Читать книгу Walking Shadows - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 14

LENNIE BACCUS WAS eating a muffin and chatting up one of the women who worked behind the counter. When she saw Decker, she stood up, wiped her mouth, and said her good-byes. She took her coffee in her right hand, another to-go coffee in her left, and met up with the boss. “I thought you could use one of these.”

“Thank you.”

“Black, right?”

“You’re a quick study. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“I think I got Boxer’s address. We’ll talk in the car.”

Silently they walked across a big expanse of asphalt. The parking lot was half full, mostly small cars and pickups. Once in the car, Decker put the keys in the ignition. As soon as he pulled onto the street, he said, “You go first.”

“Not too much.” Lennie pulled out her notepad. “I talked to four people—the two women who work at the café—Marie and Gilliam. Neither of them know Boxer, but they did know Brady Neil. He used to come and buy coffee and a croissant, and he was always friendly. They felt really bad and a little worried, like it has something to do with the store.”

“It might,” Decker said. “Joseph Boch a.k.a. Boxer hasn’t shown up for work in two days.”

“Since Neil’s death. Wow. That’s a little creepy.”

“The guy I talked to in the warehouse—his name is Phil—described Boxer as a little guy and kind of a wimp. If he and Neil were stealing electronics, I can bet who ran the show.”

“If the company found out,” Lennie said, “they’d just fire them. Not kill anyone.”

“No, you’re right about that. But we have to start somewhere, and since Boxer didn’t show up at work, we need to find out why. You said you talked to four people. Who are the other two?”

“Buss Vitali, who worked alongside Brady Neil. Said he had no problems with Brady, that he was a nice guy. Always willing to carry an extra load to help someone out.”

“Could be he was a nice guy. Or it could be because he was a nice guy, his coworkers looked the other way.”

“You really think he was stealing.”

“I think he was pulling off some kind of scam. Especially now that Boxer is AWOL. Who’s the last person you talked to?”

“Well, Buss pointed me toward a girl named Olivia Anderson, who works in clothing. She and Brady went out a couple of times. She didn’t show up yesterday for work, but she was there today. It looked to me like she’d been crying.”

“What’d she say to you?”

Lennie checked her notepad. “They were dating for around two months, but then he broke it off. Neil told her that he had something he needed to work on. But he never told her what.”

“When did he break off the relationship?”

“About six months ago.”

“When you get back to the station house, call her and say that I’d love to talk to her. She can either come to the station or I’ll interview her at her home.”

“She seemed like a nice girl.”

“And by all accounts, Brady was a nice guy. But something got him killed.”

“Can I come with you when you interview her?” Lennie bit her lip. “I think she trusts me. It might make things easier.”

“I’m sure you would help, Baccus, but this isn’t a look-see. I need someone experienced to play off of. It’s going to be McAdams. Did you give her your phone number?”

“I gave her my card, yes.”

“Good. Then she might call you after she’s talked to us. If she wants to talk to you, that would be fine. But do it in an open place. Do not go to her house, okay?”

“Got it.”

“Did she say anything else other than Brady was a nice guy?”

“Just that he paid for everything. Consistent with the mother saying he always had cash.”

“Do you see him earning that much cash from recycled parts?”

“Enough for a dinner at Steaks! and a movie. Not enough to take her on a trip to Paris.”

“Yeah, having an extra fifty bucks qualifies as having lots of cash around here. And it’s certainly possible to make an extra fifty bucks in recycled parts. Especially if you didn’t pay for any of it.”

“True, but would an extra fifty bucks get you killed?” Lennie asked.

Decker said, “I’ve seen people killed for less. Especially if you’re an addict. But addicts don’t usually take a body from the crime scene and dump it in a second spot. They just take the cash and run.”

“And it’s a definite that Brady Neil wasn’t killed on Canterbury Lane?”

“The blood loss at the scene doesn’t fit the severity of the wound. Plus, we have a second person of interest who’s missing. This seems like something more than some random mugging.”

“Maybe Joseph Boch a.k.a. Boxer can shed some light on the situation.”

“One can always hope.” Decker smiled. “And one can always be disappointed.”

