Faye Kellerman - Sacred and Profane

“When did they come up here?” Marge whispered to the guard.

“They must’ve entered before I came on duty because they didn’t come after I got here. I came on duty at ten P.M.”

“Maybe they never went home from work,” Decker suggested in a hushed voice. “Go back to your station. Use the stairwell and be very quiet about it.”

The guard nodded and disappeared. Decker drew his gun.

“Expecting trouble?” Marge asked, taking out her own.

“Not really,” he answered. “I checked gun registration, and nothing was ever issued to any of the Podes or Smithsons. But Cecil pulled a.38 on me and I’m not taking any more chances with these pricks.

“If Cameron Smithson is in there, the case is duck soup. We go in and make the arrest. If he isn’t, then we’ll have to do a number on whoever is in there.”

“Namely Smithson Senior or Pode or both,” Marge said.

“Just what we were going to do anyway. Any last minute things you want to go over?”

She shook her head. “How about yourself?”

“I’m clear. Let’s go.”

They went back to the office. Decker pounded on the door and stepped aside.

“Police,” he yelled. “Open up.”

Harrison Smithson responded by partially opening the door and sticking out his head. Flushed and panting, he looked overwrought.

“What’s going on?”

“Police officers,” Marge said. She opened her wallet and showed him the badge. “Open up.”

The broker paused.

“We have a search warrant, Mr. Smithson,” she added. “You have no choice.”

Decker pushed the door open.

Dustin Pode was stooped over, brushing off the knees of his trousers. The room was in complete disarray. Filing cabinet drawers were pulled out, boxes stuffed with papers were piled on the desks and chairs. A paper shredder was going full force in the corner. Marge ran over and shut it off.

“What the hell is going on?” Pode asked.

“Planning on going somewhere, gentlemen?” Decker asked, putting his gun away.

“Who are you?” Pode spat at Decker. “Sure as hell your real name isn’t Jack Cohen.”

The detective pulled out his badge and ID, and as Pode read, a look of horrified recognition swept across his face.

“You’re the cop who murdered my father.”

Decker stuffed the badge back in his jacket and said, “We have a search warrant for this premise and an arrest warrant for Cameron Smithson.”

“Cameron isn’t here,” Harrison said quickly.

“Where is he?” Marge asked.

“I don’t know,” his father answered. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing barging in on citizens like this?”

The feigned outrage did little to conceal the obvious fright that was overtaking Smithson. Decker bore into him.

“Unless you want an obstruction charge tacked onto whatever else we find, I suggest you let us get on with our work.”

“Call Cahill and Jarrett,” Pode said softly to Smithson. “And don’t say anything until someone gets here.”

“Dustin, I think-”

“Harrison, just do as I say!”

Decker walked around the room, tangled his leg in the switchboard cord, tripped, and ripped it out of the wall.

“Goddam!” he swore. “I sure am clumsy.”

He searched his pockets and pulled out some change.

“Here. There must be a pay phone in the building somewhere. The call’s on me.”

“Generous,” Pode said, glaring at the open palm. “Keep your change. I don’t want anything from you.” He turned his attention to Smithson. “Use the phone in the lobby, Harry.”

“I think I need some air, Pete,” Marge said. “I’ll walk you down, Mr. Smithson.”

“A phone call to my lawyer is confidential, Detective,” Smithson said, trying to remain calm.

“Yeah, but a phone call to your son warning him off could get you in a lot of trouble,” Marge replied. “I’m only thinking of your welfare.”

“Make the call, Harrison,” Pode ordered.

As they left, Marge gave Decker a surreptitious wink. God bless Marjorie, he thought. If only he and the woman he loved were as attuned to each other as the two of them were.

He started sorting through the piles of papers while trying to size up Pode. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the stockbroker methodicaly remove a box from a chair, pick up a copy of Forbes that was lying around, and bury himself in the magazine. He looked nervous but still in control. Well, let’s see if something can’t be done about that.

“You know, Pode,” he began. “I’ve been checking into you.”

“Do tell.”

“I’ve been checking into you like the way I checked into your father.” Decker pulled out a ledger and opened it. “Like I checked into your mother, like I checked into your brother…”

Pode didn’t react.

“Tell me something, Dustin. Did Earl ever stop wetting his bed?”

Pode’s only response was fingers gripping the edges of the magazine.

“He didn’t?” Decker pressed.

A small laugh emanated from behind the periodical.

“I guess not, huh?”

Silence.

“Hey, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. A lot of boys are bed wetters. I’m just curious if Earl ever licked the problem.”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I would if I could find him,” said Decker. “Heard from him lately?”

Silence.

Decker had asked the morgue to hold off notifying Pode about his brother’s death. Just now Pode had responded acerbically, without fear or trepidation. Either Dustin didn’t know that Earl had died or he didn’t care.

“Where’s Cameron?” Decker asked.

“I don’t have to answer your questions,” Pode said. “Just do what you have to do and get out of here.”

“You’re right,” Decker agreed. “You don’t have to answer my questions, but I can still ask ’em. For instance, how come your mama had such a hard time opening her bedroom door to escape that fire she died in?”

Pode slammed down the magazine. His face had turned white.

“I don’t have to listen to this!”

Decker ignored him. “Now sometimes people can’t turn door handles because they’re just too damn hot to touch,” he went on. “But that’s usually the case when the fire starts on the outside, not on the inside. And if Mama did grab a red-hot handle, some of her flesh would have seared onto the metal. That didn’t happen. Now how could she not have had enough strength to turn a door handle and get the hell out of there?”

“I’m going to take a walk,” Pode said.

“I don’t think so.”

“And how do you propose to stop me?”

“How about I’m delaying you for questioning? Material witness to a triple homicide.”

“Is that official?”

“If you want it to be.”

Pode said nothing, turned around, and started straightening some papers.

“Don’t touch anything,” Decker commanded.

Clenching his jaw, Pode went back to Forbes. Decker scanned a ledger, put it aside, and ripped open another box.

“Now I know that your mother was drunk that day. In fact she was a chronic alcoholic. And chronic lushes have a keen sense of survival.” He dumped the contents of the carton of the floor and began to sort through the scattered papers. “See, what I figure is maybe Mama was trying to get out from the inside and someone was holding the door from the outside.

Carefully, Pode placed the magazine on the floor and went to the water cooler. Beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead.

“As long as you’re up, how about you getting me a drink?” Decker asked.

“Get it yourself!”

“C’mon. Don’t be sore.”

“Fuck off!”

Decker got up, kicked another box and, walked over to the cooler. Dustin walked away, but Decker dogged his heels.