moaned.
“Patients, even in sleep, are still receptive to their surroundings,” Brecht lectured. “I think this conversation is upsetting her. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave at once.”
“Doctor, I know this is a bad time for you—”
“Bad is an egregious understatement, Sergeant. I’m in no mood to be interrogated.” Brecht touched the tips of his fingers to his forehead. “I can’t think clearly. Maybe tomorrow.”
Decker was struck by Brecht’s manner—incongruent with the informal, guru appearance. He’d expected a palsy-walsy interaction and was getting anything but.
“Sure, tomorrow’s fine,” Decker said. “It’s just … you know. Well, maybe you don’t. Time is really important in these kind of cases, Doc.”
Brecht closed his eyes, then slowly opened them. “I suppose a few minutes …”
Decker walked over and looped his arm around the doctor’s shoulder. Gently, he guided Brecht out the door. “You look like you could use a cup of coffee.”
“I never drink caffeine,” Brecht said weakly.
“Now’s a good time for an exception.”
“No, no.” Brecht sighed. “I’m fine. Really, I’m fine. Well, that’s not true at all. I’m very shaken. Who wouldn’t be?”
“True.”
They took the elevator down to ground level. It was after five and the cafeteria had begun to serve dinner, the special was meat loaf with mashed potatoes, peas, and coffee or soft drink for $4.99.
“Hungry?” Decker asked.
“I never eat red meat,” Brecht said.
Decker picked up an apple.
“That’s been sprayed,” Brecht commented. “If you must eat chemically adulterated items, may I suggest an orange as opposed to an apple. Its peel, being thick, absorbs most of the pesticides, leaving only traces of the poison in the meat of the fruit.”
Decker stared at him. “Maybe I’ll just stick to coffee.”
“Caffeine has been implicated in heart disease and infertility.”
“My wife’s pregnant,” he said, then wondered why.
“Good God, I hope she has enough sense not to drink coffee. Caffeine’s been implicated in birth defects!”
Decker was quiet. Now that he thought about it, Rina was suddenly drinking mint tea. He wondered if that had been implicated in anything, but didn’t ask. He filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee and led Brecht to a corner table. He pulled out his notebook.
Brecht said, “How long have you been with the force?”
Decker held back a smile and sipped axle grease. “I’ve been with LAPD for seventeen years, fifteen of them wearing a gold shield.”
Brecht looked at Decker, then at the tabletop. “I … apologize for interrogating you … was it Officer Decker?”
“Sergeant Decker. Detective Sergeant if you want to get technical.”
“I’m usually very professional in my behavior, Sergeant. But now … well, surely you can understand …”
“Of course.”
“What …” Brecht hesitated. “When did it happen?”
“I’m not sure of the exact time,” Decker said. “I was hoping you could help me with that. You were out with her last night.”
“Yes, I was. But she was fine when we parted. When did you find out about …?”
“The call came through dispatch a little before seven in the morning,” Decker said. “Maid phoned it in. How’d you find out?”
“I called my office.”
“When?”
“Around an hour ago. My secretary was panicked by your visit. It took me at least five minutes to calm her down and find out what had happened. She was very worried that … that something had happened to me as well.”
“She seems like a loyal gal.”
“Althea has my interests at heart.”
“Why’d you wait so long to call your office for messages?”
“I … it had been an unusual day. I was very busy.”
“With what?”
“What does my business have to do with Lilah?”
Decker waited.
Brecht sighed. “Well, if you really must know, I was preoccupied with my mother.”
“Davida Eversong.”
“The Great Dame of the Silver Screen.” Brecht frowned. “She can really put it on, that woman. But she is my mother. What can I do?”
Decker said, “You were at the spa all this time?”
“No, no, no,” Brecht said. “At her beach house. In Malibu. Mother’s there at the moment. She doesn’t know a thing about Lilah and I’m insisting that you don’t tell her.”
“How much do you know about the case, Doctor?” Decker asked.
Brecht stiffened. “What are you implying, Sergeant?”
“Take it easy,” Decker said. “I was speaking in medical terms. Have you read your sister’s chart?”
Brecht paused, uncoiling slowly. “Not yet. It wasn’t on her door when I arrived and I haven’t had the energy to go searching for it. I’ve put in a call to her attending physician.” He looked Decker in the eye. “Is there anything I should know about?”
Decker didn’t answer.
Brecht’s voice turned to a whisper. “She was sexually assaulted, wasn’t she?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Dear God!” He gasped out. “Dear, dear God, I don’t believe …” He gasped again. “Could you get me some water, please?”
Decker bolted up and retrieved a glass of water. Still trembling, Brecht clutched the cup and gulped down the water.
“Do you need another drink?” Decker asked.
Brecht held up his palm and shook his head. He took a deep breath. “No … no, thank you.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes … quite. It’s … the shock.” He inhaled deeply once again. “What happened?”
“We’re still putting pieces together, Doctor. I hope to have a better picture after I talk to your sister.”
“I just can’t believe …” Brecht buried his face in his hands, then looked up. “Ask your questions, Detective.”
Decker said, “When did your mother call you to come down to Malibu?”
“This morning,” Brecht said. “She was in terrible pain and I rushed out to treat her.”
“What time did she call?”
“Around eight-thirty, nine.”
“Is that why you canceled all your appointments?”
“Yes. My appointments that day started at ten. I knew by Mother’s tone that there’d be no way that I could get away with just a simple treatment. Once I was out there, I just didn’t feel … I decided to give her the entire day.”
“Your secretary said your cancellation message was already on the machine when she arrived at eight.”
Again