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

how old I am. And I intend to keep it that way.”

      Whatever gets you through the night, lady, Decker thought. “Ms. Eversong, what do you know about your late husband’s memoirs?”

      “Only that Lilah has an inflated picture of her father and what his memoirs are worth. Oh, I’m sure they could fetch maybe five to ten thousand dollars on the open market—”

      “Lilah felt she could sell them for three hundred thousand—”

      “That’s nonsense! But why burst her bubble? Forget about the memoirs. Concentrate on my jewels. As I stated, I have other pieces, but I really would like to find that brooch.”

      “What kind of value are we talking about?”

      “Oh, maybe a million total. The brooch is the most expensive piece. That alone is worth a quarter million. The rest are dribs and drabs. Twenty thousand here, thirty there.”

      “Ms. Eversong, do you have the combination to Lilah’s safe?”

      “To the outer safe only,” Davida said. “It’s where the jewelry was kept.”

      “Anyone else know the combination to the outer safe?”

      “Obviously, someone did.”

      “Did you give the combination to anyone?”

      “No.”

      “Do you know the combination to the inner safe, Miss Eversong?”

      “That, my young man, is exclusively Lilah’s bailiwick.”

      “And that’s where she kept the memoirs?”

      “I haven’t a clue as to what she squirreled away.”

      Decker thought a moment. The safe had been picked cleanly—a pro crack all the way. Yet there was something very amateurish about the crime. Pros didn’t rape and ransack. They liked fast jobs—nothing with complications. So someone had probably hired assholes—punks—and given them the combination. Now if the punks had been hired to rob the safe of the jewels only, why bother taking the memoirs? It would have required an extra combination to break—assuming Lilah kept the memoirs in the inner safe. Logically, it would make more sense for the punks to have been hired to steal the memoirs. When they saw the jewels, they took them as a side perk. Despite Davida’s insistence to the contrary, Decker wasn’t ready to rule out the memoirs as the main object of the theft.

      “Do you know the contents of your late husband’s memoirs?”

      “Not at all. As a matter of fact, I’ve never even seen them. Supposedly, they went from Oskar’s estate right to Lilah’s safe. Did Lilah tell you about Oskar Holtz?”

      “He was your late husband’s trusted friend?”

      “A dear boy, little Oskar was. Now he’s gone.” She sighed. “They’re all gone. Only I’m left. I outlived them all.” She smiled. “Good genes.”

      “Ms. Eversong, what did you mean when you said the memoirs supposedly went from Oskar’s estate into your daughter’s hands?”

      “I’m not saying they don’t exist. All I’m saying is Lilah has a very active imagination. A year ago, my son suddenly told me about these supposed memoirs’ existence. Perhaps she imaged them just like she imaged her attackers.”

      Decker didn’t answer.

      “Humor her if you want. But take my jewel theft seriously.”

      “I am. That’s why I wanted to talk to you.”

      They reached the lobby, walked over to the elevators. Davida dropped Decker’s arm and punched the down button.

      “I’ll wait for you for twenty minutes, my handsome young friend in the unpressed suit. After that, you can forget about talking to me and you’ll have to deal with my insurance broker.” The elevator doors opened and Davida stepped inside. As the doors closed, she said, “Ciao.”

      “Can you believe that woman?”

      “Are you all right, Lilah?”

      “I’m furious! But I can’t say that I expected anything more out of her. Or out of Freddy, either. He’s just as exasperating but in a different way. So weak. I specifically tell him not to mention anything to Mother. So what happens?”

      She picked up a bottle of makeup and threw it against the wall. It didn’t break, merely bounced and ended up on the floor.

      There was a moment of silence.

      “Pick that up, Peter. I might as well use it.”

      He hesitated, angry at her barked orders. Then he remembered all she had gone through, complied, then sat back in his chair. “So your mother kept some jewelry in your safe.”

      She glared at him, panting, fire in her eyes. “They … weren’t … after … the … jewelry.”

      “Could you just bear with me for a moment, Lilah?”

      Suddenly, she dropped her gaze. “Go on. I’m listening.”

      “Say you’re right,” Decker said. “They weren’t after the jewelry. They were after the memoirs. But they found your mother’s jewelry. And took it. Because it’s valuable. Maybe they figured there was more jewelry in your house and that’s why they ransacked your place.”

      Lilah was quiet. “Perhaps.”

      “Do you have any other valuables that you don’t keep in the safe?”

      “Some cash—front-desk-register money. What difference does it make? If I had kept it in the safe, they would have stolen it from the safe anyway.”

      “True. Did you open your safe yesterday?”

      “No.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Of course I’m sure. Why?”

      “We lifted your fingerprints off the dial.”

      “So?”

      “Your maid said she dusted the safe yesterday. I would have thought she would have dusted off any prints.”

      Lilah said, “Mercedes is not that thorough. I think she vacuums the closet, but dusting? Forget it. I’ve found cobwebs in the corner. But why bother making her feel bad about it? When you asked her if she dusted the closet, you probably threatened her. So she lied.”

      “Okay,” Decker said. “Out of curiosity, how much front-desk money are we talking about?”

      “Only about a thousand dollars.”

      Only.

      “And I keep some rainy-day money inside my bottom drawer. Five hundred or so. I could understand the ransacking of the drawers. Why did they have to destroy my room—my beautiful craftsmen furniture—pieces I’ve spent years looking for. Why did they smash the glass, break my lamps … rape me … why?”

      Why? Because crime is dangerous and dangerous is exciting. Crime is a goddamn adrenaline fix straight into the bloodstream. Assholes get so pumped, testosterone shooting through their system, endorphins flooding their brains. They feel no pain. They rape. They kill. They destroy. And they love every minute of it. They get so friggin’ high on their own hormones, they become addicted to crime as sure as to any drug.

      Decker said, “There are a lot of sickos out there. I’m going to do my damnedest to find these bad guys.” He picked up the mug sheets of the registered sex offenders. “So none of these guys fit the bill.”

      “No.”

      “You’re sure you don’t have … even an inkling as to who did this to you?”

      “Positive.”

      “We’ll keep investigating, Lilah. Just a few more questions