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  “I’m just asking a question, Old Man.”

  “If we find other bodies, then I’ll revise my thinking accordingly.”

  Chapter 11

  After dropping off Rina, Decker and McAdams headed for the crime scene. They arrived at Bogat just as the sun was sinking behind the horizon. It was cooler in the forest than in town, even cooler than a couple of days ago when they had discovered Pettigrew’s body. The foliage was starting to turn—small peeks of gold and rust. The sky had burst into purples and pinks, and a cricket or two started in song as twilight emerged. Nightfall would hit soon and the woods would become lines and shadows.

  Under the tent was a whirl of activity with police and coroner officials. There was a picnic table covered in white cloth. Atop were unearthed bones, tufts of hair, clothing fragments, and a few personal effects—jewelry and something that looked like leather—maybe a purse or a wallet. Two arc lamps attached to battery packs provided high-intensity illumination. Ben Roiters was watching the action from ringside. The man still had a head of hair—most of it dark—even though he had passed the six-zero mark a few years ago. He was stoop shouldered with a paunch and alert, dark eyes. He had been a seasoned detective in his heyday but had worked for Greenbury for the last ten years. Decker motioned him outside the tent.

  Roiters said, “This is unbelievable. What’re the odds that you have two bodies in such close proximity that are not related?”

  Decker shook his head. “Zero.”

  “So what is it? A gang fight in the woods gone wrong? A satanic ritual? A serial killer?”

  “My vote is on C,” McAdams said.

  Decker turned to him. “Okay, Tyler. Defend your choice.”

  McAdams shrugged. “I don’t know who the other body is, but there are no indications that Pettigrew was a hard-core gangbanger.”

  “What about a satanic ritual?” Decker asked.

  “Pettigrew was smacked in the head. If it was satanic, I’d expect to see more knife action in a ritual sacrifice: cut marks on his bones and things like that.”

  Roiters said, “I agree with the kid, Pete. As soon as we found a second body, I thought of a serial killer.”

  “Could be a one-off where the killer whacked two people at the same time,” Decker said.

  “Coroner thinks the bodies weren’t buried at the same time. So a serial killing makes more sense.”

  Decker said, “Then it’s someone who kills men and women.”

  McAdams said, “Pettigrew had been consistently dressing as a woman when he came back to Greenbury.”

  “Yeah, I know,” Decker turned to Roiters. “When was the Bogat hiking trail put in?”

  “I don’t have a clue. I’m the quintessential couch potato.”

  McAdams was already on his iPhone. “I can’t get reception. What are you thinking? That it doesn’t make sense to bury two bodies so close to a public trail?”

  “Yep. I’m thinking the bodies were interred before the trail went public. Karen Osterfeld doesn’t remember Bogat when she was here around seven years ago. And it had just opened up when I came on the scene, after Delilah Occum’s disappearance.”

  “Do you think there are more bodies out there?” McAdams stowed his phone.

  “Possibly.” Decker blew out air. “Radar’s getting some dogs so we can cover a much bigger area.” He raised his eyebrows. “When are you going back to school?”

  “Classes start in a week. But that doesn’t mean I have to show up right away.”

  “Let’s see what we accomplish in a week.” He turned to Roiters. “You can direct the digging out here?”

  “Not a problem. What kind of radius are we talking about?”

  “Let’s draw a five-hundred-yard radius. Even before the dogs, we can hunt visually for unnatural depressions in the ground.”

  “I’ll mark it off in the morning,” Roiters told him.

  “That’s fine. Whoever is out there will keep.” Decker returned his attention to the activities inside the tent. He went inside where the coroner was shaping the remains into skeleton precision. To Decker, he said, “These bones are in worse shape than Pettigrew’s.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Female and young judging by the teeth.”

  “How young?”

  “Molars are barely in. Once I X-ray the jaw, I’ll get a better idea.”

  “Young as in young girl or young adult woman.”

