Walking Shadows Read online

“Really horrible,” McAdams said. “Not more than a kid himself.”

  “Yeah, but he pulled it together. He quit school and took over the family business. After a few years, he brought them all back under one roof. There were grandparents in the mix, but Gregg and the next oldest, his sister Yvonne, continued on with the business while looking after the remaining three kids. Ella was the youngest, but the other two were in high school, so they must have been teenagers. The community helped out as well. I remember my dad taking me to a special police dinner to benefit the family.”

  Decker said, “Hell of a lot of responsibility for a twenty-year-old boy and his teenaged sister.”

  “The store is still a going concern, twenty years later. The other three kids don’t live here anymore. I don’t know what happened to them. But Gregg and Yvonne are still in town. They both married locals and have kids of their own. They do lots of charity work with foster care and disaffected youth. Drawing from their own experiences, no doubt.”

  Lennie sat down and shook her head. “I haven’t thought about Gratz and Masterson in ages. They should be up for parole soon.”

  “Next year.”

  “It won’t happen. Not if the family has their say-so.”

  “Any idea why Brandon Gratz and Kyle Masterson didn’t get life without parole?”

  “You’ll have to ask my father about that. He and the entire community thought it was the biggest miscarriage of justice ever to happen around here. The judge retired after the case and moved out of the area. I don’t remember her name. It was a she. I remember my father ranting about the bleeding-heart liberal justice system.”

  “Your father was lead investigator on the case.”

  “I know he was. He worked it night and day. I don’t think he slept a wink until Gratz and Masterson were apprehended, charged, and convicted.”

  Decker nodded. “I was looking over the articles on him. He and his solid police work were credited for the convictions.”

  “Like I said, he worked day and night.”

  To Lennie, McAdams said, “Kinda strange he didn’t tell you that Brady Neil was Brandon Gratz’s son.”

  “I’m sure my father just assumed that I knew.” She looked at Decker. “Did my dad tell you about Brady’s father?”

  “Not when Radar spoke to him, but at that time, we didn’t know who the victim was. If I ask him about it, I’m sure he’ll tell me what he knows. Whether the double murder had something to do with Brady Neil’s death?” Decker shrugged. “Right now, we’re in the beginning stages and everything should be kept under wraps. Like McAdams keeps saying, it’s best not to get distracted by twenty-year-old cases that may not be relevant.”

  The room was quiet. Lennie picked up her backpack. “I’m going to help Butterfield out in the field until it gets dark. Should I come back here?”

  “It’ll be after nine. Nothing is urgent. Just go home.”

  “Thanks. I want to prepare my questions for tomorrow morning’s interview.”

  “Absolutely.” Decker paused. “Lennie, do you live far from here?”

  “No. I’m just across the border. Why?”

  “If I need help as the case progresses, I’m more likely to ask you to come in if you’re close by.”

  “Fifteen minutes. I live in a studio apartment where I can touch the walls if I spread my arms wide enough. So anytime you want help, just call.”

  “Thank you. Go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Decker waited for her to leave, then shut down the computer. “We should leave if we want to get to Brandy Neil’s place on time.”

  “That was an odd question,” McAdams said. “How far she lives from the station house. You never asked me that.”

  “You were in the district.”

  “No, that’s not it.” McAdams waited.

  Decker said, “Tyler, what’s the normal way you ask a question if you want to know where a person lives?”

  “Where do you live?”

  “And what would she have thought if I asked ‘Where do you live?’”

  “She would have thought that you were asking where she lives.”

  “Maybe also with whom she lives.”

  McAdams thought a moment. “Aha! You want to know if she lives with her parents. You don’t want her yakking about the case to her dad around the dinner table.”

  “Victor Baccus is her father, and he’s bound to be interested in anything that has to do with the case that made his career. And until we find Brady Neil’s killer, Chief Baccus is going to be curious if there’s a link. He may ask his daughter a question or two.” Decker stood up and wiped his mouth. “Hopefully she’ll be so busy, she won’t have time for dinner with the folks and a lot of extraneous yakking. Let’s go.”

