The Forgotten

Bontemps said, “Jerad Benderhurst—a fifteen-year-old white male. Last I heard, he was living with an aunt in Oklahoma. Jamal Williams—a sixteen-year-old African-American male—picked up not only for vandalism, but also petty theft and drug possession. I think he moved back east.”

“That’s not promising. Anyone else?”

“Carlos Aguillar. I think he’s fourteen, and I think he’s still at Buck’s correction center. Those are the ones I remember for vandalism. If you check with Sherri and Ridel, they might have others.” A pause. “Then again, Lieutenant, you might want to consider the bigger picture when it comes to tagging.”

Decker knew exactly to whom she was referring—a specific group of white, middle-to-upper-class males who were not only testosterone laden, but also terribly bored with life. Recently, after having been caught, the kids had secured their daddies’ highly paid lawyers before they had even been booked. The entire bunch had gotten off, the tagging expunged from the records, and in record time. Most of the kids were enrolled in private schools. For them, even drugs and sex had become too commonplace. Crime was the last vestige of rebellion.

“There was a group of them last year,” Wanda said. “Around twenty of them dressing like homies and trying to act very baaaad. They defaced a lot of property. If I thought about it, I could remember some names.”

“You could also have your ass sued for giving me the names,” Decker said. “As far as the records are concerned, they don’t exist. But I know who you mean.” A glance at the wrist told him it was eleven-twenty. “How’s it going over there?”

“Photographers are almost done. So are the techs. Your wife is waiting with a crew of people—all of them armed with soapy water pails, cleaning solutions, rags, and mops. They are ready to start scrubbing, and they are angry. If the police don’t hurry up, someone’s gonna get impaled on a broomstick.”

“That sounds like Rina’s doing,” Decker stated.

“You want to talk to her? She’s hanging over my shoulder.”

“I am not hanging,” Rina said, off side. “I am waiting.”

Wanda handed her the phone. Rina said, “Detective Bontemps has offered to spend her lunch hour helping us clean.”

“Is that a pointed comment?”

“Well, you might want to take a cue.”

Decker smiled. “I’ll be there as soon as I get off work. I will paint and clean the entire night if necessary. How’s that?”

“Acceptable, although by the time you get here, it may not be necessary.”

“I hear you have quite a gang.”

“Specifically, we’ve got the entire sisterhood here with brooms and buckets. Someone also made an announcement over at the JCC. Six people came down to clean and paint—one guy actually being a professional painter. Wanda, who’s been a doll, actually called up her church and recruited several volunteers. Even the people from the press have offered to help. We’d like to start already.”

“Detective Bontemps told me they’re almost done.”

“It’s just so … ugly, Peter. Every time I look at it, I get sick all over. Everyone feels the same way.”

“Who is down there from the press?”

“L.A. Times, Daily News, there are some TV cameras, but Wanda isn’t letting them in yet.”

“Good for her.”

“Have you narrowed down your suspect list?” Rina asked.

“I’m making a couple of calls. I’ll let you know if I have any luck.” He waited a moment. “I love you, darlin’. I’m glad you have so much support over there.”

“I love you, too. And those mumzerim haven’t heard the last from me. This isn’t going to happen again!”

“I admire your commitment.”

“Nothing to admire. This isn’t a choice, this is an assignment. Have you checked out the pawnshops?”

“What?”

“For the silver kiddush cup. Someone may have tried to pawn it.”

“Actually no, I haven’t checked out the pawnshops.”

“You should do that right away. Before the pawnbroker gets wind of the fact that he has something hot.”

“Anything else, General?”

“Nothing for the moment. Someone’s calling me, Peter. I’ll give you back to Detective Bontemps.”

Wanda said, “She’s quite the organizer.”

“That’s certainly true. Thanks for helping out.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

Decker said, “The taggers you were referring to, Wanda. Most of them went to private school.”

“Some of them did—Foreman Prep … Beckerman’s.”

“That could work in our favor. I’d have a hard time doing search and seizure with kids in public school. But in private school, they are subjected to different rules. Lots of the places have bylaws allowing the administration to open up random lockers to do contraband searches.”

“Why would a private school administrator agree to do that for us, sir?”

“Because it would look bad if they didn’t help us out. Like they were hiding something. Chances are I won’t find much … a secret stash or two.”

“What specific contraband would you be looking for, sir? Anti-Semitic material?”

“A silver wine cup.”

“Aha. That makes sense.”

“It’s worth a try,” Decker said.

But one not without controversy or consequences. Because in order to appear objective—and the police needed to appear objective—he’d have to search several of the private schools, including Jacob’s Jewish high school. He’d start with that one.

3 (#u0f746847-02e6-5495-8ba5-4f5ec129c6fa)

What’s the address?” Webster asked.

Martinez gave him the number while taking a big bite out of his turkey, tomato, and mustard sandwich, rye bread crumbs sprinkling his steel-wool mustache. He had been thinking about shaving it off now that it was more gray than black. But his wife told him that after all these years of something draping over his mouth, he probably had no upper lip left. “Any particular reason why Decker is using Homicide Dees for this?”

“Probably because I was in the squadroom.” He looked at his partner’s sandwich. “You carryin’ an extra one, Bertie?”