Street Dreams (16 page)

“Anytime … with or without her,” Rina answered.

“She means it,” I told him.

“You’re very gracious.” Koby turned to my father. “It is a pleasure meeting you, sir.”

“Same.” Dad gripped his hand and shook it with spirit. Then he patted Koby on the back, walking him to the door with his arm
looped over his shoulder. I think at final count, Dad had polished off half the bottle of wine. “Drive carefully.”

“She’s driving,” Koby told him.

My father looked at me and rolled his eyes. “All the more reason for the caveat.”

I
left Decker’s house,
knowing that the Loo was peeved, but what could I do? He had played his part, had been gracious after the initial stiffness,
even downright funny. I was thankful that however miffed he was with me, he had had the decency to keep it under wraps.

It was late by the time I pulled into Koby’s driveway. He offered a nightcap, but I declined, feeling drained and not very
sexy. Plus, I still had some miles to travel before I got home. I think Koby was relieved not to play host, having worked
so much overtime. We settled on a dinner date for Sunday.

I slept in Saturday morning, then met Mom for lunch. My luck was holding because she was in a great mood, and the hours passed
as smoothly as oiled gliders. When I got home, I took a long bike ride west down Venice Boulevard, hitting the ocean and back
in a little over an hour. After showering off the sweat and salt, I checked my phone messages and my e-mail. Koby had my phone
number but hadn’t called. Instead he had e-mailed me, telling me how much he had enjoyed last night. I answered him back,
then turned off the computer, along with the rest of the outside world.

Dinner was a tuna fish sandwich and a good book in bed. I turned in at midnight, determined to sleep eight hours without nightmares.
Partial success. But even after being jolted awake with the usual shakes and a rapid heartbeat, I was able to calm down enough
to fall back asleep.

I got up early on Sunday to prepare something warm and fuzzy for Dad, deciding on a breakfast of French toast and vegetarian
breakfast links, with fresh orange juice and Ethiopian coffee. Even if no one ate anything, at the very least my place would
smell good. Unlike Koby’s house, my interior decor was generic—basic furniture and a serviceable kitchen. The best part of
my tiny apartment was the fireplace mantel that had once been filled with glass figurines and family photos representing better
times in my life. Now it lay bare. I had meant to fix it up with homey touches, but after a maniac had trashed and violated
my personal space, the energy was lacking. I needed an infusion of something.

Dad was on time, as usual, casual yet handsome in a black leather bomber jacket, a dark green polo shirt, and black jeans.
He greeted me with a kiss on the cheek and a controlled smile.

“What’s cookin’, good-lookin’?” I said to him.

“Something smells good.” He unzipped his jacket and took it off.

“I’ll take that.” I opened the guest closet and hung it up. It was incredibly heavy and made the wire hanger sag. “Thanks
again for Friday.”

“Our pleasure.”

I hesitated a fraction just to make sure he had nothing else to add. He didn’t. “I hope you’re hungry.”

“I am now.”

“Then … let’s eat.” I had set my small dinette table for two, complete with cloth napkins. I poured him some coffee and orange
juice as he speared a piece of French toast onto his plate.

“I should wash,” he told me.

“Lucky for you, I have running water.”

He smiled and washed his hands, saying the ritual prayers before he bit into his breakfast. I drowned my French toast in maple
syrup and dug in. “Not bad, if I say so myself.”

“Delicious.” Dad cut the bread into neat little bites. “So … you found the baby’s mother. I’m very proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

“Your interviews must have gone well.”

“You gave me some good advice.”

“Still, you must have executed it with aplomb.”

“I do listen when you talk to me.”

He stopped eating for a fraction of a second. “I know that.”

“You’re irritated at me.”

“Not at all.”

“Yes at all. Would you like to say what’s on your mind?”

“No, I’d like to enjoy this delicious French toast and help you with whatever you need help with.”

“I can’t concentrate if you’re mad.”

“That’s fine, because I’m not mad.”

“Did you like him?”

“Very much.”

“But …”

The Loo put down his fork and knife, then looked me squarely in the eye. “No buts, Cynthia. He’s a good guy. End of story.”

