The Mercedes Coffin (32 page)

Without a word, Decker handed her a padded envelope that contained the two CDs extracted from Primo Ekerling’s shelves, the jewel boxes secured in plastic evidence bags and still black with dust powder. The note to Ekerling was in a separate evidence sack, as was the fingerprint analysis report. As Cindy gingerly lifted one of the bagged Lucite cases, Decker told her about his meeting with Marilyn Eustis.

“The download was a good tip,” he said. “Whatever the B and E meant, it got us thinking in the right direction. You’re going to make Tito and Rip very happy. It provides a link between Travis Martel and the murder victim.”

“Especially the note,” Cindy said. “Did you have it matched to Martel’s handwriting?”

“No, I’ll leave that up to Rip and Tito. I’m sure Hollywood has its own experts.”

“But you dusted the boxes for Martel’s prints.”

“Yep. We got lucky and found Martel’s right thumb and right index finger.”

“You can bring in the envelope yourself, Daddy.” She pulled out the scrunchie from her hair, gathered up her locks and remade her ponytail. “Fortuitously, I think Rip is at his desk.”

“Nah, you do it.”

“You’re being silly. It doesn’t matter to me.”

“But it was your tip.”

“But you did the work.”

Decker finished off his chai tea and held up the teacup. “I’m having another. Do you want something to drink, princess?”

“I’ll take what you have.”

Decker signaled Ms. Goth for two more chai teas. “I think there’s a Jewish saying that taking credit for someone else’s accomplishments is akin to stealing. I won’t take credit for your detection, but I would like a favor from you.”

“Name it.”

“I’d like to meet with Rip and Tito before they question Martel. Could you ask one of them to call me right away? It’s important. I think this case might be related to Bennett Little’s murder.”

“Dad, why don’t you just come into the station house and talk to Rip yourself? After what you found, they’ll be in a very good mood.”

“Cin, I don’t think it’ll do much for your reputation if we walk in together like some kind of wayward crime-fighting team showing up the primary investigators.”

“You’re absolutely right. I will talk to Rip and pass along your request.”

“Be sure to say that I found the CDs based on your download of Martel’s lyrics.”

“Dad, I know how to sell myself.”

“I’m just trying to help.”

“I know, Dad. I appreciate it. Thank you. Anything else?”

“No.” Decker stood up and so did Cindy. “I should be back in my office at around four. If they have a moment, give me a call.”

“I’ll pass it along. That’s the best I can do. By the way, I hear that Alaska is a go.”

“Not up to me. Rina’s in charge.”

“I know she’s in charge. That’s why it’s going to happen.”

Decker acted offended. “I make things happen.”

“When you want to.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that… how should I say this? You get distracted.” She kissed his cheek. “But never with work. That’s why you’re the man.”

O’Dell called as Decker was pulling into the station house parking lot. His voice was agitated. “He’s not back. I don’t like this at all. I called up his brother.”

“The lung doctor,” Decker said.

“Yeah, Barry. He’s coming down to drive around and look for Ryan. I’m gonna wait at the apartment and hope that Mudd just got adventurous.”

“Does Barry the lung doctor know anything about Ryan’s habits?”

“I asked him about Mudd taking off like he did. Barry said that if Ryan goes out at all, it’s in the morning for a few groceries. It’s almost four, mate.”

“Maybe he took a small vacation.”

“He wouldn’t just pack out and go. And he wouldn’t leave behind his guitar.”

“He might if he figured he’d just be gone for a few days.”

“Where would he go, mate? I’m telling you, this ain’t right or good.”

“I just pulled into the station house’s parking lot. I have to check my messages and make a couple of calls. Then I’ll come back and help Barry look for Ryan. It’ll take me about an hour and a half. If Ryan does return, call me right away.”

“I’m a little queasy about this. Rudy’s missing… Ryan’s missing.” Anger in Liam’s voice. “Why’d you mess things up, mate? Why didn’t you just let well enough alone?”

“Wasn’t my doing, O’Dell. It’s the ghosts of murder past who stirred things up. I’m just the translator for the dead.”

HE WAS JUST
about to lock up when Marge and Oliver came through the door of the squad room. Decker flagged them down and beckoned them into his office, plunking himself back down on his desk chair and rubbing his eyes. “Sit.”

The detectives sat.

