Faye Kellerman_Decker & Lazarus 06 Read online

“Just leave it here. I’ll take care of it.”

  Swanson lowered the animal onto the floor. The kitten immediately made a mad dash for its divided food dish. There was water in one compartment, but the food side was empty. It meowed plaintively.

  “I think it’s hungry,” Swanson said.

  “Appears to be the case,” Decker said.

  “You need to feed the kitty,” Kovacs said, then laughed at his own joke.

  Decker slipped on gloves, then opened several cabinet doors until he found a box of cat food. “See you, fellas.”

  After the uniforms left, Decker poured the food into the bowl and watched the kitten stuff its face. Then he took out his notebook.

  His overall impression was that the apartment had been expecting its tenant to return home. The cat, of course, suggested that. If Marie hadn’t returned home soon, the poor animal might have starved. Ironstone dishes were stacked neatly in the drainer; two hardback library books were lying on the dinette table. Decker read the titles:

  Being Single in the Nineties: A New, Revitalized Look at the Feminist Movement.

  Adult Daughters, Child Mothers: When Nurturant Roles Are Reversed.

  Seemed like Marie was doing some soul-searching.

  Taped to the refrigerator was a reminder note—3 P.M. with Paula. He found today’s date in Bellson’s calendar—PD at 3 marked in red.

  Three P.M. was a ways off. If Marie didn’t show up, most likely Paula D. would call her up and ask what happened. He wondered if Marie had an answering machine. Scanning the living room, Decker located the phone attached to a machine. A red zero showed on the message window.

  No one had called last night while Marie was working. Or someone had called and the messages had been listened to and rewound.

  Decker tapped the Play button, and the machine began to spit back prior messages. There was one from a woman whose voice was raspy and old and hurried—as if she was calling on the sly. Another from a woman named Dotty who left no phone number, and a third from Paula, who left her phone number. Decker copied it down, then depressed the digits into the keypad. Two rings, then Paula’s message machine took over. Decker hung up. He’d call back later.

  He had no idea when those calls were made. Marie’s machine didn’t have a built-in clock. Yesterday, Marie had showed up at work in the late morning and worked until she disappeared. If those calls were made when Marie was at the hospital, it meant someone else had rewound Marie’s messages. Otherwise, the message dot would have been blinking.

  He wrote his observation in his notes and started to take in the living room. Feminine taste from the soft pink plush carpeting to the rows of cherubic figurines that lined a curio cabinet. The walls were white tinged with pink and decorated with posters of cats doing cutie-poo things like wearing top hats, and impressionist prints. A bowl of potpourri sat atop a nineteen-inch TV. The couch was a broadcloth of pale blue and pink waves, spruced up with needlepoint throw pillows. End tables flanked the sofa, and a coffee table was in front.

  The coffee table held one book—a King James Bible.

  Across from the coffee table was a white rocker, an afghan neatly draped over the back. A matching ottoman rested at the chair’s feet.

  Having finished dining, the cat jumped onto the ottoman, then leapt onto the chair. It proceeded to claw the afghan until the blanket fell forward, burying the kitten under a knitted patchwork. The cat wriggled out to freedom, then nested in the soft folds of the cloth. It closed its eyes.

  “At least one of us is getting some sleep,” Decker muttered.

  Bellson’s bookshelves were nearly empty, except for a dozen thumbed paperbacks and academic nursing and medical texts. The cabinets below were filled with odds and ends—board games, a picnic basket, Duraflame logs, a couple of cameras. Photographic equipment but no photo albums.

  Decker thought everyone had photos. Where were Marie’s? He went back to his work.

  Seemed like Bellson didn’t have a lot of young children as visitors. The light-colored furniture wouldn’t last a week around sticky handprints. The carpeting wasn’t made for spills and dirty shoes. Lots of breakable things sitting on open shelves as well as uncovered wall sockets. The worst offenders were the magazines on the coffee table. Toddlers just loved ripping the covers to shreds.

  He moved on to the bedrooms.

