Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [41]
“You’re in a mood,” Rina said. “Stop teasing him.”
“I’m not teasing him. I’m telling him the truth.” He looked at Gabe. “The father would cut your head off. Then he’d probably go after me and cut my head off.”
“Stop it,” Rina said.
“He’s a dour guy.”
“Bakshar is in his late sixties with four daughters and now he has to pay for a big wedding. How would you be?”
“Dour.” Decker chomped on his sandwich, then chomped again. “Good.”
Rina looked at Gabe. His sandwich was hardly eaten. “You’re not hungry anymore?”
“I think I filled up on meatballs.” He looked at Decker who had polished off his dinner. “You want some of mine, Peter?”
“If you’re not going to eat it.”
“Take it.”
“See, that’s why you’re skinny and I’m fat.” Decker caught Gabe looking at his watch. “You need to go?”
“I have to prepare for the audition.”
Decker put his sandwich down and called for the check. He looked at the teen with sudden concern. “Gabe, do you feel comfortable working at such a young age?”
“In this business, I’m not so young.”
“But in real life, you are.” Decker suddenly realized he was looking at a child—very talented, very smart, but still a little boy. “I’m serious, Gabe. I know you’ve been . . . led in this direction your entire life. But make sure it’s what you want. Keep an open mind.”
Gabe nodded.
“I mean it, son. Only you can live your life.”
He smiled. “I think that’s the first time that anyone has ever told me to consider options other than music.”
“See, I’m an original,” Decker said.
Gabe picked up his half-eaten sandwich and took a bite. He suddenly regained his appetite.
Decker said, “You want your sandwich back?”
“Nah, this is fine.” He felt okay. “I actually like what I do. I can’t see myself doing anything else.”
“That’s what I like to hear.” Decker had just finished paying the bill when his cell phone went off. “It’s Marge. I should take this.”
“Absolutely.”
“Can I call you back?” Decker said. “I’m just finishing dinner.”
Marge said, “All right.”
She sounded grave. “Two minutes.” He hung up.
Rina got up and so did Gabe. She kissed her husband’s cheek. “We’ll meet you at home.”
“Maybe.”
“One of those calls?”
“I think so.”
“Good luck.” She tossed the keys to Gabe. “Yes, you can drive.”
Decker accompanied them to Rina’s Volvo and watched Gabe back out of a tight spot and pull away in one swift motion. Like most boys, he had a good sense of spatial relations. Hannah was constantly bumping into things—poles, bushes, mailboxes. Was that being sexist? Maybe, but he was too set in his ways to be upset about it.
Decker called his favorite sergeant back. “What’s going on?”
Marge said, “Just got a call from one of the patrol officers. There’s been another suicide.”
That got his attention. “One of Gregory’s friends?”
“I don’t know yes or no, but she was a teenager. Myra Gelb—an eleventh grader at Bell and Wakefield.”
“Good Lord.” Decker put the key in the ignition. “What’s the address?”
Marge gave him the numerals. “This is just . . . horrible.”
He turned on the ignition and put the car in drive. The phone hooked up to Bluetooth. “I’m on my way. Did you call the coroner’s office?”
“Everyone’s on his way.”
“How’d she do it?”
“Single gunshot to the head?”
“Like Gregory Hesse?”
“Eerily like Gregory Hesse.”
Chapter Thirteen
Two cruisers were nose to nose, blocking the street to through traffic. An ambulance stood about fifty feet away. Decker trotted over to the scene, nodding at the two officers stationed outside the yellow tape before ducking under the ribbon. The apartment building was made from plaster and wood, each unit having a balcony and a view of the street below. The Gelb family lived on the second floor of a four-story building.
He walked through the unlocked door, finding the paramedics treating a dazed woman sacked out on the sofa. She wore gray slacks and a red blouse, the right sleeve rolled up to accommodate a blood pressure cuff. Next to her stood a young man in his twenties, dressed in jeans and a UCLA sweatshirt, holding her hand.
The living room led to a dining room and