The Mercedes Coffin (33 page)

Hannah said, “I don’t have anything to say. You’re the one in the exciting job, but you never talk.”

Decker was about to respond defensively but held himself in check. “What do you want to know?”

“What was your day like?”

“Long and fruitless. I spent the majority of my evening hunting around for a psychologically compromised man who seems to have suddenly disappeared.”

“That’s sad. Does he have any relatives?”

“He has a brother who is very concerned.” Hannah looked upset, so Decker added, “It could be he didn’t disappear. Maybe he just decided to take off.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. It’s my job to second-guess people, but often I’m wrong.”

“Anything
good
happen?”

“Uh, yeah, actually.” He smiled. “I spoke to a couple of detectives in Hollywood and they brought me on board a case they’re working on. It was very nice of them considering I poked around their business without asking.”

“What case?”

“The murder of a record producer that might be related to a cold case I’m working on.”

“The one involving the Doodoo Sluts?”

Decker tried to hide his initial surprise. “Uh, yeah, we spoke about that, didn’t we? See, I do talk to you about my cases.”

“You didn’t talk about the case, just the band.”

“Did you find out anything about them?”

“Nothing big. The founding members are… hold on…” She ticked away on her laptop. “Rudy Banks and Primo Ekerling. They met in the L.A. punk scene and started performing as the Jerkies at underground clubs, but it was as the Doodoo Sluts when they got a following. They wrote most of the songs and went on to be record producers. The other two main members were… Ryan Goldberg and Liam O’Dell. They seem to have dropped out of sight.”

“For Ryan Goldberg, he’s literally dropped out of sight,” Decker said. “He’s the man I’ve been looking for.”

“Oh… so I guess you know all this stuff about the band.”

“I didn’t know that Rudy and Primo performed as the Jerkies. Where’d you find that out?”

“I think I read it in an old interview online.”

“That was smart.”

“So who’s the record producer who got murdered? Ekerling or Banks?”

“Primo Ekerling.”

“Oh…” She was quiet. “That’s too bad. I feel like I kinda know the guy now.”

“That must feel strange.”

“A little. Who killed him?”

“Hollywood Homicide arrested two punks for the murder,” Decker told her. “Your sister found some damning evidence against one of the suspects.”

“Who are the suspects?”

“Two thugs. Look it up on the Internet if you’re interested in them.”

“Fair enough.” Hannah played with her computer for a moment. “I didn’t know that Cindy is in Homicide.”

“She’s not. She was helping me out. I saw her today. That was the high point… until this moment.”

“Good save.”

“It’s not a save; you are the high point of this long and dreary day.”

Hannah stifled a smile. “How’s Cin doing?”

“Working hard.”

“What would you do if I decided to become a cop?”

Decker was momentarily stunned. “Please don’t do that. Your mother would divorce me.”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Is this a true question or are you just being provocative?”

“Maybe a little of both.”

Decker sighed. “After I was done screaming at you, I suppose I’d support you.”

Hannah leaned over and kissed her father’s cheek. “That was a very good answer. You passed the dad test.” A quick smile. “I still have some work to do.”

“It’s after twelve.”

“That’s why I sorta need to stop talking to you and get studying.”

“You were talking on the phone when I came in.”

“I was talking to Sara and we were going over the material together.”

“With the TV on?”

“It’s muted. I like the occasional image.”

“And you’re IMing.”

“I’m talking to some of my friends in Israel. It’s the only time I have when we’re both up.”

“You have an answer for everything.”

“Multitasking is the hallmark of brains in my generation.” She kissed him again. “I love you, Abba. Close the door on the way out.”

BY THE TIME
Decker made it over to County Jail and went through procedure to gain entrance, Rip Garrett and Tito Diaz were already in the interview cell, sitting on metal chairs, drinking coffee from paper cups. Both of them had on typical detective dress: dark suits, white shirts and dark ties, rubber-sole oxfords. With a single swoop of the eyes, Decker did a quick overview of Diaz. His most prominent feature was a thick neck, followed by a strong chin, broad forehead, black hair, dark eyes. More muscular than Garrett but he sat shorter. Decker introduced himself with a handshake, and by the time Martel was led in by the guards, Decker had a coffee cup in his hand.

