The hunt, p.2
The Hunt, page 2
“I just left the scene to call you. No bars up there. I’m going back as soon as I hang up.”
“Do you need me to come back, McAdams?”
“Peter!” Rina said.
“No, no. We’re fine, boss. Coroner should be here soon. Kevin cordoned off the area. I’ll keep you posted. I just wanted to let you know.”
The flight attendant started making announcements. Rina said, “If you’re going to be intransigent, I’m going back to my seat.”
Decker barely heard her. He stuck his finger in his ear. “You’re sure that you’re okay?”
“We’re great, boss. Don’t worry. Enjoy your time overseas.”
Decker said, “Before you go, any thoughts about the body?”
“Rigor’s come and gone, bloat has come and gone.”
“Then the corpse is weeks old?”
“Possibly. There’s decomposition.”
Decker asked, “Insect activity?”
“Some in the orifices—nostrils, eyes, and mouth.”
“Then part of the face was exposed to the air, so the flies could lay their eggs.”
“Yeah, we found the body partially buried.”
“Animal activity could have disturbed it.”
“Nothing we can see,” McAdams answered. “But that may change once the autopsy is done.”
“Any idea if the corpse is male or female?”
“Probably female, from the size. The face is messed up, and we can’t move anything else until the coroner comes.”
“Is the body nude or is there clothing?”
“Some rotting clothing. Looks like jeans, plaid shirt, sneakers.”
A flight attendant named Nurit came over. “Everything okay, sir?”
Decker looked up at her. “Yes, thank you.”
Nurit swallowed. “The woman across the aisle overheard you talk about corpses. I think it’s upsetting her.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Tyler asked.
“No, not you.” Decker smiled at the flight attendant. “I’m a police detective. I’ll finish up the conversation.” To McAdams: “I have to go.”
“Don’t worry, boss, I have it covered.”
Decker hung up. Rina had rematerialized. She was standing over him. “You are not going back.”
“No, I’m not going back,” Decker said.
“I hope this won’t ruin our vacation.”
“When we land, I’ll give you my laptop and phone. How’s that for commitment?”
“I’ll take you up on that,” Rina said. More announcements. “I have to sit down.” She kissed the top of Peter’s head. “And remember to take your Ambien as soon as we’re in the air. It’ll help with jet lag. I’ll see you in the Holy Land.”
“A new adventure,” Decker said.
“A new adventure.” Rina mussed his hair and left.
Three hours later, Rina was sound asleep. Decker, on the other hand, was stretched out with his eyes wide open, with a ton of thoughts whirling around in his brain. He probably would have been sleeping if he had taken the pill, but he had chosen not to.
You can take the man out of the investigation, but you can’t take the investigation out of the man.
He had promised Rina to unplug from work when they landed. She deserved that. But why toss and turn for hours when the solution to his insomnia was at hand? Quietly, he stood and took down his laptop from the overhead compartment. After booting up, he looked at his options for buying the plane’s internet. He thought about the thirty-minute plan. Just a few quick questions and then he’d turn off the noise. But an unknown force led his fingers to choose the two-hour plan. He typed in Tyler’s email address.
He wrote:
I’m signing off on all my electronics when we land.
But for now, I’m up and I can’t sleep.
Tell me everything that’s going on.
CHAPTER 1
THIS WAS HOW I remembered it, after gaining consciousness, lying on the floor, bloodied and battered.
I was sitting on the couch, going over my legal options for what was going to be a protracted and nasty divorce, trying to figure out how to make this happen with no money and working with a legal system over seven thousand miles away. My five-year-old son was sitting beside me, playing a video game. My eleven-year-old daughter was in her bedroom, door locked, doing whatever she did in the privacy of her own space. Juleen was hyper-adult, and one of the things I did when I rented this apartment was ensure she had her own space. It was a two-bedroom place and Sanjay slept in the smaller of the two rooms. Juleen had the master, and I slept in the living room on the couch.
I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear the footsteps outside the door. The building was exposed, and usually I heard people walking up and down the steps. Not this time. Had I been more alert, all this may not have happened.
It was only after the door flew open and I screamed “Run!” that everything kicked into high gear. Two Indian men: one immediately grabbed Sanjay, while the other said something about finding the girl. My son was kicking and screaming as I gripped his legs, pulling him toward me with my opponent pulling in the opposite direction: a mortal tug-of-war. The man had covered Sanjay’s mouth, and I remembered telling my son to bite his hand as I scratched the intruder’s arm and yanked Sanjay furiously. But the man was taller and bigger than I was and held on fast even with one hand over my son’s mouth and nose. I kept at it until the second man returned, asking where the girl was.
