Serpent’s Tooth. Faye Kellerman

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СКАЧАТЬ Decker said, “Scott and Marge are working the right side. You work with me on the left.”

      “Doing what?” Martinez picked at the hairs of his thick black mustache.

      “Interviewing the survivors or IDing the dead. Take your pick.”

      “I’ll do the survivors,” Martinez said. “Tom’s on his way. You heard from Farrell?”

      “Got hold of his wife. He’s coming down.”

      “Think that’s a good idea, Loo? Man’s got a heart condition.”

      “Gaynor’s survived close to thirty years on the force, he’ll survive this. Besides, he’s a wonder at detail work … which is what we’re going to need … lots of detail work.”

      “And the captain?”

      “He was at a meeting in Van Nuys when this went down. Should be here momentarily.”

      Decker started in the far left corner of the room, at a large round table for twelve. Two Asian men lay crumpled and unattended on the floor, spangled with bits of china and slivers of crystal. Loose flowers had fallen upon their torsos as if marking the grave site.

      Decker did a once-over of the area. About fifty feet away sat a huddle of business-suited Asian males. Nearby were two Caucasians—one female and one male wrapped in blankets and bandages. He nodded to the woman, she nodded back. Her hands and face appeared cat-scratched, probably scored by flying glass. Decker shook off anxiety, gloved, and carefully kneeled down. He checked the bodies’ pulses.

      Nothing.

      He went through one of the men’s pants pockets. A portly man shot several times in the face and chest. He pulled out a wallet. Carefully, he wrote down the deceased’s vitals from his driver’s license.

      Hidai Takamine from Encino. Black hair, brown eyes, married, and forty-six years old.

      Decker winced. His own age.

      He glanced up. Martinez hadn’t moved, was looking down, staring at the bodies with vacant eyes.

      Gently, Decker prodded him. “Get to work, Bert.”

      Martinez blinked rapidly. He said, “You in Nam, Loo?”

      “Yep.”

      “So was I. Sixty-eight to seventy.”

      Decker said, “Sixty-nine to seventy-one.”

      Silence.

      Martinez took a swipe at his eyes, then got to work.

      By the time Strapp showed up, Decker had finished identifying the bodies on his side of the restaurant. The captain had given up the pretense of maintaining a calm demeanor. His thin features were screwed up in anger, his complexion wan. Decker brought him up to date as Strapp tapped his toes, his right hand balled into a fist that continuously pounded his left palm.

      “Seven dead on my side.” Decker rolled his massive shoulders, stretched his oversized legs as his kneecaps made popping sounds. The bending was doing wonders for his floating patellas. “I’ve identified the victims from driver’s licenses. I’ll go out and inform the next of kin just as soon as I get a body count and names from the other side.”

      He looked around, saw that Tom Webster and Farrell Gaynor had arrived. Tom was interviewing survivors along with Bert. Farrell was going through the pockets of the corpses on the right side as Marge and Scott attempted to calm the distraught.

      Strapp shook his head, mumbled something.

      “Sir?” Decker asked.

      “Nothing,” Strapp said. “Just cursing to myself. At last count, there’s something like twenty-eight over at Valley Memorial’s ER. This is just … I’ve got a slew of shrinks outside for support groups … some ER docs as well … in case someone has a heart attack or faints when the news hits.”

      “Shall I do it now, Captain?”

      Strapp was still hitting his palm with his fist. “We’ll do the dirty work together.”

      “What about the press?”

      “Okay, okay.” Strapp started bouncing on his toes. “You handle the press, I stay with the family members. Keep the vultures behind the ropes. No announcements until I’ve finished dealing with the next of kin.”

      Decker said, “Here’s a partial list of the dead. I’ll bring you the completed list as soon as I can.”

      Both of them stalled for a moment; then they went their separate ways.

       3

      Though bandaged tightly, the arm was still leaking blood. But the waitress refused to budge, watching over her brood of eight teenage girls with hawkish eyes. Her face was damp with blood, dirt, sweat, and fury. “I am not leaving them until they’re safe and sound with their parents.”

      Marge said, “That may take a while, Ms. Anger. You really need to take care of that arm.”

      The man sitting with them was the kitchen’s assistant chef—Olaf Anderson. He was pale, but his eyes were steady and his manner stoic. “You don’t do any good if you make yourself sick, Carol.”

      “I am fine, Olaf!”

      One of the girls—dressed up in a pink mock-Chanel suit—spoke up. She had long permed hair and red-rimmed blue eyes. Her mascara had streaked down her cheeks. “We’ll be okay, ma’am. You should get fixed up.”

      Immediately, the girl collapsed into tears.

      The waitress hugged her with her good arm, looked up at Marge. “When can they leave? It’s inhuman to keep them here. Right now, everyone’s too hysterical to help you out.”

      “It’s true,” said the Chanel girl. “No one was paying attention, we were just like … ducking, you know. And screaming. Everyone was screaming.”

      “And praying,” added another.

      “You’re …” Marge looked at the pink-suited girl, then down at the list. “Amy Silver?”

      The girl nodded.

      “You just ducked under the table when the shooting started.”

      Again, she nodded. “And screamed. I must have screamed a lot. My throat hurts.”

      “Everything hurts,” added another teen.

      This one wore a navy suit. Marge consulted her list. Navy suit was named Courtney. “Do you need medical attention, honey?”

      Courtney shook her head, her eyes filling with tears. “We just heard like these pops. Then everybody like started to scream. Then СКАЧАТЬ