THE ADDRESS WAS in an impoverished area on Crane Street. It was a small bungalow with a wraparound porch, the house built around the turn of the twentieth century. The outside lawn was brown even though the weather was no longer cold, but there were a few weeds popping up, giving it spots of green. No planting along the border or the steps, but there was a giant oak tree that shaded a crumbling stone pathway to the front door. Although the place had a dirt driveway, there was no car parked outside. The whitewashed flooring of the porch was missing boards, and what was still there was splintered and looked none too safe to walk on.

When they reached the front door, Decker pulled back a torn screen and knocked on the sash. After announcing himself several times, he closed the screen. He went around to the side yard and peeked over. “Don’t see a car.”

He eased his shoe into a chain link and hopped over the fence.

Lennie said, “Do you want me to follow you?”

“Nah, just going to have a look around. See if there’s any visibility from a back window inside the house.”

The backyard was as brown as the front but with no tree to give it any life. The area was fenced off from its neighbors by chain link alternating with rotted two-by-fours. Spare automobile parts were strewn about—a few rusted hubcaps, a piece of a fender, several spare tires, and three or four wheel-less bicycles. The house had two windows that looked out to the backyard, but the curtains had been pulled. He knocked on the back door.

No answer.

“Detective Decker?” Lennie yelled out.

“Over in the back. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine.” Decker took a last look around, and then he scaled the fence and landed on his feet with a thud. Thank God for rubber-soled shoes. “Quiet as a tomb.”

“Just leave our cards?”

“No, I’m going to try his phone. You call up records and find out who the house belongs to.” Decker punched in the numbers, and the line went straight to voice mail. While he was considering his next move, Lennie interrupted his musings.

“The tax bill goes out to Jaylene Boch. She’s fifty-nine and bought the house twenty-five years ago.”

“Call up the station and ask whoever is there to look her up.”

“Greenbury or Hamilton?”

“Greenbury.” Decker looked through the front windows, which were obscured by curtains just like the back of the house. “If they don’t have anything on her, we’ll try Hamilton. And while you’re talking to someone at Greenbury, find out what they pulled up on Joseph Boch.”

“Right away.”

Decker tried the front-door handle. It was locked, but by jiggling it, he could tell that the spring pin wasn’t very tight. He picked up his phone and called McAdams, who was still pulling CCTV from Tollway Boulevard. After a brief recap of his morning activities, Decker said, “I have Lennie on several calls. Can you get a cell-phone number for Jaylene Boch?”

“If I were at the station house, I could. But not here in the field.”

“Right. Who’s there now?”

“Nickweed might be there. Kev is here with me. I bet Radar’s there.”

“I’ll give him a call.”

“Can’t you jiggle the lock?”

“I could, but that wouldn’t be legal.”

“The guy’s been missing for two days. Can’t you justify a forced entry?”

“He’s an adult. And you’re the law student. What do you think?”

“Your hands are tied, unless you smell something weird.”

“The windows are shut, so if something’s rotting away, it hasn’t leaked out in the open. Lennie just got off the phone. Let me see what she’s come up with. Talk to you later.” He walked over to Baccus. “What’s up?”

“I spoke to the captain. He says he’ll call you back with the background information and the phone numbers. What do we do now?”

“We wait around until Radar gives me a call. Want a cup of coffee or something? I think I saw a place a couple blocks away.”

“No, thanks, I’m pretty coffee’d out.”

Decker said, “I’m going to call my wife.”

“Do you want privacy?”

“I’ll take a walk down the block.” He walked away for a short distance, then phoned Rina. “Hey.”

“Hi, I’m in the car. Can I call you back in ten minutes?”

“It might not work. I have a lull right now, but I don’t want you talking while you’re driving.”

“Everything okay?”

“Just a whole lot of nothing … well, that’s not entirely true.” He told her about Boxer and his disappearing act.

Rina said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it doesn’t. Not with Brady Neil being dead. I’m trying to get information on Jaylene Boch from Radar, who’s busy right now. We seem to be a little shorthanded.”

“Have you tried looking her up on the internet on your phone?”

“And what’s that going to tell me?”

“Maybe nothing, but you never know. Hold on. I’ll pull over.”

