Stone Kiss (28 page)

“It’s not what you think.”

“So let’s meet and you can explain it to me.”

Again no one spoke.

Decker said, “Where’d they find her?”

“Fort Lee Park.”

“Where’s that?”

“Jersey.”

Decker’s heart started hammering. “
Where?
Like the middle of the state?”

“No, Fort Lee is right over the George Washington Bridge… five minutes out of the city. The park is commemorative grounds.”

“Big?”

“Yes.”

“Populated?”

“During the day, yes. It’s a big place.”

Decker didn’t know where he was last night, but he knew he had been more than five minutes out of the city. More like an hour
from Manhattan. One possible scenario: Chris had murdered Shaynda after Decker had seen her, then dumped her on his way back
to his place. But why would Donatti make the drop somewhere so visible and so close to his digs? He was a pro; he didn’t like
to advertise. Unless he
was
the type who’d do it for kicks—which really gave Decker something to worry about.

Jonathan cleared his throat over the line. “Cops were thinking that maybe”—he cleared his throat again—“maybe she’d been hiding
out there. Lots of spaces to hide because it’s so big. Historical… goes back to revolutionary days. That’s why it’s so close
to the bridge. Actually, they named the bridge after George Washington because it’s so close to Fort Lee.”

Jonathan was rambling. Decker interrupted him. “I’d like to talk to the Quinton Police again. It’s no problem for me to travel
back upstate. If you don’t want to meet with me in public, give me a private place.”

“We could meet in the city. They want me to go to Jersey… to identify the body… .” There was a deep, depressed sigh over the
line. “Akiva, I don’t know if I’m up for it.”

“Would you like me to come with you?”

“They need a relative to identify—”

“I know, Jon. I’ve never met the girl.” The lie came out as smooth as tanning oil. “I just meant I’d accompany you for moral
support.”

“That’s very generous of you.” An exhalation. “Thank you.”

“It’s fine, Jon. When do you want to go?”

“Someone was going to meet me at the… the morgue at about five.”

Four hours from now. Decker said, “That gives me enough time to come out to your neck of the woods. If you want to meet with
me, fine. If not, we’ll talk later. I’ll go see the police. When you’re ready to leave upstate, let me know and I’ll follow
you into New Jersey.”

Jonathan’s voice dropped to a whisper. There were tears in his words. “I think I might have messed up.”

Decker said, “I’m sure you didn’t. I’m sure you did what you thought you had to do. Let’s meet in Quinton and talk about it.”

“Yes, that probably would be a good idea.” Now the anger was directed at himself. “It’s what I
should
have done this morning.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if we all had hindsight,” Decker consoled him. “I know I’m persona non grata at the Liebers’. Tell me
where we should meet.”

“I don’t know… my mind’s a blank.”

“Is there a Starbucks somewhere?”

“No, that wouldn’t be good. Someone might see us.”

“How about we just talk in the car?” Decker suggested. “With the windows fogged up, no one will be able to see inside.”

“No, that’s…” Another clearing of the throat. “The only thing that comes to mind is a Tattlers between Quinton and Bainberry.”

“Sounds good.”

No one spoke.

Jonathan said, “Are you familiar with the chain?”

“Nope.”

“It’s like a raunchy Hooters.”

“
This
is where you want to meet?”

“I’ve never been there, Akiva. It’s the sole place I can think of where it’s unlikely we’ll meet anyone from the community.
And if by chance we do see someone there, believe me, he’ll pretend we don’t exist.”

Dividing Quinton and Bainberry were six miles of untamed woods holding hundreds of bare trees and scores of tangled brush.
The border between the two townships was demarcated by the Bainberry mall, a series of connected brick buildings sitting in
a slick pool of asphalt parking. Like an errant child, Tattlers sat by itself, unattached and off to the left. Jonathan was
waiting for him, his eyes jumping behind his glasses when he saw Decker’s face.

