Faye Kellerman - Milk and Honey

Bounty hunters. No matter what they looked like, they were all sleazeballs.

She punched Delferno’s number into the phone, and a moment later a deep voice resonated inside the earpiece.

“It’s Marge Dunn, Barry,” she said.

“Detective Dunn,” Delferno crooned. “How’s the LAPD’s finest?”

“Not bad.”

“You know, I was gonna call you.”

“Were you now?”

“No shit. I’m divorced, Margie. For real this time. Free and clear. You can check it out, if you don’t believe me.”

“I called for professional reasons, Barry. Got your current caseload in front of you?”

“Margie, Margie, Margie. What is the rush?”

“I don’t chat when I’m on duty.”

“So how ’bout if we chat over drinks?”

Marge ignored him. “We picked up a little girl—around two, curly blond hair, brown eyes, height thirty-two inches, weight twenty-six pounds. I’ve got Polaroids and footprints I’d like to fax over to you. See if we come up with a match.”

“As long as the match is a love match between you and me, my Greek goddess.”

“Knock it off.”

Delferno said, “I love a woman who talks tough. It turns me on. Gets my blood boiling and my—”

“You’re wasting your breath.”

“All right. Be surly. I’ll get you anyway. In the meantime, send me the pics and the prints.”

Marge placed the information into the machine. She said, “Call me back when you’ve got them.”

“How about dinner? Tonight, even. Wait, tonight’s not good. How about tomor—”

“I’m hanging up now, Barry.”

“It’s not nice to alienate the hired help.”

Marge laughed and placed the receiver in its cradle. She poured herself a cup of coffee and waited for Delferno to call back. A few minutes later, her phone rang.

“Dunn,” she answered.

“Nothing,” Delferno said.

“Sure?”

“Positive. Never seen the little tyke. Was she abused?”

“Nope. She seemed to be very well cared for.”

“Foul play with the parents?”

“Could be,” Marge said. “We found blood on her pajamas. Ask around for me, Barry.”

“What do I get in return?”

“What do you want?”

“How about a weekend in Cabo San Lucas? We’ll four-wheel it down to Baja, dip our toes in the gentle warm oceano, and fish for yellowtail.”

“I don’t fish.”

“Then we can sunbathe on the white-sand beaches … no tan lines, Margie.”

“I’m involved with someone else, Barry,” Marge said.

Delferno paused. “I heard you broke up with Carroll.”

“Well, you heard wrong,” Marge lied. “You remember Carroll—six-six, two-sixty, hands as big as catchers’ mitts.”

“For chrissakes, why didn’t you tell me in the first place, Margie?”

“It slipped my mind. Kinda like your wife slipped yours a while back.”

Delferno paused, then said, “Was this whole thing a setup for revenge?”

Marge smiled. “Well, let me put it this way. If I’m ever interested, I’ll give you a call. Until then, give me and the kid a break and pass on the photo to your buddies. Maybe they’ve seen her.”

“If it means another chance at your body, Detective Dunn, I will do that. I like my women like my tales—long and tall.”

“I like my men like my good-byes—short.” She laughed and hung up the phone. Decker walked into the squad room.

“What’s so amusing?” he asked. “I could use a few giggles.”

“Delferno,” she said. “Same old lech.”

“Any luck with Sally?” inquired Decker.

“Zip. I told Barry to pass the picture along to his colleagues. I also tried the Missing Children Hotline. No one matching Sally’s description has been reported recently.”

Decker sighed. “Poor little kid. This has turned into a rotten day.”

“Worse than most?”

“Yeah, when it involves a two-year-old, it’s worse than most.”

Marge turned and faced him. “Lunch with your rape-o friend didn’t go so good?”

“Par for the course.”

“Did he do it?”

“He says no.”

“And you believe him?”

Decker paused, then nodded yes.

Marge said, “The friend in you says innocent, but the cop decrees guilty.”

“No,” Decker said. “I really don’t believe he did it.”

“Jesus,” Marge said. “What’s between you and that scumbag that’s turning your brain to mush? Did he save your life?”

“I told you no.”

“Then how do you owe him?”

“I’m not paying off a debt, Marge. I happen to think he’s innocent—”

“Oh, give me a break, Pete,” Marge said. “Fess up. Was he your illicit lover or something when all you men were dogged out in the combat zone?”

Decker laughed. “No.”

“What are you going to do for him? Bribe the judge? Burn the files?”

Decker sat down at his desk and peeled another cigarette. “I’m going to find the man who raped and cut up the hooker.”

“You already bailed the guilty party out of jail, my friend.”

“Well, I don’t think so.”

Marge leaned back in her chair, shook her head. “A seasoned guy like yourself, falling for his shit … Let me look into it. At least I’m objective.”

“Nope,” Decker said. “I’ve got my eyes wide open, Marge. I can handle it.”

“Sure you can.”

Decker rubbed his eyes and said, “We can keep bickering like this, honey, or I can do something productive like go home and get some sleep.”

“Pete!” Marge said. “You called me honey!”

“That’s ’cause you’re acting like a broad, Margie.”

Marge grinned. “No, Decker, you’re acting like a civilian.”

Decker said, “I’m going home. Beep me if something comes up with Sally. I’m going down to Hollywood Division tonight and review the case files. Try to get a handle on this hooker. You can call me there if anything comes up.”

Marge leaned back in her chair. “Colonel Dunn says that the attachments he made with his war buddies ran deeper than blood. That true with you?”

“Nope.”

“Yeah, Colonel Dunn has been known to spout a lot of shit.”

Decker smiled.

“You didn’t get together with any of your buddies when you came back to civilian life?” Marge asked.

“Only once,” Decker said. “Somewhere between the second and third hour, after we rehashed all the old nightmares, I discovered I didn’t have a thing in common with any of them.”

“And that was it?”

“That was it. You know, Margie, I worked damn hard at putting it all behind me. And it’s especially hard because America has had a sudden change of heart and decided we weren’t all baby-killers. Nam vets have become the darlings of Hollywood. Indochina has great box-office appeal—all those shirtless sweaty bodies crawling through the jungle. Leeches! Gooks! Grunts going nuts! Makes for exotic drama. And the producers? They’re former hippies who now drive Mercedes instead of VW bugs. They want to talk to us, make nice. Except I remember how they treated me when I came back to the world. It don’t wash, babe.”

“Colonel Dunn was once asked to be a consultant on a Nam film.”

“What did your dad do?”

Marge blushed.

Decker said, “That bad?”

“Let’s put it this way. The screenplay was long, and Mom didn’t have to buy toilet paper for a month.”

Decker burst into laughter.

Marge asked, “So who’s this guy who you’re going the distance for?”

“Abel Atwater,” Decker said. “A hillbilly boy from the Blue Ridge Mountains of Kentucky.” Decker’s voice had taken on a nasal twang. “One of eleven chillun. His father could barely read and write, his mother was completely illiterate. Abel learned to read by sifting through mail-order catalogs. He used to entertain us by reciting Sears, Roebuck copy. Bright guy. The war messed him up.”