“Nah, don’t bother.”

“Just hold on. There’s a space right here.” A moment passed. “Okay. What’s the name?”

“Jaylene Boch.” Decker spelled it.

“Unusual name. Let’s see if she has any hits.”

“How are you doing?” Decker asked.

“I’m fine. I just spoke to my mom.”

“How is she?”

“Okay. It’s been a while since we’ve visited either mother. Since they both live in Florida, it should be part of our summer plans.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll go, but not in the summer, please. It’s so hot and humid.”

“Fair enough, but no more excuses.” Rina shook her head. “Okay, here we go with Jaylene Boch. There are six citations, all of them having to do with a car accident eight years ago.”

“Car accident?”

“Yes. I’ll pull up the article …” A pause. “This is sad. She was plowed into by an eighteen-wheeler semi. She got a pretty good settlement. But the poor thing is in a wheelchair.”

“Well, that certainly changes things. If Boxer was her son and he disappeared, I’m wondering who is taking care of Jaylene. And that might justify a welfare check. I’ll call Radar and see what he thinks. Thank you, honey. As usual, you’ve been a big help.”

He hung up and called Radar, who said, “Jaylene Boch is on disability.”

“Yeah, I just found out that a car accident left her a paraplegic eight years ago. If Joseph Boch is Boxer and he’s missing, who’s taking care of Jaylene?”

“I’ve got her phone number. Call it and let me know if she answers. If she doesn’t, go ahead and make a forced entry, just to make sure she’s okay. Knock hard.”

“Got it.” Decker hung up. He called Jaylene’s cell phone. After three rings, there was a beep and Decker left his name and number. But he still didn’t feel comfortable about walking away. He went over to Baccus. “We’re going to do a forced entry for a welfare check. Turns out Jaylene Boch—”

“Is a paraplegic.”

“Looked it up on your phone?”

“Yep.”

“Radar gave me her cell phone. No one is answering. I just want to make sure she’s not in there, lying on the floor and incapacitated. Agreed?”

“Absolutely.”

“All right, let’s do this.” Decker took out a set of lock picks, and then he backtracked and put them away. Instead, he took out a credit card. After working it back and forth, the bolt retracted and the lock popped. As he opened the door, the stench was overwhelming. Involuntarily, he turned his head. Then he brought out a handkerchief. Lennie was a few steps behind him. She had turned ashen.

Decker took out his revolver. “Watch my back. I don’t think this is a fresh kill.” He waited for her to respond. “You do have a firearm, don’t you?”

“Yes, sorry. Of course.” Lennie disengaged her gun from her shoulder holster.

Single file, they walked into a messy living room—paper cups and plates, food wrappers, soiled clothes, dirty towels, all of it scattered on tables, the sofa, and the two chairs opposite the sofa. Off the living room was the kitchen in an equal state of disarray and mess. Dirty dishes and used pots and pans piled in the sink. Ants were crawling in neat little roadways on the counters, down the cabinets, and onto the floor.

Decker said, “These two rooms are clear. I’m going to check out the other rooms. You okay?”

“Fine,” she said.

Slowly he walked down the hallway that had three doors. With his back to the wall, he opened the one closest to the living room. As soon as he did, the stink grew stronger.

He pivoted, gun drawn, and went inside.

She was tied to her wheelchair, head lolling to the side, her eyes closed, her lips parched and cracked. A rag was stuck in her mouth.

“Damn it!” Quickly, Decker checked out the room closet. Empty. He felt for a pulse and was shocked to find something thready and weak. He turned to Baccus. “She’s alive. Call an ambulance!” Carefully, he removed the rag from her mouth. She had defecated over herself, down the chair, and onto the floor. Decker patted her sweaty forehead with his handkerchief. As he did this, she moaned. “Mrs. Boch, we’re the police. We’re taking you to the hospital. Just stay with me, okay.”

Baccus said, “Ambulance is coming. I also called for additional officers and SID.”

“Which police station?”

“Hamilton, sir. It’s in their jurisdiction.”

“It’s related to our case, but you’re right. It’s their call.”

Jaylene moaned again.

