The Mercedes Coffin (27 page)

Decker started reading, and despite his reticence, he became excited. Among the activities listed were canoeing, white-water rafting, hiking, kayaking, salmon fishing, panning for gold, and taking a helicopter ride to a glacier. And then he noticed the fine print. Optional excursions were not included in the price of the cruise.

Well, he didn’t have to do
every
activity.

“What did Rina say when you broached this with her?”

“I told you. She said she was game, but of course it was up to you.”

Decker thought a moment. They never went anywhere when he had vacation time, other than to visit the boys back east. If the kitchen was willing to make accommodations, it sounded like a good thing to him. Unpack once and enjoy the open seas, even if the average age was probably around seventy.

Seventy didn’t seem that old anymore.

Mostly he felt extremely touched that his daughter wanted to include him in her vacation plans. This was the dream of most parents: relaxing and laughing with adult children. “This seems like something I could get behind.”

Cindy’s smile was radiant. “You’re considering it?”

Decker laughed. “Is that so unusual?”

“Yes. Usually when I suggest something, it just… I don’t know. It never works out. I’m so happy!”

“First I have to talk it over with Rina. Then I have to check my schedule again. Then we have to deal with the boys. I’ll try to make it happen, Cindy. It actually seems like something that everyone could enjoy. And I’ll pay for you two. It isn’t going to send me to the poorhouse.”

“Absolutely not. Koby would never agree to it. But if you want to pay for the helicopter ride so we can walk on the glacier, I won’t object.”

Decker raised his espresso to his lips. “This was an expensive cup of coffee.”

Cindy reached into her pocketbook and took out several pieces of paper. “You didn’t think I came all this distance just to talk you into going to Alaska.”

That’s exactly what he thought. “What do you have?”

“I’ve been doing a little background check on Travis Martel and Geraldo Perry.”

“With or without Rip Garrett’s permission?”

“I didn’t ask for his blessing, but if he found out, I wouldn’t care. Both of the boys have a long sheet: drug offense, theft, B and Es, D and Ds, GTA, soliciting, illegal possession of firearms.” She looked at one of the pieces of paper. “Here you go. For your files.”

“Thanks.” He already had them, but why make her feel bad.

“I’ve also done a little bit of investigating beyond the obvious. Perry is from Indiana, so I don’t know too much about his youth, but Martel is a local boy. He went to L.A. High for about a year before he dropped out. I found his yearbook. He was in the rappers’ club.”

“They have a rappers’ club in high school?”

“Clubs are a reflection of the student body’s interests. All you need is a sponsor and some kids for membership. Anyway, his being in a rappers’ club makes total sense because when Martel was booked, he listed his occupation was ‘aspiring rapper.’”

“As in he’s never made a record.”

“That’s not entirely true, and we really don’t say ‘made a record’ anymore, Daddy. It kinda sounds like classic vinyl.”

“Cut a CD?”

“These days you don’t need a label and a producer to get your song out, since you have the Internet. Do you know about MySpace?”

“It’s a networking website.”

“Exactly. It’s actually a social networking website as opposed to a professional one. One of the things it’s known for is sharing material. Anyone who has a MySpace account can surf and look at your websites unless he or she is specifically blocked. Lots of bands and singers without contracts use MySpace to showcase their material. It’s specifically geared toward downloading music. So I started surfing to see if either Perry or Martel had a profile.”

“And you found something.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” She turned pink. “I mean, I love spending time with you, but I know you’re busy and I don’t like to bother you—”

“You’re never a bother. What did you find?”

“Travis has a MyFace profile under his nom de rap.” She looked down at her notes. “He has several of them: Rated-X. Travis-X, X Marks the Spot, or plain X. I downloaded whatever songs he uploaded. I thought maybe there’s something in his lyrics that I would find interesting. He’s really hard to understand. It took me a long time and slowing down the speed to get them all down.”

She handed him several pieces of paper.

“Look at number three, second paragraph: ‘All Bets Are Off.’”

“Which one?”

“‘All Bets Are Off’: paragraph three.”

Decker read the doggerel to himself.

