Blood Games. Faye KellermanЧитать онлайн книгу.
She had turned to Marge.
“A daughter.”
“So what would either of you do if you suddenly came home one day … and found your child … had committed suicide?”
“I don’t know,” Decker answered.
Marge’s eyes watered. “I can’t imagine.”
“So tell me,” Wendy continued. “How would you feel if you knew there was absolutely no reason for your child to do this? He wasn’t depressed, he wasn’t moody, he didn’t take drugs, he didn’t drink, he wasn’t a loner, he had friends, and he never ever handled a gun. I don’t even know where he got the gun!” She burst into sobs. “And no one … will … tell me … anything!”
Decker let her cry it out, handing her the box of tissues.
Marge said, “What do you want us to do, Mrs. Hesse?”
“Wen … dy.” She answered between sobs. “Find out what happened.” Her eyes were imploring. “I realize this is probably not a police matter, but I don’t know where to turn.”
Silence.
“Should I hire a private investigator? I mean, at least maybe he can find out where Gregory got the gun.”
“Where is the gun?” Decker asked.
“The police took it,” Wendy told him.
“Then it should be in the evidence locker,” Marge said. “It’s also in the files.”
“Let’s pull it out and find out where it came from.” He turned to Wendy. “Let me start with the gun, and we’ll work it from there.”
“Thank you!” A new fresh round of tears poured out of Wendy’s eyes. “Thank you for believing me … or at least thinking about what I said!”
“We’re here to help,” Marge said.
Decker nodded in agreement. The woman was probably in massive denial. But sometimes, even in these situations, parents really did know their children better than anyone else.
CHAPTER THREE
SITTING ON THE living room sofa, Decker pop-topped a can of Dad’s and basked in the warmth of his wife’s presence and the aftertaste of cured meat. “Thanks for picking up my dinner.”
“If I knew you were that close to coming home, we would have waited for you at the deli.”
“It’s better this way.” He took Rina’s hand. He had showered before he ate, changing from his suit to a sweatshirt and sweatpants. “Where’s the kid?”
“Practicing.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Seems to be okay. Did you know that Terry contacted him?”
“No, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. When was this?”
“About a week ago.” Rina recapped the conversation. “It obviously upset him. He wasn’t himself over dinner tonight. Whenever he gets uncomfortable, he talks about his upcoming competitions. Paradoxically, competition seems to calm him down. Renting him a piano is a lot cheaper than therapy.”
The baby grand was in the garage—the only place where they had enough room. Gabe shared his music studio with Decker’s Porsche, workbench, and power tools and Rina’s planting and potting station. They had soundproofed the space because the kid practiced at the oddest hours. But since he was homeschooled and was basically done with high school, they let him march to his own drummer. He wasn’t even sixteen and had already gotten into Juilliard and early action at Harvard. Even if they were his legal guardians—which they weren’t—there was really no guidance left to give him. At this point, they were just providing him with food, a safe shelter, and a little company.
“Tell me about your day,” Rina said.
“Pretty routine except for the last half hour.” Decker recapped his puzzling conversation with Wendy Hesse.
“That poor woman.”
“She must be really hurting if she wants a homicide over suicide.”
“Is that what the coroner ruled? Suicide?”
Decker nodded.
“So then … she just doesn’t want to believe it.”
“True. Usually the ominous signs are there but parents look the other way. I honestly believe that Wendy is dumbfounded.” He smoothed his mustache. “You know when we first met and you were adamant about sending the boys to Jewish day school, I thought you were nuts. For what we were paying in tuition, we could have sent the boys to Lawrence or Bell and Wakefield, not a school housed in a one-story dilapidated building that doesn’t even have a library and a computer lab.”
Rina smiled. “Many people would have agreed.”
“But I’ve gotta say, most of the kids we’ve met are nice. Granted, I’m seeing the worst of the prep school teens, but I don’t think those places breed healthy attitudes. On balance, you did the right thing.”
“The school, although disorganized and sorely lacking in resources, is a very kind place. Thank you for saying that.”
Decker leaned back. “You talk to any of the kids today?”
“Of course, the boys are busy as usual. I did Skype with Hannah this morning. She was just going to bed. She’ll probably be up in a couple of hours.”
“I miss her.” Decker looked sad. “Maybe I’ll give Cindy a call. Find out what she’s up to.”
Rina smiled. “Grandchildren are always the antidote to what ails you.”
“You want to take a ride over and see them?”
“You should ask Cindy first.”
“Yeah, I guess I have to do that.” Decker made a phone call and hung up grinning. “She said, come on over.”
“Then let’s go.”
“What about Gabe?”
“I’ll tell him we’re going,” Rina said. “He likes Cindy and Koby, but I have a feeling he’ll decline. He wasn’t himself today. Maybe it has to do with his mother. Anyway, when he gets like that, he retreats inward.”
Decker took in her words. “Should I talk to him?”
“He’ll just tell you everything’s okay.”
“I don’t want him to feel like a stranger,” Decker said. “But I don’t do much to make him feel like a member of the family. I’d feel really guilty if I came home one day and found him in the same condition as Gregory Hesse.”
Rina nodded. “I think his music is and always was his salvation.”
“Is it enough?”
“I don’t know. All I can tell you is he’s functioning well. He takes the bus twice a week to USC for his lessons, he did all his own college applications even though I offered to help, he went for his own interviews and auditions even though I offered to come with him, and he booked his own flights and hotel rooms even though I offered to do it. He’s already guaranteed admission into Harvard and Juilliard. It seems to me like he wouldn’t be planning his future if he didn’t think he had one.” Rina paused. “If you want to do something nice for him, take him out driving. That excites him.”
“Okay, I’ll take him out on Sunday.”
“He really admires your Porsche.”
“Uh, let’s not carry this niceness thing too far. Being emotionally sensitive is one thing. The Porsche is quite another.”
THE COFFEE BEAN was about two miles from the