He turned to Marge. “I got an allowance for the trip to Ohio.”

“Great.”

Decker’s tired eyes drifted to Oliver’s. “
If
the trip’s necessary, I’ll send both of you. Don’t call up Arlington yet. We have other business first. Ryan Goldberg’s missing.”

“Who’s he?” Oliver asked.

“The guitarist of the Doodoo Sluts. The one who had a psychotic break.”

Marge said, “I’m sorry he’s missing, but is he relevant to our case?”

“He is, and I found out this afternoon just how relevant. Not only did Melinda Little screw Rudy Banks, she fucked the whole damn band.”

“Oh my!” Marge said. “Busy gal our Melinda is.”

“I talked to Liam O’Dell — the drummer for the group. He was a font of information.” He recounted his afternoon with Mad Irish.

“How’d you even find O’Dell?” Oliver wanted to know.

“By accident. Liam’s involved in a lawsuit with Banks. I met him at Banks’s place when he was trying to track Rudy down just like I was doing. O’Dell remembered a Melinda who seemed to fit Melinda Little’s description, although he didn’t remember her surname.”

“Maybe she was using her maiden name,” Marge said.

“That’s a thought.” Decker looked at his detectives. “So there’s your source of independent information about Melinda Little and Rudy Banks. Arrange another interview with Melinda. Let’s concentrate on her before we spend money tracking down Arlington.” He raked his hands through his hair. “I want some answers. I’m tired of this fucking investigation dragging on and taking people like Ryan Goldberg down with it.”

“Maybe
he’s
involved and he’s running,” Marge suggested.

“I’ve talked to Ryan. The guy doesn’t have enough brain matter left to plan his dinner, let alone a murder.”

“But he wasn’t always like that, Pete,” Marge said. “He was in love with Melinda, and people do weird things when they’re in love.”

Decker blew out air. “You’re right. I’ve been surprised before.”

Oliver held back a smile. “So Melinda Little was a groupie?”

“Sounds more like Melinda Little was a woman desperate for money.”

“How believable is O’Dell?” Marge asked.

“He’s got nothing to gain by lying.” Decker thought a moment. “I believe that they all screwed her, but Ryan Goldberg was the only one unbalanced enough to fall in love with her. He gave her money, and when the rest of the band found out about his largesse, they turned off the cash tap. Eventually she stopped coming around.”

Oliver was already taking notes. “When did all this happen?”

“Sometime during the period when the band was together. Liam couldn’t get any more specific because his memory was fogged by drugs. But even if he didn’t remember exact dates, I’ll bet that she does. Pounce on her. Press for details. Tell her you’re going public unless she tells you the damn truth.” Decker glanced at the wall clock. “I’m going back to hunt down Ryan before someone else gets to him.”

Marge said, “You think Rudy Banks is behind his disappearance?”

“Maybe Rudy… maybe Melinda. In his present state, Ryan Goldberg is certainly naïve enough to go with either of them and not question their motives.”

“What
motives
are we talking about?” Oliver asked.

Marge said, “Maybe Melinda hired Rudy to kill her husband, and Rudy hired out Goldberg to actually do the murder. If Goldberg was a little off to begin with and he loved Melinda, he’d have a reason for wanting Little dead. Then maybe once Rudy got wind that we were reopening Bennett Little’s investigation, he killed Goldberg to keep him silent about Little.”

Oliver scratched his head. “You were hot on Leroy Josephson as the bad guy just a few minutes ago.”

“He still could be,” Decker said. “If Wenderhole is believable, Leroy was the one at Clearwater Park with a wad of cash in his wallet. And it was Leroy who was crying and sobbing like he did something wrong.”

“So where’s the link between Josephson and Goldberg?”

“Maybe through Rudy,” Marge said. “I’m thinking that Josephson must have had some help to pull off the murder and that help was Goldberg.”

Oliver said, “Didn’t you just say that you thought Darnell Arlington had figured into Josephson’s involvement?”

Marge was thinking out loud. “Maybe Rudy called Arlington, his former drug runner, and told him to call up one of his buds to help out Goldberg.”

Oliver said, “Rudy’s doing all this murder for hire, putting himself on the line. What would be in it for Rudy?”

“Insurance money,” Marge suggested. “Melinda promised him a bundle.”

“Rudy already had money from the band,” Oliver said.

“Maybe Rudy loved Melinda,” Decker suggested.

