Peter Decker 2-Book Thriller Collection: Blindman’s Bluff, Hangman

“What is this?” Brady’s nostrils flared. “Divide and conquer?”

“We’re not the enemy, Mr. Brady. And I need information.” Decker checked off items on his fingers. “We need a list of everyone who works at the house either full- or part-time. How many people are in the house at night at any one time? Who was supposed to be working last night? Who lives on the properties? Who lives off the properties? How long has each employee been working for the Kaffeys? Who has access keys? Alarm codes? Who hires? Who fires? Mundane information like that.”

Brady shuffled his feet. “I can help you. First, I’d like to see what happened.”

Marge said, “Mr. Kotsky, why don’t you come with me and let Lieutenant Decker and Mr. Brady conduct their business.”

Kotsky looked at Brady, who nodded. “Okay. Go into the east study.”

Marge said, “Where’s that on the map?”

“Piet will show you.”

After they had gone, Brady said, “I need to see what happened.”

“No one sees the victims unless it’s been cleared by the coroner’s investigators. We’re in charge of the death scene, but they’re in charge of the bodies.”

“Bureaucracy!” Brady spat out. “No wonder the police don’t get anything done.”

Decker stared at him. “We get things done, but because we want to do them right, we’re careful. Do you think Mr. Kaffey would let anyone inside the boardroom at his company just for the asking?”

Brady said, “The difference is I’m a taxpayer and I pay your salary.”

Decker managed to keep a flat face. “Mr. Brady, you’re not going anywhere any time soon because you have to wait for the family. So rather than twiddle your thumbs and be irritated, you might as well cooperate. You’d look a less suspicious in my eyes if you did.”

“You suspect me?” When Decker didn’t answer, Brady said, “I was hundreds of miles away.” When Decker still didn’t respond, Brady grew irate. “I’ve worked for Mr. Kaffey for years. I don’t need this shit!”

“Sir, anyone who has had anything to do with the Kaffeys is a potential suspect right now. That’s just the nature of the beast. If I didn’t have a suspicious mind, I’d be a very bad detective.”

Brady clenched his fists, and then slowly let his fingers relax. “I’m still in a state of shock.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“You have no idea …” His voice dropped a few notches. “I was in the middle of dealing with my own father’s heart attack. Now I have to deal with the remaining family members. Do you know how fucking dreadful it was to make that phone call to Grant Kaffey? To tell him that his parents and brother are dead?”

Decker regarded the man. “Gil Kaffey’s in the hospital, sir. He isn’t dead.”

“What?” Brady’s eyes got wide. “Riley Karns told me he was dead.” After an awkward pause, he muttered out loud, “Thank God for that.” A cynical laugh. “Now the family’s going to think that I’m a fucking moron!”

“Why don’t you let me deal with the family?”

“The family’s safety was my concern and I fucked up.” His eyes suddenly pooled with tears. “I didn’t have anything to do with this, but you’re right to suspect everyone. What do you want to know?”

“For starters, how does your security work?”

“It doesn’t, obviously.” Brady bit his lip hard. “This is going to take a while.”

“How about we find a private room and you can explain it to me.”

“I can manage a room,” Brady told him. “Lord knows there’re enough of them—and then some.”

The spoon was going around and around in the cereal bowl. Hannah was not interested in breakfast, nor was she interested in going to school. But while breakfast was somewhat optional, education was mandatory.

Rina said, “Why don’t I make you a bagel and you can eat it in the car?”

The teenager pushed red locks out of her blue eyes. “I’m not hungry.”

“You don’t have to eat it. Just take it.”

“Why?”

“Humor me, okay?” Rina picked up the cereal bowl and put an onion bagel in the toaster. “Get your stuff. We need to go.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“I have jury duty. I’m going to need at least an hour to make it there on time.”

“Poor Eema. Not only does she have to suffer the vicissitudes of her sullen daughter, she’s stuck with eleven other unlucky souls in smoggy downtown L.A.”

The bagel popped up. Rina gave it a schmear of cream cheese and wrapped it in foil. “I’m not complaining. Let’s go.”

Hannah hoisted up her two-ton backpack. “What case are you working on?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“C’mon. Who am I going to tell? Aviva Braverman?”

“You’re not going to tell anyone because I’m not going to tell you.” She checked her purse—more of a tote bag than a fashion statement. It contained a paperback book on Abigail Adams and today’s Los Angeles Times. The murders had made the headlines. She pulled out her keys, set the alarm, and locked the door behind them.

“It’s ridiculous that they didn’t throw you off,” Hannah told her. She put on her seat belt. “Abba’s not only a cop, but a lieutenant.”

Rina started the motor. “I have a mind of my own.”

“Still, he influences you. He’s your husband.” Hannah unwrapped her bagel and started nibbling away. “Mmm … good.” She adjusted the satellite radio until she found a station playing spine-jarring rock. “What’s for dinner?”

Rina smiled to herself. Hannah was on to another topic. Like all teens, she had the attention span of a gnat. “Probably chicken.”

“Probably?”

“Chicken or pasta.”

“Why not pasta with chicken?”

“I can make pasta with chicken.” Rina turned to her. “You can also make pasta with chicken.”

“You make it better.”

“That’s nonsense. You’re an excellent cook. You’re just shunting it to me.”