Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection: False Prophet, Grievous Sin, Sanctuary. Faye Kellerman

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 your sister off?”

      “Of course not! That would be cloddish and I am not a clod. I parked the car and walked her to the door. After she was safely inside, I drove away.”

      “Everything appear normal when she went inside?”

      “Yes. She turned on the living-room light, told me good night and closed the door.”

      “Does she always leave the living-room light off when she goes out?”

      Brecht stopped. “Good God, here we go again with the precise details. Next time, remind me to take my Dictaphone and video camera!”

      Decker waited.

      “Maybe the light was already on,” Brecht said. “I don’t remember.”

      “Was the bedroom light on?”

      “I wouldn’t know.”

      “You couldn’t see?”

      “I suppose I could technically see her bedroom window from my car, but I didn’t pay any attention.”

      “Did you hear anything unusual?”

      “Not at all.”

      “See any strange cars parked around the house?”

      “No.”

      “You say you walked your sister to the door around eleven, eleven-thirty?”

      “Yes.”

      “But you didn’t go into the house?”

      “No. Lilah asked me if I wanted to bunk down in the guest bedroom for the night, but I said I’d rather go home. Now I wish to God that I had. I’m feeling terribly guilty about it.”

      Decker nodded.

      “Of course, I had no way of knowing …”

      “None at all,” Decker said.

      “Damn, if only I had been there!”

      “If you’d been there, maybe you’d have ended up in worse shape than Lilah.”

      “Better me than her!”

      “All I’m saying is, it might have been both of you.”

      “You just don’t understand.” Brecht took a deep breath. “I’m not myself. Do you have any idea who did this horrible thing to my sister?”

      “We’re investigating every avenue right now, Doctor.”

      “In other words, you have no suspects.”

      Decker was quiet.

      “Are we done, Sergeant?”

      “Almost. By any chance, do you have a key to your sister’s house?” Decker asked.

      Brecht’s voice hardened. “Yes, I have a key. Why?”

      “Just checking out every avenue,” Decker said. “Did you know your sister has a safe in the bedroom closet?”

      Brecht shifted in his seat. “I don’t like this line of questioning.”

      Decker