Travis appeared to have beefed up since his mug shot taken on the day of his arrest. His chest seemed wider under jail blues, and his arms were thicker. His hair had grown even longer, wavy tresses hanging down his back. In person, Decker could discern Asian influence in Martel, demonstrated not only by the black hair but also by the slight tilt of his brown eyes. His skin was coffee and cream, his cheekbones were prominent, his lips were thick, and his teeth were big and white.

His arms were shackled for transport, but the jail guard took off the cuffs when they seated him inside the interview cell. Martel regarded Decker. “You my lawyer?”

“No, Mr. Martel. I’m Lieutenant Decker from LAPD.”

“So you the boss?”

“I’m a boss but not the boss over Detective Garrett or Detective Diaz.”

Diaz said, “Are you comfortable, Travis? We have our coffee. You want something to drink?”

The jailbird thought. “How ’bout a Red Zing.”

“No alcohol, Travis. You know that.”

“Then how ’bout a Pepsi?”

“That we could probably do—”

“And a smoke would be good.”

Decker took a cigarette out of his pocket and gave it to him. He lit the smoke with a lighter, then regarded the thug as he puffed. Furtive eyes. So what else was new? A paper cup with Pepsi came a few minutes later. He finished it in a single gulp. “I’m a little hungry.”

“Lunch is in an hour,” Garrett said.

“I’m just be sayin’ I’m a little hungry.”

Decker said, “You want to know why we’re here?”

“I ain’t have to be curious ’cause you’re gonna tell me.”

Decker’s face was flat. “We’re here, Mr. Martel, because we all have something interesting to relate to you.”

Martel’s eyes narrowed as he finished up his first cigarette. He dropped it in the paper cup. “Like what?”

Garrett leaned forward. “First I want to remind you that you can ask for a lawyer whenever you want. You don’t have to talk to us because we still could use what you say against you and your case.”

“Just like the first time, it’s your right to have an attorney present when we talk to you,” Diaz said. “We’d like to keep it simple, so just hear us out.”

Travis asked for another cigarette. Decker complied. Martel sat back and puffed for a moment without speaking. He had their attention and he was going to milk it. “Now y’all be sayin’ that you want me to talk without my lawyer. And I sayin’ to you that mebbe I don’t want to talk with you without my lawyer, nomasayin’? But mebbe I do wanna hear why y’all here. I’m decidin’.”

Decker said, “That certainly is your right, Mr. Martel. So let me give you a hint. It has to do with the new evidence that could affect you.”

“How’s it gonna infect me?”

“It links you to the murder of—”

Martel levitated out of his seat. “I ain’t done no murder!”

“Sit down,” Diaz told him.

“Why you be tellin’ me the same shit you tole me before?”

Diaz stood up and appeared very tall. “Sit down now!”

“It’s cool.” Martel sat back down and held out his hands palms up. “I ain’t be throwin’ shades at you, bro, I just be axin’ a question.”

“Throwing shades?” Decker asked.

“Dissing,” Diaz said.

“Beaning you with sunglasses,” Garrett said.

“Ah.” Decker regarded Martel. “I’m doing this for your benefit. Do you want to hear what I have to say?”

“Yeah… course.”

“And you are waiving your right to have an attorney present?”

“I don’t need no lawyer if all I be doin’ is listenin’, nomasayin’?”

“I agree.” Decker gave him a few seconds to relax. “I was talking to Detective Diaz and Detective Garrett about your case. You told them you’ve never met Primo Ekerling.”

A swift shift of the eyes. “Who?”

“The guy you’re accused of murdering, Mr. Martel.”

“Oh, yeah… him.” He sat back in his chair and spread his legs apart. “I didn’t whack that guy. I don’t even know the dude.”

“Yes, you told us that,” Garrett said. “That’s what Lieutenant Decker is saying. That you don’t know Primo Ekerling.”

“Tru’ dat.”

“You’ve never met Primo Ekerling?”

Another shift of the eyes. “Sayin’ I don’t know him be meanin’ I never met him.”

“Never talked to him?”

“I don’t know the dude!” Martel repeated. “This is what you come here to yak about, I ain’t hear nothin’ that interests me.”

“You don’t know Primo Ekerling, you never met him, you never talked to him, you never communicated with him, you’ve never even heard of him before you were arrested for his murder,” Decker said. “Is that what you’re telling us, Mr. Martel?”

