lip and nodded.
Decker said, “It’s nothing personal …”
“I know.”
“Call it quits around noon. It starts getting pretty hot out here anyway.”
“I’ll be gone.”
Decker sighed and gave Abel a firm pat on his shoulder. “Be talking to you. Hey, you want a beer or anything for later on?”
“Only if it’s dark and imported,” Abel said. “I’m picky about my brews.”
“I’ve got some Dos Equis. I’ll bring you out a bottle.”
“Thanks.”
Decker waited a moment, wishing he could think of something to say. Once conversation with Abel had been as natural as a draw of breath. But that was many moons ago.
He went inside the house to fetch the beer.
Marge showed the picture of Douglas Miller to MacPherson.
“Know this one, Paulie?”
MacPherson glanced over his shoulder. “No. What’s the piss-bucket done?”
“Kidnapped his daughter,” Marge said. “Doesn’t look familiar to you? He looked familiar to Mike and me.”
“Never seen him,” MacPherson said.
Marge rapped her knuckles on her head. “The mug books! Shit, my brain was mud last night. I should have made an appointment for the bounty hunter to come in and take a look. I hope he’s still in town.” She pocketed the picture and dialed the phone. Decker walked into the squad room.
“Ah, the man’s big day,” MacPherson said, with a leer on his face.
“You talking to me?” Decker asked.
“I believe I am, Rabbi. Correct me if I’m wrong, but is not this indeed the day that the fair Rina arrives?”
Decker stared at him. “You been listening in on my phone conversations, Paul?”
MacPherson shrugged. “I can’t help it if you tie up the party line.”
Decker said, “You amaze me, Paul. Every day you reach new heights of assholism.”
“Admit it, Pete,” MacPherson said. “We’re all voyeurs and eavesdroppers. That’s our field. Probing.”
“You eavesdropped on my personal phone conversation. Paul, that’s so … juvenile.”
“I hope you find out what’s troubling your lass.”
Decker gave him a murderous look. MacPherson winked and went back to his paperwork.
Marge hung up the phone and said, “This scumbag look familiar to you?” She tossed Decker the photo. Decker studied it for a moment, then shook his head. “Who is he?”
“He’s the asshole husband of the lady last night.”
“Oh.” Decker concentrated on the picture for a long time. “No. I don’t know him. How’s the lady doing? When you called last night, you said she was pretty upset.”
“I just got off the phone with her bounty hunter. He said she’d calmed down. He sent her back this morning. He’s still in L.A. and is going to look through our mug books. I know this joker lives in our area.”
“I’ll keep my eyes open,” Decker said.
“What are you doing this morning?” Marge asked.
“I’ve got a court appearance at one-thirty. I have to go downtown, can you believe that noise? The Lessing case.”
“Why aren’t they arraigning him at Van Nuys?”
“’Cause they’ve got him booked downtown. He was out on bail, and raped a girl in Wilshire Division. Shit, what is the matter with these judges? I think Lessing’s bail was only ten grand.”
“Probably the same bail as your buddy’s,” Marge said.
“Dunn, don’t start with me,” Decker said.
“Just pointing out a certain irony.”
Decker said, “Thank you, Detective Dunn, for that little lesson. I think I’ll be useful and go back up to the Manfred development right now. Talk to Patty Bingham—the one you thought was hiding something. Maybe contact a few of the neighbors we missed yesterday. Want to come with me?”
“I’ve got a date with a twelve-year-old charged with vehicular manslaughter,” Marge said.
“Tut, tut,” MacPherson said, looking up from his paperwork. “What is this world coming to?”
“See you later,” Decker said to Marge.
“Have a splendid time tonight, Peter,” MacPherson said.
“Eat your heart out, Paulie.”
A peroxide blonde opened the door until the chain stopped its advance. Her complexion was sallow, her eyes a strange shade of seawater green. Kids were screaming in the background.
“Yes?” she said.
“Police, Mrs. Bingham.” Decker showed her his badge. “I’d like a few minutes of your time.”
The green orbs began to dart in their sockets.
“What do you want?”
“It concerns a missing child.” Decker took out the photo of Baby Sally and slipped it through the door. “We’re trying to locate this little girl’s parents—”
“I already talked to the police yesterday,” the woman said. “I don’t know who this kid is.”
“Mommy …” said a tiny wail.
“Wait a minute!” the woman snapped.
Decker said, “If you’ll just take your time …”
“I said I don’t know who she is!”
Decker lied, “But I was told by a neighbor down the street that you might know—”
“Who told you that?”
“One of your neighbors.”
“Which one?”
“Uh, let me look at my notes,” Decker said, flipping through an empty notepad.
“Was it Jane?” she fired out. “Did Jane tell you I know this kid?”
Another kid screamed, “Mommy, Andrea hit me!”
“I said wait a minute!”
Decker squinted, trying to get a better look at Patty Bingham. They were still talking through the chain.
“Yeah, it was Jane,” Decker said.
“Well, Jane is a liar!”
The door slammed in Decker’s face. He thought the interview was over, until he heard the chain unlatch and the door opened all the way. Patty Bingham was wearing cutoff shorts and a T-shirt. She was a decent-looking woman and was tight in all the right places, but looked as if she’d traveled more than a few miles in her life. She seemed to be an angry woman, but her eyes gave Decker a quick once-over and her expression softened. She cocked her hip.
“Look, sir …” She let out a small laugh. “I don’t know what Jane Hickey told you, but I don’t know who that kid is. And I’ve got five of my own—”
“Five?”
“Well, three are from my husband’s first marriage. They’re visiting him for the summer. Ain’t that a riot! What did you say your name was?”
The phone rang.
“Want me to get that,