Street Dreams (12 page)

“He teaches at the high school. Yonkie had him for tenth-grade Gemara. I got to know him very well because Yonkie wasn’t doing
well in his class.”

“Well, he’s doing well now. The child has hit his stride.”

“Yeshiva life agrees with him.”

“More like college, Rina. But we digress.”

“Indeed.” Rina smiled. “Anyway, as far as Laurie’s mother-in-law could tell, I think this guy at the top of the list—Rudolf
Kalmer—was the lead investigator in the case. But this other guy— Heinreich Messersmit—was also involved.”

“Partners?”

“I don’t know. It almost seems that both of them were working on it, but independently. Different handwriting.”

“Who’s this number three guy—Axel Berg?”

“He came in a little later. Berg had been working on two other unsolved homicides, and we think that Kalmer and Messersmit
asked him for a consult on my grandmother’s death. Berg later took over.”

“What other homicides?”

“Here … wait.” Rina flipped through the pages of her translated text. “It’s hard to tell, Peter, because they, like you guys
here, use abbreviations. Mrs. Manheim thought that this page”—Rina sifted through the faxed copies of the original documents—“here,
this over here. They brought in Berg for a consult on the MAK of two women—Anna Gross and Marlena Durer.” Rina read to herself.
“Okay … this word—‘
tötungsdelikt
’—that’s premeditated homicide. ‘
Totschlag
’ could be like regular homicide.”

“Regular homicide?”

Rina was exasperated as she groped for words. “You know … like defensible homicide.”

“Self-defense?”

“Yeah, yeah. It could mean killing in self-defense.” She hit her head. “‘
Tötungsdelikt
’ implies lying in wait.”

“Okay. So these two women, Durer and Gross, were premeditated murder victims.”

“Yes, we think so.”

“What does ‘MAK’ mean?”

“We’re not sure. Mrs. Manheim thinks it
might
be an abbreviation for ‘
mordakten
,’ which would be a homicide file. ‘
Mord
’ is murder. ‘
Akte
’ is any file. See? They have it in front of my grandmother’s name—MAK Regina Gottlieb.”

Decker regarded his wife’s blue eyes. “Regina? So you’re named after her?”

Rina nodded.

“Ah.”

“I think that Kalmer and Messersmit wanted to know if my grandmother’s murder was related to the murders of Durer and Gross.”

“What? Like a serial killing?”

Rina shrugged. “Beats me. That’s your domain.”

Decker scanned through Rina’s translated notes as he sipped tea. “You translated the autopsy report.”

“Yes, we did. It was gruesome.”

Again he regarded his wife. “Your grandfather allowed the body to be autopsied.”

“He didn’t have a choice because her death was unnatural.”

Reading over the specifics:
a white Jewess, well developed, well nourished, 155 centimeters in height, with a weight of 45 kilograms.
“They specified her religion?”

“There’s a shock.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m surprised they didn’t write her up as ‘Jewess dog.’”

“But 1928 was pre-Hitler.”

“In Germany, yes. He didn’t come into official power until 1933. But Munich was a different story. In the late ’20s, Hitler
was a very strong force. Munich was where his family had originally settled from Austria. That’s where he led the famous Beer
Hall Putsch in the early ’20s.”

“Sorry. I slept through world history. What’s a ‘putsch’?”

“A ‘putsch’ is like a … It’s like a coup … an insurrection. The Nazis tried to take over Munich. It was unsuccessful. They
threw Hitler into jail. That’s where he wrote
Mein Kampf.
Any of this sound familiar?”

“I knew Hitler was from Austria. I also know he was a failed artist. You might have to give me a crash course in prewar Germany.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“No, Rina, it might be important. Maybe the murder was an act of anti-Semitism.” Decker skimmed through the sheets for several
minutes.

Rina let him read, then said, “Anything in there to verify your theory?”

