat on the bitch.”

Neither one said the obvious: maybe that was exactly what had happened.

As he drove
back to the crime scene, Decker spoke over the tactical lines. The reception was much poorer from the squawk box than it was through the digital cell phones, but supposedly, the conversations were restricted. Not that there was any real privacy nowadays: the Luddites had a point. “Are the bodies still there?”

“The wagon left about twenty minutes ago,” Martinez answered. “Police photographer is still here. Do you want me to tell her to wait for you?”

“No, I’ll work from the photographs. Did you search the bodies for personal effects?”

“We didn’t find anything
on
them. We’re rooting through their belongings now. Anything specific you’re looking for?”

“Letters to Ernesto from Ruby R.”

“How many?”

“Maybe three or four.”

“I’ll ask Tom about it. So far, Ernesto’s possessions are pretty minimal—a bedroll, a canteen, a metal dish, and the basic cutlery. Standard issue according to Tarpin.”

“We’ll get back to him later. How many boys have we interviewed?”

“There are only two boys here who have reached their majority. Tom talked to both of them. You can ask him about it.”

“Anything promising?”

“Not so far.”

“And how about the others? The minors?”

“I know that Wanda and Tarpin have been busy notifying the parents. It hasn’t been a cakewalk. I’d say about seventy percent of them are out of town. They took advantage of the time without junior to hightail it off to the Caribbean. Seven of the nine kids volunteered to have their belongings searched. Predictably, they were all clean. Wanda has been questioning them with a light touch. I think they’re disappointed. I think they keep expecting us to read them their rights.”

Decker smiled. “You said seven out of nine boys.”

“Yeah, I did. The two remaining lads are more hard-liners. Could be they’re hiding something. Or, they just don’t want to cooperate because they’re wary of cops.”

“Priors?”

“I wouldn’t know. They’re juveniles. Wanda knows the ins and outs of Juvy. If they’re hot, she’ll know about it.”

“I’ll deal with them when I come up. Who are they?”

“Brandon Chesapeake and Riley Barns. Not that they’re dancing on anyone’s grave. All of a sudden, the lure of crime isn’t so glamorous. And it doesn’t smell very good, either.”

“Did you talk to Tarpin at length?”

“I was about to do that…unless you want him. We’ve got parents to deal with. I’m certainly not lacking for something to do.”

“All right, wait for me,” Decker said. “I’ll take Tarpin because I have a job for you—Dee Baldwin. I know she’s not at her residence or at the office. I want you to talk to some of their friends and find out if they—she and Mervin—had a special vacation spot or cabin retreat up in the mountains—a place where she could be hiding out.”

“You think she did it?”

“Ernesto and Mervin looked pretty cozy, so who knows? Or maybe she’s hiding out because she’s scared. Another avenue is Ernesto as the target. He didn’t do the vandalism alone. Which means that he may have fallen in with some
very bad dudes. Specifically, I’m interested in Ruby Ranger. You need to find out where she is as well.”

“I can certainly go back to Alice Ranger, but I don’t think she’ll be too cooperative.”

“Lean on her. It’s important.” Decker paused. “Also, did we ever get an actual photograph of Ricky Moke?”

“No. It never seemed important because Ernesto confessed. Do you want me to go back to Darrell Holt with a police artist and a kit?”

“After we find out about Dee Baldwin, then go back to Holt.”

“Not a problem if you trust his eye…if you trust him period. He could be lying.” A pause. “He probably is lying. Those types lie outta force of habit.”

He sat with Tarpin overlooking the precipice of the mountain, side by side, because Decker knew that men talked more freely without eye contact. The corporal’s face was glistening with sweat, beads forming on his sizeable nose. He wore a camouflage cap over his bald head and had his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He wore the same stony expression, making him hard to read, and Decker supposed that that was the objective.

Taking out his notebook with pen poised in hand, Decker took a few moments to breathe in the scenery. The mountains were wide and vast, their tips iced with a brown translucent layer of summer smog. Oven hot, he could feel himself drip underneath his clothing even though they were shaded by the canopy of a sycamore. Staring outward, Tarpin asked about Dee Baldwin.

“She’s not at her residence or at the office.”

“That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not. Do you know of anywhere else that she might be? Did she and Dr. Baldwin have a second home anywhere? We checked locally, but maybe they had something out of state?”

