False Prophet. Faye Kellerman

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 Brecht’s scalp deepened in tone. “Well, maybe Mother called at seven-thirty. I really don’t remember exactly.”

      Decker let his words hang. Forget about the phone call for the moment. From Malibu to Tarzana was a toll call. If Mama Eversong did dial sonny boy up, Decker could get the exact time by checking phone records. “What’s wrong with your mother?”

      “Age.” Brecht sounded weary. “She’s over seventy with diabetes, arthritis, bursitis, osteoporosis—oh, why bore you with the details? Conventional drugs alone have had little success. In conjunction with my holistic regimen, Mother does a bit better handling the pain and skeletomuscular problems. But basically she’s just wearing out and not doing it gracefully.”

      “You usually treat her whenever she calls?”

      Brecht sighed. “I evaluate each incident individually. If I hear a demand for attention and not genuine pain in her voice, I put her off. This time she sounded as if she really needed help.”

      “And you received her call around seven-thirty?”

      “I suppose. Anyway, if you need her to verify my presence at the beach house, I’ll have her write you a note. I’m afraid I can’t give you her home number.”

      “That’s all right,” Decker said. “I have it.”

      There was a moment of silence.

      “You have my mother’s beach house number?”

      “All of your mother’s numbers. I’ve called all day and nobody answered.”

      “My mother doesn’t believe in answering phones. She claims that’s for secretaries.”

      “Does she have a secretary?”

      “No.”

      “There were no machines answering the numbers, either.”

      “She claims machines are uncivilized.”

      “So she never answers the phone when it rings?”

      “Not at the beach house. Or at her apartments. At the spa, anyone wishing to speak with her leaves a message at the desk. She does pick up her messages from time to time.”

      “Then why does she bother having phones?”

      “To make outside calls—as she did to me this morning.” Brecht blew air out of his mouth. “As I started to say, if you need her to verify my presence, I’ll make sure she writes you a note.”

      As if a note from Davida Eversong would carry enough weight to explain anything away. The arrogance of the rich. Or maybe Brecht was used to Mama taking care of him. A note—as in grade school. Please excuse Dr. Freddy for being absent.

      “I’ll even insist Mother have the note notarized,” Brecht added.

      Decker said, “I’d like to interview her.”

      “I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

      “Why?”

      “It just is. At least right now. I can’t elaborate. Perhaps in a day or two.”

      Decker let it go. Brecht was being cooperative but only up to a point. Was he protecting Mama or protecting himself? Not that Decker had any reason to actually suspect Brecht. Still, Lilah’s safe was wide open. What the hell was inside?

      “You went out to dinner with your sister last night.”

      “Yes. I picked her up around …” Brecht stopped, stared at Decker. “Now do I have to tell you the precise time?”

      “Do the best you can, Doctor.”

      “I came to her house around eight. We went out to a vegetarian restaurant in the Fairfax district. A Sikh establishment that uses only rennetless cheese. You’d be surprised how many of these vegetarian places use cheese with rennet. Rennet is—”

      “I know what rennet is, Doctor. It’s a chemical used as a binder in cheese making, derived from the gut of a cow.”

      Brecht stared at him. “Your nutrition IQ just rose a notch in my book, Sergeant.”

      Actually, Decker knew about rennet from keeping kosher. Rina had explained to him in great detail why ordinary cheese without certification was considered unacceptable. It didn’t make a lot of sense to him for a chemical to be considered unkosher—a designation he’d thought was reserved for edible food only. But it didn’t matter. Kosher cheeses were just as good and it made Rina happy. If she was happy, he was happy.

      “When did you arrive back at your sister’s home?” Decker asked.

      “Around eleven, eleven-thirty. The restaurant is a ways from her house. There’s quite a bit of traveling time.”

      “Did you go in the house afterward and talk?”

      “No, I was fatigued from a rather stressful day and I was anxious to get my rest.”

      “You dropped