Lennie said, “Is she going to be okay?”

Decker put his fingers to his lips. “Just hang in there, Jaylene. Just a few more minutes.” To Baccus. “We’ve got to clear the two other rooms. Otherwise emergency services won’t come in. C’mon.”

“We just leave her alone?”

“You have to protect my back, Baccus. We have no idea who else is in the house.”

“Yes.” Lennie wiped sweat off her brow. “Of course.”

The door across the hall was a bathroom—broken toilet, cracked tile floors, and a browned acrylic tub/shower for the handicapped. He took out his handkerchief, ran it under the faucet, and wrung out the excess water.

“C’mon,” Decker said. “One more to go.”

The last room was all the way in the back and looked over the rear yard. He stood with his back against the wall and threw open the door. The stench was horrible. Blood was everywhere—on the walls, on the floor, on the bed linens, and on discarded clothing. Decker quietly walked over to the closet and opened it. It was the only area of the room not smeared with blood.

Definitely a crime scene, but no body.

He rushed out of the room and back to the old lady and wiped her brow with his damp handkerchief. To Baccus, he said, “Stand guard over the back bedroom. No one goes in without my say-so.”

“Got it.”

The wail of the sirens got louder. Within moments, paramedics were knocking at the door. Decker let them in. “House is clear. Follow me.”

Once Jaylene was being ministered to, Decker walked over to the back bedroom and peered inside. He took off his shoes. “See that over there?”

“What am I looking at?”

Decker said, “He tried to make it to the door. He didn’t get there. You can see a massive amount of spray on the door and on the walls near the door. He runs to the closet—see the footprints? Doesn’t make it to the closet, either. He’s mowed down there. See these smear tracks? They’re dragging the body out …” He looked at the hallway. “Nothing bloody here.” He went over to the windows. Blood was dripping onto the floor even before he opened the drapes. Once he did, he opened the window and saw blood on the bottom of the frame. “They pulled him out the window.”

He paused, then looked outside.

“No real visible blood outside. They might have washed it down. I’ll take a closer look.”

“How could they have dragged him away without leaving blood outside?”

“Someone’s waiting on the other side with a trash bag.” Decker walked back into the first bedroom to check on Jaylene Boch. They had taken off her soiled clothes and were cleaning her body. Decker looked away, but not before noticing an IV was in her arm and an oxygen tube was in her nose. He went back into the hallway as two paramedics were bringing in a gurney. “How is she?”

“Badly dehydrated. She’s conscious but barely so. It’s hard to tell what damage has been done.”

Ten minutes later, they put her on the mobile gurney, leaving the dirtied wheelchair behind, and loaded her into the ambulance.

“Where are you taking her?”

“St. Luke’s.”

The major hospital in Hamilton. “I’ll meet you there,” Decker said.

The paramedics nodded.

Baccus was still guarding the back bedroom. Decker said, “I’ll wait with you until Hamilton police arrive. They should be here any moment.”

“I’m okay by myself.”

“This is a crime scene. Who’s to say someone’s not coming back, or someone could be hiding outside. I’ll wait with you.”

A few moments passed, and then they heard sirens. “Okay,” Decker said. “You wait here and direct Hamilton police to guard the house. No one in or out until you’ve talked to a detective. Don’t tell him or her too much. Just that I’ll call later on. Then you all stand guard until Forensics comes out. If you get lip from the detective—someone tries to throw around weight—you stand your position. If someone gets nasty, tell him your last name is Baccus. That should shut the person up. When SID comes, you take them to the crime scene. And then once that’s taken care of, you give Hamilton PD the case—temporarily. I’ll call later and let them know what’s going on and why we were there.”

“What are you doing now?”

“I’m going to the hospital. If Jaylene becomes conscious and sentient, I’m going to want to talk to her. Unless you want me to stay and help you out?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Thanks for the trust.” She looked at Decker with pleading eyes. Her nails were clicking a mile a minute. “That poor woman. Will she make it?”

“I don’t know, Lennie, and that’s the truth.”

Tears formed in her orbs. She wiped them with her finger. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Just …”

“Don’t apologize for normal emotions. When it stops getting to you, that’s when you need to worry.”