“Sometimes they went to the beach for weekends.”

Decker started writing. “Good. Where?”

“Malibu.”

Decker waited for more. “Do you know where? Malibu’s a long stretch of sand.”

“Nah, not my territory. I think they rented.”

That narrowed it down to fifty zillion people. “A house? A condo?”

“A condo.” Tarpin paused. “It could be she’s there. They’re renovating their home in Beverly Hills. From what Dr. Merv was saying, their house was a mess.”

“So they moved out during the construction?”

Tarpin shrugged. “I don’t know. The only thing that Dr. Merv said was the house was a mess and the renovation was costing him a fortune. Probably Dee’s idea. She’s the decorator…redid their office about two years ago.”

“Okay. That helps.” Immediately, Decker phoned Martinez and gave him the news, telling him to coordinate with the Malibu sheriff’s department. After Decker got off the cell, Tarpin took off the cap, wiped his bald pate with a handkerchief, and then re-covered his head.

He said, “You trust people outside your division to do your job?”

“Pardon?”

“The sheriff’s department. Do you trust them?”

“Why do you ask?”

Tarpin said, “Delegating responsibility. Frankly, I believe that if you want something done right, do it yourself.”

“Does that extend to murder?”

Tarpin’s eyes focused in on Decker’s face. The first hint of emotion from the man and it was anger. “I won’t dignify that with an answer.”

“I’m not implicating you, Corporal. Just that this looks professional…delegating out. What do you think?”

Tarpin didn’t answer.

Decker said, “You know I have to ask you certain questions, sir, because you were in charge of the camp. Also, you were the first one to find the bodies. We always ask pointed
questions to those who find the bodies. Plus, these mountains are pretty secluded. I’m just wondering why no one heard anything.”

“You can wonder. It’s a free country.”

“Sounds like an inside job.”

“Sounds like the job of some insane man.”

“Or a very evil man,” Decker corrected.

“Well, Lieutenant, I’m not crazy and I’m not evil.” He turned and took in Decker’s expression. “I’m just about as straight arrow as they come.”

Uh-huh,
Decker thought. “Let me ask you this. If you did do the murder, what motivation did you have?”

“You’re asking me?” Tarpin said.

“I’m asking you.”

“I don’t have any motivation, because I didn’t do anything.”

“But if I wanted to pin something on you, where would I go? For instance, to find a hidden motivation, maybe I should check out your association with the Preservers of Ethnic Integrity. See what they have to say about you?”

Tarpin stared straight into the mountains. “Sure, you could do that.”

“Did the Baldwins know about your membership in PEI?”

“What the hell does this have to do with Merv’s murder?”

The words were strong, but Tarpin’s voice was deep and mild.

“Maybe nothing—”

“Definitely nothing.”

“I’ve heard that the Baldwins are very liberal. I’m just wondering how they felt about your association—”

“They wanted the best person for the job,” Tarpin interrupted. “I’m the best.” Laughter erupted from his broad chest. “So you’re thinking I murdered Merv because I didn’t like his politics? The Baldwins knew about my associating with PEI. Merv even proofread a couple of articles I wrote for their official newsletter. We were at political ends of the spectrum—them and me. I respected his right to believe what
he wanted to believe; he respected mine.” Finally some emotion had entered the Marine’s eyes. “If you’d like to get on with solving the case, that would be nice.”

“I just don’t picture you having much in common with those PEI clowns.”

“National PEI is composed of over two thousand members. Suddenly you’ve met them all?”

“Two
thousand
members?”

A slow smile came to Tarpin’s lips. “Surprised?”

“Actually, yes, I am.” Decker shook his head. “I hope they’re less marginal than the mouthpieces in the local front office.”

Tarpin was quiet.

“What’s his name?” Decker scanned his notes in mock confusion. “Darrell Holt. What do you think of him?”

“You met Darrell?”

“Yep,” Decker lied.

Tarpin looked across the valleys. Picked up a stone and threw it down the mountainside. “Darrell ain’t no dummy. He went to Berkeley. They don’t let stupid people into college.”

Having gone to college, Decker knew that
that
was definitely debatable. “What about his girlfriend? Don’t tell me she went to Berkeley. She doesn’t even look eighteen.”

