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

“Talking to the police about the theft of her jewels.”

Suddenly, Ness felt the heat of Brecht’s eyes. “Something on your mind, Doc?”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about the theft, would you?”

“You think I’d steal from your mother?”

“You’d steal without a second thought.”

“Sure I’d steal.” Ness grinned. “But not from Davida. I’m not stupid.”

Brecht didn’t respond. Guy was pacing again. Ness placed splayed fingers on his knees. “Calm down, Doc, and meditate. It’ll do wonders for the spirit.”

But Brecht wasn’t listening. Ness closed his eyes, but kept his ears open.

“Kingston’s planning something, I just know it!” Brecht muttered. “He and Mother are colluding behind my back. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

Ness opened his eyes. “No, I wouldn’t.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Ness stood without using his hands to rise. “What do you want me to do, Doc?” He placed his palm on Brecht’s shoulder. “Huh, what should I do? Slit my wrist and sign my name in blood? Until today, I didn’t even know you had a brother. And I certainly don’t know what happened to Lilah!”

Brecht was quiet.

Ness patted Brecht’s shoulder. “You want me to chase your brother away?”

“Can you do it without causing a scene?”

“Yeah, I can handle him.”

“Then why didn’t you do it before, hotshot?”

“Because you don’t stick your hands in the middle of a dogfight.” Ness folded his arms across his chest. “Both of you weren’t receptive to suggestions.” He laughed. “God, you boys really hate each other.”

“You’re very perceptive.”

Ness arched his eyebrows. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Brecht sneered. “No, I don’t want to tell you about it! If you can get him out of here, get him out of here. Tell me when he’s gone. And I don’t want Mother to know he was here.”

“Man looked determined, Doc. You know he’s gonna call her.”

“I’ll worry about that when the time comes. In the meantime, don’t mention his visit to Mother. Give me time to figure out what those two are planning.”

Ness grinned. “Secrecy’s expensive, Doc.”

“You’re scum, Michael.”

Brecht took out his wallet. Ness held out his hand.

12

Another call from Morrison. Decker checked his watch—eleven-thirty. Might as well take care of the crap so he could enjoy lunch. He phoned from the unmarked and was patched through to Morrison a minute later.

“Captain,” Decker said.

“What do you have on the Brecht case?”

“Lots of notes—”

“Pete—”

“Captain, we’re making progress—no shortage of suspects—but there’s no smoking gun.” Decker filled him in on the details, hearing Morrison audibly sigh when he spoke of Lilah’s imaging of her attackers.

“Lilah Brecht,” Morrison said. “Is she whacked out or what?”

“She might be trying to tell us something in a roundabout way.”

“You think she could give us trouble?”

“Her spa appeals to VIPs,” Decker said. “I can’t see where it would make sense for her to publicize her attack. Bad for business.”

“But she sounds like a nut,” Morrison said. “And you know these perverse Hollywood assholes. Anything that’s full of gossip—the juicier the better.”

Decker said, “I think if we handle everyone with respect, they’ll respect our investigation.”

“What about Davida Eversong?” Morrison said. “She give a shit about her daughter?”

“Probably. It’s hard to tell. She spent most of her time talking about her jewels.”

“Davida Eversong knows a lot of people, Pete,” Morrison said. “We’re talking a seven-figure burglary on top of a rape. That’s a lot of case for you, Marge, and Hollander to handle. I’ll pull in a couple of dicks from Burglary.”

“Fine,” Decker said. “They know the fences better than I do. Just …”

“Spit it out, Pete.”

“I want freedom to call the case as I see it. Not that I want to step on any bigwig’s toes, but if that happens, I don’t want to have to worry about it.”

“You do your job, Pete,” Morrison said, “and I’ll do mine.”

Business out of the way, Decker checked himself out on a Code Seven and took off for the safety and normalcy of home sweet home. Lunch at his ranch had started out as a once-a-week affair. Over the last five months he’d increased his visits to three times a week. The food was better and the amenities were terrific. And despite Rina’s occasional weeping spells and flare-ups, she was wonderful company. Whether they talked or just sat around, he never felt as if he had to entertain her. Their conversations, as well as their silences, were natural. God, how he just loved to watch her putter around the house. Rina was a great putterer.

He parked the unmarked in the driveway, whistling as he walked through the door. The living room was still neo-western macho, but Rina had prettied it up with lace curtains and throw pillows on the suede couch and buckskin chairs. Throw pillows with frilly little borders. Yep, he was definitely married. He suddenly noticed that the place was eerily quiet, not even a bark from the dog. He felt a sudden rush of anxiety.

“Anyone here?”

“We’re in the boys’ room, Peter,” Rina called out.