Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

She nodded. I followed the Loo’s example and gave her my card as well. We exchanged good-byes and walked back to the car.

I strapped myself in and turned on the ignition. “Is Sarah sitting on something?”

“Definitely.”

“So what do we do about it?”

“Nothing.”

Staring out the windowof his daughter’s apartment, Decker organized his thoughts. His gaze shifted onto Cindy’s face. “This is the deal. It would be a good idea to type up your notes for when you talk to MacGregor. That way, you not only have something organized to look at, so you don’t have to grope for words, but also you have something concrete to hand him after you’re done. You don’t want to overwhelm him with detail. It’ll make you look like a hot dog and it’ll irritate-” Abruptly, Decker stopped talking. “Are you listening?”

Cindy’s eyes went from her lap to his face. “Yes, Dad, I’m listening.”

“Then can you stop playing with the fringes of your couch pillow and look like you’re paying attention?”

“I am paying attention. Why are you chastising me like I’m five years old?” She jumped up. “I’m going to make some fresh coffee. Would you like some?”

Decker rubbed his aching temples. After a pause, he told her yes he would like coffee. As his eyes skipped over the place, he noticed how stark her apartment had become. Once the decor had been homey, almost girlish, as if her room as a teenager had been moved in toto. Now it bore the scars of its rape. He stood up and walked into her small kitchenette. It could barely contain both their bodies. “You can’t have it both ways. I can’t be a father and a lieutenant at the same time. So take your pick.”

She poured water into the machine. “I’m going to ask you this one more time, and I expect you to be totally honest. Are you pissed because Koby is black?”

“No.”

She turned to face him. “So why are you still pissed that I didn’t mention it to you?”

“ Mention it to me?” Decker regarded her dubiously. “Cindy, you deliberately withheld it from me!”

“What difference does it make?”

“It’s descriptive. You went out of your way to tell me he was Israeli-”

“He is Israeli.”

“No, Cindy, he lived in Israel. He is a self-described Ethiopian. All you had to do was tell me that. Instead, you caught me off guard.” A pause. “I probably acted like an idiot.”

“You were fine.”

“Well, I didn’t feel fine, I felt uncomfortable. That’s my problem, not yours. But you could have helped me along. What were you afraid of? Do I make you that nervous?”

“Yes.”

Decker sighed. “Well… then I’m sorry. That’s never my intention.”

“I know. It’s all right.”

Shoving his hands in his jeans pockets, he stared at her blank walls. Just once he’d like to end their time together by congratulating himself for a parenting job well done, instead of walking to the car feeling like a failure.

“I’ll try to do better, Cin.”

“You don’t have to do better. You’re great, Daddy. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He threw up his hands. “I don’t know. I keep thinking I should be mellowing with age. Instead, I’m more on edge… more frantic.”

“That means you’re vital, Dad.” Cindy took her father’s hand. “That’s a good thing. And I wasn’t being fair. Most of the time, you don’t make me nervous, just when you bark orders at me. I know it’s not personal, especially because I dragged you into this. When you chide me, it sets off something primal. But that’s my hang-up.”

Decker rolled his tongue in his cheeks. “He’d better treat you right or I’ll kill him.”

“Don’t commit homicide on my behalf. I barely know him.”

“He likes you-a lot. Make sure you’re moving at the same rate.”

“That’s my business, Dad.”

“Fair enough. Shall we go on with our business?”

“You were saying I should type up my notes.”

“Why don’t you do this-after you’ve organized your thoughts on paper, e-mail or fax them to me and I’ll go over them.”

“That would be great. Thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome, Princess. Keep your sentences simple, Cin. The average detective has maybe a few years of college.”

“I know.”

“Any questions?”

“No, not really.” She looked at her nails, bitten almost to the quick. “So you don’t think I should ask around about gangs in my area? The fact that these bad boys were a mixture of Hispanic and non-Hispanic narrows it down.”

Decker waited a beat. “Cindy, you are not a detective yet. You have to wait for Russ MacGregor to call the shots. Tell him what you told me and see what he says.”

“It’ll be junked in the circular file. What would be wrong with asking my street contacts a couple of questions?”

“You’re goading me.”

“I’m trying to give an old rape case some CPR.”

“Cynthia, listen to me.” A pause. “Are you listening?”

“Yes, Dad, I am listening.”

“Okay. Here goes. Every day you put your butt on the line. That means you need backup on occasion. And that means you have to be a team player. Besides, you don’t know who these punks are, so you don’t know what you’re dealing with. You ask the wrong people the wrong questions, your body winds up with homemade air-conditioning.”

“Very funny.”

“I’m not laughing, Cynthia.”

She looked at her watch. “You’d better go. Otherwise, you’re not going to make a two o’clock movie with Hannah Banana.”

“I’ll go. But you have to promise me not to get involved unless asked to do so.”

“I promise I won’t do a thing without Russ MacGregor’s explicit permission.”

“That was even better than I expected. Thank you.”

Just then, a chime dinged. Cindy said, “Coffee’s ready. How about one for the road? I have a travel cup.”

“Why not?”

She went into her kitchenette and poured the steaming liquid into a thermal cup. She closed the lid tightly and handed the cup to him while formulating her thoughts. “I like him, too, Daddy.”

“Great.”

“I think that despite all the superficial differences, we have a lot in common.”

Decker waited.

“Our jobs, for instance. We both love our jobs. And our jobs have lots in common.”

“A nurse and a cop?”

“Yeah, when you think about it. Most of the time, our jobs deal with routine. Lots and lots of routine. But when it isn’t routine… man, that’s when the adrenaline starts pumping… flowing full throttle. Boy oh boy, that’s what separates wheat from chaff. And if we’re good… really good… it’s in the clutch when we shine.”

He awoke with a crick in his neck, his nostrils piqued by the smell of barbecue, his ears hearing the whir of a kitchen fan. Rina was grilling indoors, and despite his drowsiness, his stomach rumbled as the aroma translated its signals to his brain. He lowered his feet from the ottoman, then got up, stretching his too-tall frame until he was steady enough to walk. His mouth was dry and parched. He went into the kitchen, spotting a hunk of roast with grid marks, bathed in onions and mushrooms, sizzling in the skillet.

“Have a good nap?” Rina asked him.

“Very good. Hannah is a great kid, but she’s exhausting.”

“The feeling must be mutual. She’s been a zombie since she’s been home.”

“Well, that makes me feel a little better.” He took a bottle of water from the refrigerator and gulped it down greedily. Rina was wearing an apron over a black knee-length knit skirt and black sweater. She had socks and sneakers on her feet and her hair was tied back in a high ponytail. She looked like a bobby-soxer. “Man, that smells good. What is it?”