When I didn’t answer, he whacked me across the face—once to the right, once to the left, and another time to the right. Then he took my hair, wrapped it around his hand, and yanked so hard a clump came out. Sheer willpower was preventing me from letting go of my son’s legs. Then he hit me again on the right side of my cheek, this time with a closed fist. My vision sparkled and danced as I began to reel. As I was going down, he kicked me in the head and then twice on my right side in the ribs. I felt the crack. For good measure, he gave two final kicks—one in the stomach and one in the back. Still, I was clinging on to my son’s feet. It wasn’t until the siren came into earshot that the men panicked, saying something about a neighbor hearing the noise and calling the police. One final twist and then a hard jerk that brought an electric wave of pain through both arms, and my baby was gone, leaving me empty except for his small polkadot Vans still in my hand. I brought it up to my face, balled myself up into a fetal position, and then things went quiet, then dark.
When I awoke, I hadn’t any idea of how long I’d been out. Only that things were silent and I was in excruciating pain. My right arm was dangling uselessly by my side, my jaw was throbbing, my head was ringing and pounding, and my face was on fire. I tried to stand, but as soon as I moved, my sides caved in and a new wave of pain and nausea coursed through my body. My nose felt clogged and runny at the same time, and as I wiped it with my left hand, I saw blood.
The siren that I had heard must have been from an ambulance or a police car passing by, because no one had come to save me. Since it was summer, it was still light outside, with the sun filtering in through the top of the curtain. I always kept them closed, but the gap at the top allowed me to see if it was day or night.
I lifted my head, and through swollen lids, I could make out my purse. I inched over, doing a soldier’s crawl to a side table next to the couch, and yanked it down with my left hand. The contents spilled out, including three phones: my personal cell and two pay-as-you-go burners that I picked up a few days ago from Walmart. I retrieved one of the burners and called my son in New York. Gabe answered after the third ring, thinking it was his father, but then he heard my voice and asked what was wrong.
I told him I was in trouble. I told him he had to come to L.A. and pick me up and that I was seriously hurt. All he kept saying to me was “Call 911.”
I couldn’t call 911. I couldn’t go to the police or to a hospital. They’d ask questions. They’d learn that I took my kids out of India without permission from the courts. I’d lose them.
I was still under the delusion that I hadn’t lost them already.
My personal phone sprang to life, Juleen’s name on the screen. Abruptly, I hung up on my son and took her call, but I didn’t speak right away because it could have been the goons on the other end of the line. But then she said, “Mommy, are you okay?”
Stinging tears leaked from my inflamed eyes and ran down my bruised and cut cheeks. “Juleen, where are you?” My voice came out muffled and garbled. I could barely move my jaw.
“Mommy?”
This time, I spoke slower and as clearly as I could. “Where … are … you?”
Probably not the brightest question to ask. I had no idea if my phone was being bugged and tracked.
“Hiding—”
“Quiet!” I said. “Remember where we ate dinner last night?” It took me several attempts to make myself understood. Every time I spoke, electric shocks ran through my jaw.
Finally, she said, “Yes, I remember.”
“Can … you … get there … by yourself?”
“Yes.”
Ms. Hyper-Adult.
“Turn … off … your phone. Look around. Wait near … door. I’ll …” It was getting harder to talk and harder to breathe. “I’ll … meet you.”
I hung up. I regathered all the contents of my purse while still lying on the floor. Then I managed to sit up, then stand. Immediately, I was light-headed and nauseated.
I threw up.
It was good that I gave the manager of the apartment a big cleaning deposit.
I was holding on to the back of the couch, telling myself to move slowly—as if I had a choice. Clutching on to furniture and then the wall, I made my way into the kitchen and retrieved two plastic garbage bags. I groped my way into Juleen’s bedroom using the hallway for support. We shared a closet, although neither one of us had much in the way of clothing. I began to throw dresses, pants and shirts, shoes, socks, and underwear into the sacks: enough to get us through three or four days without doing a wash, but still light enough to carry.
I didn’t bother with my son’s things.
More tears.
Not now, Terry, not now.
I was holding everything in my left hand because my right arm was in searing pain. Before I inched my way out of Juleen’s room, I noticed her violin case. I bent down in a squat—easier than bending at the waist—and picked it up. The extra weight was hitting me in waves of pain, but I couldn’t leave without it. Although she wasn’t anywhere close to the prodigy that Gabe was, she loved that violin.
I knew I couldn’t go out the front door. They might still be out there, waiting for me. I had to follow the plan I had formulated with Juleen should a break-in like this happen in this apartment.
Lock your door, jump out the window, and run like hell.
And she had executed it perfectly. The back window was still halfway open. I couldn’t lift it any higher. Too much pain and too little strength. Luckily, I was small in stature—not like Juleen, but I could squeeze through. I pitched the bags out the window along with my purse. I took the violin case in my left hand, held it close to my body, and hoped for the best. When I landed, I nearly passed out as agony ripped through my right side. But I got to my feet, gripped the bags and my purse, and started the block walk to my car.
I realized my face was probably a mess. One eye was shut closed; the other was bloated, but at least I could see out of it if I squinted. I probably would have looked like a homeless lady to anyone still out on the streets. But this was Los Angeles. No one walked. And even if there had been someone, one look at me and eyes would have been averted. No one wanted to see ugliness. Furthermore, no one cared.