“Yeah…” Again he slumped back in his chair. “That’s what I be tellin’ you over and over. Are we done here?”

“That’s real interesting.” Diaz laid the bagged jewel boxes on the table. “Do these look familiar, Travis?”

Martel picked up one of the plastic sacks. “Course they do. They’re mine. Is this a trick question or somethin’?”

“Know where I found them?” Decker waited for Martel’s attention, specifically eye contact, because when Martel was talking, he was looking at the floor. “I found them on Primo Ekerling’s office shelves.”

Martel’s eyes skittered back and forth. “So what? How do I know how Ekerling got my demos? Maybe someone thought I had talent and sent them to him.”

Garrett said, “We dusted the jewel boxes, Travis.”

“See, that’s why they’re all dirty with black powder,” Diaz said.

“We got a couple of perfect prints, Travis. You sent those jewel boxes out, and you sent them to Primo Ekerling.”

Martel’s eyes made a swipe at Garrett’s face. “So what’s the big D? My shit must have went to a million producers.”

“You sent out your stuff to a million producers,” Decker said.

“Yeah. That’s whachu gotta do to get your foot into the door, nomasayin’?”

“You sent them out?”

“Yeah, that’s what I said… to a million people. I don’t be rememberin’ who I have sent them to and who I have not sent them to.”

“When you sent them out, you addressed the envelopes,” Decker said.

A pause. “You gotta talk to my manager,” Martel said. “He’s the one who have sent out the CDs to the producers, y’all. I don’t remember no names. Why don’t you axe my manager?”

“Who’s your manager?” Garrett asked him.

“I ain’t gonna tell you shit, man, if y’all gonna start accuzin’ people.”

“We don’t have to ask your manager if he sent them out or not, because the handwriting on the envelope was yours.” Decker’s lie was smooth. The envelopes containing the jewel boxes were long gone.

Another shift in the eyes meant another shift in strategy for Martel. “Like I tole you, I have sent them out to ’bout a zillion producers. How am I gonna remember one name or the other? I thought you are here to tell me somethin’. So far all you be tellin’ me is a lot of shit that you throwin’ my way.”

Decker said, “Travis, if you knew Primo Ekerling… if you had a business deal with him, it’s better if it comes out now.”

“This is the only chance that you’re going to have to explain the relationship to us,” Garrett said.

“I don’t know what you be talkin’ ’bout.”

“Sure you do,” Decker said. “We’re talking about your relationship with Ekerling. Those jewel boxes will be entered into evidence at your trial. So explain to us why Ekerling had your jewel boxes. If you don’t, some state prosecutor will provide his own explanation and make you look like a fool.”

“I ain’t got no relationship with Ekerling. That’s whack! I did not know him and I did not have no deal with him!”

Diaz said, “Travis, we’re trying to help you, and you’re not helping yourself!”

Garrett told him, “Only way we can help you is if you tell the truth.”

“I’m tellin’ you the tru’.”

“No, you’re not; you’re telling us smack.”

Diaz said, “Help yourself out because everything’s going to come out.”

Garrett said, “The best thing you can do is to stop playing games and admit that you knew Primo Ekerling.”

“Truth is easier to remember, Martel. What’s the big deal telling us that you knew him?”

Travis dug his heels in. “’Cause you’re tryin’ to make a connection and there ain’t none there. I don’t know him—”

“Now how do you think that’s gonna play?” Garrett said. “You keep on saying you don’t know him and then we show the jury the envelopes in your handwriting addressed to Primo Ekerling—”

“I tole you I sent the CDs out to a billion producers.”

Decker said, “Did you also send out a billion CDs with handwritten notes, saying: ‘Yo, here’s more. Let me know what’s happenin’?”

Eyes darted from one face to another. Martel looked down, then up, then anyplace except Decker’s face. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

Blatant denial was best countered by blatant evidence. Diaz put a copy of the original note on the table. “Two experts have matched this note to your handwriting.”

Decker said, “What happened, Mr. Martel? Did Ekerling go back on the recording deal?”

Martel’s eyes scanned Decker’s face. Then he became defiant. He shoved the note away. “Someone must be copyin’ my handwriting, nomasayin’? There weren’t no deal, and I don’t know Ekerling and that’s all I gotta say.”

Decker said, “With all this evidence and the witness we have, you’re going to look very bad in front of a jury. He’s not saying nice things about you.”