The Forgotten (4 page)

“What am I looking for?”

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

What Decker expected to find were obscene photographs of concentration-camp victims. What Jaime Dahl pulled out was a silver kiddush cup.

It stood out
, a surface of metal against books and papers. Decker brought his eyes over to the young man’s face. Ernesto Golding was dressed in khakis and a white shirt. Ernesto Golding had intense eyes on a good-looking face, a broad forehead, and weightlifter’s arms. Ernesto Golding didn’t look like a thug. He looked like a macho teen with better things on his mind than killing Jews. Decker took a handkerchief from his pocket and held up the kiddush cup. “Where’d you get this?”

Ernesto folded his arms across his chest, pushing out his bulging biceps with his fists. “It’s a family heirloom.”

“And why are you bringing a family heirloom to school?”

The boy’s face was an odd combination of fear and defiance. “Show-and-tell, sir.”

I’ll bet you’ve been doing lots of show-and-tell,
Decker thought. Jaime spoke up. “What’s going on?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Decker answered. But his eyes remained on his prey. “The cup has some Hebrew writing on it. See here?” He showed it to Golding. “It’s easy Hebrew. Read it for me.”

“I don’t read Hebrew—”

“I thought you said it was a family heirloom.”

“My family’s origins are Jewish. But that doesn’t mean that I know Hebrew. It’s like assuming every Italian knows Latin.”

Decker was taken aback. “Your family’s Jewish?”

“No, my family is not Jewish. We’re humanists with ancestry in the Jewish race.”

The Jewish
race
—a Nazi buzz phrase.

“I don’t want to repeat myself,” Jaime stated bluntly, “but what is going on?”

Decker said, “Did you listen to the news this morning, Dr. Dahl?”

“Of course.”

“Then you must know that a local synagogue was broken into and vandalized. I was down there. Most of the damage was ugly, but it can be repaired. The one thing that was reported stolen was a silver benediction cup.”

Jaime looked at Ernesto, then at Decker, who held up the cup. “This
family heirloom
is inscribed with the words ‘Beit Yosef.’ That’s the name of the vandalized synagogue.”

“It’s a family heirloom,” Ernesto insisted. “We’re doing a family history. A family tree for honors civics. Dr. Dahl is aware of this assignment. Back me up on this one, Doctor.”

“There is a family-tree assignment in honors civics—Dr. Ramparts.”

“Yeah. Third period.” Ernesto rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “I brought this in specifically to illustrate my family’s past, and to give Dr. Ramparts a more…genuine feel for where I came from. I’m sure there is more than one Beit Yosef in the world.”

The kid was oh so cool. And he probably thought he was pulling it off. Never mind about the beads of sweat that dotted his upper lip. “I’m sure there are, Mr. Golding. Even so, you’re coming with me.”

“I want a lawyer.”

“That can be arranged.”

They took him to Dr. Williams’s office, Decker standing over Ernesto’s shoulder as the kid called his parents—Jill and Carter Golding. Decker could hear outraged voices on the other side of the line. He couldn’t discern much, but he did
hear them instruct Ernesto to refrain from talking to anyone. From that point on, things moved quickly.

Mom made it down in six minutes. She was a pixie of a thing with pinched features and thin, light brown hair that was long, straight, and parted in the center. She wore rimless glasses and no makeup. Behind the specs, her eyes were smoldering with anger that only a parent knew how to muster. First, there were a few choice glances thrown in Decker’s direction. The stronger ones were reserved for her son. Decker knew what that was about.

Dad arrived about ten minutes later. He was short and thin. The eyes were dark and most of the face was covered with a neatly trimmed brown beard flecked with silver. He appeared more befuddled than angry. He even shook hands with Decker when introduced. Ernesto didn’t resemble either of his parents, leaving Decker to wonder if the boy had been adopted.

The last part of the equation came in on Dad’s heels. Everett Melrose was an Encino lawyer who had made a name in California Democratic politics. He was well built, well tanned, and had the appropriate amount of sincerity in the eyes and distinction in the curly gray hair. He wore designer suits and dressed with flair. He had a wife, six kids, and was active in his church. He had defended some very big and bad people in his years, and had come out on top. Melrose’s past was squeaky clean as far as Decker knew. Amazing—a lawyer and a politician with nothing to hide. He shook hands all the way around and requested that he speak to his client, the young Ernesto, in private.