  The sleeping quarters held a double bed, sheets folded army-corners tight. Her duvet was a down-filled patchwork of pink, rose, and white. On the left nightstand was a phone; the right was topped with a clock radio. The alarm had been set for 10:00 A.M. There was a television guide stuffed into one of the stand’s drawers along with a book rating feature movies shown on TV. The other stand gave space to another King James Bible.

  Decker thumbed through it. Lots of underlined passages, but no specific theme he could detect.

  Marie the nurse.

  Marie the Bible reader.

  And that was about all he knew of her. Nothing else was illuminating the woman.

  He went over to the closets.

  Marie’s apparel was neatly stowed in a white lacquer dresser and a wall closet. After he’d sorted through dozens of pieces of apparel, it was clear that there were no secret baby clothes and/or blankets squirreled away. If Marie had been planning on bringing an infant home, she’d done an inadequate job of stocking her place with baby supplies.

  As intimate and feminine as the bedroom was, it was as generic as a movie set except for the Bible.

  Decker waded through the bathroom connecting the two bedrooms. It was papered in vining pink roses on a white background with color-coordinated towels and washcloths. Another bowl of potpourri rested on the white linoleum counters. The medicine cabinet held OTC drugs as well as some prescription meds—erythromycin, Gantrisin, Lomotil, Estranol. Decker wrote down the names and would check their functions later. Under the sink was spare toilet paper, facial tissues, and two shampoo bottles.

  Exploring the last bedroom—which had been converted to an office—Decker found much of the same. A small secretary’s desk topped with a white leather blotter, bronze pen-holder, a crystal clock, and yet a third bowl of potpourri. The woman liked sweet smells, but he hadn’t seen perfume on her dressers. He wondered if that meant anything, then remembered a lot of nurses didn’t wear perfume. Scents were often displeasing to sick people.

  He started going through the desk drawers.

  The supply drawer in the middle contained small items, nothing of any significance. The left drawer held her personal stationery—at the top was Marie Bellson RN done in a florid scrawl. Matching envelopes printed with a return address, as well as smaller note cards also in the same matching calligraphy. The right side of the desk was a bank of files—car, insurance, taxes, bills, bank statements, tax-deductible receipts.

  Decker picked out the bank statements. After an hour of perusing deposit and withdrawal slips, he surmised she had one checking account, her balance hovering around three hundred dollars. She also had a savings account with approximately three thousand dollars as of three days ago. He gathered her statements and called the bank, only to discover that the account was still active, and no transaction had taken place within the last week.

  Didn’t look like she cut out of town with her money.

  Decker thought a moment. Nothing he’d discovered about Marie revealed a woman planning a kidnapping. And if she took the baby, she had left the hospital with nothing more than the clothes on her back. Her apartment was neat. If she had come home and frantically packed, something would have appeared out of order.

  It was time to start pulling up cushions and crawling under the bed. Decker had thoroughly combed the living room for the second time when Bellson’s phone rang. He stopped and waited for the machine to kick in. It was Paula.

  Decker interrupted her message. The woman immediately asked who this was, suspicion in her voice.

  “Detective Sergeant Peter Decker of the Los Angeles Police. I was going to call you anyw
ay. I understand you have a three o’clock appointment with Ms. Bellson.”

  There was a pause on the other end.

  “Paula?”

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “I could say it was fancy police work, but the truth is, you said your name at the beginning of the message.”

  “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

  “Call Foothill Substation and verify my badge number. For now, do me a favor and talk to me. Was your appointment for today?”

  Again the pause. “Yes.”

  “Why were you calling Marie, Paula? To confirm the time and place?”

  “I don’t feel comfortable—”

  “You called Marie yesterday as well.”

  “How did you…what’s this all about?”

  “Do you remember around what time you called?”

  Silence on the other end. Decker said, “Please help me out.”

  Slowly, Paula answered, “I guess it was around four. She wasn’t in, and I realized she was probably at work. So I called today just to make sure…what was your name again?”

