LITMIR.BIZ

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she didn’t or couldn’t fight. Her vagina was free of semen. The envelope contained police photographs taken at the hospital. Again, Decker’s wariness turned to pity when he saw her swollen eyes. There was also a picture of a splotchy bruise that ran down her right thigh.

      Poor kid.

      He heard Marge’s voice and turned around.

      “Hey there, Dunn.”

      “Hey there, Rabbi.” She came over to him and looked down at the files he was reading. “Anything?”

      “Hairs and semen. That’s it.”

      “That’s enough if we find a suspect.”

      “You have any luck?”

      “I spoke to the kitchen help at the spa,” Marge said. “They say they were home the night of the attack. Wives and friends verify it.”

      “And you think?”

      “I think they were home. Hairs look like Hispanic hairs?”

      “Head hairs were short and dark. Let’s see …” Decker flipped through the notes. “Uh … under EM, they were straight hairs. Doesn’t say anything else.”

      “Could be Hispanic.” Marge pulled up a chair at Decker’s desk and sat down. “But with straight hairs popping up, we’re probably counting out blacks.”

      Decker took that in. “What do you have, Marge?”

      “Eubie Jeffers, the tennis instructor at the spa, is black.” Marge pulled up a chair, took off her shoes, and began to rub her feet. “He’s a very light black, a very acculturated black. But he’s black.”

      “Is he suspicious?”

      “He was at the spa the night of the attack. He wasn’t too keen on admitting it, either. He normally doesn’t live on the premises so I asked him what he was doing there. Said he was with a patron giving her a private unscheduled lesson.”

      “A lesson in bedroom sports?”

      “I think so.”

      “Don’t tell me. She was married.”

      “So I won’t tell you.”

      “Nice. Husband pays for his wife to get a little R and R and she goes off and boffs the hired help.”

      “Maybe wifey and spouse have an arrangement. I don’t think Jeffers was worried about an irate husband gunning him down. I had the feeling he was more concerned about a lawsuit à la Mike Ness and Ms. Betham.”

      “Did you find out anything about that?”

      “I went over the Betham case and it does seem frivolous. Apparently Ms. Betham has sued others for the same reason—her hairdresser, a former masseur. I don’t think the suit’s going anywhere. But that doesn’t let Ness off the hook.”

      Decker nodded. “So Jeffers was doing some poking the night of the rape.”

      “Seems that way.”

      “Does he poke the guests routinely?”

      “Pretty regularly, according to the other aerobic and weight instructor. Her name is Natanya Frankel—a little squat thing. Claims she was once on the Czech gymnastic team, but defected in 1985.”

      “Embellishing her past?” Decker asked.

      “Probably, but I don’t think that’s significant. What might be important was her past with Eubie Jeffers. I think they were once an item.”

      “Does she seem like the vindictive type?”

      “No. She was very matter of fact. Just told me that Jeffers has a hard time keeping his pants zipped.”

      “That include Lilah?”

      “That I don’t know. Natanya was less forthcoming when it came to talking about her employer. I’ll say this—the people who work for Lilah seem to like her. Natanya said Lilah’s generous with time and with money. Yet I never got the impression that Lilah fraternizes with the hired help. It was clear that Natanya was talking about her boss.”

      “Did the help have any comment on Davida Eversong?”

      “Kitchen help told me she orders a lot of room service and is a big tipper. They liked her just fine.”

      “What about Davida and this Jeffers guy? Get the feeling that Jeffers’s loose zipper might extend to her?”

      “Pete, Davida must be in her seventies.”

      “Margie, that don’t mean a thing.” Decker filled her in on his interviews with Lilah and Davida. “Mother and daughter are in fierce competition with each other. If Lilah and Jeffers were getting it on, I wouldn’t put it past Davida to steal him away. Just because the woman likes to exert power.”

      “What does it have to do with Lilah’s rape?”

      “I don’t know. I’m just saying this case has the watermarks of an inside job for two reasons. One: We haven’t turned up anyone remotely promising from the outside. And two: The family’s weird.”

      “You said it.” Marge told him about her morning encounter with Brecht and Merritt. “The boys almost came to blows. Ness and I managed to separate them. Merritt was livid until I told him what happened to Lilah. That took the starch out of his sails. He immediately left for the hospital.”

      “His surprise about Lilah’s attack seemed genuine?”

      “I think so.” Marge made a face. “Are you thinking Merritt raped his own sister?”

      “Maybe not directly. But how about this? According to Mom, Merritt and Brecht were always asking for handouts. Suppose one of them hired a couple of scumbags to do a jewel theft. Say the scumbags took the jewels, then they saw Lilah and decided to rape her as an afterthought.”

      “Then what about the memoirs?”

      “Scumbags took the papers for the hell of it.”

      Marge shrugged. “Are Brecht and Merritt in financial straits?”

      “I don’t know. Let’s run a check on them. And the other brother while we’re at it.”

      “John Reed. I don’t know a thing about him. For all we know, he could be a gentleman among swine.”

      Decker said, “Let’s keep it simple for the moment, start with a bank check. See if anyone’s in debt—both personal and business accounts. If one of the bros is in the hole for big bucks, a mill’s worth of jewels is going to look mighty sweet.”

      “Agreed. I’ll get to it.”

      “Now you said something about a first husband?”

      Marge scanned her notes. “Perry Goldin. According to Merritt—who, granted, isn’t exactly credible—the divorce wasn’t friendly. I don’t know who this Goldin is and where he was the night of the rape, but we’d better find out.”

      Decker nodded. “I’ll do that.”

      Marge shook her head. “She imaged these guys, Pete?”

      Decker shrugged helplessly.

      “So the composites are bullshit,” Marge stated.

      Hollander piped in. “So are the IDs in the mug book. Not one of the guys she picked out was within a hundred miles of her house.”

      Decker nodded, wondering just what—if anything—Lilah was trying to hide. Could be just the natural confusion of the victim. Lots of victims imagined things because they were so frightened and addled.

      Hollander said, “You want my unasked-for advice, forget about her images. Go back to good old-fashioned legwork and evidence.”

      “We’d better do it quickly,” Decker said. “Don’t

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