Milk and Honey by Faye Kellerman Page A

little one?” Decker asked.
    “My bundle of trouble,” Patty said. “Here’s your coffee.”
    “Thanks.” Decker kept glancing at the baby as he drank. Maybe it was the playful look in the baby’s eyes. Sally had playful eyes.
    “So,” Patty said. “How long have you been a cop?”
    Decker gulped the coffee as fast as he could. “Too long.”
    “Seen it all, haven’t you?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “So have I,” Patty said.
    “Give me a break,” Brian muttered.
    “Keep your damn thoughts to yourself,” Patty said.
    Decker put the mug on the countertop. “Thanks for the coffee, Mrs. Bingham. I’ve got to go now.”
    “You’re a fast drinker.” Patty nudged him in the ribs. “Hope you don’t do everything that fast.”
    Decker groaned inwardly.
    “How ’bout a refill?” Patty said.
    “No thanks.”
    The air conditioner suddenly blasted cold air atop his head.
    “Gotta go,” Decker said.
    Patty said, “Hey, maybe I’ll see you around, huh?”
    Karen rolled her eyes.
    Decker said, “Maybe.”
    He left as quickly as he could.

8
    “How was Patty Bingham?” Marge asked.
    Decker loosened his tie and said, “Patty has strong, unfulfilled sexual needs.”
    “What?” Hollander looked up from his paperwork. “What’s this about unfulfilled sexual needs?”
    Marge said, “Go back to sleep, Mike.”
    “A crime-lab report came in for you, Pete,” Hollander said. “It’s on your desk.”
    “Thanks,” Decker said. He sat down, opened a bottle of aspirin, and swallowed a couple of tablets without water.
    “Unfulfilled needs, huh?” said Marge.
    “Can I get this woman’s phone number?” Hollander asked.
    “You wouldn’t want it,” Decker said. “She’s a piece of work.” To Marge, he said, “Her youngest kid looks a little like Sally.”
    “Is that significant?” Marge asked.
    “No, not really,” Decker said. “Just a point of observation. As far as Patty goes, maybe she does know who Sally is, maybe she doesn’t. I had a hard time reading her, because she was coming on to me so strongly.”
    “Is she listed in the book?” Hollander said.
    Decker said, “I talked to some more neighbors. No one knows Baby Sally by name.”
    Marge shrugged. Decker broke the seal on the manila envelope. He pulled out several sheets of paper and began to scan them.
    “What did you order?” Marge asked.
    “Lab report from the scene of my friend’s crime.”
    “Still delusional,” Marge said.
    “A little delusion never hurt anyone.” He read on. “They didn’t lift any prints off the shiv. It was cleaned.”
    “Your friend wiped it,” Marge said.
    “Why would he wipe the shiv?” Decker said. “Supposedly it was his shiv, not hers. Of course it would have his prints on it. Seems to me he’d just stick it back in its sheath and leave.”
    “Decker,” Marge said. “Watch TV. Criminals clean their weapons.”
    Decker said, “Let’s reenact this. My friend rapes and cuts this girl. He wipes the shiv and puts it on the table. Now, presumably, he’s getting ready to go and intends to take the shiv with him.”
    “Okay,” Marge said.
    “Now if you were cut like she was, you’d scream, right? You couldn’t help yourself.”
    “I would think so.”
    “So say she screamed when he sliced her. Are you going to wipe your shiv calmly and lay it on the table, or are you going to get the hell out of there, figuring her screaming may have alerted someone?”
    “He was cocky. Or he was a psycho who enjoyed watching her suffer.”
    “I can’t buy that,” Decker said. “Margie, he’s seen it all—arms and legs and shit blasted all over the place, moaning lumps that used to be people. Some guys got off on torturing anything with slanted eyes. Blood lust or they just went nuts. Not Abel…not Abel.”
    Decker covered his mouth, felt himself breathing through his hands.
    “You all right?” Marge said.
    “Yeah,” Decker said quietly. He wiped his forehead with his jacket sleeve.