  “Why don’t you just tell her to keep the case confidential?”

  “I already told her to keep the case under wraps. She was a detective. She’s a trained police officer. She knows about confidentiality, and so does the chief. If I make a big deal about it, it’ll seem like: (a) I don’t trust her—which I don’t—and (b) I’m suspicious of her dad—which I’m not. If there’s tension between father and daughter, it’ll make my life harder. Let’s go.”

  They walked out of the station together toward Decker’s car. McAdams said, “Do you think Chief Baccus put his daughter on the team to keep an eye on the investigation? It was an odd request.”

  “Yes, it was. I don’t know what his motivations were. So far, I’ll just take him at his word and concentrate on the case in front of us.”

  McAdams climbed into the passenger seat. “I still think it’s weird.”

  “Harvard, you’re a cautious guy. I’m a cautious guy. Until we know what’s going on, we’ll keep the conversation between us. Just think about what I said the next time you go out with Lennie for lunch.”

  “I didn’t go out with her,” McAdams insisted. “I just offered her a seat at my table.” He paused. “Do you think she was trying to pump me for information?”

  Decker turned on the ignition. “What’d you talk about?”

  “Just shooting the shit. I talked about Harvard Law, she talked about her time with Philadelphia PD. I didn’t tell her about Cindy, by the way.”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Decker edged out of the police lot and onto the street. “It would have been bonehead stupid if you did, and you’re not bonehead stupid. If you talk to her outside of work, keep it neutral. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “You don’t trust her?”

  “She’s new. I don’t trust anyone new. In reality, I don’t trust anyone unless I’ve worked with them for a very long time.”

  “So cynical.”

  “No, you’re cynical. I’m just wary.”

  “How long before you trusted me?”

  “About a year. After you got shot.”

  McAdams was shocked. “I needed a hit with a lethal weapon before you trusted me?”

  “I would have trusted you eventually, Harvard.” Decker smiled. “Taking a bullet for me just sped things up.”

  Chapter 7

  The Bitsby area was one step above blighted. It had an oversupply of bail bond houses, twenty-four-hour convenience stores with bars on the windows, seedy motels, OTB outlets, deep discount electronics stores, and pawnbrokers. There were blocks of weed-choked lots and junkyards secured by chain link. The uneven roads were pocked with potholes, and the sidewalks were tattooed in graffiti. Streetlights looked few and far between. Decker had no idea how bright the lamps shone because the sun was still out when he and McAdams arrived at Brandy Neil’s apartment.

  The woman who answered was thirty with a thin face that bordered on emaciated. She wore no makeup, her filmy blue eyes looking tired and sad. Oddly, her face was framed with luxuriant chestnut-colored hair that had been set in waves and curls. She wore denim jeans and a black T-shirt. Her feet were bare. After Decker made the introductions, Brandy invited them in; her voice was soft and sober.

  Stepping ove
r the threshold, Decker thought about Lennie’s description of an arm’s-span apartment. This one was made even more claustrophobic because the ceiling was low—an acoustical, popcorn top, which meant the place was probably built in the ’60s or ’70s. It was spare in furniture and spare of personal items. The couch was floral in yellow and blue, the material torn and worn. She invited them to sit on it, and the men complied.

  “Coffee?”

  “Water, if you wouldn’t mind,” Decker said.

  “And you, Detective?” She was looking at McAdams.

  “Water as well. Tap is fine.”

  “Times two.” Decker pulled out his notepad.

  She got up and went to a back counter that held a two-burner cooktop and a microwave oven. The fridge was bar sized and sat under the cabinets. She took out glasses and filled three cups from the tap. She handed out the water, and then she sat down. “I don’t know what I can tell you that will help. I don’t know a lot about Brady’s life. I mean, about his life after I left. When we lived as a family under one roof, it was hell.”