We ate in silence for a few moments. I suppose there was no purpose in pressing him until I found out how viable my relationship
with Koby was. “I really did ask you here for a purpose other then getting on your nerves.”

He leaned over and kissed my forehead. “What do you need?”

“Spoken like a true parent. The baby’s mother, Sarah Sanders, I never really got a chance to interview her. Even if it had
been my job, I didn’t feel capable of questioning her.”

“That’s okay, Cin. After you get your gold shield, you’ll feel much more comfortable with interviewing.”

“I talked to Russ MacGregor about it. He’s taking the case over for Greg Van Horn, who’s on vacation. I don’t know, Dad. I
just want to make sure that certain questions are asked.”

“Like what?”

“Questions about the father of the baby. I think it’s important to know.”

“Russ didn’t ask about it?”

“Russ interviewed her for about fifteen minutes, mostly details of her abandonment. Where did you give birth? Why did you
throw the baby away? Why didn’t you tell your sister? Like she was the felon … I mean, she is a felon, but there are circumstances,
you know.”

“I’m sure a judge will take her mental capacity into consideration.” Decker sipped coffee. “Why are you concerned? Did the
sister call you up with a complaint?”

I shook my head.

“It’ll be okay, Cindy. You can’t mother the world.”

“I still think someone should ask about the father.”

“Talk to Russ.”

“I did. I spoke to him on Friday before I picked up Koby for dinner. He said he danced around the topic, but she wasn’t talking.
He didn’t know if she was protecting someone or didn’t understand the questions. He said he’d deal with it on Monday when
he came back from Mammoth. Then I asked him if
I
could talk to her over the weekend.”

“And …”

“He was reluctant, Lieutenant. Didn’t say yes right away, but I played dumb and waited him out. In the end, he said to go
ahead, but just don’t screw anything up.”

“Meaning don’t screw up the case, and don’t screw him by showing him up. He doesn’t want you to make him look bad. That’s
understandable.”

“I understand about seniority. I’ll give him all the credit: I don’t care about that.” I leaned over the table. “I just want
to make sure that the girl wasn’t raped—”

“Whoa! Hold on.” Decker put down his coffee cup. “The girl was raped?”

“I don’t know.”

“So why do you think she was raped? Retarded adults have sexual drives, too.”

“I know that. It’s just she didn’t have lots of opportunity. They’re watched pretty closely in the center.”

“All it takes is one time.”

“Shouldn’t it be considered as a possibility?”

Dad gave my question some thought. “If it were my case … I would consider it a possibility.” He rubbed his hands together.
“Go interview her.”

“I’d like you to come with me.”

“For an independent woman, Cynthia, you are full of contradictions. Why do you want to bring
Daddy
into this?”

“Because I don’t want to screw anything up.”

“Somewhere along the line, you’re going to have to learn to trust yourself.”

“How about if you do the interviewing and I watch and take notes?”

“Not a good idea.”

“Loo, I know this makes me look wussy. I don’t care. I want this done right.”

Decker shook his head. “Cin, I don’t work on cases out of my jurisdiction. That’s stepping on toes and I don’t know when and
where I might need these guys.”

“All right.” I gave him a charitable smile. “More coffee?”

“Yes, it’s very good.”

“It’s Ethiopian.”

Dad caught my eyes. “I’m sure there’s more where that came from.”

“I’ve got a source.”

Decker chuckled. “Okay, Officer, this is what I’ll do. I’ll
accompany
you.”

Better than I thought he’d do.

“You’ll nudge me in the ribs if I’m doing something wrong?”

“If I nudged you in the ribs every time you did something wrong, you’d have a hole in your side.”

“Aha! I knew you were mad!”

“I’m not mad—”

“Yes, you are. Just say it so we can move on.”

Decker locked eyes with me. I felt my face go warm.

“What?
What?”

“This has nothing to do with Koby. I meant it when I said he seems like a good guy.”

He gave me one of those scolding-parent looks. At twenty-eight, I don’t know why I had to deal with it, but that’s the nature
of being a daughter.

“Go on.”

“You should have told me, Cynthia. That would have been common courtesy.”

“Why? I wouldn’t have made a point of telling you if he had been white.”