Take it all, take it all, that’s my philoso-phy
This whole fuckin’ world ain’t got integri-ty
So mess up the ho’ with the beasti-al-ity
It’s me for all and it’s all for me
Like music and the crime — the shit of B and E
You grab it for yourself and fuck etern-ity.

“Charming. What am I looking for?”

“Look at line five, Daddy. Like the music and the crime — the shit of B and E. Not just the crime of B and E. The
music
and the crime — the shit of B and E. Maybe I’m reading too much into it because I want to, but maybe he’s not just talking about breaking and entering.”

Decker said, “Banks and Ekerling.”

“Maybe you should see Marilyn Eustis again.”

“She knows that Travis Martel and Geraldo Perry were arrested for the murder. She told police she didn’t know either one of them.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know them, but it could be that there’s something in Ekerling’s files about them.”

“I’m sure the police went over his files. Besides, from what she told me, Ekerling didn’t produce a lot of rap.” Decker regarded the rap words again. “But it is worth another look. Thanks for the tip. Did you relay this information to Garrett and Diaz?”

“Not yet. I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes, especially because you seem to be doing a good job of that. Besides, you’re the one investigating homicides. Me? I’m a peon in GTA. And maybe B and E is just breaking and entering. Still, I’m passing it on to you. If you want to pursue it, fine.”

Decker said, “It’s worth a second look.”

“That’s what I thought. If it goes anywhere, you can pass it on to Garrett and Diaz so there won’t be any hard feelings.”

“Absolutely. Thanks, Cynthia, you’re thinking like a pro.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s hope when you pass the information to Rip Garrett and Tito Diaz, they feel like you do and thank me as well. When it comes to promotion time, let’s hope they think of my ingenuity.”

WENDERHOLE STROKED THE
arms of his wheelchair.

“I know that someone was trying to do good by busing me into a white school, but there’s a lot more to school than education. Darnell, Leroy, and I were tight, but it wasn’t that we had so much in common. It was more like if we didn’t hang together, we’d sink alone. When Darnell was caught dealing and shipped away to Ohio, it was down to Leroy and me and a couple of other flunkies. Darnell was hard to replace. Leroy was a nice kid, but frankly put, he was as dumb as a rock.

“As dropouts, we had no work ethic. We didn’t have a lot of opportunities, either. We never saw education as a way out. That’s what I try to teach the kids. You have options. If a washout like me in a wheelchair can earn his keep, think what you can do.”

“It’s a good message.”

“If it gets through — and that’s the problem. It’s just words to these kids, same as when I was growing up. They don’t see education as a way out, either. It’s either sink alone or gangs, and gangs mean running drugs. Nothing’s changed. That’s what we did. Run drugs for the white boy when we weren’t trying to break in as rappers.”

“You were A-Tack,” Marge threw out. “Leroy was Jo-King.”

Wenderhole laughed. “You’ve done some research.”

“I like to come prepared.”

“Leroy was Jo-King at first, then it became Yo-King.” He smiled. “One day Leroy comes to us all puffed up after going to French class on a rainy day. He found out that Leroy came from Le Roi. That’s how he became Jo-King.”

“I didn’t find anything for Yo-King. I’ve heard that you cut a couple of demos.”

Wenderhole said, “I’m getting to that. This is a story. You’ve got to have patience.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Okay… in answer to your question, I did cut a few demos under A-Tack, but that wasn’t until later. Back then we were thugs — legends in our own minds. While we were waiting to be discovered, we had to eat and we needed pocket money, so we sold to the neighborhood white boys who fed our delusions by thinking we was real cool. Darnell was the front man because he had the best social skills. He also had pipes, so if anyone was gonna make it in the music business, it would be Darnell. He said that he knew all these hotshot rock stars and producers and we should form a rap group. Not that Darnell really wanted a group — he’s a solo man if ever there was one — but he needed me.”

He took a breath.

“Darnell had the most talent, but I wrote the songs. Back then if you rapped it, you wrote it. Nowadays, these corporate producers have scores of people writing rap undercover for the bros. It’s all soulless and it’s all shit. Empty words ’bout bling and sex and hos and money because the shit is made to sell to whites. Nothing about social issues anymore. Whitey didn’t like NWA, but they touched core issues in the community.”

