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Peter Decker 3-Book Thriller Collection

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Год написания книги
2019
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“Yes.”

“Do they watch Walley George?”

Decker smiled. “I’m sure you’ll get TV privileges.”

“I dunno … dunno just dunno if I’m ready. Maybe I’m better off working for you.”

“Kiki, if you want to help me out, keep yourself out of trouble until I contact you, okay?”

“How will you know where to find me?”

“Still got my card?”

“Uh huh.”

“Then come by the station house in a week. You need bread in the meantime?”

“I’m okay.”

“Then come by in a week.”

She was silent for a long time.

“I’m a little nervous, you know.”

“That’s okay, Kiki. Everyone gets nervous occasionally. Even big, macho cops who pack iron. You come by in a week. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, then hung up the phone.

Decker placed the receiver back in the cradle and leaned back in his chair. He felt good. Marge came over to him with a hot cup of coffee.

“Drink,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“How much sleep did you get last night, Rabbi?”

“’Bout two hours.”

“Taking the morning off?”

“Not until I find Pode.”

“Good luck,” she said. “I’m off to the Galleria.” She zipped up her shoulder bag and looked at the leather shredding around the seams. “Maybe I’ll look at purses as long as I’m there. This one is shot. Literally. An old gun I used to carry accidentally discharged and blew a hole out the bottom. I patched it up with electrical tape. Think it’s time for a new one?”

“I’d say that’s reasonable.”

“Can I pick you up anything as long as I’m out?”

Sleep, a steak, and sex, he thought. In that order.

“No thanks,” he said.

“Anything?” Decker asked hopefully.

“Nothing,” Hollander answered.

Angrily, Decker crumpled a piece of scratch paper and threw it in the garbage. Marge hadn’t come up with anything at the Galleria either. If he didn’t come through with some hard evidence, Lindsey would remain an open file. He felt he owed her more.

“What’s ole Dustin like?” Decker asked.

“A sleazebag,” said Hollander, taking off his jacket. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his widespread buttocks overflowing the seat. “Wouldn’t trust him to clip my hangnail.”

“What’d you ask him?”

“Well, first thing I do is try to develop the old rapport. Told him his jacket was pretty sharp. Next thing I know, I’m getting a goddam fashion lecture on where to buy clothes. He knows this fart and that putz who’ll give him fifty percent off on all Italian silk imports. The upshot of the whole thing is the guy loves to play teacher. So I’ll play the dupe. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll talk himself into a corner. But no dice.”

“You wouldn’t put it past him to make snuffs?” Decker asked.

“Hell, no. I wouldn’t put it past him. Guy has radar eyes. Always trying to size you up then figure out his angle.”

“What did he tell you about his dad?”

“Hasn’t talked to Daddy in months. They aren’t as close as they used to be.”

“Maybe we can pull out phone bills that says he has.”

“So what?”

“Well, if it were to show lots of calls between the two of them, at least we’d establish Dustin as a liar.”

“Then what?”

Decker shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“We’d prove what I already instinctively know,” said Hollander. “The guy’s an asshole.”

“What did Dustin think about Daddy’s sideline in porno stills?” he asked.

“Dustin got pissed at that one—claimed that Daddy is just a downhome country photographer. If Daddy ever did anything nasty like that, it was just to feed his poor li’l chilluns!”

“How dare we besmirch Daddy’s blemishless image!” Decker mocked.

“You’d better believe it. Guy was ready to call in the ACLU. I calmed him down. I asked him what kind of car he drove. Guy chewed my ear off on the marvels of the Mercedes.”

Mike scratched his nose, thought a moment, then said, “The guy plainly likes his father. He didn’t say much about his mother.”

“You asked him about the fire?”
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