  Decker massaged his temples. Four o’clock. Marie was working by then. Someone had come into the apartment, listened to the messages, and rewound them. “Paula, Marie is missing—”

  “What do you mean, missing?”

  “Just that. She disappeared last night at work. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?”

  “No, I…who are you?”

  Decker repeated his name and his badge number. “No idea where she is?”

  “No.” Another pause. “If she left suddenly, I’m sure she had a good reason. Why are you bothering to look for a grown wo—omigod! It’s that baby on TV, right? I mean, why else would you be looking for a grown woman. Right? Right? Right?”

  “The kidnapping happened during Marie’s shift.”

  “Kidnapping!” Paula shrieked. “My God, I didn’t even think of Marie’s hospital. If Marie’s missing, that has to mean the same person who kidnapped the baby kidnapped poor Marie. Why else would Marie be missing! She would have died fighting to save any of her babies! She’s the most dedicated nurse I know. Omigod, omigod—”

  “Paula, I need to talk to you. I have to finish up some work here. I could meet you in an hour, hour and a half. Let’s say around eleven.”

  “I’m working now.” Another pause. “Do you think Marie’s okay? I mean, you don’t think she’s…omigod!”

  “I can meet you at work. Is that all right?”

  “Of course. I’ll take a break. Whatever you say.”

  “Where do you work?”

  “St. Jerome’s in San Fernando. Do you know where that is?”

  “You’re a nurse, too?”

  “Yes. I met Marie at Sun Valley Pres. She trained me. Only I switched to pediatrics. I just love the kids.”

  “I’ll see you at eleven, Paula. I’ll have you paged when I get there, so you don’t have to interrupt your work to wait for me. Don’t worry if I’m a little late. I’ll be there. What’s your last name?”

  “Delfern. Paula Delfern. I’m on Pediatrics, Four West.”

  “Thank you, Miss Delfern, I’ll see you in an hour.”

  “Sure. Anything to help.” A final pause. “What did you say your name was again?”

  Marge walked into Bellson’s apartment, Cindy a few paces behind her. Decker glared at his daughter, then at Marge.

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “She followed me.”

  “Daddy, just let me explain—”

  “It better be good.”

  “First off, don’t get mad at Marge. I got down on my hands and knees and begged her. I was pathetic, so she took pity on me.”

  Marge said, “I figured it was better keeping her in view than casting her free to do something stupid.”

  Decker said, “Cindy, go home and sleep.”

  “Dad, how can I possibly sleep with that baby missing? I sat with Lourdes Rodriguez for a half hour just holding her hand and watching her cry.” Her voice cracked. “It was so sad.”

  Decker turned to Marge, “What was she doing with Lourdes?”

  “I walked into the room and found her there.”

  “Cindy—”

  “Daddy, she needed someone. Someone who wasn’t a cop or a reporter or a lawyer or a hospital administrator who was trying to get her to sign away her rights.”

  “I don’t believe this.” Decker rubbed his eyes on his forearms.

  Cindy said, “How about if I just…observe?”

  “Observe what?” Decker checked his watch. “Oh, hell. Just sit down and don’t touch a thing. And stop smiling. I’m going to deal with you later.”

  Cindy tried to sport a grave look as she sat on the white ottoman. She noticed the kitten and ran a finger across its head. “Who’s this little guy?”

  “Probably Marie’s cat. We found it locked in the bedroom waiting for food.”

  “Poor thing,” Cindy cooed. “Can we keep it?”

  “I suppose we can give it some foster care,” Decker said. “It can live in the stable with the other strays.” To Marge, he said, “Unless Bellson’s answering machine has a malfunction, I think someone was here last night, retrieved the messages, then rewound them.”

  “Could have been Marie.”

  “Could have been.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I’m not sure, because other than that, nothing appears out of order. I was about to leave the apartment, then lo and behold I find a couple of keys taped under her desk. This one”—Decker held up a key with his gloved hands—“belongs to a storage bin over her parking space. Only took Detective Snail a half hour to find it.”

  Marge smiled. “What’s in the bin?”