Oliver gave him a sour look. “The woman screws his entire band and you’re telling me that Rudy Banks, a psycho by everyone’s definition, falls in love with her?”

“A bad boy liking an even badder girl.”

Marge laughed. “Badder?”

Decker smiled. “Maybe Rudy loved Melinda or maybe he hated Bennett Little. Or maybe both. The only good thing I can take out of Ryan’s disappearance is that perhaps it means that Rudy’s still in town.”

Marge said, “If Rudy’s still in town and kidnapping people, do you think Melinda Little’s in danger?”

Decker said, “You might want to bring that up when you talk to her. It’ll no doubt make her more amenable to the truth.”

IT WAS ALMOST
six before Decker made it back to the city and over to Goldberg’s apartment. O’Dell was still sitting on the couch, strumming the Martin. Barry Goldberg was pacing the tiny floor, which was about as effective as swimming in a fish tank. He had barely taken three steps before he reached a wall and turned around in the opposite direction. The lung doctor appeared to be in his early thirties at most. He was stocky and had a baby face — smooth red cheeks and dimples. When he addressed Decker, he spoke in urgent tones with a respectful manner.

“The police won’t consider him missing until he’s gone for forty-eight hours.”

“I know that. I’ll stop by Hollywood to see if I can’t speed things up.”

“I tried to explain to them that Ryan isn’t just your ordinary missing person. But no one was hearing me.”

“I’ll see if I can light a fire—”

“He is a severely compromised individual who has managed on his own only by living in a circumspect circle,” Barry broke in. “He eats, sleeps, watches TV, plays a little guitar, and occasionally shops for food. I do all his banking, his laundry, and most of his shopping.”

“You’re a nice brother,” Decker said.

“Yeah, well, guess who put me through medical school?” Barry stopped cold. “I’m not accomplishing anything by yakking with you two. I’m going to go comb the streets again. Liam, you’ll be here for a little while?”

“I’ll be here as long as you want, mate.” He looked at Decker. “I’m gettin’ a little hungry. Can you run me up some food?”

“What do you want?”

“I had me fried clams. Now it’s time for me veggies. And a beer wouldn’t hurt.”

“I can do that.” Decker turned to Barry. “I’ll walk you out.” When they reached the entrance to the complex, he said, “What about you, Doctor? Can I pick you up some food?”

“Can’t eat right now. I’m too nervous.”

“I’ll go over to Hollywood Police now and I’ll see if I can get the message out to a couple of local cruisers. When I’m done, I’ll hunt around myself.”

Goldberg nodded. “Thanks.”

“No thanks necessary. It’s my job.”

“Well, you look sincere. A lot better than those guys behind the desk I talked to.”

“They care. Their hands are tied. You don’t look for an adult male for forty-eight hours unless there are definite signs of foul play.”

“Yeah, but he’s not just any adult male.”

“I know. He’s psychologically impaired. That’s why I think I can do something.”

Goldberg’s eyes became moist. “It’s too bad you never knew Ryan before he decompensated. He had a poet’s soul and was so incredibly talented. It was all those fucking drugs. It took him to a place he couldn’t handle. It pushed him over the edge.”

Decker nodded. “It must be hard for you.”

“I’ve made peace with it. The Ryan I knew and loved died a long time ago. The Ryan that now exists is just a shell.”

TIPTOEING IN AT
midnight, Decker saw that the light was off in his bedroom but shining through the crack of his daughter’s private space. He knocked gently and went in after receiving permission to approach from the queen. Hannah was sitting cross-legged on her bed, garbed in candy-striped pajamas, her bright red hair flowing past her shoulders. The TV was on, but muted. Her computer was in her lap, and she was talking on her phone while highlighting something in a textbook.

She put down the phone. “Hi, Abba.”

Decker said, “Did you hang up the call?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you tell your friend you’ll call back in a minute? Better yet, why don’t you get some sleep?”

Hannah picked up the phone. “I gotta go. Bye.” She looked at her father. “What’s up? You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Why don’t
you
get some sleep?”

“I will in a minute.” He sat down on the edge of her bed. “What’s going on in your life?”

“Nothing.”

“How are your friends?”

“Fine.”

“How’s school?”

“Okay.”

He smiled. She smiled. Decker said, “Well, it’s been nice having this chat with you.”