32

The suite was at the end of a long, narrow hallway, up two steps and facing the back of the building. Dark and musty, it held yards and yards of draped cloth over the windows and hanging from the ceilings: rich fabric in oxblood velvets and ruby satins. Between the textiles were mirrors-on the walls and on the ceiling. The bed was king size, dressed in gold silk and layered with pillow upon pillow. A crystal chandelier threw disco light over a bedspread vaguely redolent of cigarette smoke and perfume. So prototypical whorehouse, it could have been a movie set. The blonde went over to a mirror and bent down, showing off a nice, tight rear. She pushed in a panel, and a cubby opened up. She took out a portable phone and stood up, extending it to Decker.

“He wants to talk to you.”

Decker paused, then took the receiver. “Thank you.”

She sat down, perched on the edge of the bed. The mattress undulated. How neat! Decker thought. He and Jan had had a water bed during the 1960s when that kind of thing was ultracool. They had to give it away because it had killed his back.

He pushed the talk button. “Decker.”

“Lay off Merrin. He’s a gold mine for me-him and you Jew boys. You kikes are a real horny lot, you know that.”

It took Decker a few minutes to integrate Donatti’s words. “I take it this is a protected phone?”

“I do my best, but nothing’s guaranteed. You talk on any line, you take your chances.”

“You don’t seem concerned.”

“Why should I be concerned? What’s wrong with calling up a massage parlor? I’m not known for my high-class taste.”

“You own the place.”

“Me? I don’t own anything like that. Can’t get a license being a convicted felon. Terry, on the other hand… now there is one rich lady. She owns a string of them.”

“Does she know?”

“She would if she’d bother to read her tax return. You know Terry… lives in her head. As it stands, I do the accounting: She’s happy just to sign on the dotted line. Anyway, it’s not like it’s a bad thing. Massages are very good tension relievers.”

“You know, Donatti, I see lots of velvet and mirrors here. A big mother water bed. But no massage table.”

“The clients like atmosphere. And if you look in the bathrooms, you’ll see we have lots and lots of oil.”

“What do you know about him? Merrin?”

“Not much except that he likes his massages. He brings in other clients who like massages. Because he’s such a good referral source, the place gives him deep discounts. All the masseuses are over eighteen, by the way.”

“Comforting,” Decker replied. “I don’t think Merrin likes me.”

“Could be, Decker. I don’t like you, either.”

“What else do you know about Merrin?”

“You know, I’m big on delegating. Jen would know more about the locals.”

“The comely blonde in reception.”

“I’m glad you approve.”

“Mind if I ask her a couple of questions?”

“You can ask. I don’t know what she’ll tell you, even though I’ve instructed her to be very, very nice to you-a big concession because her pussy retired three years ago.”

“I don’t want sex, Donatti; I want answers.”

“Sex is always the answer, Lieutenant.”

The line went dead.

Decker handed the phone back to Jen. She took it, stowed it, and sat down on the mattress, patting it for him to sit down. He sat, setting off a tidal wave. Her hand went to his knee. Her voice was a siren’s whisper. “What can I do for you?”

He took her hand away from his thigh. “Probably nothing if Donatti shut you up.” He stood and leaned against the wall. She came up from behind and slipped her hands around his waist, pressing her body against his back. It felt nice, but he shook her off. “I’m married. I don’t cheat. Don’t touch me, all right?”

He turned around, facing her puzzled-and slightly wounded-blue eyes. “What? Did he tell you to seduce me? He’s playing games. He knows I don’t do that kind of stuff. Sit down.”

She retreated to the bed and sat down with her hands in her lap, as obedient as a schoolgirl.

“Do you live in Quinton?” Decker asked her.

“Rosehill.”

“Where’s that?”

“About ten miles east of Bainberry.”

“Separated by woods?”

She nodded.

“What’s this area? Like a series of little townships?”

“Exactly.”

“And why did you choose to settle in Rosehill? Did he set you up there?”

“My husband’s practice is in Rosehill.”

“Your husband.”

“Yes.”

“What does your husband do?”

“He’s a physician. Family medicine. He’s been in Rosehill for over thirty years.”

“Thirty years.”

“Yes.”

“He’s quite a bit older than you?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t mean to imply anything negative about that. I’m much older than my wife… well, not that much older.” Decker began to pace. “Does your husband know what you do?”

She regarded him defiantly. “What I do is secretarial work. Nothing more.”

“A few moments ago you were willing to do more.”

Her eyes were steel. “Doing an old friend a favor, that’s all.”

Decker stopped and rubbed his forehead. “You know a girl from Quinton was murdered about five days ago.”

“Yes. Down in New Jersey. A shame.”

“She was fifteen years old.”

“A terrible shame.”

“You get clients from Quinton?”

“Sure.”

“The Jews come in?”

“Yes.”

“Have you ever serviced a man named Chaim Lieber?”

“We keep our clients’ names private. People expect that, you know? But since you seem to have a… personal relationship with Mr. Donatti, I’ll answer the question.”

“Thank you.”

“No.”

“A big buildup for a letdown.” Decker laughed. “He never came in… Chaim Lieber.”

“No.”

“What about his brother?”

“Who’s his brother?”

“Ephraim Lieber?”

Again she shook her head no.

“Merrin comes in here a lot.”

She grew quiet.

“Nice man?”

“He’s always been polite.”

“Good to hear.” Decker began to pace again. This was getting nowhere. “Let me ask you this, Jen. If I wanted to fly a little, where would I go?”

Her smile was patronizing. “To the airport.”

“Very funny. Could you answer the question?”

“I wouldn’t know. This is a spa, not a rave.”

“A spa?”

“We have a steam bath. Are you interested?”

“No, I’ve been wet enough for one day, thank you.” Again Decker tried to change tactics. “So you get some Quinton people in here.”

“Yes.”

“Men who like their privacy.”

“Yes.”

“Probably get some boys in here, too. You know, horny kids looking for some action.”

“All our clients are over eighteen.”

“You card the ones who look underage?”

“Of course. We don’t want problems.”

“Merrin get a kickback for looking the other way?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant.”

First time she had used his title. Donatti must have told her.

“You get some bad boys in here, Jen?”

“We get all types of men. But if they want a massage, they mind their p’s and q’s.”

Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere. C’mon, Decker. You’re a professional, for God’s sake.

He remembered Donatti’s words for snagging the girls: “tea and sympathy.” How many times had he used that approach with juveniles himself? He sat down on the floor, his legs extended outward, back against the bed. He tapped the carpet, indicating for her to sit next to him. She followed dutifully, tucking her legs under one another, her spine straight up. He kept his eyes on her stoic face, dropping his voice to something soft and soothing. “How old are you, Jen?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Twenty-one.”

“Yes.”

“My daughter’s twenty-five.”

“Really. You don’t look that old.”

He smiled. “I also have another daughter… from my second wife. The one who’s much younger than I am. That daughter… she’s nine going on thirty.”