said.
“Pardon?”
“Perry. Lilah’s ex. What does he do?”
“Perry?” Merritt shifted in his seat. “He’s a bum—a bridge bum to be more precise. In actuality, he’s a top-ranking bridge player so I suppose there is native intelligence somewhere. He plays for hire at a club in Westwood and I guess he makes enough money so he doesn’t have to do honest work. Shame. Perry had a cunning mind, I’ll give him that. Then again, most Jews do.”
“Their break-up …” Marge took out her notebook. “Was it amicable?”
Merritt didn’t answer.
“Were there hard feelings between Lilah and Perry, Dr. Merritt?”
Merritt shrugged. “I suppose so. Why do you ask?”
Because Marge had just found a new suspect. Lots of disgruntled exes do lots of vicious things—if Merritt was at all credible. She asked, “How did Lilah meet him?”
“Ancient history.”
“Then how about a history lesson?”
“First, young lady, please inform me what’s going on with my sister!”
“You tell me, then I’ll tell you.”
“Quite an infantile approach, Detective. I really expected more from the LAPD.”
“Dr. Merritt, what was infantile was two supposedly mature, educated men—doctors no less—squaring off like adolescents.”
Merritt looked at her and smiled. “Touché, Detective, a most astute observation. Anger does turn even the most rational of men to savagery. Even those of us in the healing profession are not immune to emotion.”
Marge didn’t answer.
“All right,” Merritt said with newfound resolve. “How did Lilah meet Perry? Unfortunately, I was the one who brought him into the house. Mother wanted to hone her skills at bridge and when I asked around, Perry’s name kept coming up over and over. He was everything Lilah was taught to avoid in a man—brash, left-wing, uncontrolled, unrestrained in his opinions. A pushy Jew if you might permit me a bit of stereotype. He took pride in not caring about his appearance; his clothes were always old and out-of-date. Perry wasn’t an evil boy, just not suitable for Lilah. And of course, having flirted with rebellion in her own adolescence, Lilah instantly became infatuated with him—in love with him. It was maddening. My beautiful, brilliant sister trailing after him. As if she were a starved mutt and his silly, do-gooder words were food. Every time he smiled at her, she swooned like a clay-eating Victorian gentlewoman. Later on in their so-called courtship, she would corner him in some quiet room and they’d talk for hours. I’d hear whispering, stifled giggling. Like children. God knows what they actually talked about. They had nothing in common.”
Merritt sighed deeply.
“Mother blamed me, of course. Mother has to blame someone when things don’t go according to her plan. Up until Perry, I’d always had a good relationship with Lilah. More than good, we’d been very close. We are not a demonstrative family, but you’d have to be an idiot not to see how much I cared about my baby sister. I was her father as well as her big brother. There’s a sixteen-year difference between us. Who do you think took care of that child while Mother gallivanted around? I nurtured that little girl despite the fact that I had a full university course load. I remember teaching her to ride a bike, holding the handlebars with one hand and my biochemistry book in the other. She learned to ride a two-wheeler while I learned the Krebs cycle. How’s that for dedication? When she wanted to marry Perry, I had the audacity to side with Mother, and things between Lilah and me have never been the same since.
“Of course the union was a disaster. Giggling does not a marriage make. It lasted two years. But Lilah would never admit that I was right and she was wrong. She somehow viewed her doomed relationship as my doing. Maybe Mother gave her those ideas, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Mother has a way of turning everyone against everyone else.” His eyes met Marge’s. “So that’s the saga of Lilah and Perry. Now it’s your turn. What’s going on with my sister? Whom I still care for very much despite her rejection of me.”
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Dr. Merritt. Lilah was attacked yesterday—”
Merritt bolted upright. “Good God, no!”
Marge stood. “She’ll be all right, Doctor.”
“No!” Merritt began to pace. “No, it can’t … that’s impossible! What in God’s name happened?”
“I don’t know—”
“Who hurt her? Do you suspect Perry? Is that why you were questioning me about him? I’ll kill him—”
“Doctor—”
“I’ll kill him!”
“I don’t know anything about this guy, Doctor,” Marge said. “Just what you told me—”
“But you suspect—”
“No, I don’t suspect—!”
“Where is my sister?” Merritt interrupted.
“Last I heard she was at Sun Valley Memorial.”
“I must go see her right away.”
“Be my guest.” Marge paused then said, “What about your mother?”
“What about my mother?” Merritt orated. “My mother can damn well wait—that’s what about my mother!”
Decker knew he shouldn’t make the call under time pressure. Davida had given him twenty minutes. But the pay phone in the hospital hallway was unoccupied, begging for use. And if past be indicative of the future, the conversation wouldn’t last more than a few minutes, anyway.
Go ahead, Deck. Live dangerously.
Using his phone card, he dialed the New York number by rote. As luck would have it, she was in. Her hello was breathless.
“Hi. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“Oh, hi, Dad. I’ve got a final in an hour. I was just doing some last-minute cramming.”
“Good luck. I’m sure you’ll ace it.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
She sounded preoccupied. Whenever she spoke to him, she was preoccupied.
“Love you, kiddo.”
“Uh, Dad?”
“What?”
“You happen to speak to Mom recently?”
“No. Why?”
“Uh, nothing. I just wondered if she … it’s not important.”
“What’s not important?”
“I’d