The hostess, whose nametag said
BUFFY
, offered them a wide smile of capped teeth and a chest of cleavage and silicone. After seeing Donatti’s pieces of work, Decker
delighted in seeing a healthy, clothed—albeit scantily—woman who was clearly out of her teens. Because the uniforms lacked
a lot of fabric, the temperature inside “the gentlemen’s club” was turned up to sauna level, encouraging the patrons to remove
jackets and ties. Someone wanted the guys to feel comfortable. It probably made for better tips.

Decker slipped the hostess a twenty. “A private booth in back.”

She averted her eyes—probably because he looked so disheveled— but still managed a sly smile. “Anyone in particular, sir?”

While he had out his wallet, he showed her his gold shield. “Anyone who can bring me a large pot of strong coffee and make
herself scarce.”

Immediately, the woman was all business. “I think we can help you out, Detective. This way.”

She led them past the stage spectacle: three topless women in thongs gyrating under multicolored klieg lights. Men were hooting
and cat-calling, egging the girls to do lewder and lewder things. They were prevented from doing even ruder things by a sign
that stated
ABSOLUTELY ,POSITIVELY NO TOUCHING
!

Jonathan looked away, but Decker took them in, his eyes moving up and down their perfect bodies. They were young, beautiful,
and energetic. They probably made good money, more bucks than working on circuit boards or changing hospital bedpans. Not
to mention all the attention they got. The scene was pure circus, lacking only the big top.

Not that Decker was offended or surprised. In a Donatti society that emphasized outcome rather than process, and stardom was
worshiped above all, in a country where porn stars were trophies for rock stars, and people confessed to adultery and incest
on national TV, well, then, why the hell not?

Except that Rina still ascribed to this outmoded concept of modesty as dated as Mayberry, USA. Over the last ten years, he
guessed he had become an old-fashioned guy, and outmoded was just fine by him.

As requested, Buffy gave them a hidden booth in the corner, away from the flesh display, more like a peep show from where
they were sitting.

“I’ll get you the coffee, Detective.”

And she did… right away. “Anything else?”

“Jon?”

The rabbi shook his head, keeping his eyes off Buffy’s ample bosom.

“A bagel if you have it,” Decker answered.

“We have a bagel, lox, and cream cheese platter.”

“That’s fine. And I’d also like a cup of ice and a napkin.”

Buffy nodded. “Does it hurt?”

“Not too bad.”

“I’ll place the order and get you the ice,” Buffy said. “Ambrosia will be your server.”

“Thank you.” When she was gone, Decker said, “Where do they come up with these names?”

Jonathan attempted a smile, but his eyes were glued to Decker’s bruises.

Decker ignored the unstated question mark. “When I worked Sex Crimes, I used to come to places like this all the time. Sleazier
places, actually. Real down-and-dirty stuff. The girls were older, much more shopworn, perfect fodder for psycho bullies who
liked to punch and rape. It was very sad.”

Jonathan nodded.

“These girls look healthier.”

“But for how long?” Jonathan asked. “They’re all under twenty-five, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, that’s about right.”

“It’s only a matter of time before their looks go. Then what?”

“Well, if they haven’t sucked it up their veins or blown it up their noses, they might be okay. There’s money to be made here.
It’s not as if they lost their opportunities to become rocket scientists.”

Buffy came back with the ice and napkin. “I have some aspirin.”

Decker reached into his pocket and pulled out a bottle of Advil. “Thank you, but I’m fine.” He poured the cubes into the napkin
and placed them on his face.

“What happened?” Jonathan finally asked.

“Some street psycho took an instant dislike to me.”

“That’s awful!” A hesitation. “He just
punched
you?”

“I probably shouldn’t have made eye contact. At least, he didn’t jab any lethal bacteria up my veins.”

“Good Lord, don’t say that!” Jonathan shook his head, rubbed his eyes under his glasses. “I am so sorry. Are you in pain?
I could probably get you a prescription for something stronger.”

