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

you have the combination—”

      Brecht rose from his seat. “Why would I have the combination to her safe!”

      “My brother and I have the combination to my parents’ safe,” Decker said. “I don’t have any idea what valuables they keep inside, but they gave us the combination in case something happened to them.”

      Brecht seemed suspended in midair, then he slowly sat back down.

      Decker shrugged. “With you being so close to your sister—you have a key to the house—well, I thought she might have trusted you with the combination.”

      “She didn’t.” Brecht touched his fingers to his forehead. “May I assume the safe had been opened?”

      “You can assume anything you want.”

      Brecht clasped his hands together. “There was a robbery in addition to the assault?”

      Decker said, “Maybe.”

      Brecht said, “You don’t say too much, do you?”

      “I’m just trying to do some fact-finding. A few more questions and we can call it quits, Doctor. What did you do after you dropped Lilah off?”

      “I went straight home.”

      “Make any calls?”

      “No, not at that hour.”

      “Check in with your service?”

      “Uh … no.”

      “Don’t you usually check in with your service before you go to bed?”

      “If there is an emergency, they’ll page me. I believe in leaving well enough alone.” Brecht folded his hands across his chest. “I think we’re done now.”

      “Doctor, please bear with me. How many brothers do you and Lilah have?”

      Brecht opened his mouth and shut it. “What?”

      “How many brothers do you have? Straightforward question.”

      “Uh … two.”

      Decker looked at him. “You’re sure, now?”

      “Of course I’m sure. We have two other brothers—half brothers, really.”

      “Their names?”

      Again, Brecht paused. “What do they have to do with any of this?”

      Decker shrugged. “Every avenue.”

      “Good God,” Brecht said. “No, they couldn’t have. They couldn’t. Could they?”

      Decker didn’t answer. Brecht hadn’t brought up his brothers, but now he sure seemed eager to implicate them.

      “It’s my understanding that your sister had quite a noisy argument with King.”

      “The maid must have told you that.” Brecht made clucking noises with his tongue. “Kingston scared the daylights out of her. If it wasn’t for Carl, who knows what he might have done to Lilah. Not that I’m implying Kingston had anything to do—with Lilah.” He looked at Decker. “I shouldn’t be telling you this …”

      But he was going to tell it anyway, Decker thought.

      “Kingston has always been insanely jealous of Lilah, though he disguises it as being protective. The fact is, he’s irate that she’s the sole heir of Mother’s estate. For years, he’s been pressing Mother to change her will. Even though Mother slips him money from time to time.”

      “Slips him money?”

      “Just to shut him up, I think. I really don’t know much about Kingston’s affairs. We’ve been estranged from each other for quite a while.”

      Decker nodded, knowing that old Freddy Brecht was no objective character witness for brother King. Still, it never hurt to listen to opinions.

      “You think Kingston might have broken into his sister’s safe to steal money?”

      Brecht suddenly reddened. “I have no proof … I really don’t know why I said that. Probably because Kingston’s always hard up for cash. Even though he makes untold hundreds of thousands at that mill he’s running.”

      “Mill?”

      “Abortion mill.” Brecht scrunched up his face. “I think he’s branched out into other things—infertility is the latest rage. First women pay money to kill their babies, then they pay money to have them.”

      “Kingston is an OB-GYN?”

      “Yes. Imagine a specialty for something as natural as childbirth.”

      “Excuse me, Doctor, but isn’t your other brother an OB-GYN as well?”

      “Indeed. But at least John seems to be a little bit more respectful of fetal life.” He wagged his finger. “Not that I’m against abortion like those crazy right-to-lifers. But Kingston’s mill is positively repulsive. His so-called practice is the antithesis of what we physicians profess to represent.”

      Decker couldn’t tell if Brecht’s ranting was a heartfelt opinion or yet another way of venting against his bro King.

      “Are you close to John, Doctor?”

      Brecht shook his head. “He’s closer to Kingston. The two of them are of the same generation and in the same field, so I suppose it’s natural.”

      “Does your mother slip John money as well?”

      “I don’t know,” Brecht said. “John seems to mind his own business. I have little to do with him, but I harbor no animosity toward him.”

      “Can you spell Kingston’s name for me, please?”

      “Spell?”

      “I want to make sure the maid gave me the right spelling.”

      “K-I-N-G-S-T-O-N M-E-R-R-I-T-T.”

      Kingston Merritt. Obviously, he and John Reed were half brothers as well.

      “Do you have phone numbers for either of them?”

      “No. They’re both in the book. John’s practice is in Huntington Beach; Kingston’s is in Palos Verdes.” Brecht stood. “If you don’t mind, it’s been a terribly long day and I’d like to check on my sister. With all these questions, I hope you haven’t lost sight of the fact that there is some maniac out there who hurts people.”

      “I’m well aware of that.” Decker stood. “I’ll go up with you … see if Lilah’s up for talking.”

      “And if she isn’t?”

      “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

      “I’ll phone the nurse’s station and find out if Lilah’s up,” Brecht said. “Save you a trip if she’s still sleeping.”

      Decker hesitated.

      “Or you can make the call, if you’d like,” Brecht suggested.

      Decker pointed Brecht to the house phone in the cafeteria. Brecht made a quick call, then hung up.

      “She’s still sleeping.”

      Decker evaluated his face and felt he was telling the truth. Even if he wasn’t, he couldn’t get much of an interview from Lilah with Freddy standing over his shoulder. Maybe it would be better if he came back tomorrow, refreshed from a good night’s sleep. He thanked Brecht for his time. Only thing left to do was running Lilah’s bagged clothes over to forensics. Then his working day was over.

      The house was deserted. Almost seven and no dinner on the table, no sons greeting him with a hug at the door, no wife taking his coat and nonexistent hat, and no dog bringing him the paper.

      His fantasy of