Walking Shadows Page 15

  “Better.”

  “Good for her. I can go now?”

  “Of course. Call me if you have any other questions.” When she didn’t respond, Decker closed the driver’s door. Within moments, she was gone physically. Emotionally, with her vacant eyes and her flat voice, she had checked out years ago.

  Since the hospital was just five minutes away, Decker decided to pay an unannounced visit to Jaylene Boch. He parked and stopped by the Critical Care Unit. Jaylene Boch’s condition had improved, but she was still being closely monitored. Her lunch tray had been pushed aside, and she was staring into space. There was a butterfly needle on the back of her hand, although she wasn’t hooked up to an IV. There was also an oxygen tube in her nose. Her hospital gown had remnants of her meal: looked like applesauce and pudding. That she was eating was a healthy sign.

  “Mrs. Boch?” No response. Decker pulled up a chair and sat down next to the hospital bed. “I’m Detective Peter Decker. Do you remember me?”

  Nothing.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She nodded her head. At least she could hear him.

  “That’s good. You seem to be on the mend. That’s great.”

  Silence.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling a little better. When you’re all better, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  Slowly, she turned her head to Decker. “What . . .”

  Her voice faded out. He tried to fill in the blank. “What questions?” When she nodded, he said, “I have some photographs of some people. I found them in your house. I was wondering if you could tell me who they are?”

  A nod.

  Going better than expected. He pulled out the black and whites and held them up to her eyes. “Do you know the names of these people?”

  He showed her the first picture. When he didn’t get a reaction, he showed her the second and then the third and then the fourth. “Do you know any of them?”

  She didn’t answer.

  Decker stowed them back in his briefcase. “Thank you, anyway.”

  Frail fingers grabbed his forearm. “Joe?”

  “Ah, your son. Unfortunately, we haven’t found him yet. We’re looking very hard. Not just us, other police departments. We’re putting in an all-out effort.” Silence. “I’m sorry the news couldn’t be better.”

  She seemed to take it all in. “You were . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “My house?” she whispered.

  “Yes, I was at your house. I called the ambulance. Do you remember me?” When there was no answer, he said, “I was there along with Detective Baccus. The woman. Do you remember her?”

  “Baccus.” She pulled her fingers away. “Baccus.”

  Decker waited for more, but instead she closed her eyes. Within minutes, she had fallen asleep, sitting upright with her head tilted back and her mouth open, snoring loudly and seemingly without a care.

  Sabbath started on Friday night: Decker’s comma, a pause in the week to take a breath before rushing off to finish the sentence of one’s life. Sometimes, it came at inconvenient times, and then there were other times, like today, where nothing was going wrong exactly, but nothing was going right, either. In the summer, the time of rest started later, which allowed for a relaxed shower before sundown. Rina, as usual, was busy in the kitchen. He had just finished dealing with the lights and time clocks—they didn’t use electricity once the sun set—when the doorbell rang. Tyler was in jeans and a polo shirt with sandals on his feet, carrying two bottles of kosher wine.

  “Shabbat Shalom. Late, yes or no?”

  “I think you’re early, but no matter. Come in. Can I take the bottles from you?”

  “Be my guest. I got these after reading an article in Wine Spectator. They’re supposed to be great Israeli wines. They should be at what they cost.”

  “Thank you. Never had either one. Since they’re both reds, which one should I open?”

  “Both. After this week, I could go through a bottle myself. I have never scoured that much CCTV in my life.”

  “Find anything?”

  “Nothing other than the Toyota Camry, going outbound from Canterbury Lane to the main highway. Definitely two blobs in the front seat, but we can’t discern anything more than that. But we’ve got other tricks up our sleeves. Kevin suggested that we pull CCTV from the main roads from Jaylene Boch’s house to Canterbury Lane where we found Brady Neil.”

  “That’s a good idea.”

  “In theory, yes. In practical terms, you stare at blurry black-and-white tape for five hours and then you offer your opinion.”

