Faye Kellerman - Street Dreams

I told him about it. “I looked up the two names El Paso spit out. Joseph ‘Juice’ Fedek is not living at his last listed address, but Pepe Renaldes is. He works on a construction crew with a posh West Side builder-”

“See why I do my own renovation work?”

“Not all of us can build houses, Dad. Ideally, I’d like to bring Sarah Sanders down to the station and have her look through some six-packs from mug books and see if she picks out El Paso or Fedek or Renaldes. If she does, I’d like to check Renaldes’s employment record. I also want to hunt for Fedek. I want to do all those things, but no one’s letting me do anything. So I’m here, taking out my frustration on you.”

“Why not? Everyone else is. What is the status with the case right now?”

“Russ MacGregor and Justice Brill are waiting to see if there’s a drug plea. They tell me that El Paso’s willing to roll, but the DA would rather put him away with a sure thing than take a chance on an iffy six-month-old rape case.”

“That makes sense, Cin.”

“Yes, it does. Unfortunately, if they do it, it means that two very vicious men are out there, able to prey on the public instead of being locked up behind bars.”

“If Sarah’s story is true.”

“That’s why I’d like to show her the mug books and see if she could pick them out.”

“I’ll tell you the same thing I just told the young DA over the phone. Have patience.”

“Do you see me going behind anyone’s back? In the meantime, just because I’m obsessive and dedicated, I’m still looking for David Tyler. I figure if I find him and if both he and Sarah independently ID Fedek and Renaldes, then the rape/assault case is on much more stable ground.” I sat back in my chair. “At first, I thought the bag was good, something we can use to really squeeze El Paso. But I think they’re going for the slam-dunk drug conviction. Better for the statistics.”

“You’re too young to talk that cynically.”

“I’m not cynical, I’m practical. And I’m in a fine mood. A good date makes everything seem a little less hopeless.”

Dad faced me with unreadable eyes. “If you two are still speaking, you can bring him around again for Shabbat dinner. I promise I won’t glare at you this time.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Have you told your mother?”

“It hasn’t come up.”

“You haven’t brought it up. What are you worried about? Your mother’s much more liberal than I am.”

“I’m not worried, Dad. I just want to see how it goes before I even bother.” We both knew I was stalling. I checked my watch. “So I guess I’m off to serve and protect and look for David Tyler.”

“Any leads at all with him?”

“Goose egg. For all I know, he may be dead. Sarah Sanders did say he wasn’t moving when she left the bathroom.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that. David could be dead, but I doubt if he was dead from the assault. Cindy, the City changes the trash. People do use the john in the park. If there had been a dead body in it, someone would have noticed.”

“Unless the boys killed him, then came back to take him away and dump him in a less obvious spot.”

“I don’t think so, Cindy. It would draw way too much attention. This sounds like an impulsive type of rape. Why hassle with coming back? All it could do is screw them up.”

“Because David could identify them.”

“He’s mentally disabled. How much credibility would he have even if he could identify the perps? And that’s a big if.”

I saw his point.

Dad said, “I know you’re working your way through the decidedly unglamorous part of detective work: the shelters, halfway houses, drug rehab, missions, Salvation Army, other areas that have homeless. It’s a tedious chore, but it’s your best bet right now.”

There was a knock on the door and in walked Oliver. He was holding up my tie. It was a nice one-a gold-and-sky-blue Mimi Fong print that I had gotten at deep discount. Furthermore, it went with the navy suit he was wearing.

“What do you think?” I asked him.

“It’s beautiful, Cin. Something I would have picked out. What is it? Battle pay?”

“You might say that.”

My father’s face held a sour look. “You bought him a tie? ”

“Yes, I bought him a tie when I bought Koby a shirt.”

“You bought Oliver a tie and Koby a shirt, but your father gets nothing.”

I got up and hugged him around the neck. “Daddy, you’ll always be my number one guy.”

“You’re choking me,” Dad grumped.

Oliver said, “So you and the guy are back together?”

“For the time being, and the guy -like you, Scott-has a name.”

“Yeah, he’s got a name. The black guy. Or if I feel like being politically correct, the African American guy.”

“If you want to get technical, then he’d be just the African guy. Or the Asian guy, because I think he’s an Israeli citizen. Now if he were an American citizen, then you’d have to call him African Asian American guy. So that’s why it’s much more convenient to call him Yaakov.”

“You call him Koby.”

“That’s reserved for friends, Oliver.”

He smiled. Dad drummed his fingers on his desktop. “Anything official you need to talk to me about, Detective?”

“No, not really,” Oliver answered.

“Then close the door on your way out.”

Oliver laughed and left.

I said, “So it looks like my weekend is booked. On Saturday, I’ve got my workout at the gym, afternoon is lunch with Mom, and then I’ve got bowling practice from six to eight in the evening. Then maybe if Koby’s off, we’ll go out. Sunday morning is brunch with my friend Hayley. I’ll look for David in the afternoon, then Sunday evening if Koby and I are still in good standing, we’ll go out again.”

“I’m getting tired just listening to you. You’re hyperactive, Officer Decker.”

“Loo, it’s better than crying in my beer.”

Since last week’s dinnerat Mama’s, Rina had made a valiant effort to restrain herself, mentioning her grandmother’s case only a couple of times. Peter had played coy, refusing to take the bait. Since subtlety wasn’t working, it was time for the direct approach. After the dinner table had been cleared, she sashayed into the kitchen and slid her arms around his waist as he washed dishes. He had rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt but had still managed to get his cuffs wet.

“I’ll do that,” she said.

“I’m almost done,” Decker told her. “But you can keep hugging. It feels good.”

“I love a man who knows how to scour a roasting pan.”

He smiled. “What’s Hannah doing?”

“Her homework. So what’s going on?”

“Not much.”

Rina broke away. Nervously, she smoothed out her denim skirt and hiked up the sleeves of her pink sweater to her elbows. She picked up a towel and began to dry the dishes. “Just answer me one question. Did you find Marta Lubke?”

“Yes.”

Rina was flabbergasted. “You did? ”

“Yes.”

“Is she alive?”

“That’s two questions.”

She punched his shoulder.

“Yes, she’s alive,” Decker answered. “Even better, so is her older sister. I was going to tell you after Hannah went to bed. But since we started, what else would you like to know?”

“For starters, how’d you find her?”

“That would be giving away my trade secrets.” Decker winked at her. “I logged onto Google and got hits for around a hundred Lubkes… probably not the smartest thing to do since the Lubke I was looking for was from Germany. But I thought I’d test the waters here, maybe find a relative. From what I pulled up, I began a process of elimination mostly by age. I found about ten Lubkes who were old enough and sent out e-mails to all of them. I got unbelievably lucky. I received an e-mail response from an Anika Lubke. That, in itself, is pretty good-a woman in her eighties savvy in computers. You wouldn’t believe where she lives.”