The Mercedes Coffin by Faye Kellerman Page B

quiet. The detectives assigned to Primo’s murder wouldn’t like me butting my nose into their business.” He paused. “You wouldn’t happen to have Rudy Banks’s phone number.”
    “Do I have it?” She laughed derisively. “I must have called it a thousand times. Sometimes he even answers.”
    “Thanks. That would save me some work. And just so I don’t over-focus on Rudy Banks, is there anyone else who might have had a stake in hurting Primo?”
    She took a deep drag on her cigarette. “Who knows? In this business, you make enemies without even knowing it.”
     
CHAPTER 14
     
    THE MESSAGE POPPED onto the machine after ten rings, giving the caller adequate time to hang up. If the male voice was that of Rudy Banks, his tonal quality was raspy, as if he had a chronic case of laryngitis. Decker left his name, rank, and phone number. From past history, intuition, and experience, he was going to have to chase the sucker down. He hung up and began to sort through a falling tower of pink message slips when Oliver came into the office and sat down.
    Decker barely glanced up, but his eyes had enough time to take in Scott’s jaunty outfit, a glen plaid jacket over olive pants. “You’re looking very English today.”
    “Fifty bucks for the jacket.” Oliver smoothed the lapel. “Brand new. I found out about Ben and Melinda Little’s finances. They were in good shape.”
    The way Oliver spoke made Decker wonder. “Do you mean good shape or
very
good shape?”
    “I mean outstanding shape.”
    “As in way too good for a teacher?”
    “As in skirting the boundaries of what would be logical,” Oliver told him. “And that got me thinking. How did a guy on a teacher’s salary without a working wife afford such a nice house and an expensive car?”
    “I thought he was also a vice principal… which probably meant he had a little more lunch money.”
    “At the time, he was making forty-one thou a year plus health and benefits, which was pretty good back then, but it doesn’t explain how he amassed personal savings
and
the Mercedes
and
the kids’ college funds,
and,
I found out, he was also making payments on a motorboat. Not a big one, but still.
And
he also had a trailer and a camper to tow it.”
    “Nice stash. Did you ask Melinda Little about it?”
    “Yes, yes, yes. Melinda told me that Ben loved to camp and spend weekends at Lake Mead. She stopped paying for the boat after he died, and the company repossessed it. The trailer she sold for a discount — they’re worth next to nothing on the resale market — and basically broke even. If I was looking for an infusion of cash from the sales of the vehicles to fund her burgeoning gambling habit, I didn’t find it.”
    Decker nodded. “But the question you asked is a good one. Where did he get all the money?”
    “Melinda claimed that Ben took care of the finances, and she never questioned where the money came from. She was provided for, the kids were provided for, and that was good enough for her.”
    “Do we know if Ben had other jobs?”
    “Like what?”
    “My kids go to religious day school. Their Hebrew studies are in the morning and the English studies are in the afternoon. A few of their secular studies teachers are public school instructors who moonlight for a little extra spending cash.”
    “That might explain the car
or
the boat
or
the camper, but not the car
and
the boat
and
the camper.”
    “What did his bank deposits look like?”
    “Nothing out of the ordinary. Most of the money was direct deposit from work.”
    “If he owned the camper and the trailer, how did he pay for them?”
    “My next step.”
    “And what about the Mercedes? Was he making payments on that as well?”
    “Melinda was pretty sure that the Benz was paid off.”
    “And she wasn’t suspicious of where the money was coming from?” Decker asked him.
    “I don’t think she cared. When I hinted that Ben might have been involved in illegal activities, she thought the