“Nothing so far. I have to study this in detail.” He backtracked several pages. “Yeah, definitely this guy Berg was working
on several female homicide cases. And they considered your grandmother to be a possibility. Except in these two cases—Durer
and Gross—they were strangled … and your grandmother was bludgeoned on the back of the head.” He closed the file and connected
with Rina’s eyes. “Do you really want to find out about this?”

“I know it’s weird, but yes.”

“It’s not weird, Rina. But you’re getting into some very strong material.”

“It can’t be worse than the camps.”

“You have a point, but things that are less than horrendous can still affect you deeply.” Decker tapped the ends of the sheets
to even them up. “I’m a little tired now. But I’ll read it over carefully tomorrow night and let you know what I come up with.”

“Thank you.”

Decker thought a moment. “Don’t underplay the historical context, Rina. I think the anti-Semitism is going to be very relevant
somewhere down the line.”

“I’m sure you’re right.” Rina sighed. “And that’s really sad.”

It was after midnight by the time I crawled into bed, but Dad was a night owl. I phoned his business number and he picked
up after two rings.

“Decker.”

“It’s me. Did I wake you?”

“No, you caught me just in time. Why are you calling my work line?”

“I thought if I called the private line, I’d scare you.”

“You would have. Good thinking. Thank you. What’s up?”

“A couple of things. First off, can I come over Friday night for dinner?”

“Of course. You don’t even have to ask. The boys are home, you know.”

“No, I didn’t know. What’s the occasion?”

“Summer vacation.”

“It’s only mid-May.”

“Both got their finals over with very early. Lucky me.”

I smiled. “Poor Dad. So beleaguered.”

“Nah, I’m just joking. It’ll be wonderful to see my entire family in one sitting. Any particular reason why you’re coming?”

“Not really.” An out-and-out lie. “But I was thinking about bringing a friend. But if it’s too much work for Rina, we can
make it another time.”

A momentary pause. “Of course, you can bring a friend. Is it a he or a she?”

“It’s nobody serious, Daddy. I just met him a few days ago.”

“And already you’re bringing him to your parents’ house for
Shabbat
dinner?”

“My father’s house. Mom doesn’t know about him because it’s not relevant. I’m
only
bringing him because he’s traditional. His family lives in Israel and I thought it would be nice for him to have a real
Shabbat.
”

“An Israeli?”

There was excitement in his voice. I could picture the smile on his face. I wondered how wide it would stay once he saw Koby’s
complexion. I should have said more, if nothing else than to prepare him, but then I figured why should I? My parents had
raised me without prejudice. Now was the time to test their theoretical tolerance.

“He’s lived here for eight years. This is stupid, Dad. He’s just a friend,
all right
?”

“I hear you, Princess. Sure. Bring him over.”

“I have another reason for calling.”

“Uh-oh, this sounds more serious.”

“It has to do with business. I
might
have tracked down a good candidate for the baby’s mother.” I told him everything I had found out. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re terrific.”

He was still thinking about my “friend.” I could hear it in his voice.

“I gave the information to Greg Van Horn, but he’s going on vacation. He told me to check the lead and see if it goes anywhere.
If it does, he told me to play it by ear.”

“He’s giving you opportunity to flex your muscles. He’s being nice, Cin.”

“I know that. I thanked him. He’s giving me a chance and I don’t want to mess it up. You wouldn’t happen to have a spare morning,
would you?”

His laughter was immediate. “Now, what good would it do if I tagged along?”

“You could poke me in the ribs if I get off track?”

“Go get a pencil.”

“Okay.” I pulled out a pencil and a pad of paper from my night-stand. I always kept them there in case I thought of something
inspirational. “I’m armed and ready.”

“Listen up! You want to find out about this girl, but you have to go through the sister. What you don’t want to do is alienate
the sister. First you introduce yourself. You ask if you can come in and say that you won’t take very long. That’s important.
If they think you’re going to take a long time, it makes them even more nervous. You act casual. You tell them you’ve been
doing a little searching that led to the Fordham home. The girl … What’s her name?”