“I’m fine. How bad is it?”

“You haven’t looked in a mirror?”

“I’ve avoided it.”

“The entire right side of your face is reddish purple.”

“I’ll just tell people I got hit in the face with a blueberry pie.”

“This is all so horribly depressing!”

“We’ve both had better days… better years.” Decker poured two cups of coffee. “Anyone say how she died?”

“She was shot.” Tears in his eyes.

“Where?”

He shuddered. “Why?”

“I’m just curious to see if there are any similarities to Ephraim’s murder.”

“I would think it’s a given—the same people who murdered Ephraim murdered Shayndie.”

“That’s logical, but you can’t assume anything.” The ice felt soothing. “Are you ready to tell me what you were holding back
this morning?”

The rabbi fiddled with his napkin and doused his coffee with cream and sugar.

Decker said, “Just start talking, Jon. It’s easier after you get the first few words out.”

“Chaim called me around seven, seven-thirty. He told me he needed to talk to me in person.”

“You came out to Quinton?”

“Immediately,” Jonathan answered. “His voice sounded agitated, but at least it was animated. As soon as I got there, he brought
me into the basement so we could talk alone. He swore me to confidence. And that is why I didn’t tell you, why I
couldn’t
tell you.”

“I understand.”

“I’m only telling you now because you’ve threatened to go to the police. Not that I’d tell them anything—I’m entitled to claim
pastoral confidentiality—but it would open up wounds. I thought it might be easier to deal with you than the police.” He lifted
his eyebrows. “Maybe not.”

“Believe it or not, my purpose is not to give people a hard time.”

“I know that.” Jonathan sighed. “Now that she’s gone, I suppose it’s all irrelevant anyway.”

“Talk to me, Rabbi.”

“Chaim told me he had reason to believe that Shaynda was still alive. He said he had heard from certain people that she was
okay.” He blinked back tears. “Obviously, someone was mistaken. Perhaps Chaim misunderstood or it was wishful thinking on
his part.”

“Or whoever Chaim talked to was lying. Who are these people?”

“At the time, Chaim couldn’t or wouldn’t say. He said he only confided in me because he knew I’d keep a secret. And secrecy
was very important. If word got out, bad things could happen.”

“Did word get out?”

“I don’t know, Akiva. I know that Chaim told me, but I don’t know who else he told. At some point, when things are quieter,
I’ll ask him.”

“And that’s all Chaim told you. That he had reason to believe that Shaynda was alive.”

“No. He also hinted that maybe there was some kind of ransom demand in the works. And if things went as planned, and someone
needed to do an actual exchange of money for Shaynda, would I be willing to help?”

“What did you say?”

“I said of course I’d help. Anything.”

“And Chaim gave you no hints about Shaynda’s location?”

“No.”

“So let me make sure I understand.” Decker took the ice off. “Chaim heard from some anonymous source that Shaynda was okay.”

“Yes.”

“And he thought that there might be a ransom demand. And if that happened, he asked you to be a go-between.”

“Yes.”

“Did Chaim actually talk to Shayndie?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“So the source could have been lying or mistaken, or Chaim could have misunderstood.”

“Yes.”

“Is exchanging the money for Shayndie the only favor that Chaim wanted you to do for him?”

“No.” Jonathan rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses. “No, there was more.” Tension had crept into his voice. “It seems that
you’ve become an obstacle—a sticking point.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know, Akiva. I do know that Chaim said that the kidnapper or ransom demander or whatever… that he wanted you out
of the picture. As soon as possible.”

Decker raised his brow. “Out of the picture in what way?”

“That you should leave the city, of course.” Jonathan’s eyes got wide. “That’s what it means, right?”

Ambrosia—a robust blonde wearing a bikini top and broad shorts—served Decker a bagel and lox platter. He gave her a twenty.
“More coffee; then we’re fine.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Ambrosia frowned.

“It’s nothing personal,” Decker said.