  “How so?” Decker said.

  “Well, I’m hoping you know about my dad so I won’t have to get into all that shit.”

  “I do know. You were shunned after he was jailed?”

  “We were terrorized. We had to move thirty miles north to Grayborn—a little shit town with a nice name. We lived there for about three years until Mom brought us back to Bitsby and enrolled us in school under her maiden name, Neil. By then I was around fourteen. Of course, my classmates knew who I was, but now we were all teenagers. They fell into two categories about me. In the first group, I was a total pariah. In the second one—the bad kids—having a parent in prison for murder was cool. Guess which group I fell into.”

  “Not hard to understand.”

  “I dropped out at sixteen. I was a druggie and a groupie and a horrible influence on Brady. Mom and I fought all the time, but I never expected her to kick me out.” She looked down. “But she did, and things worked out well. Being self-reliant made me get my act together very quickly. I got a job with a very kind boss who knows who I am and what I went through.”

  “What do you do?” McAdams asked.

  “I’m a bookkeeper, believe it or not. I was always good with numbers. So was Dad, and that’s probably what got him in trouble initially. Dad gambled. Mom used to tell me he had a system. It worked for a while, but then it failed and he got into debt. Real bad debt. Hence the robbery—robberies. The Levines were probably not the first.”

  McAdams said, “Forgive me for saying this, but you must have a very unusual boss.”

  “Every week, I go over everything with his wife or with him. All invoices, payments out and payments received. I leave nothing up to chance.”

  “What business is your boss in?” Decker said.

  “Paper supplies. He wholesales out everything from typing paper and lined notebooks to high-quality stationery. I’ve turned my life around. I’ve got a little money in an IRA and a little money in the bank. I live in this shithole place in this shithole area because it’s cheap and all I want is somewhere to rest my head at night. I’m not saying my party days are over. If someone else foots the bill, I’ll go out. But I’m not paying for drinks that are pissed out in an hour and leave me with a bad headache. Most of the time, I live like a monk.”

  “And you’re still on nonspeaking terms with your mother?”

  “She is positively toxic. So, no, I don’t talk to her. I do send her a Christmas card with a hundred-dollar check every year, and she always cashes it. That way, I know she’s still alive.”

  Decker said, “She didn’t mention that.”

  “She wouldn’t. To her, I’m just a bad girl who doesn’t care.” A long sigh. “What the hell happened to my baby brother?”

  “We were hoping you could maybe help us out with that. What do you know about Brady?”

  “Not a lot. We did talk, but not too often.”

  “What did you talk about?” McAdams asked.

  “Mostly we talked about how we were coping.”

  “How was he coping?”

  “He said he was okay. He had a job, he had a few friends. Mom basically ignored him and he ignored her. Plus, he had the entire basement for his living quarters. About four times the space of this apartment and no rent. Mom always favored Brady. Me? Not so much.”

  “Did you know any of Brady’s friends?”

  She paused and shook her head. “I knew a few of his school friends, but that was a long time ago.”

  Decker paged through his notes. “Patrick Markham and Brett Baderhoff.”

  “Yeah. Wow, haven’t heard those names in a while.”

  “Anyone of a more recent vintage?”

  Brandy smiled. “Yes, come to think of it. He had a pal from work. Boxer. He was a warehouse worker. I never met him, but Brady told me that he and Boxer would go out drinking sometimes. He was an older guy—around thirty-five or so. Sounds like loser company, but I’m not one to judge.”

  “Is Boxer his first or last name?”

  “Don’t know. Brady just called him Boxer.”

  “It sounds like a nickname,” McAdams said.

  “It might be.”

  “What about girlfriends?” Decker asked.

  She shrugged ignorance. “He never mentioned anyone specific.”

  “I have to ask you this. Did you know of any activities that might have compromised Brady in some way?”

  “If he was dealing, I didn’t know about it.”