His request was granted.

The twenty minutes that followed were protracted and tense.

When they came back into Headmaster Williams’s CEO office, Ernesto looked upset, but Melrose was unreadable. He said, “Can you tell me the basis for this detainment?”

Decker said, “Your client has a stolen cup in his possession—”

“Have we determined that the cup was stolen?” Melrose asked innocently. “My client claims that the cup was an heirloom.”

Decker said, “Counselor, the cup belonged to the synagogue, Beit Yosef, that was vandalized this morning—”

“That’s impossible!” Jill broke in.

“Impossible that the synagogue was vandalized, or impossible that your son could have some involvement in the crime—”

“Don’t answer that!” Melrose interrupted.

“Ernesto, what is going on?” Carter asked.

“I wish I knew, Dad.” Ernesto tapped his toe and made eye contact with the floor.

A good bluff, but not a great one.
Decker said, “The cup was taken from Ernesto’s backpack. That’s a fact. Dr. Dahl was there as a witness.”

“Did he give you permission to search his backpack?”

“Absolutely not,” Ernesto stated.

“It’s irrelevant whether or not you gave him permission!” Carter Golding spoke out. “I’d like to know what it’s doing in your possession.”

“So you’re saying it’s
not
a family heirloom?” Decker remarked.

“Carter, please!” Melrose said. “He’s not saying anything. He’s not the subject of this inquiry. What I’m hearing is that no one was granted permission to check Ernesto’s backpack!”

Dr. Williams came alive. “The school’s bylaws state that faculty can search lockers and personal property of any student at any given time to hunt out contraband or unlawful substances. Mr. Golding is aware of the bylaws. He has signed an honor code, acknowledging such rules with a promise to abide by them. So have Mr. and Mrs. Golding. It is a requirement of attending the school.”

“Lieutenant Decker is not faculty.”

“Dr. Dahl is faculty,” Decker countered. “She was the one who ordered Ernesto to open his knapsack.”

A few seconds of silence before Melrose turned his curious eyes on Jaime Dahl. “If you do routine searches for contraband, I’m assuming you have a list as to what constitutes contraband?”

“Of course.”

“And does it say specifically what items are contraband?”

“Stolen items are contraband,” Williams interjected.

“So a cup is not illegal.”

“The stolen cup is illegal,” Decker said.

“According to you, Lieutenant, a silver cup was reported stolen from a synagogue,” Melrose pointed out. “How do you know for certain that
this
is the cup in question? There may be hundreds like it.”

“Do you want proof that the cup belongs to the synagogue? That can be arranged. I can probably even dig up the original sales receipt. But I’ll tell you one thing for your own benefit, in case your client wants to change his story. That cup isn’t an heirloom. We bought it a year ago when the synagogue began having regular kiddushes after services.”

“What’s a kiddushes?” Jaime Dahl asked.

“Hors d’oeuvres after the Sabbath prayers. Before you eat, you need to make a benediction using wine. Hence, the silver cup.” Decker just realized that suddenly he was the resident Jewish expert. A position usually reserved for Rina, he felt strange occupying it now.

Melrose said, “You know a lot about this particular synagogue. May I ask if you’re a member?”

“You may ask, and I’ll even answer it, Counselor. Yes, I am a member.”

“So you’re hardly an unbiased party in this investigation.”

“That may be. But that doesn’t negate the fact that I can identify this cup as stolen.”

Melrose bluffed it out. “None of this will hold up in court. It’s an illegal search and seizure done under false pretenses. You told the students that this was a routine contraband check.”

Carter stood up. “Aren’t we missing the main issue? What were you doing with a cup from a vandalized synagogue, Ernesto?”

“It isn’t the right time to talk about this,” Melrose said.

Jill said, “This is all a mistake. Our son would never have anything to do—”

“Are you going to arrest the boy?” Melrose asked. “Yes or no?”

Decker sat back. He addressed his comments to Ernesto. “Mr. Golding, this isn’t going to go away. I am going to find out what happened, and if you’re involved, it’s going to come out. You can be in the catbird seat, or one of your cohorts can bring you down. Take your pick!”

“Ernie, what’s going on?” his mother asked.

“Nothing, Mom,” Ernesto answered. His breathing suddenly became audible. “He’s trying to psych you out. He’s a part of an organization of brutality. Police lie all the time. They’re never to be trusted. How many times have you told me that?”

