The Mercedes Coffin

The best part of the remodel was a new and improved patio overlooking the hillside chockablock with houses cut into the granite. On warm days, the landscape gave the feel of Southern Italy or Spain. It was on this very patio that Decker sat with Cindy, enjoying the spring weather, drinking espresso while taking in the view.

Cindy stretched and looked outward. “It don’t get much better than this.”

“No, it does not.” He smiled at his daughter. Her wild red hair was tied back in a ponytail holder, and her skin was smooth and pale with just a hint of blush at the cheeks. She wore cutoff jeans and a baggy T-shirt with flip-flops on her feet. It was a pleasure to see his daughter so relaxed. He said, “The rose garden is spectacular.”

“It’s the one thing that Koby insisted that we leave untouched and how right he was.”

“The remodel is just perfect, princess. I know it was a hassle but it couldn’t have turned out better.”

“Thanks for all your help, Daddy. We couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You’re welcome, although I didn’t do much.”

“First of all, you put us in contact with Mike Hollander. That was ninety percent of it. Second, you did most of the finished tile work. It came out beautifully.”

“I’m glad you like it.” He finished his espresso. “So now we’re even. I tiled the backsplash in your kitchen, you got me the Ekerling file.”

“It’s not quid pro quo, Dad.”

“Yeah, you had the harder job.”

“That might be true.” Cindy smiled. “Luckily I inherited your ability to lie glibly and seamlessly.”

He didn’t deny the obvious. “What lie did you tell them?”

“It really wasn’t a stretch. Being as I was the initial detective on the scene, I just told them that I needed a copy for my records. They weren’t even a tad suspicious.”

“Who’re the detectives on the case?”

“Rip Garrett and Tito Diaz. Diaz gave me the file. It took me over a half hour to copy it, and the pictures didn’t come out so great, but I did the best I could. Anyway, the original file is back where it belongs and you have your copy.”

“I’m grateful to you, Detective Kutiel. It wouldn’t be cool to inject myself into their case without a reason.” Decker picked up his coffee to drink and remembered he finished it.

“Would you like another?” Cindy offered.

“Actually, I don’t have intentions of sleeping, so why not?”

“Come inside and I’ll hand over the file. You can also watch me use my new nifty espresso machine.”

He followed her inside to a petite kitchen, which included a farm sink and an old-fashioned stove. “Wow, this came out great.”

“You say that every time.”

“At least I’m consistent. And it’s true. This is simply charming. Unfortunately for me, Rina’s getting ideas.”

“Uh-oh.” Cindy put the coffee into the machine.

“Although she has a point. The kitchen is a little dated.”

“It wouldn’t take much.”

“Not to you.”

Cindy smiled. “Just tell her it doesn’t matter about the shape of the kitchen, what matters is the cook, and in that regard, she has me beat by a mile.”

“You’re a good cook.”

“No one is like Rina.”

Decker didn’t have a comeback to that. “Would you like to come over Friday night for Shabbos?”

“Uh, what day is it? Tuesday?”

“Yep.”

“I think it would work for me. Let me ask Koby and I’ll get back to you.” The coffee started to brew, the steam roaring as it forced the water through the grounds. “Did you clear this with Rina?”

“You’ve got an open invitation, but I’ll clear it with her.”

Cindy handed her father another shot of espresso. “I love this machine. I can even steam milk. It saves a bundle on my outside coffee bills.”

“Yeah, what do they charge now for designer coffee? Something like five dollars for an amount the size of a thimble?” Decker held up the file. “Thanks so much for this. It really, really helps.”

Cindy sized up her father. “I keep waiting for you to lose passion about your cases. It never happens.”

“Some cases get more attention than others. This one has a lot of money riding on a solve.”

“And you think Ekerling has something to do with a fifteen-year-old murder case?”

Decker simply shrugged. He finished his espresso and wiped his mouth on a napkin. “I can’t put it off much longer. Traffic’s going to be horrible, so I might as well bite the bullet.”

“I’d ask you to stay for di

“No, I have to get back to my wife and your sister, although Ha

“I’m sure Ha

“Yeah, I’m sure she does, but at her age, she has a fu

CHAPTER 12

AFTER WRITING COPIOUS notes on two packs’ worth of index cards, Decker had a neat summary of the Primo Ekerling case. He had come away with the following account.

At five-thirty in the afternoon, Ekerling and his brand-new silver 550S Mercedes sedan left his office on San Vicente Boulevard and disappeared into the ether. His initial absence from the world was noticed by his girlfriend, Marilyn Eustis, when she failed to reach Ekerling by phone. She left messages but wasn’t particularly wary when he didn’t return the calls. He had an eight o’clock di

At nine in the evening, Ekerling was still a no-show. His associates were miffed, and although Marilyn was concerned, she kept it to herself and made excuses. She knew that Primo must be very much indisposed because this gathering was important. Song-sharing sites had just about rendered multitrack CDs obsolete, and because of this, the state of the recording industry had turned dismal. Companies were loath to record more than a single song per artist, which greatly reduced time in the studio, which in turn greatly reduced the need for record producers. Among the few survivors, the competition was fierce. This particular group of people represented an up-and-coming hip-hop band, and they were reinterviewing Primo for the position of producer for their newest release. The money wasn’t terrific but the exposure was, and Marilyn Eustis felt that Ekerling would have prioritized this meeting. At the very least, had he not been able to make it, he would have called.

Still, the show went on. Marilyn mollified egos in the producer’s absence and treated the gang on her tab. The wine flowed, the food kept on coming, and when they emptied out of the restaurant at a little past eleven, she felt that a good time had been had by all.

For her part, Eustis hardly ate a thing.

She drove to Primo’s condo and let herself in with her key. As usual, the space was tidy with no signs of disturbance. Marilyn checked the development’s gated parking lot and was quick to note that Primo’s Mercedes wasn’t in its allotted slot.

Her initial calls were to the police and highway patrol inquiring about accidents. When that turned into a goose egg, thank God, she called the police a second time to report Ekerling as a missing person.

The police were unimpressed by the urgency in her voice. She’d have to wait until Primo was missing for a longer period before they’d send someone to look into the disappearance. When it became clear that Primo wasn’t going to show up on his own accord, the police sent a detective named Marsden Holly to talk to Marilyn.

Holly, upon hearing what Primo did for a living, offered alternative scenarios, most of them variations on his cutting town or being with another woman. Marilyn was insistent that neither was plausible. The detective took down the model, make, and license plate of the Mercedes and called it in. Ekerling remained a mystery until a cop noticed a ticketed Mercedes. When the vehicle turned up as hot, he reported the crime to GTA-grand theft auto.

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