  “Not a child . . . probably late teens. Are you looking for anyone specific?”

  “Two females disappeared within a few years of Pettigrew. Delilah Occum went missing about a little more than three years ago. She was a Clarion student. Then there’s Yvette Jones who vanished seven years ago. She went to school at Morse McKinley, which happens to be the same school that Lawrence Pettigrew attended.”

  “Is that the sum total of your missing persons list?”

  “No, there are a few women within a hundred-mile radius. Not as young as late teens, though. I’ve got people hunting down those dental records while I do Occum and Jones. If we could exclude either from our list, it may rule out a school connection.”

  The coroner nodded. “Bring in as many radiographs as you can. Once I have those, science can do the rest.”

  Eliminating Occum and Jones meant getting dental X-rays from their parents, dashing the faded remnants of hope and bringing back the horror all over again. Decker rubbed his temples and called out to McAdams who was talking to Roiters. “Hey, Harvard. Where is the list of missing persons that we compiled before we identified Pettigrew?”

  McAdams walked over to Decker while Roiters went back into the tent. “It’s on my iPad, boss.”

  “Which you can’t use because you have no Wi-Fi here.”

  “Actually I can bring it up because it’s in a Word file, which doesn’t require Wi-Fi. The problem is that my iPad is out of juice.”

  “I have an Apple charger in the glove compartment that’s compatible with my car’s cigarette lighter. You can charge your iPad there.”

  “You actually have a charger in your car?”

  “When I came out to Greenbury, I thought I might need it. Long trips back and forth to New York to see the kids.”

  McAdams looked incredulous. “Why are you first telling me about it now?”

  “Because you didn’t need to use it until now.” When the kid stalked off, Decker shouted after him. “Hold on a second.”

  McAdams turned around. “What?”

  “Do you want to just juice up your iPad or do you actually want to know what I’m looking for?”

  The kid made a point of sighing when he walked back to Decker. “What specifically do you want to know . . . sir?”

  “The hometowns of Delilah Occum and Yvette Jones. We’ll need dental records.”

  McAdams nodded. “Are we doing the notification by phone?”

  “What do you think?”

  “Of course, you’re going to do it in person because how fun is it to actually look into the parents’ eyes and see all that agony and pain.”

  “I can do it myself, Harvard. You have school as an excuse.”

  “I don’t make excuses.”

  “Come or don’t come. It’s up to you.”

  “I’ll come with you. Can’t let you one-up me. I’ve just got too much ego for that.”

  Delilah Occum lived in Akron, Ohio, around forty minutes away from Cleveland—land of King LeBron James and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Decker wasn’t familiar with the area, but it was in the Eastern time zone: upon arrival, he wouldn’t have to change his watch.

  Yvette Jones had come from Lower Merion, a wealthy suburb of Philadelphia. Decker was somewhat familiar with the area because his daughter was part of the Philly PD. His son-in-law, Koby, was now in his third year of medical school at Drexel, having transferred from Mount Sinai to be closer to Cindy’s job. They were renting an apartment near Rittenhouse Square, which had to be one of the liveliest places on earth on a Saturday
night. The added benefit was that his grandsons, being mixed race, fit in with the city’s population. The boys were already being scouted for basketball at several prep schools even though they were only seven. But talent is talent and the boys were fast on their feet, coordinated beyond their years, and off the charts in height. Decker liked to think that he played a genetic role in the tall factor.

  Both cities were within a day’s driving distance from Greenbury. The plan was to first go to Akron—along the north—then go south to Lower Merion. Decker made calls to the families as soon as he arrived home at ten in the evening.

  The conversation with each set of parents was almost identical: yes, there were some new developments in the Greenbury area but these new findings may or may not have anything to do with your daughters, and yes, he would certainly tell them more about it when he came out to visit them in person.

  At ten-thirty, he hung up the phone after talking to the Occums. Both families were gracious enough to talk to him as well as acquire the necessary original dental X-rays for him. He was beat from a long day and mental exhaustion.