  “You’re still standing at the doorway, Tyler. You can come in.”

  Rina had appeared in the living room. She was wearing a yellow paisley caftan with three-quarter sleeves and a yellow scarf on her head.

  McAdams said, “Are you going to read my palm?”

  Rina laughed. “I haven’t dressed yet. You’re early. I told you seven, not six-thirty. The days are longer now, and it doesn’t make sense to start Shabbos too early.”

  “My bad, then. Anyway, you can remain in your Madame Zola clothing. You should be comfortable.”

  “Thank you very much, but I’ve already picked out a dress.” She took the bottles from Decker. “Nice wine. I’ll open it and then get dressed. I’m starved.”

  Twenty minutes later, McAdams was serving mushroom soup while Decker and Rina sat. Waitering and wine were his contribution to the free meals that he often mooched off them. Decker was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and jeans like Tyler was. Rina was in a white dress, cinched at the waist with a gold belt. Tyler sat down. “Smells great. The roast looks amazing. I almost cut myself off an end.”

  “Don’t do that,” Rina said. “It needs to rest.”

  “Not as much as I do,” Decker said. “Although I didn’t do much today. And as a result, I didn’t get anywhere. Wendell Tran said he’ll try to pull the Levine murder files out of archives for me next week. Let’s see if he follows through.”

  “Why wouldn’t he?” McAdams asked.

  “Because his attitude at best could be described as reluctant.”

  “Because Victor Baccus was the lead on the case,” Rina asked.

  “Exactly. And I kind of hinted that I didn’t want Baccus to know what I was doing. Tran wasn’t happy about that.”

  McAdams refilled everyone’s wineglass. “You think he’ll say something to the chief?”

  “I don’t know. I left it up to him.” He turned to Rina. “Soup is outstanding, darlin’.”

  “Thank you.” Rina took another spoonful. “I did get a chance to rummage through some of the Hamilton high schools’ yearbooks.”

  “You did?” Decker was happy. At least someone was accomplishing something. “And?”

  “Well, Jaylene Boch and Brandon Gratz went to the same high school. But different years. Jaylene was four years ahead of Brandon. She graduated, but I didn’t see a graduation picture for him. Jennifer Neil went to a different school. She’s four years younger than Brandon, which puts her eight years younger than Jaylene. She didn’t graduate, either. I did got copies of their yearbook pictures, but I didn’t have time to see if they matched any faces from the shoebox.”

  “Good job. What about Mitchell Flint and Glen and Lydia Levine?”

  “Lydia was Lydia Frost back then. All three of them went to a third high school in Bellweather—the posh area of Hamilton. Mitchell and Glen were in the same year. Lydia was three years behind. I do have graduation pictures of them, but if you’re looking to match faces to the black-and-white pictures you found under the wheelchair, I couldn’t tell you yes or no. Some people carry the same face from toddler to oldster. Others change drastically as they age. I’d try looking at the newspaper photos. They’re more recent.”

  “I’ve been looking at that,” Decker said. “Comparing newspaper photos with the black and whites. I can’t make out features well enough. What I can do—if Radar gets me the money—is send the
m to a forensic reconstructionist to take measurements. Even if the couple did things to their faces, there are basic bone measurements that stay the same.”

  McAdams said, “Plastic surgery is expensive.”

  Rina said, “Maybe not as much in Mexico. I had a friend in L.A. She did everything in the world to her body—face lift, nose reduction, tummy tuck, eyelids lifted, ribs taken out to make her waist smaller. She had this doctor in Mexico who catered to Americans. The clinic, according to her, was a resort on the Sea of Cortez. Like a five-star hotel except that everyone was walking around with bandages. And she claimed because it wasn’t as regulated, it was almost half the price of the States.”

  McAdams said, “Maybe we’re looking in the wrong country.”

  “Or maybe they did the surgery abroad and came back with new names, new passports, and totally new faces.” Decker was twirling his spoon. “I honestly don’t know too much about capturing fugitives. It was never something I did in all my years of police work.”

