Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection

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Faye Kellerman

Год написания книги

2019

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“Yeah,” Hollander said. “Tons. She’s a busy little beaver, ’scuse the pun.”

“What is it?” Dunn repeated.

“Her teeth!” Decker exclaimed. “Look at her front teeth! They’re pegs!”

“Here’s some others,” Hollander said.

Decker shuffled excitedly through the pile. None of the others showed her teeth, but he did find one that looked promising. She was performing fellatio, and it showed a complete side view of her face.

“I’ve got to make a couple of phone calls,” Decker said. “Margie, contact Vice and reference these photos. Mike, keep looking for Lindsey Bates.”

“Will do,” Hollander said, grinning and saluting.

Decker rushed out of the room and nearly collided with George.

“Got another phone call, Pete.”

Decker punched down the line.

“This is Mrs. Grover. I got a message on my machine to call a Detective Sergeant Decker at the Foothill police station?”

The woman sounded elderly.

“Thanks for calling back, Mrs. Grover,” he said. “This is Sergeant Decker. I’m calling about that one bedroom you had advertised in the Santa Monica Express.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, it’s been rented.”

“Could you tell me the name of the person you rented it to?”

“Uh, am I allowed to do that?”

“Yes, ma’am, you are.”

“I guess it’s all right, then. After all, you are the police.”

Decker waited.

“His name is Christopher Truscott.”

Bingo!

“Is Mr. Truscott in right now?”

“I believe he is.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Grover. I want to stop by and talk to him and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention our little conversation.”

“Is he in trouble, Sergeant? I don’t want any troublemakers—”

“No, no. It’s nothing like that. But I want to surprise him with my visit.”

“Well … Well right.”

“I’ll stop by and introduce myself, ma’am.”

“That would be lovely.”

“Good-bye.”

Decker clapped his hands together, rubbed them vigorously, and let go with a broad smile. Leads! He was getting some leads! He called Annie Hennon.

“Hello, Pete. What’s up?”

“Have you got a spare lunch hour?”

“Personal or business?”

“The latter.”

“Either way, it’s fine.”

“Then I’ll see you at noon, Annie.”

“Hey, what say I send out for some Chinese food?”

He paused. “I keep kosher.”

“Pizza?” she tried. “Plain cheese pizza?”

“Strictly kosher.”

“I thought you weren’t sure you were Jewish.”

“I’m still not sure, but I’m working on it. I’ve got a sack lunch anyway.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll pick up some cottage cheese. It’s a good time to start my diet.”

Her figure didn’t need it, he thought.

“See you at noon,” he said.

His next call let Freddy at the Police Photo Lab know he was sending up a few snapshots to enlarge. Marge came up to his desk.

“The photos of Pegteeth were clipped from a defunct rag called Erotic Ecstasy. These are at least a year old, and naturally, the editor has cut town. But this is a list of photographers the magazine hired.”

Decker took the list and scanned the contents. Cecil Pode’s name jumped out at him. He felt that surge of excitement, the hunting instinct. But instead of prey, he ferreted out resolution—order in an otherwise disintegrating world.

“This guy,” Decker said pointing to Pode’s name. “I want to find out more about him. He’s a legit photographer, but one of my ears on the street tells me he has a sideline specializing in the younger trade.”