Marge just nodded.

“Like you care.” He didn’t try to hide his disdain. “I’m boring you.”

“No, you’re not and I do care,” Marge retorted. “Every day that I work I’m acutely aware that there are victims who can’t talk for themselves. I wouldn’t be a homicide detective if all I wanted to do was bust heads. Right now my victim is Bennett Little and that’s why I’m here. Did you ever record with Darnell?”

“I’m getting to that. Y’see, Darnell kept asking me to write stuff to show to the producers.”

“Where’d he meet these producers?”

“I suppose he met them while running drugs, but I couldn’t swear to it. He was higher up the ladder than Leroy and me. I never really swallowed the fantasy, and I was shocked when Darnell came through.”

“Primo Ekerling.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not yet, no.”

“Sorry. I’ll wait my turn.”

He smiled. “Like I said, Darnell came through. We got some studio time to cut a couple of demos, but that was as far as we went because Darnell got busted and they shipped him off to Ohio.”

“Who produced the demos?” Marge asked.

“We didn’t have a producer, just an engineer who recorded the vocal track. We did some stuff together, and we did some stuff individually. He told us the percussion and instrumentation would be added later. It never went that far. After Darnell got busted, Leroy and I were sent back to the ’hood, and I spent most of our time getting stoned.”

His eyes drifted from Marge’s face.

“It was weird to be back. When you’re black and poor and hopeless, you don’t make plans, Sergeant. You don’t see a future. You just go with the flow and that’s what I did. But Leroy, dumb ole Leroy, he was the one who kept pushing for the fantasy. He kept knocking on doors, the crazy fool. I told Leroy to forget about the tapes, but he wouldn’t give up. Then one day, I get this call…”

Wenderhole looked down.

“It’s from Leroy and he don’t sound so good.”

Marge nodded.

“He don’t sound so good emotionally, but I was also having a hard time hearing him. He was talking on a cell phone, and fifteen years ago, cell phones weren’t what they are now. They were also really expensive. The only ones who had them were doctors and dealers.”

“That’s true.”

“He had to call back a few times because the static was real bad and the call kept getting dropped. It was about nine or ten in the evening. He asked me… could I come pick him up and take him home. I asked him where he was. He told me Clearwater Park.”

Marge’s heart started slamming against her chest. “I see…”

“Yeah, we all see it now, but this was after the fact. I asked him what he was doing there. He said he had business. I asked him what kind of business. He said he’d tell me when I picked him up. I told him I didn’t have a car and I wasn’t about to drive twenty-five miles out to the Valley to get his sorry ass back where it should be.”

“What did he say?”

“He started crying. That’s when I knew something nasty had happened.”

“Did you go?”

“Of course. I wasn’t going to leave him in a bad situation. I didn’t have a car, so I boosted my neighbor’s Chevy. I figured I’d have it back before the old woman woke up. I drove the freeway out there, hoping that along the way, I wouldn’t run into a cop itching to crack a black head. The good Lord was with me. I made it to the park in record time and without any incidents.

“The place was deserted. The streets were deserted. The park is a big one, and there were spots where it was as dark as sin. It was just lucky that I found Leroy ’cause he was sitting on a bench. He was shaking and I could tell he was really scared about something. I asked him what happened. He pulled out some cash… a couple hundred bucks, which was a fortune of money. I asked him how he got it.”

“What he’d say?”

“Dealing… he said he got it dealing.”

“And what did you think?”

“I thought he got it dealing, but not by regular dealing. My first thought was that the fool ripped off a dealer. I got to tell you, I was scared shitless because as we left the area, I started seeing cop cars. One was enough to give me the shakes. Then I counted two and three.” His eyes got wide. “I drove out of the area taking side streets with my headlights off.”

“Again you were lucky.”

“Don’t think I don’t know it. It wasn’t until a couple of days later that I heard about Dr. Little. I wasn’t in school no more, so I didn’t get the lowdown until after the fact — the carjacking and the Mercedes being left at Clearwater Park. Leroy was in big trouble, and I was probably in trouble by extension. We met and we got a story together in case the cops came to us.”