Faye Kellerman - Milk and Honey: A Decker Lazarus Novel (Peter Decker Rina Lazarus)

The flutter of movement was so slight that had Decker not been a pro, he would have missed it. He yanked the wheel to the left and braked. The brown unmarked screeched, bucked, then rebelliously reversed directions in the middle of the empty intersection. Decker began to cruise down the vacant street, hoping for a second look at what had attracted his attention.

The Plymouths alignment was off again, this time pulling to the right. If he had a spare minute, hed check it out himself, haul her onto the lifts and probe her belly. The department mechanics were a joke. Overworked and underpaid, theyd fix one problem, cause another. The guys in the division were always laying odds on what would bust first when the vehicles were returned from servicesix-to-one on a leaky radiator, four-to-one on a choked carburetor, three-to-one on the broken air-conditioning system, the odds improving to two-to-one if it was summertime.

Decker ran his fingers through thick ginger hair. The neighborhood was dead. Whatever hed seen had probably been nothing significant. At one in the morning, the eyes played tricks. In the dark, parked cars looked like giant tortoises, spindly tree boughs became hanging skeletons. Even a well-populated housing development like this one seemed like a ghost town. Rows of tan-colored stucco homes had gelled into a lump of oatmeal, illuminated by moonbeams and blue-white spotlights from corner street lamps.

He slowed the Plymouth to a crawl and threw the headlights on high beam. Perhaps hed seen nothing more than a cat, the light a reflection in the felines eyes. But the radiancy had been less concentrated and more random, a ripple of flashes like silver fingernails running up a piano keyboard. Yet as he peered out the window, he saw nothing unusual.

The planned community was spanking new, the streets still smelling of recent blacktop, the curbside trees nothing more than saplings. It had been one of those compromises between the conservationists and the developers, the construction agreed upon by both parties while satisfying neither. The two groups had been at each others throats since the Northeast Valley had been gerrymandered. This project had been hastily erected to smooth ruffled feathers, but the war between the factions was far from over. Too much open land left to fight over.

Decker cranked open the window and repositioned his backside in the seat, trying to stretch. Someday the city would order an unmarked able to accommodate a person of his size, but for now it was knees-to-the-wheel time. The night was mild, the fog had yet to settle in. Visibility was still good.

What the hell had he seen?

If he had to work tomorrow, he would have quit and headed home. But nothing awaited him on his day off except a lunch date with a ghost. His stomach churned at the thought, and he tried to forget about ithim. Better to deal with the past in the light of day.

One more time around the block for good measure. If nothing popped up, hed go home.

He was a tenacious son of a bitch, part of what made him a good cop. Anyway, he wasnt tired. Hed taken a catnap earlier in the evening, right before his weekly Bible session with Rabbi Schulman. The old man was in his seventies, yet had more energy than men half his age. The two of them had learned together for three hours straight. At midnight, when the rabbi still showed no signs of tiring, Decker announced he couldnt take any more.

The old man had smiled and closed his volume of the Talmud. They were studying civil laws of lost and found. After the lesson, they talked a bit, smoked some cigarettesthe first nicotine fix Deckerd had all day. Thirty minutes later, he departed with an armful of papers to study for next week.

But he was too hyped up to go home and sleep. His favorite method of coping with insomnia was to take long drives into the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountainsbreathe in the beauty of unspoiled lands, knolls of wildflowers and scrub grass, gnarled oaks and honey-colored maples. The peace and solitude nestled him like a warm blanket, and within a short period of time he usually became relaxed enough to sleep. Hed been on his way home when he noticed the flash of light. Though he tried to convince himself it was nothing, something in his gut told him to keep going.

He circled the block, then reluctantly pulled over to the curb and killed the engine. He sat for a moment, smoothing his mustache, then slapped the steering wheel and opened the car door.

What the hell, the walk would do him good. Stretch out his legs. No one was awaiting his arrival at the ranch, anyway. The home fires had been put out a long time ago. Decker thought of his phone conversation with Rina earlier in the evening. Shed sounded really lonely, hinted about coming back to Los Angeles for a visitjust her and not the boys. Man, had he sounded eager overeager . Hed been so damned excited, shed probably seen his horns over the telephone wires. Decker wondered if hed scared her off, and made a mental note to call her in the morning.

He hooked his hand-radio onto his belt, locked the car, and opened the trunk. The trunk light was busted, but he could see enough to rummage through the itemsfirst-aid kit, packet of surgical gloves, evidence bags, rope, blanket, fire extinguisherwhere had he put the flashlight? He picked up the blanket. Success! And miracle of miracles, the batteries still had juice in them.

A quick search on foot.

The early morning air felt good on his face. He heard his own footsteps reverberating in the quiet of the night and felt as if he were violating someones privacy. Something darted in front of his feet. A small animala rat or a lizard. Scores of them roamed the developments, all of the suckers pissed off at being displaced by building foundation. But that wasnt what hed seen before. That had been bigger, at least the size of a dog or cat. Yet its gait had been oddstaggering, as if drunk.

He walked a half-block to the north, shining his beam between the nearly identical houses. Not much space to illuminate; the homes almost abutted one another, separated only by a hedge of Eugenia saplings. The houses were cheaply built, the stucco barely dry but already beginning to crack. The front lawns were patches of green sod, and many of them held swing sets and aluminum lawn furniture. Some of the driveways were repositories for toys, bicycles, baby walkers, bats and balls. The uncluttered driveways housed vans and station wagons, and small motorboats as well. Lake Castaic was fifteen minutes away. The developers had advertised that, and had succeeded in their goal of attracting young families. Ten percent down and low-cost financing hadnt hurt, either.

He strolled to the end of the streetthis one was called Pine Roadthen crossed over and started back to the unmarked. Then he heard ita faint whistling in the background. A familiar sound, one that hed heard many times in the past but couldnt place at the moment.

He jogged in its direction. The sound grew a little louder, then stopped. He waited a minute.

Nothing.

Frustrated, he decided to head home, then heard the whistling again, farther in the distance. Whatever was making the noise was on the move, and it was a quick little bugger.

He sprinted two blocks down Pine Road and turned onto Ohio Avenue. Loads of imagination the developers had when naming the streets. The north-south roads were trees, east-west were states.

The noise became louder, one that Decker recognized immediately. His heart raced against his chest. The adrenaline surge. The sound was now cleara high-pitched wail. Goddam wonder it didnt wake up the entire neighborhood.

He ran in the direction of the shriek, pulling out his radio and calling for backup screaming heard on Ohio and Sycamore . He pulled out his gun.

Police! he shouted. Freeze!