The Forgotten. Faye Kellerman
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full of shit!”
Erin’s mouth formed a soft O.
“Who’s Ricky?” Martinez asked.
“Some jerk …” Holt made a face at Erin. “Why do you bring him up?”
“You said he was your friend. Didn’t you go to Berkeley together?”
Holt rolled his eyes. To the cops, he said, “Ricky Moke is to the right of Hitler. Why don’t you go hassle him?”
“Where can we find him?”
“That’s a good question,” Erin said. “He hides out a lot.”
“Erin, shut up!”
“Don’t yell at me, Darrell. You were the one who gave the cops his last name.”
“Is this Moke a fugitive?”
Erin and Darrell exchanged glances. Holt said, “Moke tells lots of stories. Among them is this tale about his being a wanted fugitive.”
“What is Moke supposedly wanted for?”
“Bombings.”
The cops exchanged glances.
“Bombing what?” Webster asked. “Synagogues?”
Holt shook his head. “Animal laboratories. Not the actual cages, just the data centers. Ricky, by his own admission, is an animal lover.”
Torah Academy of West Hills had been molded from an old veterinary clinic. It must have been a thriving practice, and for big animals, because the examination rooms were extra large though still too small for classrooms. So the majority of actual learning took place in prefab trailers that filled the parking lot, save for a few science classes that were held in the animal morgue. The other clinic rooms had been turned into offices for the administration. Decker knew that the school, like everything in this community, was run on hope, volunteers, and the occasional out-of-the-blue donation.
Rabbi Jeremy Culter was in charge of secular studies. He was in his mid-thirties, and considered very modern for an Orthodox rabbi. In addition to being ordained as a rabbi, he had a Ph.D. in education and, most telling, he didn’t have a beard. He was fair complexioned and on the short side—trim with very long and developed arms. His office held a minimal look—a desk, a couple of chairs, and a bookshelf filled with sepharim—Jewish books—as well as books on psychology, sociology, and philosophy. The walls were cedar-paneled and still retained a faint antiseptic odor, along with an occasional waft of urine.
Usually, when Decker visited the school, he wore a yarmulke—a skullcap. But today he was there not as a father but in an official capacity. He didn’t wear a yarmulke when he worked because he often dealt with people who hated him in particular and cops in general, and he didn’t want to give any psycho-felon anti-Semite any more fodder to use against Jews. Still, sitting in front of Culter, he felt exposed without a head covering. If Culter noticed, he didn’t let on.
He said, “I can’t believe you actually think that one of our own boys—your son’s classmates—desecrated a shul and left concentration-camp photos around? Children with grandparents who are survivors!”
Decker looked at him. “How’d you find out about the specifics of the crime?”
“This is a small community. Do I really have to explain this to you?”
“Did my wife call you?”
The rabbi shook his head.
“Must have been one of the members of the bucket brigade.” Decker smiled at him. “I’ve just assigned you the role of my clergyman. Now I have confidentiality. Okay with you?”
Rabbi Culter said, “Go on.”
“This is the deal. We’re calling it a random drug check for the boys. I’m going to use that ruse with all the schools I’m going to. What I’m looking for is evidence of who might have done this. If you and your school cooperate with me, Rabbi, I’ll have muscle when dealing with the other privates.”
Culter nodded. “The law is an objective animal and so are the police.”
“Exactly,” Decker said. “If I searched my own son’s school, then what excuses can the other principals give me?”
“You’re getting resistance?”
“You’re the first school, so I’ll find out. But I can tell you that no swanky private school will freely admit having vandals in their student body. It doesn’t sit well with the parents who pay enormous tuition bills.” He pointed to his chest. “I can attest to that personally.”
“Are you positive that kids did the crime?”
“No, I’m not. The police are checking out a number of leads. I’ve assigned myself the role of school snoop. Lucky me. This isn’t going to give me status with my stepson—invading the privacy of Jacob and his friends. But it’s worth it if I get results. When other principals see a clergyman not attempting to protect his own, what excuse do they have?”
“The parents are not going to be pleased.”
“Rabbi, I want to nail these bastards. I know you do, too.”
Culter lifted his brows. “So I’m supposed to tell everyone that it’s just a random drug check.”
“If you could do that, it would be extremely helpful.”
“What if …” The rabbi folded his hands over his desk. “What if you find something incriminating on your son?”
“Meaning?” Decker kept his face flat.
“I think you know what I mean. Yaakov has given me the impression that you two talk about personal matters.” A very long pause. He rubbed his nose with his index finger. “Perhaps I just spoke out of turn.”
“You mean drugs?”
Culter shrugged.
Decker said, “Jake spoke to me about marijuana use. If it’s more than that, I don’t know about it.”
The rabbi was stoic. “What are you going to do, Lieutenant, if you find anything in his locker?”
It was a legitimate question, and it churned Decker’s stomach. “I’ll decide if and when I have to deal with it. Right now, I’m willing to take a chance. Because I really want these punks behind bars. Please help me out. Help the community out. Not only do we want to find the perpetrators, but we don’t want this to happen again.”
“I agree.”
“So you’ll help me?”
“With reluctance, but yes, I will help you.”
“Thank you, thank you!” Decker stood. “All right. Let’s get this over with.”
“Are you personally going to do the searches?”
“Yep. If it turns out okay, I’ll take the credit. If not, I’ll accept the blame. Where do you want to be during this fiasco?”
“By your side,” Culter said. “You’re not the only one who believes in justice.”
The contraband consisted of a few dirty magazines, as well as several plastic bags of suspicious-looking dried herbs, enough for Decker to act the bad guy and scare a few kids into behaving better. He used fear rather than actual punishment, effective in getting the point across. Yonkie’s locker was literally clean, stacked neatly and free of garbage. The teen’s recent behavior had indicated a change for the good, but Decker couldn’t deny the relief of just one less thing to worry about. As it was, there were going