Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary

“Small as it is, this is the men’s locker room, Kell.”

“No one’s here.”

“You’re getting on my nerves—”

“I’m getting on your nerves—”

“Yes, you’re getting on my nerves.” He slipped off a gray T-shirt. “Everything’s fine. Quit bugging me.”

“Where were you last night?”

“Jesus Christ, you’re worse than the police.” He pulled out a Body Glove T-shirt from the locker and put it on. God, she could be a pain in the ass. “Ever think about joining the Marines? You’d make a great drill sergeant.”

“Just answer me, Michael.”

He turned around, placed both hands on her shoulders. “I was giving Davida a massage. In her room for two fucking hours listening to her prattle on about some goddamn actor she used to ball. It was thrilling. I left at twelve, then unplugged the phone and tried to get some goddamn sleep.”

“I knocked on your door—”

“Then I didn’t hear you.”

Neither spoke. Ness sat down on the bench and began to lace his Nikes.

Kelley said, “Do you know where Eubie was last night?”

“No.” He looked up. “Why?”

“The lady asked about Eubie and the rape.”

Ness let out a full laugh. “Are you crazy, Kell? Eubie wouldn’t rape Lilah. Fuck her, yes, but rape?” He faced his sister. “Wanna know where Jeffs was, ask Nadia. He probably bunked down with her.”

“Nadia’s a dyke.”

“Not according to Jeffs.”

Kelley bit her lip to keep it from trembling. “What did you and Davida talk about?”

“I just told you! She was talking about some weirdo she used to fuck. She was heavily into ‘the good old days.’”

“Just …” She pushed hair off her shoulders. “Just swear to me that you were in your room all night, Mike.”

He broke into a grin. “You think I raped Lilah, Kell?”

“Stop it, Michael.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I … I just want to make sure that you …”

“I swear I had nothing to do with Lilah.” He patted her shoulder and gave her one of his assured big-brother smiles. “I swear, I swear, I swear! Now can I please have a little privacy? Or do you get a thrill out of seeing me naked?”

Kelley blushed. “You know you can be positively disgusting!”

“Then if I’m so disgusting, please leave me alone. The detective’s just asking questions because that’s what she’s being paid to do. If the police know what’s going on, they don’t bother asking lots of questions.”

“What is going on?”

“How the fuck do I know? All I know is that Davida’s happy. If she’s happy, I’m happy. Now relax, all right?”

Kelley bit her lower lip again. “All right, Mike. I believe you.”

Ness regarded his sister. She believed him. She always believed him, God bless her.

10

A gracious lady, Davida accepted her chauffeur’s proffered hand, resting her fingers lightly upon his wrist as if ready to dance the minuet. Carefully she stepped up from the curb, waiting until she had one foot in the limousine. Then she turned to her young driver, eyes gliding down his well-built body, and handed him twenty dollars.

“There will be a slight delay, Albert. Why don’t you get yourself something to eat.”

The chauffeur, whose name was Russ Donnally, thanked her and pocketed the bill in his uniform pants. After scrounging to earn a buck for years, Donnally had landed a pretty good gig. A friend of a friend had told him about the position. The old lady not only paid decently, but she had tucked away a fleet of bitchin’ cars—a drop-dead Rolls Silver Cloud III, a Bentley Flying Spur, a new Bentley Turbo, and two old Packard touring sedans. And of course the limos. Cars he was allowed to start up and take out. He just loved to cruise the streets, girls giving him the eye. Big beauties like these machines had definite advantages. He’d fucked more than a few babes in backseats as large as a double bed.

As far as Davida went, the old broad was okay. She never asked personal questions—too busy talking about herself or checking out his crotch. Just as long as he did the old lady’s bidding and tossed her compliments, she was happy as a hype in a pharmacy. Donnally didn’t like being called Albert—Alberts were skinny old bald dudes with English accents—but hey, no job was perfect.

“Thank you, Miss Eversong.” Donnally eased his mistress into the car and glided a palm over a crown of slicked-back black hair. “Can I get you something to eat?”

“No, Albert, I’m not due to eat again until noon. Mustn’t let my girlish figure go to seed.”

“That would be criminal, madam.”

“Albert, you’re a shameless flatterer. Keep it up.”

Donnally smiled. “When should I be back?”

“Thirty minutes. Don’t be late.”

“You got it, Miss Eversong.” He waved good-bye and shut the door.

Davida sighed and studied her nails.

“That boy is a repulsive worm, Mother. Why do you keep him?”

“Because I’m whimsical.” She turned to her son. “And he performs my assignments well. Which is more than I can say for you. Frederick, she was beaten up, the poor child! What happened?”

“I don’t know!”

“You should know!” Davida opened the compartment door to a built-in nail set and pulled out an emery board. “You were the last one to see her.”

“She was absolutely fine when I dropped her off. You make horrid insinuations, Mother! I would never hurt her—”