I never parked in front of my apartment, but Devek had caught up with me anyway. Normally my husband was mild-mannered and even wimpy. But his gambling over the last three years had put him on edge. He had tried desperate measures to get money, and in his last couple of ventures, he had crossed the line. I had to leave.
I had to leave.
I was constantly on high alert, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t praying. Gabe had converted to Judaism, and my two younger children were Hindu. I was born Catholic. I wasn’t choosy about who was up there as long as God was listening. And as soon as I managed to fish out my car’s fob and unlock the door, I said my thanks. I opened the back door and stuffed my belongings inside. Once behind the wheel, I locked the door and took a deep breath.
Sitting on my butt hurt more than standing on my feet, but I had no choice. I pressed the ignition button with my left hand, looked around several times, taking into consideration that I could barely see, and pulled out from the curb. It took me five minutes in a car to get to the restaurant. Juleen was sitting on the bench by the door, phone and laptop in hand. I pulled up and she got up. I noticed that she was hobbling as she walked toward me. She opened the front passenger door and slid in. It was closing in on seven p.m. She saw my face and gasped.
“I’m fine.” Clearly, I wasn’t. I left the parking lot and pulled into traffic. “I’m okay.”
Tears were running from her eyes. She took my useless right arm and I cried out in pain. Immediately, she dropped it.
“It’s … a little sore.”
“Mommy, I’m calling 911—”
“No!”
“You’ve got to go to a hospital!”
“They’ll take you away … send you back to India. Is that what you want?”
I couldn’t tell how much of my muffled speech she understood, but she must have gotten the gist of what I said. She shook her head and said no.
“I’m fine.” I stopped at a long red light. I had no idea where I was going or what I was going to do. Then I remembered. “Gabe. Call him.” When she picked up her phone, I said, “Use a burner … my purse.”
“Right.”
She fished out a burner and called up her brother, knowing his phone number by heart.
Hyper-adult.
Over the phone line, I heard my son’s exasperated voice. “Finally! Where are you?!”
I told my daughter to put it on speaker. Juleen said, “Gabe, you’ve got to come. Mommy is hurt!”
“Badly?”
“Badly.”
“What happened?”
Juleen sidestepped the question. “You’ve got to come get us. I don’t know what to do.”
“Where’s Sanjay?”
Tears overflowing from my eyes, I whispered, “Gone.”
“What happened?” A pause. “Mom?”
Juleen said, “Someone busted into the apartment. That’s all I know. Mommy told me to run and I did.”
“They took Sanjay?” he asked.
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes.”
“And beat you up?”
“Yes.”
“Where are you now?”
Juleen said, “We’re in the car.”
“She’s driving?”
“Stopped. You’re on speaker, Gabe. She can hear everything. But she can’t talk well. They hurt her face.”
“Oh God,” Gabe said. “I don’t know this phone number. Are you on a burner?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Can you give me the phone number? It’s coming up blocked. If it’s like an iPhone, it should be at the top of your contacts list.”
“Let me look,” Juleen said. “Okay … got it. Here it is.”
“Great! Thank you, Jules.” A pause. “That’s a start. Mom, listen to me and listen carefully. I can’t get there until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest. You’re hurt. You need to go to the hospital—”
“No!”
“She won’t go,” Juleen told him. “She says they’ll ask questions and then take me away.”
“I thought that might be the situation.” Another pause. “So, this is plan B. Mom, are you listening?”
“Yes.”
A sigh over the phone. “When I talked to you the first time, it sounded like you needed immediate help.”
“She does,” Juleen said.
“Mom, I asked Chris to help. He’s much closer to you and he knows L.A. as well as I do. He has a jet. He can get down there in a couple of hours. As a matter of fact, he could be on his way now. If you need protection, and it sounds like you do, there’s no one better who can help you.”
I closed my one good eye. Chris. From the frying pan … My life was a complete and utter mess!
“Mom, are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“Mom, he’ll only help you if you ask for help. I know this is a deal with the devil, but you’ve got to call him. This is not just about you, it’s also about Juleen.”
I didn’t answer, but I knew he was right.
Juleen said, “Give me the number and I’ll call him.”
Gabe said, “He won’t help you, Jules. Only Mom. She’s got to make contact.”
I said, “Give me the number.”
“What did she say?” Gabe asked.
“She said to give her the number,” Juleen said. “I’ll write it down for her.”
“Jules, call me back as soon as Mom has spoken to my dad, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Jules, my dad can be super abrupt and mean. When you meet him, no matter what he says or how he acts, just be calm and super polite.”
“Okay.”
“I’m really giving you the benefit of my wisdom. Please listen.”
“Okay. Let me get off the phone so Mommy can speak to him.”
Hyper-adult.
“I love you, Mom.”
I couldn’t answer. It was getting harder and harder to speak. I could barely stay awake. Juleen hung up and called my ex’s number. It rang three times and then went to voice mail.
Juleen said, “Mr. Whitman, this is Teresa McLaughlin’s daughter, Juleen. My brother Gabe said to call you. My mother is hurt and can’t talk very well, but she will talk to you when you call back. I’ll give you the number of this phone. Please, please call back. Thank you very much, sir.”