  “Your mom said he always had cash.”

  “Then ask my mom about it.”

  “I did. She had no idea how he got it.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Decker wondered how much he should say to her. Brandy appeared to be truthful. Maybe it was worth the chance. “I pulled in a couple of punks this afternoon. Both of them told me that Brady was selling used and out-of-date electronic equipment to recycling dealers.”

  She waited. “Okay. Is there something wrong with that?”

  “No. The kids said he found the stuff dumpster diving. Does that sound like the kind of thing your brother might do?”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged. “Brady could be . . . entrepreneurial. But his business wasn’t always legal, to put it mildly.”

  “He dealt drugs?”

  “Nothing big, but yes, he sold pot and pills in high school.”

  “And that’s all?”

  “He didn’t peddle tar or crack, if that’s what you’re asking.” A pause. “At least, if he did, I didn’t know about it.”

  “So it’s possible he could have dealt harder stuff.”

  “Maybe.” She looked at the ceiling. “Something got him murdered.”

  “True enough,” McAdams said. “Was he good at computers?”

  “I’ve never known him to be a whiz or geeky or anything like that. But he did work in the electronics department at Bigstore, and he was promoted to manager. So maybe he was more adroit than I knew.”

  “Was Brady good at numbers like you and your dad?” Decker asked.

  “Yes, he was, come to think of it. He was no abstract math genius, but he could add and subtract in his head. I imagine that a gift like that would come in handy working in retail. Today, with calculators and computers, his skill doesn’t bring much to the table. But it’s a great party trick.”

  “How about if you’re betting and the odds keep changing?”

  “I don’t think Brady was a gambler. We both had our fill of that life from Dad.” Brandy checked her watch. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I have to meet my mom at the mortuary tomorrow and I’m just dreading it. I need a little time to relax. If you have more questions down the road, I’m fine with it. Just not now.”

  The men got up and gave Brandy their cards. “Call if you can think of anything else,” Decker told her. “You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Have I?”

  “Very much. Thanks for your time, Ms. Neil.”
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  “Just call me Brandy. It’s kind of a stripper name, but I like it. It’s about the only thing I’ve kept from my old life.”

  After they got into the car, McAdams said, “If Brady was a gambler like his old man, it could explain how he wound up dead. Maybe he borrowed money from the wrong person.”

  “It’s a thought, but a true gambler usually doesn’t have cash lying around. They spend it as soon as they get it.”

  “A professional poker player?”

  “Living in the basement of his mother’s home?”

  “A mediocre professional poker player?” When Decker didn’t answer, McAdams said, “Well, what do you think?”

  “I don’t have any definite theories right now. But what do you think about a manager of the electronics department of Bigstore keeping company with a warehouse worker?”

  “He was stealing from the inventory?” McAdams said. “Don’t they keep meticulous records?”

  “I’m sure they have records . . . how meticulous?” Decker shrugged. “If he was dealing in broken-down parts, what’s to say that a box here and there didn’t get accidentally dropped and ruined?”

  “Then Bigstore would return it to the manufacturer.”

  “Yes, if it was a really big, expensive item. But Bigstore sells a lot of glasses, decorative pots and vases, and kitchenware and small appliances and food in jars. Stuff they wouldn’t ship back because it’s too little. If it was a smaller item—a phone or a cheap game system—maybe the store would elect to lump it all together under its breakage insurance policy.”

  “Okay. Suppose Neil and Boxer were occasionally lifting broken items. That’s a good theory for explaining Neil’s extra cash. But it doesn’t explain how he got whacked in the head and ended up dead.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Decker’s phone rang and Butterfield’s voice emerged on Bluetooth.

  “Hey, Deck.”

  “Hey, Kev. How did the canvassing go?”

  “Between that and CCTV, I have a few things. I’m at the station house. Where are you?”

  “We’re just coming back from talking to Brady Neil’s sister. We’ll be right over.”

  “Is the kid with you?”