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

“I thought you could tell me.”

“I told you I left.” She lifted her head and faced Ness. “Was it bad?”

Ness caught her eye, then looked away. “Yes, it was very bad.” He took the drink from Davida’s hands. “There’re going to be lots of questions. The police have been here—”

“The redheaded detective?”

“Different guys. Two clowns from Burbank—one of them couldn’t take his eyes off the women’s asses, the other one was clearly on a fishing expedition. They know some details, but not enough to cause damage.”

“Did you get rid of them?”

“Only temporarily, Davie. They’re not interested in me. I didn’t even know King. But they’re real interested in talking to you.”

She took the tumbler back from him and finished the Scotch. “I was here all day yesterday. You know that. You were with me—”

“Davida …” Ness took her hand. “I can vouch that I saw you yesterday. But I was also teaching class yesterday. I was in the weight room, I was at the pool, I took the ten o’clock broth break with the ladies in the snack bar. I was with other people and …” He sighed. “And you were not there.”

The old lady just sat there, tears streaming down her cheeks. Ness patted bony, liver-spotted knuckles. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out.”

Davida bit her nail and blinked away tears. “I swear I don’t know what happened. I wouldn’t hurt my own flesh and blood. You know I …” She started crying again.

Ness buried his face in his hands, wondering how the bitch lied with such facility. Then he remembered what acting was all about.

Or maybe she was genuinely grief-stricken. Her son was dead. But what did she expect, sending in some errand boy. She knew King had an explosive temper! But women like Davida never thought about consequences. Just like his mom. Users. They went on their merry way, exploiting their kids as if they were property. She was talking to him.

“ … police say when they were coming back?”

“No, they never do. They just pop up when you’re not expecting them.”

Davida wiped her eyes. “Like audit letters from the IRS.”

Ness smiled. “Freddy sent them out to Malibu—pretty clever stall on his part. You never answer the phones so the two of them are going to waste a couple of hours driving there and back. But you’re going to have to talk to them eventually.”

“What do I say?”

Ness shrugged. “You’re the performer.”

“I’m an actress, Michael, not a writer.”

“Then play it simple. Act the grieving mother and keep your mouth shut.”

Davida blinked her eyes in rapid succession. “I don’t have to act, Michael.”

“I’m sorry, Davida. But you should have known better. You should have let me handle Kingston.”

Davida nodded like a chastised little girl. God, she was sick. But the bitch had a way of evoking pity. Ness sighed.

“Does Lilah know?” Davida asked.

“Yes, Davida, she knows. The cops have already talked to her—”

“What’d she say?”

“I don’t know. She’s been incommunicado, doing nothing but exercising—”

“What?”

“Leading the one o’clock class, even as we speak. She gave Natanya the afternoon off so she could take over. You know Lilah. When she’s truly hysterical, she aerobicizes. She’s been at it all day and hasn’t eaten a thing. Freddy’s really worried about her, afraid she’s gonna drop dead.” Ness gave her a half smile. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

And then Ness felt a whack across his face. It took him a few seconds before he realized she’d actually backhanded him. He touched his burning cheek, then shook his head. Didn’t know the bitch had it in her.

Davida said, “Don’t you ever—”

“Sorry.” Ness sipped his drink, then stroked his face. “Jesus, you pack a good wallop for an old broad.”

She grabbed his chin, turned his head, and inspected his imprinted face. “Yes, Michael, indeed I do.” She kissed his cheek. “When you were … there, did you happen to notice—”

“Davida, I was there for just a moment.” He pushed hair out of his eyes. “It was so … so messy … so … bloody. I just got the hell out. But I took care of some details for you, Davie.”

“What details?”

“Better that you don’t know.”

“But you didn’t—”

“No papers. Your errand boy came up dry. Or King got to him before he had a chance to really look.”

Davida’s eyes watered. “He was my son, Michael, and I loved him. I want you to know that. I never meant for him to die.”

“You don’t mean a lot of things, but you screw up a lot.” Ness stood and kissed her forehead. “I’ve got to go. Afternoon yoga with the ladies. If the cops come, I’ll do the best I can. You know that.”

“I know that.” Davida took out a handkerchief. “Thank you. You have been a luv.”

“That’s me, a real luv.” He took a final drink, then placed the tumbler on the bar. Reaching into his back pocket, he popped a peppermint candy into his mouth. Wouldn’t do at all if the starving girlies smelled Scotch on the breath of their health-conscious aerobic guru.

Then his heart started racing. He felt around his back pockets, then his front pockets. He patted his shirt, tried his pants again. His head started spinning.

His wallet was gone.

24

Marge hung up the phone. “The best Reed can do for us is forty-five minutes at three. If we leave right now, we should make it.”

Decker said, “Burbank’s not going to like it—especially Malone. He wanted to be in on the interview.”

“They’re en route to Malibu; we can’t exactly wait for them. Reed’s a busy guy.” Marge slung her purse over her shoulder. “We’ll take the recorder and play back the interview word for word. Besides, didn’t Morrison tell us to get the lead out?”

“If I move any faster on this case, I’m gonna turn into a sonic boom.” Decker stuffed his wallet in his pants. “All right, let’s do Reed … find out if he knows anything. I just wanted to avoid a stupid interdepartmental squabble. I have a feeling Donnie Malone might be the petty type.”