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

“Yes, yes. I told you all this before. I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Do your other children know about the memoirs?”

“How should I know? Ask them!”

“Who else do you think might know about them?”

“Don’t know and don’t care. Our time is up, Sergeant.”

Decker inched closer to the old woman. He could smell her sweat mixed with overly sweet perfume, see the pores giving texture to her white face makeup. “Just a few more minutes? Please?”

Davida traced his jawline with a sharpened index fingernail, then let her hand fall in her lap. “Oh, go ahead! You’ve already ruined my morning.”

“You say you haven’t the faintest idea about what’s contained in your late husband’s memoirs.”

“Correct. Hermann was a self-obsessed genius. He never spoke to me or anyone else about his art. Frankly, I wasn’t interested in his art, I was interested in his performance. Which I regret to say wasn’t Oscar caliber.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh!” Davida stared at him. “Do you want the smarmy details?”

“Do you want to tell me details?”

“He was a drunk, which made him a lousy fuck. How’s that for details?”

“So why’d you marry him?”

Davida shrugged. “Impulse. And … I was swept away by his reputation. Even I wasn’t immune to what others thought.”

“Do you think he might have written disparaging things about you, Ms. Eversong?”

Davida pondered the question.

“I just don’t see Hermann writing about his tawdry little affairs—or my tawdry little affairs, for that matter. Affairs are just something one does when one is creatively blessed. Personally, I suspect Hermann wrote exclusively about his art. I’m sure he wrote rather harshly about some of his contemporaries. Hermann was very, very critical. But I can’t imagine some old irate compadre director breaking into Lilah’s safe and stealing the memoirs just to censor what Hermann may have written about him thirty years ago.” There was a pause. “Yet I’ve seen weirder things. Egos do abound in this business.”

Decker smiled.

“We’re getting off track,” Davida said. “These memoirs may very well be a figment of Lilah’s overactive mind. Find my jewels. Once you do, everything else will fall into place.”

“Maybe.” Decker noticed Davida staring at him. “Anything else you’d like to add, Ms. Eversong?”

Davida tapped her nails against the portable table. “You seem to be a very skeptical man, Peter.”

Decker folded his notepad and stuffed it into his jacket. “That’s why I’m a cop and not a cowboy, Ms. Eversong.”

Ness sat in a lotus position on the floor and watched Freddy rant. Since Freddy couldn’t handle the ladies and their medical questions, they went to Kell’s office instead of Freddy’s study. Man, sonny boy had a temper, but it was nothing compared to the old lady’s. Bitch could cut metal with her tongue. Ness often wondered if she’d melt if doused with water.

“I’m talking to you!” Brecht screamed.

“I hear you, Doc,” Ness said, quietly.

“Then answer me! What’s he doing here?”

“I don’t know—”

“Hell you don’t!” Brecht screamed. “You were with Mother last night.”

“She didn’t mention anyone visiting her. Doc, I didn’t even know this Kingston existed until today.”

“That’s bullshit!”

Ness didn’t answer him. He watched Doc pace. Asshole just couldn’t hold up well under pressure. Probably why Davida didn’t trust him.

“What’s he doing here?” Brecht mumbled. “He must be involved in what happened to Lilah!”

“Could be.”

“Stop being so poised and casual! Doesn’t it bother you that Lilah was beaten and … raped?”

“Of course it bothers me, Doc. You know how I feel about your sister. I just don’t think acting like a fool—”

“Are you saying I was a fool?”

“C’mon, Doc, give me a break, okay?”

“It’s Kingston,” Brecht raved. “He brings out the worst in me.” He touched his fingertips to his forehead. “I behaved very stupidly, didn’t I?”

“S’right. Your sister was raped. No one expects you to behave normally.”

“Mother didn’t mention her son Kingston coming for a visit?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Your prerogative.”

“Why is he visiting Mother?” Brecht raged on. “At this moment! At the spa! Mother would never call him down here.”

“I don’t know.” Ness was exasperated, but held himself in check. “Why don’t you ask her?”

“I will as soon as I see her.”

“Where is she?”