  “Who captures fugitives?” Rina asked.

  “Depends. If you’re on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, they take the lead. If it’s a dangerous criminal, it could be the US Marshals in the individual areas where the fugitives were spotted. It could also be bounty hunters. It’s just something I’ve never done.”

  “You probably know as much as anyone around here does,” Rina said.

  He thought a moment. “I’ll call Cindy and see if she can help me out.”

  “I thought you said she was in GTA,” McAdams said.

  “Yeah, she is, but she has resources that we don’t have. Anyway, I do have a bit of good news. Jaylene Boch seems to be improving.”

  “That’s great,” Rina said.

  “Was she able to answer questions?” McAdams said.

  “No, but she did talk—more like say a few words. Specifically, she asked about her son.”

  “Poor woman,” Rina said.

  “Yeah, it’s really sad. I wish I could tell her something.”

  “Did you show her the black-and-white pictures?”

  “Actually, I did,” Decker said. “She didn’t verbalize a yes or a no, and nothing in her face has me leaning in one or the other direction. So maybe later on, once she’s more coherent.” He paused. “I’m just frustrated. Four days and I still don’t have anything that points to why Brady Neil was murdered beyond his dealing in high school.”

  Rina said, “It could be that Joseph Junior was the target and Brady was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Maybe,” Decker said. “Anything’s possible, sure.”

  McAdams said, “Do we even know if Brady’s blood was in Boch’s house?”

  “I just got blood from Jennifer Neil. We’ll send it to Forensics and find out soon enough.”

  Rina said, “If he was dealing, Peter—even a little—that would put Brady with the wrong people.”

  “Yep.” Decker took a deep breath and let it out. “Well, I can’t do anything at the moment. And, frankly, I don’t want to think about work for the next twenty-four hours. Can I serve the next course?”

  “Sure. It’s salad,” Rina said. “Bowl is in the fridge, along with the salad plates. The greens are already dressed. Remember to bring in the tongs.”

  “I’ll do it, boss,” McAdams said.

  “No, I’ll do it,” Decker said. “That way I know you won’t steal the end of the roast.”

  “Which means that now you have means, motive, and opportunity yourself to steal the end of the roast,” McAdams retorted.

  “Why don’t you both go in?” Rina suggested. “Keep an eye on each other.” Slowly, they both rose from the table. When they came back, they both smelled like gravy. She shook her head. “How did it taste?”

  Decker said, “Delicious. After the salad, I’ll carve and bring it in.”

  “If you carve, there won’t be anything left,” McAdams said.

  “Will you two stop squabbling? There is plenty of meat for everyone, Mr. and Mr. Caveman.”

  The table went silent. Then McAdams said, “We’ll both carve.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  The men got up and headed toward the kitchen.

  “Wait!” Rina said. “You didn’t finish your salads.”

  But it was too late. She had lost them both to a standing rib roast.

  The greens never stood a chance.

  Chapter 19

  At eleven in the evening on Saturday, Decker’s mobile lit up with Cindy’s cell number. It was a little late to be saying hello, but his daughter knew that he and Rina observed the sabbath. It probably wasn’t an emergency. Otherwise she’d have called at any hour.

  “Hey, princess.”

  “How was your Shabbos?”

  “Restful. I only thought about work a hundred times instead of a thousand.”

  “That sounds like you, Daddy. And now I’m going to contribute to your workaholism.”

  “Why? What’s going on?”

  “I got a call from Lennie Baccus this afternoon—”

  “Don’t tell me,” Decker interrupted. “She’s pissed because I didn’t defend her to her father and she wanted to vent.”

  Cindy paused. “Maybe, but that’s not what she called about.”

  “Oh. Sorry. What’s the story?”

  “Dad, maybe you could give me a little background? I know she was working on your team regarding Brady Neil’s murder. She told me her father—not you—pulled her off the case when a friend of his went missing. What’s going on?”

