The Forgotten. Faye Kellerman
place?”
“About four miles from the house. I walk there after lunch. Yossie picks me up after dark. I used to see some of the old crowd there. Now they stay clear of me and of Mr. Kim. I may not have scared Ruby Ranger, but I think I scared lots of them.”
Decker rubbed his head.
“I’ve given you a headache.”
“I’m just glad you told me all this after the fact.”
Jacob said, “I’m doing better, Dad. It’s hard, but I’ll be all right.”
“Yonkie …” Decker cleared his throat. “Am I wrong in assuming that the bastard who molested you did more than you’ve admitted?”
Again the teen turned red. “I told you everything that I remembered. But there may be stuff that … that I blocked out. I was only seven, so … you know.”
Decker felt sick to his stomach. What did that motherfucker do? Calmly, he said, “Are you talking about it with Dr. Gruen?”
“Bit by bit. When it comes back to me.” Jacob flashed him a quick smile. “You want to talk about Ruby Ranger?”
Decker was happy to change the subject. Did that indicate a weakness on his part as a parent not to probe deeper? Or was he rationalizing it by telling himself that it was best left to the professional? Decker was only human. There was only so much he could absorb at one time. “What can you tell me about her?”
“Objectively, she’s smart—a computer person. I bet she’s an amateur hacker. She’s sexy enough to get plenty of guys if you’re into that severe Goth look. I could see her talking Ernesto into vandalizing the shul. She’d get off on that. But she’d never get her own hands dirty. That wouldn’t be fun for her. Her thing is manipulation, getting you to act out her pathology.” He grinned. “I sound pretty shrinky, don’t I?”
“You’ve learned the lingo.”
“When in Rome …” He looked at Decker. “If you talk to her, tell her to go to hell for me.”
“She’ll be interviewed but not by me.”
“Ah!” Jacob smiled. “Conflict of interest.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m sorry to be such a burden to you. Don’t worry. I’m out of your hair in a few months. Surely, you can hang with that.”
“Jacob, you’re not in my hair.”
“Sure, Dad.” He gave him a sour smile. “Actually, I’m looking forward to Johns Hopkins and getting out on my own. And I’m not going to shoot anyone. Although if I did pop Ruby Ranger, I’d be doing the world a service.”
“That’s not funny, Jacob.”
“I didn’t mean it to be.”
Installing and painting bookshelves gave Decker much needed downtime, using his body instead of his mind. By two in the morning, the chemical cleaning fumes had become overwhelming, so the shul gang broke for the night. Rina was out as soon as she hit the pillow, but Decker remained fitful, dreaming in dribs and drabs about rebellious boys, his own stepson included. He awoke with a start at five-thirty—it was still dark—and drowned his lethargy with three cups of espresso. At six, he took his prayer shawl and his phylacteries and rushed over to the synagogue to join the men in morning services—an anomaly because usually their small house of worship couldn’t round up a quorum. But the events of yesterday motivated the community to try a little harder.
Right before the services started, half of Yonkie’s school—including Yonkie—came in to join them. Some smart kid even had the grace to bring in Danishes and juice as a reward for participation. It was downright homespun and everyone seemed friendlier, more social and a lot more grateful—praying with sincerity … making it count. By eight—after demolishing the snacks—the men started leaving to begin their working day. Rina, along with several other women, came in just as the men were filing out. They were holding pails, scrub brushes, scouring pads, and lots of Scotch tape to piece together torn bits of the holy books. Decker helped them unload the cleaning material.
“I’ve never seen the place so spotless,” he remarked to his wife.
“Almost like it never happened,” Rina answered. “What’s with that kid? Why on earth would he do such a terrible thing? I know you can’t answer me. I’m just wondering out loud.”
“Darling, I’m just as confused as you.”
Rina regarded her husband. “Poor Peter. You look tired.”
“I’m fine.” Decker smiled to prove the point. “How come you look so good? It’s not fair.”
“It’s called foundation to hide the dark circles.”
“Ah.”
“Also, you’re not wearing your glasses.”
“I don’t need glasses!” Decker insisted. “Only with medicine bottles. Let’s not rush things.”
Rina grinned. “Did I tell you I love you this morning?”
“No, you didn’t.”
She did. Then she stood on tiptoe and kissed him. Then she handed him a paper bag. “I packed you lunch. Please remember to eat it.”
“That’s never been my problem … not eating.”
She pinched his ribs. “Yeah, you’re right.”
“Below the belt, kid.”
“Stop talking that way.” Rina smiled. “We’re in a shul.”
Decker laughed and hugged her. She felt tense and tight. He said, “Don’t overdo it with all the cleaning, Rina. You’re punishing muscles that you’re not used to using.”
She broke away and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m aware of that.”
“I’m going to remember that ‘below the belt’ comment,” Decker said. “Especially tonight.”
“I sure hope so.”
Decker laughed again, then gave her a final wave and returned to his car. Before he started the engine, he tried the Goldings’ home phone number. When no one picked up, he left another message. He had almost made it to the precinct’s parking lot when impulse overtook reason. He did a safe but illegal U-turn in the middle of the street, backtracking until he hit the Goldings’ neighborhood—a ritzy area containing blocks of spacious homes on acre lots. The development had its own tennis courts, swimming pools, saunas, Jacuzzis, workout gymnasiums, and recreation rooms as well as its own private patrol. As Decker groped around for the specific address, a white-and-blue rent-a-cop slowed his cruiser to check him out. Decker flashed his badge. The private cop nodded, then parked in the middle of the street and got out. He showed Decker the route to the Golding abode.
Ernesto lived in a house that was an amorphous blob, resembling a mound of melting chocolate ice cream. It was constructed out of adobe and probably would have looked great in Santa Fe, but since it sat in a lane of traditional Tudor, colonial, and Mediterranean houses, the place looked unfinished. More than unfinished, it looked like a project that someone forgot to start. The front landscaping was an assemblage of rocks and stones, sitting in beds of sand, and drought-resistant plants, mostly varieties of cacti, but there were also ice plants for ground cover and other flowering mint-colored foliage. A couple of stunted pines framed an old, carved door—the front entrance.
Decker knocked but didn’t expect anything. To his surprise, Carter Golding answered with Jill peeking over his shoulder. Even