“I don’t know Darrell’s girlfriend.”

“Erin Kershan?”

“Nope. Don’t know her.”

No one spoke for a moment. Decker remarked, “I’m just thinking why Darrell Holt would pick the most radical of all UCs to go to. It hardly fits his politics.”

“That’s because you didn’t know Darrell in his younger days.”

“And you did?”

“Yes, sir. Kinky hair down to his shoulders, unwashed, unkempt, spouting that radical, racial gibberish. His dad put him in Dr. Merv’s camp about seven years ago. But the boy quit therapy, then went off to college. You can’t change a
light bulb if it don’t want to be changed. But like I said, Darrell had some smarts. He came to reason on his own.”

Decker was astounded. “So Darrell went to Baldwin’s nature camp.” He tapped his pencil against his notebook. “Is that how you two met?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were active in PEI at that time, Mr. Tarpin?”

“Correct.”

“Did you introduce Darrell to PEI?”

“No, sir, I don’t use the nature camp to recruit membership for my beliefs.”

Uh-huh
, Decker thought. “So Darrell just fell into the group by happenstance?”

“Happenstance? That means by accident, don’t it? I think Darrell went into the group because he was interested in what we had to say.”

“But you never mentioned the PEI to him?”

“I might have,” Tarpin admitted. “Frankly, I don’t remember. It was a long time ago.”

“How long has Darrell been with the group?”

“Three, four years, I think. Go ask him.”

“I will,” Decker said. “Do you know if Darrell and Ernesto knew each other?”

“No, sir, I would not know.”

“Have you ever heard of a guy named Ricky Moke?”

“No, Lieutenant, I don’t know the name.”

“Darrell told my men that Ricky was also a member of the Preservers of Ethnic Integrity.”

“That very well could be. Like I said, PEI has over two thousand members.”

The stone face was back, so Decker couldn’t tell if he was lying. “What can you tell me about Darrell Holt…when he was at the camp?”

“Bright boy, but very troubled.”

“How was he troubled?”

“Acting out all the time. Lord knows Merv and Dee tried.
Darrell wasn’t going to have it. Like I said, he settled down on his own.”

“Did he talk to you much?”

“Not too much.”

“What about Ernesto?”

“What about him?”

“Did he talk to you?”

“All the boys talk to me, Ernesto included. I don’t encourage it…the Baldwins don’t like it. It interferes with their therapy.” He faced Decker. “I’ll tell you one thing, Lieutenant. Ernesto felt bad about what he’d done to the temple—genuine remorse. What do Ernesto’s problems have to do with the murder anyway?”

“Right now, we don’t know who the intended victim was. Could be Baldwin. But maybe it was Ernesto.”

“Why would it be Ernesto?” Tarpin asked. “He’s just a kid.”

“Let me turn it around on you, Mr. Tarpin. Why would it be Baldwin?”

“Because the Baldwins dealt with some really bad kids—psychos with the flat, lizard eyes that you see on snipers. The doctors tried, but some kids are beyond redemption.”

“But why murder someone up here…in the mountains? Bad access, hard to escape, plus you have all these witnesses and potential enemies.”

“Not if the man was a survivalist.”

“Are you saying the boy was a graduate of the camp?”

“Maybe.” Tarpin faced him. “Why do you think the intended hit was Ernesto?”

Decker hesitated. How to talk without revealing too much. “To this day, I don’t believe he acted alone in the vandalism. I think Ernesto might have fallen into bad company, had remorse about it, and maybe some of those neo-Nazis were coming after him.” Decker tapped his pencil against his pad. “Did he ever mention a young woman named Ruby Ranger?”

Again, Tarpin broke into a disaffected stare. “Ernesto
talked about her from time to time. She sounded like a bad egg.”

“Was
she
ever a patient of the Baldwins? Or don’t the Baldwins take girls?”

“They take anyone who needs them. I don’t know about Ruby Ranger. Why don’t you look her up in the office files?”

“That requires a subpoena.”

“So go get one.”

“You see her as a suspect, Corporal?”

“Yes, I do.” He spit on the ground. “Used to be that the worst things that girls did was smoking dope or kiting checks. Now they’re just as bad as the boys. There’s progress for you.”