Decker rolled his eyes. “I think you like to see me squirm.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I don’t think so.” He stood up and cleared his plate. “I wash and you dry?”

“I can handle two plates.” I brought my own plate in. Together we cleared the table. “So that’s all you want to say about
it?”

He lifted a strand of hair out of my eyes. “Yes. That is all I want to say. Now get a paper and pencil. Tell me what questions
you want to ask this girl and why.”

I went to fetch my notepad, not happy about the dialogue between us. But at least it was a dialogue. By the time we were done
refining our inquiries, it was almost eleven. I wrapped up the cold leftovers and stuck them in the fridge. I faced my father
and made eye contact. “I like him, Daddy.”

“It’s important to like the person you’re dating.”

I tapped my toe. “Well, we’ll see what happens. It’s probably premature to talk about it.”

“For what it’s worth, I liked him, too, Cin.”

“It’s worth a lot to me.”

“A definite step up from your last fling.”

I hit my father’s shoulder. “I’m ready if you are.”

“Then let’s do it.” He threw his arm around my shoulder. “You tell your mother about him yet?”

“Like I said, it’s premature.”

Dad didn’t respond. He knew bullshit when he heard it.

E
arlier in the weekend,
Sarah had been discharged from the hospital. She was facing a court hearing on Wednesday, but for now she was out on a five-thousand-dollar
bail bond and placed in her sister’s charge. Dad was pleased that Sarah was home: It was much easier to interview someone
in the comfort of familiar surroundings. By the time we made it to Louise Sanders’s house, it was after twelve. She answered
the door wrapped in a terry-cloth housecoat, a steaming mug of something in her left hand. She wasn’t overjoyed about our
visit, but she did invite us in.

“It’s nothing personal, Officer Decker,” she told me. “You were very nice to us. I’m just tired of answering questions.”

“I can understand that.”

“I should get dressed.”

“You don’t have to bother, Louise. This is my father, Lieutenant Decker. We were in the neighborhood and thought we’d drop
by to see how Sarah was doing.”

Dad and Louise exchanged smiles. He said, “How’s she dealing with everything?”

Louise laughed. “Honestly? I think she’s delighted by all the attention.”

“And how are you coping?”

Nice choice of words, Dad.
Louise’s exasperation oozed out. “You
don’t
want to know. Would either of you like some coffee?”

We both accepted coffee. She told us to sit while she fetched our drinks. It took longer than it should have. When she came
back, she had changed into a loose set of black sweats. We sipped java for a moment; then I broke the silence.

“If Sarah has a moment, we’d like to talk to her.”

Louise said, “Officer Decker, we already went over everything with Detective MacGregor.”

“I spoke to Detective MacGregor, Louise, and that’s why I’m here. He told me that Sarah didn’t say much about the baby’s father.
There is someone else responsible for what happened.”

“I know. I hadn’t wanted to go there.” Louise threw up her hands. “She was supposed to be on the pill.”

“Why was she on the pill? Did Fordham know that she was sexually active?”

“She was under a doctor’s care,” Louise said. “Her gynecologist put her on as a precaution as well as a way to even out her
periods. The decision wasn’t haphazard.”

“Of course not,” I concurred. “Listen, Louise, if her sexual activity was voluntary, then the baby’s father is her own business
… or at least not police business. But like I said last week, if the activity was forced, that’s another matter.”

She stood up and began to pace. “I’m
not
going to put her through a rape trial. That’s out of the question!”

“I understand your reluctance. But shouldn’t we at least find out?”

“No, we shouldn’t! Some stones are better left unturned.”

“Maybe she needs therapy—”

“She
has
a therapist. If the topic comes up in therapy, let her deal with it then.”

“Louise,
if
there’s a person out there raping disabled girls like Sarah, I want him behind bars. At least, let her tell me
yes
or
no.”

Louise tried to stare me down. But her eyes told me she had relented. “Give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time.”

She disappeared into the back room.

Dad said, “Good job. You don’t need me.”

“Daddy, I always need you.”

Decker patted my knee. We exchanged shrugs and finished our coffees. When Louise came back, Sarah was holding on to her arm.
The girl was dressed in blue pajamas with lambs on them. Louise settled her into a chair. “Do you remember Officer Decker,
Sarah?”