Faye Kellerman: Sacred and Profane

He could read it. He could actually read and understand that sentence in Hebrew. Whoopee! None of the guys at the station house could read and understand Hello, children in Hebrew.

He went on.

Mi ba?, the book continued.

Four whole months. He was going crazy. Love does have its limitations. If he was willing to accommodate her by subjecting himself to first-grade Hebrew lessons, she should damn well accommodate him a little.

Abba ba, he read.

But it wasn’t stubbornness that was causing her to hold out. It was deep belief. He knew he could probably talk her into sex, but that wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted sex with sanctification. There was something to be said for those ancient Midianite fertility rites.

Mi ba’ah?

She was religious. In a world full of transient morality and situational ethics, her spiritual values-which were good and just-remained absolute. How could he expect her to give up something so essential to her being just to accommodate his physical desires?

Eema ba’ah.

And what about her physical desires? It was chauvinistic to assume he was the only one suffering physically. If she could suppress her sex drive-she being much younger than he was-certainly he could show a little restraint. Give it a year, he said to himself. Priests do it for a lot longer.

He translated the Hebrew in his mind, proud that he could understand it. Who is coming? Father is coming. Who is coming? Mother is coming.

Well, he thought, at least someone is coming.

The detective squad room of the Foothill Division was undersized and overcrowded. The furniture could have come from a garage sale, and that made the people in the neighborhood feel right at home. The detectives rarely complained about the outdated equipment or the makeshift desks and chairs, but the lack of elbow room got to everybody, especially when the weather was hot.

Decker was on the phone, explaining to a local dentist why a girl’s X rays were needed, when his second line rang. He put the dentist on hold.

“Decker,” he said.

“Hi-”

“Rina, I’m on another call. Can you wait a minute?”

“It’s nothing important-”

“Honey, I’ll be off in a second.”

“Go ahead, sweetie. I’ll wait.”

Back to Dr. Pain. Spelled P-a-y-n-e.

“So if you could just sent the X rays you do have of Kristy Walkins to Dr. Anne Hennon-”

“Detective, I’m really rather choosy about to whom I send my records; they aren’t junk mail to be tossed around randomly. And with the recent proliferation of lawsuits…”

“I realize that, Doctor, but we’re talking about a homicide investigation.”

“If I knew for certain that the victim found was indeed Miss Walkins and the X rays would serve as absolute proof of identification, I’d feel much better about sending them to you.”

If we knew that, we wouldn’t need X rays, schmuck!

“Dr. Payne, I could get a subpoena and then we wouldn’t have to bother with this polite conversation. Now, I’m asking you to send the X rays on your terms. If you keep giving me a hard time, I’m going to take them on my terms. The choice is yours.”

There was a long pause full of heavy breathing.

“I could round up some duplicates,” Payne said, “but I guarantee you the clarity of the radiographs will leave much to be desired.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine, Doctor. Thank you.”

Decker gave him Hennon’s address, thanked him again, gave the phone the finger, and pressed Rina’s line.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Nothing really. Just called to say hi.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you did.”

“I…I guess you’re busy, huh?”

“Not too busy for you.”

“That’s nice of you to say.”

There was a long awkward pause. This is leading somewhere, he thought.

“What’s on your mind, Rina?”

“Why do you think something’s on my mind?”

“I’m just asking.”

She coughed over the phone, then cleared her throat. “I bought a gun, Peter.”

Shit!

“You what?” he said softly.

“I bought a gun. A.38 caliber Colt six-shot Detective Special. Same one you use off duty. It’s being registered now. Can you get me a conceal permit?”

“No. And you shouldn’t be fooling around with a gun unless you know how to use one.”

“I agree. That’s why I’ve signed up for private lessons. At Berry ’s Guns and Ammo. The teacher’s name is Tom Railsback. He said he knows you.”

“I know Tom,” said Decker quietly. “He’s a good guy. Rina, why the hell are you doing this?”

“Because I’m a nervous wreck. Because I constantly hear noises at night. Because I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in the six months since the violence here, and I don’t want to be addicted to Valium.”

“Honey, these things take time to get over. He can’t hurt you now. He’s locked up.”

“Intellectually, I know you’re right. But I can’t help myself. I need something more. I need to know I can take care of myself.”

“And you think a gun will take care of you?”

“Are you being sarcastic?” she asked innocently.

Decker paused, then said, “Sort of.”

“Please don’t be. I’m not careless, Peter. I’m not impulsive. I’ve thought about it a long time. I really think it’s what I need.”

“Then why didn’t you talk to me about it?”

“Peter, I broached the subject with you a dozen times and you kept putting me off.”

Decker pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled deeply. He had put her off. He was worried about her keeping firearms with small children around the house. He was worried it would misfire and she’d get hurt. Or maybe it was just a macho thing, feeling she should have trusted him to take care of her. Jan had never wanted a gun: she’d hated guns. But Jan had grown up in the sixties; Rina was from a different generation. Peace, love, and Woodstock had been replaced by terrorism and Rambo.

“If you’re serious and you learn how to shoot properly, I’ll see what I can do about getting you a permit.”

“Thanks.”

“But that’s going to take months, Rina.”

“That’s okay.”

“That means you can’t hide the gun in your purse in the meantime.”

“I won’t.”

“Or under a car seat-”

“The gun will be kept at home. Relax, sweetie. You sound wired.”

He was wired.

“The other line is ringing,” he said. “Hold on a moment.”

He punched down the flashing white phone light.

“Decker,” he yelled.

“Take it easy, Pete. It’s only eleven o’clock in the morning.”

Decker recognized the voice.

“H’lo, Annie.”

“We got lucky, Sergeant. Can you make it down here by noon?”

“I’ll be there. I’ll even bring my own lunch.”

“What a guy!” She hung up.

He connected back to Rina’s line.

“Look, I’ve got to head on out to Beverly Hills. I’ll drop by tonight. We can discuss this further then.”

“I should be done with the mikvah around ten.”

“Ten it is.”

“What’s in Beverly Hills, Peter?”

“A dentist who may have identified the bones we found.”

“What’s his name? I can use a good dentist. My old one retired and I don’t like the guy who took over his practice.”

“He’s a she. Her name is Annie.”

“Does Annie have a last name?”

Decker smiled.

“Hennon,” he said.

“Does Annie also have a red afro and a dog named Sandy?”

“Not quite. She’s actually pretty. Not in your category, Rina, but her face wouldn’t cause your mouth to pucker. She has nice eyes.”

“Really now.”

“Yes. They’re green.”