Milk and Honey by Faye Kellerman Page B

“Logic tells me that a true rape-o would leave as soon as he was done and worry about cleaning the knife another time. And consider this. His prints were found elsewhere—all over the apartment, as a matter of fact. But not on the weapon.”
    Marge said, “Maybe he intended to wipe the apartment clean, but she stopped him by clobbering him with the lamp.”
    “Yeah, that’s another thing. The gal’s dripping blood and has a collapsed lung, but she has enough strength to hit him with a lamp. And what’s he doing while she’s crawling on the floor and retrieving a lamp?”
    “In the john?”
    “She didn’t bong him as he exited the john. If I were him, I would have noticed her and stopped her.”
    “He was too busy cleaning the shiv to notice.”
    “Which brings us back to the first point, do you calmly clean your weapon after all this commotion took place?”
    “Maybe he had her terrified.”
    “Not too terrified. She bopped him with a lamp.” Decker thought a moment. “I wonder who called the incident in?”
    “The PR would be on the tape. Look up the incident number and give Hollywood a call.”
    Decker read further. He said, “There are gross inconsistencies here—the clean shiv, the statement of the whore, the time frame…. Hey, we’ve got a bloody footprint lifted from the kitchen floor that didn’t match the shoe Abel was wearing. It was a size-nine left-foot, rubber-sole number.”
    “Maybe he changed shoes.”
    “Marge…”
    “It’s possible.”
    “Abel doesn’t have a left foot,” Decker said. “And herarely wears a shoe on his prosthesis. Someone else was in the room.”
    She didn’t answer.
    Decker said, “Sixty-forty a good lawyer could get him off right now, without any further investigation.”
    “Is that what you want?” Marge asked.
    “No. What I want is to find the mother who did this and clear Abel’s name altogether. But that may not be possible.” Decker checked his watch, then locked the file in his desk. “I’ll go over it later. Gotta go to court now.”
    His phone rang.
    “Sergeant Decker? It’s Ms. Rawlings.”
    “Hello, Ms. Rawlings,” Decker said. “How’s my baby Sally?”
    “Fine, Sergeant. I just want to tell you that I’m taking her to the doctor’s this afternoon. Would you like to come pick up the report around four o’clock?”
    “Unfortunately, I’ll be at the airport,” Decker said. “How about if I come pick it up first thing tomorrow morning?”
    “That would be fine, Sergeant.”
    “Thanks for phoning, Ms. Rawlings,” Decker said. “Take good care of my baby girl.”
     
    Rina slipped her arms under Peter’s jacket and hugged him tightly. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so happy, so relieved . Strong arms, something to lean on. She could feel her muscles loosen, her shoulders and jaw go wonderfully slack. Peter bent down and kissed her gently on the lips. She knew they had to move, that they were blocking the path of people deplaning, but she couldn’t bring herself to break the embrace. Peter finally did it for her.
    He looked at her at arms’ length. Metallic blue eyes, creamy, smooth skin, pronounced cheekbones highlighted by a windswept stroke of blush. Her hair was long and loose—a beautiful ebony wave sheathing her back. Shewore a navy shirtdress gathered at the waist, bisected by a white belt.
    “You look gorgeous,” Decker said.
    “You do, too.”
    Decker laughed. “That’s not true, but it’s nice of you to say it.” He picked up her carry-on and her wardrobe. “Did you bring a suitcase?”
    Rina shook her head.
    “Then let’s get out of here.”
    The freeway was jammed rush-hour traffic in the afternoon heat. The unmarked’s air conditioner tried desperately to cool off the sticky upholstery, but the temperature gauge’s needle was grazing the red zone. Horns blasted, the sun reflected blindingly off chrome fenders, side mirrors, and rear windows. Decker shut off the air conditioner