Serpent’s Tooth. Faye Kellerman

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СКАЧАТЬ eyes threw Decker a tablecloth. She was bent over a bearded man, wrapping a bandage around his neck. Instantly, the starched white linen turned tomato-colored. Her eyes glanced at Decker, at his shoulder holster peeking out from under his jacket. “What ambulance company are you from?”

      “LAPD. Lieutenant Peter Decker.”

      The paramedic raised her brows. “Celia Brown. Need anything, just ask.”

      “Thanks.” Spreading out the tablecloth as best he could, Decker raised the woman’s good leg, dabbing her forehead and face as she sobbed and spoke. She told him her name was Tess. She had heard popping noises. Then everyone had started screaming, running for cover. Her leg exploded as she dived under her table.

      Taking mental notes.

      The victim wore a thick gold chain around her neck; her purse was still at her side. A horrific crime but robbery didn’t appear to be a motive. Or maybe the gunman just didn’t bother with her. She wasn’t decked in diamonds and pearls, not like some of the other patrons. She wore a loud print dress that appeared to be a couple of sizes too big for her body. She asked Decker if her leg was still there. She couldn’t wiggle her toes. All she felt were throbs of agony.

      “Your leg is there.” Again Decker checked for bleeding. “You’re doing great.”

      “My husband …”

      Decker was quiet.

      “He’s dead?”

      Again there was silence.

      “I want to know,” Tess whispered.

      Decker took a deep breath. “The dark-haired man wearing a blue serge suit?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’m sorry, ma’am. He’s gone.”

      Tess said nothing, looked away with tears in her eyes.

      “Just keep as still as you can.” To the paramedic, Decker said, “Got any spare wound gel, topical, and bandage?”

      Celia gave him some equipment. “You need a shot of coagulant?”

      “Bleeding’s subsided. Besides, I’d prefer if one of you administered the meds.”

      “Fine.” Celia thought a moment, then said, “You’re a lieutenant … as in a cop?”

      “Yes.”

      “Calling in the big shots for this one.”

      Muted by the enormity of destruction, Decker couldn’t make chitchat.

      Celia said, “They must be training you guys pretty well in ER services.”

      “I was a medic in the army.”

      “Ah, now it makes sense. Vietnam?”

      “Yes.”

      “Betcha had lots of experience.”

      Too much, Decker thought. He applied the salves, unfurled a roll of gauze. “She’s going to need a neck brace and a hip and leg splint. Can you finish her up for me when you’re done?”

      “No problem. Thanks for helping. We need it.”

      They both worked quickly and quietly. When she was done with her man and his bloodied neck, she yelled out. “Gurney and transport.”

      Within seconds, she ungloved and regloved. Walked on her knees over to Decker’s patient. “Unbelievable.”

      “Truly.”

      “I’ll finish her up now.”

      “Thanks. Her name is Tess. She’s doing great.”

      “Hey, Tess,” the paramedic said. “We’re taking good care of you.”

      Decker stood. A dozen doctors charged through the door, scattering themselves about where needed.

      Trampling on evidence.

      As if that were important at the moment. But down the line it would make his job harder. As yet, no one was in charge. Since there seemed to be enough medical staff, he figured he might as well take control. He called over some officers, flashed his badge.

      “We need to secure the area. I want a fifty-yard radius around the place, two officers stationed at every entrance. No one will be allowed in, no one will be allowed out unless it’s medical personnel or Homicide detectives. And I mean no one. Not even survivors of this mayhem may leave until it’s cleared with me. As hard as it will be, don’t let in any family members. Be polite and sympathetic, but firm. Tell them I’ll come out, speak to them, tell them what’s going on. I’ll inform them of … of their loved ones’ conditions just as soon as we make identifications. Certainly no one from the press corps will be permitted on the premises. If they start asking questions—which they will—tell them someone from the department will hold a conference later. Reporters who break the rules get arrested. Go.”

      From the middle of the restaurant, Decker surveyed the room—the disheveled tables, the knocked-over chairs, the pocked walls, and shattered window glass. Graceful wallpaper had been turned into Rorschachs of blood and food, gleaming parquet-wood floors were now deadly seas of spilled fluids, broken crystal, and pottery shards. His eyes scanned across the bar, the kitchen doors, the hallway leading to the rest rooms, the windows, and the front entrance. He took out a notebook, began dividing the area into grids. He heard someone call his name—or rather, his rank. He turned around, waved Oliver over.

      “I think I’m going to throw up,” the detective said.

      Decker regarded him. Scott Oliver’s naturally dark complexion had paled even through his six o’clock shadow; his normally wiseass eyes were filled with dread.

      “We’ve got to ID the dead.” Decker ran a hand through sweat-soaked, pumpkin-colored hair. “Let’s start a purse and pocket search.” He showed Oliver his sketch. “I’ll take the left side, you do the right. When the rest of the team comes in, we’ll divide up the room accordingly.”

      “There’s Marge.” Oliver beckoned her near with frantic hand gestures. She arrived ashen and shaking, her shoulders hunched, taking a good inch off her five-foot-eight frame.

      “This is horrible.” She touched her mouth with trembling fingers, then pushed thin blond hair off her face. “What happened? Someone just started shooting?”

      Oliver shrugged ignorance. “We’re doing a pocket and purse search for ID of the dead. Loo, what about interviewing the survivors?”

      Decker said, “Scott, you do the search. Marge, you start interviewing on Scott’s side—Bert, over here!”

      Martinez pivoted, jogged over to his team. “Mary Mother of God, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

      “Take a deep breath,” Decker said. “Bathrooms are in the back.”

      Martinez covered his face with his hands, inhaled, СКАЧАТЬ