  Rina was wearing a robe over lightweight pajamas. “At least the murders didn’t happen on your watch.”

  He sat down at the kitchen table. “I haven’t worked a cold case in a while. This one is particularly difficult because any kind of DNA transfer has been degraded by the water in the ground. An archeologist would probably have better luck.”

  “That’s your stomach talking. You must be hungry.”

  “Famished, but I want to shower first.”

  There was a knock on the door. Rina said, “Go shower. I’ll take care of Tyler.”

  “How do you know it’s Tyler?”

  “If you’re hungry, so is he.” She went to the front entrance and opened the door. “Dinner’s heating up. It’ll be ready in about ten minutes.”

  She let McAdams in. His hair was wet and he was holding two bottles of kosher wine: a Herzog zin reserve and a Covenant Landsman zin. He said, “Are you coming with us tomorrow?”

  “To Philadelphia? I hope so. I’d love to visit the boys.”

  “I think the plan is to go to Akron, then go to Philly.”

  “That’s fine. I can make myself scarce while you do the interview.” She relieved him of the wine. “I’m thinking that we’ll arrive early enough to have dinner with Cindy and Koby. You’re welcome to join us. Your picture is up on the piano. That means you’re officially family now.”

  “The pain-in-the-ass kind of family.”

  “Tyler, stop fishing for compliments. Just say thank you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Have a seat.” Rina set down the bottles of wine. “Are we staying overnight in Philadelphia?”

  “I think so. We’ll probably interview Yvette Jones’s parents the following day. There’s a Marriott nearby where I’ll sleep. I’m assuming you two will bunk down at Cindy’s?”

  “Yes, they have a spare bedroom.”

  McAdams pulled up a chair at the dining room table. “What are you going to do while we do business?”

  “There are always museums and shopping. I like being by myself. It’s a skill I’ve developed being married to Peter all these years.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure L.A. detectives don’t work nine to five.”

  “It’s not L.A. detectives, it’s most Homicide detectives. Especially Peter. But that’s fine. I love him for who he is. He’s really distressed about this case. He thinks it might be a serial killer. He thinks there could be more bodies. It’s frightening.”

  “It happened a while ago. Maybe whoever did the work has moved on. I looked up when the Bogat Trail was first opened to the public. It was just like Pete said, about three years ago—six months after Delilah Occum disappeared. That has been the Old Man’s theory all along. That the bodies were buried before the trail opened.”

  “It’s so sad.” Rina picked up a corkscrew. With a few twists, she expertly opened the Covenant wine and poured him a glass of red. “Good?”

  “Very. It’s got some peppery notes in it.”

  “Then it should go well with the tacos. I’ll be right back.”

  McAdams sipped wine and a moment later, Decker came into the living room. He filled his own glass and said nothing. The silence made Tyler nervous. He said, “Rina invited me to dinner with your family . . . Koby and Cindy.” No response. “If that’s okay with you.”

  “Sure.” He sounded more annoyed than reassuring.

  “You okay, boss?”

  “Just thinking ahead. If we identify the bones as Occum or Jones, the colleges are a common link between them and Pettigrew. If it’s not those girls, I suppose we’ll start by looking up cases that deal with multiple bodies buried in remote areas.” He took another sip and looked up. “I’m getting ahead of myself. When do you start law school again?”

  “In a week. I’m still all yours until then.”

  “Thanks, Tyler. I may need it.”

  Rina came in, holding a plate of tacos over rice with oven mitts. “They’re hot. I’ll serve.” Peter didn’t answer her. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure. Looks good.” He gave a forced smile. “I’ll take as many as you want to give me.”

  She gave him four, she gave Tyler three, and she gave herself two. After twenty minutes of eating in silence, she cleared the plates and brought out a fruit salad. “The watermelon is a little mealy. The season has passed.” When no one answered, she said, “Or you gentlemen can skip dessert and go directly to bed. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow and you both look worn out.”