Decker saw Jill Golding’s cheeks turn pink. “Ernesto,” he said, “you talk to me, I can ask a judge for leniency. Most you’ll do is some community service. More important, if you cooperate, I can try to get your records sealed even though you’re almost eighteen. The Ivies would never have to hear about it.”

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying,” Ernesto answered. “Cops are pathological liars.”

Decker raised his eyebrows. “Fine, son. Have it your way. I’ll recommend that you’re tried as an adult.”

Ernesto stood up. “You can’t bully me into submission! I’ve had way worse nightmares!” He stomped out, slamming the door as he left. Mom was the next one out the door. Dad waited a beat, swore under his breath, and then took off as well. The quiet ticked away for a few moments.

Decker said, “You want to bring him down, Mr. Melrose, or do I take out the handcuffs?”

“I’ll get him.” Melrose left.

Again the room fell silent. Jaime Dahl broke it. “I can’t believe it! Almost anyone but him!” She regarded Decker. “You still have a few boys left to search. Would you like me to do that?”

“I’ll do it when I’m done with Ernesto. I’ll need a list of his friends—”

“I don’t think I can do that, Lieutenant,” Jaime answered. “Finking is not part of the contract.”

“Finking?”

“It’s one thing to catch a student with stolen goods, it’s quite another to have a boy rat another out.”

“The synagogue was a horrible mess,” Decker said. “Pictures of dead Jews were thrown all over the place. He didn’t do it alone. I want names!”

Williams was about to offer some words, but the discussion was cut short. The door opened, and Ernesto tromped in. Still short of breath, he gasped out, “I want to talk to you.”

Decker pointed to his chest. “Are you talking to me, Mr. Golding?”

“Yeah, I’m talking to you…sir.”

“I like the ‘sir’ part,” Decker said. “It shows civility.”

The parents and Melrose materialized. Carter Golding was red-faced and furious. “I am the boy’s father. I demand to know what’s going on!”

“I’m trying to get that done, Dad,” Ernesto said with anger. “Can you just…like lay off for a few moments—”

“You’ve been accused of vandalizing a house of worship, and you want me to
lay off
?”

“Carter, I know you’re upset, but please, let’s deal with one issue at a time,” Melrose said.

Ernesto said, “I’ll tell this cop what’s going on, but first you’ve got to guarantee me what you just said…about it being sealed.”

Melrose said, “Ernesto, the man is a police lieutenant. If you want someone to do you favors, start acting appropriately humble.” He looked at Decker. “What can you do?”

“I could probably get his part pled down to malicious mischief, which will require some explaining since it’s a hate crime. But if it turns out he’s jiving me, all bets are off.”

“What is malicious mischief?” Jill asked. “What does it mean?”

“It means it’s a misdemeanor,” Melrose stated flatly. “I’m still not sure this is the best way.”

“Why the change of heart?” Decker asked Ernesto.

“I have my reasons,” the teen answered. “If you want to know about them, give me a guarantee.”

“I’ll do the best I can,” Decker said.

“Not good enough,” Ernesto stated.

Decker stood and took out the cuffs. “Fair enough. You’re under arrest—”

“Wait a damn minute!” Carter broke in. “Ernesto, once this man
arrests
you, you can’t be unarrested! Are you aware of that?”

Ernesto was quiet.

“It won’t hold up, Carter,” Melrose assured him. “He doesn’t have any rights here.”

“Can you guarantee that?”

No one spoke.

“This is the situation, Ernesto,” Decker said. “You talk, I listen. If I like what I hear, I go to bat for you. If I don’t, you’re no worse off. I’ll still arrest you. But what you told me will be inadmissible because you spoke without a lawyer.”

“No, no, no!” Melrose broke in. “Who said anything about his talking without representation?”

“Counselor, if you’re there, then it’s official. I have to read him his rights. Then, as we all know, I can use his statements in a trial. If you’re not there, I can’t use anything.”

“So what happens if you like what you hear?” Carter wanted to know.

“He writes it all down in a witnessed confession statement. We seal it. Then I take it to the D.A. and probably he’ll plead him down to a simple wrist slap—”

“Probably?”

“Yes, probably. I can’t say for sure. This is the best I can do—”

“I’ll take it,” Ernesto said.

“Ernesto, you’re seventeen. You don’t have the final word. Do you understand that?”