  Decker filled her in as best as he could. “It was a very bloody scene in the back bedroom, but what was worse was Jaylene Boch being tied up and nearly starving to death. Chief Baccus said he was pulling Lennie off because he was worried about her safety. Which didn’t make sense. There wasn’t anything vaguely threatening. She was doing fine. Murder scenes are ugly. That’s what you see when you’re a homicide detective. I didn’t understand it then, and I still don’t.”

  “Okay, that helps explain a few things. Who are the Levines?”

  “A couple that was murdered in Hamilton twenty years ago. Two men are in prison for the homicides, and one of the guys is Brady Neil’s father. I’ve been trying to see if there’s a link between Brady’s death and his father’s crime, but so far I haven’t found anything.”

  “And why would you think that there’s a link twenty years later?”

  “I’m not saying there is. Still, Brandon Gratz is . . . was Brady’s father. I’d like to look at the original murder files for the Levines.”

  “So why is that a problem?”

  “It shouldn’t be except Victor Baccus was the lead detective on the investigation. I asked another Hamilton detective who was assigned to the Boch disappearance to get the files out of archives for me. I also asked him not to say anything to Chief Baccus. Naturally, he’s reluctant, though. I haven’t found a whiff of wrongdoing, by the way.”

  “But you haven’t seen the original files?”

  “No. Why?”

  “O-kay. Here’s the deal. It seems that Lennie has been doing a little research of her own about the Levine case—”

  “Oh fuck!” Decker’s face was sour. “Sorry.”

  “It is ‘oh fuck!’” Cindy said. “Your friends aren’t going to find the files because Lennie has already checked them out of archives.”

  “That’s not good, Cindy. If anyone else in the squad goes to check them out, they’re going to see Lennie’s name in the book. What’s that going to look like?”

  “That she was either hotdogging it on her own or you were conspiring with her. But let me get to the punch line, Dad. Lennie is fairly certain that there are pages missing. Plus, what she has looked through has been heavily redacted.”

  “What kind of pages?”

  “She didn’t specify. She wants to talk to you, but she’s afraid of dragging you into a mess.”

  “What’s been redacted?”

  “I don’t know, Dad. S
he didn’t say.”

  “Sometimes departments redact names of suspects who had ironclad alibis. They don’t want cops thinking ill of their good citizens.”

  “Well, then, that makes sense. She told me that there were hardly any other suspects interviewed other than the culprits.”

  “That’s odd. It took them a month to catch Brandon Gratz and Kyle Masterson.”

  “Brandon Gratz is Brady Neil’s father?”

  “Yes. There should be other interviews—with workers and friends and relatives before Gratz and Masterson were apprehended. They should have an interview with the Levines’ son Gregg. It was his ID of Gratz that got Kyle Masterson and Brandon Gratz arrested.”

  “Maybe it’s there. She was fuzzy on the details. Lennie thought about asking her father, but then he’d know that she was investigating this on her own. And now you tell me her father was the lead? How dicey is that?”

  “Why is she dragging you into this?”

  “Because she feels comfortable with me, and I’m objective and far away. She doesn’t know we’re related, Dad. Anyway, she feels her two options are to work on this by herself or go to you since you’re actively working on the case. But then she said that you specifically told her not to do anything on her own. Which of course is good advice. From what I gathered, after her father pulled her off the case so suddenly, she just got curious.”

  “Or pissed at him.”

  “Yeah, that could be. I immediately told her to stop. You don’t want to find out bad things about your colleagues without going through proper channels. Lennie said almost all the detectives involved have retired because it was twenty years ago. Then I reminded her the people who were young patrol officers back then are probably now officers in senior positions. I told her that she can’t cowboy it on her own.”

  “Great advice.”

  “Except now the only person she trusts is you. To buy you time, I told her that I’d call you up and let you know what’s going on. I told her when I talked to you about her time in Philly that you seemed like a reasonable person.”