  Wordlessly, the men got up.

  She didn’t have to say it twice.

  Chapter 12

  Akron, Ohio, was once known as the rubber capital of the country, hosting Firestone, Goodrich, and Goodyear, which was the only company still headquartered in the region. Rubber had diminished in importance for the area. Instead there were now over four hundred companies specializing in polymers. Akron’s other (dubious) moniker was the meth capital of the country. There had been some progress in cleaning up the drug trade, as well as talk of urban renewal: of green spaces and community centers donated by pro athletes and civic businesses. The trappings were great as long as there were jobs for the populace.

  The Occums lived in the Montrose-Ghent area in a two-story brick Tudor resting on rolling green lawns, and surrounded by dozens of leafy trees. In Beverly Hills, the price of a lot like this would be upwards of twenty million. In this area of the country, it was high six figures if the economy was great. Dr. Richard Occum was an internist; his wife, Natalie, was a high school math teacher. There were two remaining children, both younger than Delilah and both attending college in New York. It was to the family’s credit that they loosened the apron strings after their daughter had disappeared.

  “We couldn’t hold them back,” Natalie whispered. She was small and thin with a withered face and sunken dark eyes. She had on a white blouse under an oversize black cardigan and jeans. Her feet were housed in espadrilles.

  Decker and McAdams were sitting in a parlor at the front of the house. It was filled with light and contemporary furniture—all sleek lines and monotones—but softened by vases of flowers and a greenbelt view out the window.

  “Did they already go back to school?” The gray couch that Decker was sitting on had zero give.

  “They never come home for more than a few days in the summer. Internships are more abundant in the big city.” A weak smile. “It’s no doubt more pleasant for them away from here. I can’t seem to move on. In a way, it’s easier without them. I don’t have to hide my emotions . . . which I don’t do well. I don’t fool anyone.”

  She scratched her neck with long, red nails.

  “I do my best. I’m involved with other parents in the same situation, but I’ve tried to expand a little. I started going back to church . . . visiting with old friends. I just got tired of excluding everyone because they didn’t understand. Anyway, I’ll get you the X-ra
ys so you can be on your way.”

  Decker said. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to hear a bit about Delilah.”

  She paused. “Like what?”

  “Just tell me what she’s like.”

  “Using the present tense.”

  “She’s missing. That’s all I know.”

  “It’s been over three years. What are the chances that she’s still alive?”

  “I know what you’re saying.”

  Tears fell from her eyes. “Delilah was fun, energetic, enthusiastic. She was smart, but she was more a people person than a book person. I know she was last seen leaving a party. And from what I’ve been told, she might have been a little tipsy. But she wasn’t promiscuous, she didn’t have a drinking problem, and she was, by and large, a good girl. She was a college student, having fun and enjoying the freedom of living away from home. What in the world is wrong with that?”

  “Nothing.”

  “She was obviously in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Natalie wiped a tear from her eye. “I know that some people think that she somehow brought this on herself, but honestly, she wasn’t that type of girl.”

  Decker said, “If anyone made you feel that way, they’re idiots. I’m just trying to get a feel for Delilah. Were the two of you close?”

  Natalie took a tissue and blew her nose. “She could be secretive.”

  “About what?” McAdams said.

  “If I knew that, I wouldn’t have said she was secretive.”

  Decker smiled. “What do you think she was secretive about?”

  “Anything she didn’t want to talk about, which upon reflection was probably a long list. I had no idea what she did at college. Once she hit adolescence, she didn’t share a lot. And that was okay with me. She was entitled to her privacy. I didn’t want to pry. When I tried, it just caused conflict.”

  Decker paused. “Did you have a lot of conflict with her?”

  “Do you have children, Detective?”

  “Yes. Teenagers are very trying. My kids are all grown, but we still have our moments.”

  She sighed. “Some play the child-parent game better than others. Some kids actually like talking to their parents.” She looked at McAdams. “Right?”