  “Lots of old college texts—history, anthro, poli sci, as well as a bunch of sixties radical books.”

  “Radical?”

  “Eldridge Cleaver, Malcolm X, Abbie Hoffman—”

  “Who’s Abbie Hoffman?”

  “A guy who couldn’t spell America.”

  “So Marie has done some transforming,” Marge said. “Somewhere along the line she became a born-again.”

  “You can trace the transition. There were also a lot of texts on comparative religion as well as texts on Eastern philosophies.”

  Marge said, “From gurus to Jesus.”

  Decker said, “All religions are similar, once you get past the idiosyncrasies.”

  “What about the other key?” Marge asked.

  Decker shrugged. “I don’t know. It looks like it belongs to a lockbox. I’ve been searching for about twenty minutes and can’t find a damn thing. I’m supposed to interview a Paula Delfern. She’s a nurse at St. Jerome’s who was supposed to meet Marie at three this afternoon. I don’t know what the relationship is. I said I’d be there at eleven.”

  “You’re late,” Marge said.

  “I’m well aware of that, Margie. This Paula may be a good information source for us about Marie.”

  “Do you want me to continue the search or interview Paula Delfern?”

  “You do the interview,” Decker said. “I know what I’ve already gone through. This key has to belong to something!”

  “I’ll help you, Daddy,” Cindy said.

  “You, young lady, will sit there and not say another word,” Decker said.

  “He’s cute when he’s tough, isn’t he?” Marge said.

  Decker was about to reply but laughed instead. He reached inside his pocket, took out another pair of gloves, and tossed them to Cindy. “Put these on. As long as you’re here, I don’t want you accidentally touching the wrong thing, messin’ up my evidence.”

  Cindy grinned and put on the gloves. “Evidence for what?”

  Damned if Decker knew. And damned if he was going to admit that to Cindy. “Find any blood work on Marie, Marge?”

  “Yes, but it isn’t specific. Marie’s A-positive and has a normal clotting time. Same as the blood found in t
he parking lot. But A-positive is a common blood type.”

  “Yeah, isn’t it about forty percent of the population?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Couldn’t they come up with any of the specific blood factors?”

  “Nothing else is written in Marie’s chart.”

  “What was Marie hospitalized for?”

  “A D and C three years ago.”

  “A D and C? Did she have a miscarriage?”

  “Chart didn’t say anything about that,” Marge said. “Just that she was admitted for a D and C. I wrote down her doctor’s name—a Stanley Meecham. Why is that name familiar?”

  “Darcy case couple of years back,” said Decker. “Remember the bees?”

  “Oh yes, the bees.”

  And a triple murder, Decker thought. He said, “Meecham was Linda Darcy’s doc. He was treating her for infertility. I wonder if Marie was having the same problem.”

  “If so, we’ve got a potential motive for the kidnapping.”

  “Woman cracks because she can’t have kids?” Decker said.

  “Why not?” Marge said.

  Why not? Decker repeated in his mind. Look at poor Rina. A hysterectomy had plunged her into a deep depression. And this was a woman who already had three healthy children.

  “Why not indeed,” Decker said out loud. “If she was having fertility problems, does that mean there was a guy in her life?”

  Marge shrugged. “I’ll ask Paula.”

  Decker said, “Why else does a doc do a D and C?”

  Cindy said, “Grandma had one when she was getting irregular periods due to menopause.”

  “Really?” Decker said.

  “Marie’s a little young for menopause,” Marge said.

  “It’s been known to happen,” Decker said. “Could also be a reason for a sudden snap. Marie sees her last chance for a kid slipping away, so she takes one.” He stared at the key in his hands. “I’m going to keep looking for the box. You do your number on this Paula Delfern. See what the story is between those two.”

  “Got it.”

  “I also put a call in to Marie Bellson’s bank, telling them to call us if Marie or anybody shows up at any of the branches wanting to withdraw money from Marie’s account. So if someone’s patched through to you from American International, you’ll know what that’s about.”