“Sarah.”

“Sarah hasn’t been in school for a while. Is everything okay? The sister may not answer the question. She may ask, ‘What is
this all about?’ You say, you’re coming to that. How is Sarah? Now the sister will probably say something about her health.
‘Yes, she’s fine,’ or ‘No, she hasn’t been fine. What’s going on?’”

“Wait, wait, wait.” I was writing so fast that my hand was cramping. “Okay. Continue.”

“When she asks about your business the second time, you get to the point. It should go something like this.

“You say: ‘A couple of days ago, LAPD found an abandoned baby in a Dumpster. Maybe you read about it in the paper?’

“She says: ‘Yes, that was terrible, but I still don’t understand why you’re here.’

“You say: ‘Mrs. So and so—’”

“I don’t think she’s married,” I interjected. “The name is Sanders, by the way.”

“Okay. So say something like … ‘Ms. Sanders, I think you might like to know that we’re actively looking for the mother of
this child. It’s very important that we find her, not to
punish
her, but to
help
her.’ By now, if she has any brain in her head, she knows what you’re getting at.”

I wrote furiously, then put the pencil down for a break. “Well, then, let’s hope she has a brain.” I laced my fingers together,
flipped them around, and stretched out my arms until my knuckles cracked.

Dad continued. “Cindy, it’s very important that you talk to Ms. Sanders and get her on your side before she brings in Sarah.
She’s probably used to treating Sarah like a child, so her first reaction might be to yell at her or confront her. … Don’t
let her do this. Calm Ms. Sanders down first and then interview Sarah. It’s very important that no one feels threatened—the
sister or the girl. When people are defensive, they don’t talk.

“There’s another possibility—that the sister will be completely protective and not let you get within ten feet of Sarah. If
this happens, you calm the sister down and assure her that you have Sarah’s medical and psychological interest at heart.”

“I do. It’s the truth.”

“I know, honey. Look, Cindy, it’s late. I’ve got to get some sleep. But I’ll be reachable all morning. If you have a problem,
don’t hesitate to call me on my cell. But honestly, I don’t think you’ll need to, because I know you’ll handle it perfectly.
After what you’ve gone through, this should be easy.”

“Thanks for the confidence. I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too.” A pause. “So how’d you meet this guy?”

“We’re not having this conversation, Dad.”

“Just use me and discard me.”

“What else are parents for?”

I
t was a one-story
Spanish house sitting in a block of Arts and Crafts bungalows, the stucco so white it sparkled like snowdrift. Nestled among
large-leaf banana plants and cocoa palms, the home had the requisite red-tiled roof and the little gated courtyard. Full of
curb appeal: That was real estate lingo for something that looked good on the outside. I had tried to dress soothingly—a sage
blazer over cream-colored blouse and slacks— but I suspected that Ms. Sanders wouldn’t be focusing on my sartorial splendor.

It was just past eight in the morning, early enough to catch her before she went to work, and I chose not to phone beforehand
because I didn’t want to scare anyone off. I rang the bell. The peephole door opened.

“Yes?”

“Good morning. I’m Officer Cynthia Decker. I’m looking for Louise Sanders.”

“Who are you?”

“Officer Cynthia Decker of Los Angeles Police—Hollywood.”

She opened the door a fraction of an inch. The chain was still attached. “Can I see some ID, please?”

Billfold already in hand, I slipped it through the crack. She took it and, after a few moments, passed it back. The door opened
all the way.

She was much older than I expected—in her late forties or early fifties. I was led to believe that Sarah was in her twenties.
That meant there was quite an age gap between them. Louise had short, blunt-cut gray hair that framed an oval face and gray-green
eyes. Her features were regular, and once, she had been pretty. Now, she was handsome in her black skirt suit and crisp white
blouse.

“Yes?”