Читать книгу Bone Box - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 7

Despite having just a few hours of sleep, Decker felt refreshed. He woke up at seven, smelled the coffee, showered, shaved, and dressed, arriving in the kitchen with a spring in his step. Last night was a long one. He hadn’t expected Rina to wait up for him, but she did and that was very, very nice.

“Good morning.” Rina gave him a kiss. “You look good.”

“Considering …”

“No qualifiers. You look good. Take a compliment. Your bones didn’t make the papers yet.”

“They were still working when I left at two. Kevin and Karen took over for me.” He poured himself a cup and sat down. “I should give them a call. See what’s going on.”

“Absolutely.”

When Decker called, reception at the site was poor. He found out that the coroner’s office was still working on unearthing material, but that would soon be over and they could scour the grave for evidence. He told them that he was on his way and hung up.

“Did they find anything?” Rina asked.

“Not yet. But the coroner’s office is almost done. I should get up there and see if there is anything left in the hole.”

“I’ve already packed some food for you and Tyler. I called Tilly last night.”

Decker stood up as Rina sat down. So he sat down again. “The Hillel lady.”

“Yes. She remembered two missing women in the last eight years and they both made the news.” Rina picked up a scrap of paper on the table. “One had been from Clarion College—Delilah Occum—and the other had been from Morse McKinley—Yvette Jones.” She handed the paper to Decker.

“Okay … hold on.” He took out his phone and checked the names against a list that was e-mailed to him by Kevin yesterday. “I have Delilah Occum at the top of the heap.” He looked down. “I don’t have Yvette Jones, but the list only goes back five years.” He showed Rina the compilation of names.

“Wow, that’s a lot of people.”

“It’s from upstate and down through the greater tristate area. It does not include New York City, which is an entity to itself. When did Yvette go missing?”

“Don’t know.”

“Hold on.” He took out a laptop and plugged her name into the search bar. A moment later, the results popped up. “Seven and a half years ago.” He read the article. “She was coming back from a free lecture at Morse McKinley and never made it back to her dorm.” He pressed several buttons and closed the laptop. “I’ll check it out once I get to the office. Did Tilly know the girls personally?”

“I don’t know. We’re having lunch today at the Vegan Palace. I’ll ask her for details.”

“Thanks. And you told her to keep quiet—”

“Yes, yes.”

“It’s probably irrelevant anyway. There are lots of people digging, so the news is bound to hit soon.” He stood up. “I’m off. Have a good lunch munching on rabbit food and tofu.”

“I will, Mr. Me Want Steak Caveman.”

Decker smiled. “You’ve got my number down.”

“We can do a barbecue tonight while the weather’s still warm. Invite Tyler. He is also a steak man.”

“Is he worth a ribeye?”

“I suppose it depends on what he produces today.”

“The kid’s been okay. More than okay.” Decker slipped on his jacket—more for professionalism than for warmth. The mercury was predicted to be in the low eighties. “I was reading an article in the Wall Street Journal. Do you know what the top firms pay Harvard interns for the summer?”

“Around three grand a week.”

“For ten weeks. That’s thirty grand. You know what he made this summer?”

“Around ten grand?”

“Not even. What a fool.”

“Look at the workload, Peter. I dare say that the two of you have been spending way more time on the Xbox than at the station house.”

“Not anymore. Cold cases are a bitch. If it’s one of the college girls, that means she’s not local. I’m going to have to track down people who probably won’t remember much. Students are transitory. Professors leave for better opportunity. Evidence—if there was any to begin with—gets old and lost.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“You’re such a cheerleader,” Decker said. “Why are you always so positive?”

“Inborn genetics, supplemented by exercise and the right diet. Try some tofu, Caveman. It’ll not only help your arteries, it just might change your disposition.”

Once the bones were gone, Decker could comb through the grave proper. There was nothing much retrieved for his effort except sweat. No ID, no purse, no wallet, no cell phone, no laptop. No books or schoolwork. No intact clothing, but there was a piece of cloth; one small, silver hoop earring; and one light gray button that might have been white at some point. He handed them over to the Scientific Investigative Division for analysis.

All morning, Decker, along with Greenbury PD, searched the surrounding area, looking for something that perhaps the killer dumped or lost on the way to the victim’s burial. There were lots of rusted beer and soda cans, cigarette butts, and snack wrappers left over from summer hikes and picnics.

After the items were bagged and tagged, Decker and McAdams drove to the station house. Once there, Decker turned on the computer and read about Delilah Occum: she had disappeared from Clarion College three years ago.

“She was a brunette so she’s definitely in the running. She was last seen wearing a black coat, a red mini dress, and heels.” Decker looked up and directed his question to McAdams. “Did the fabric look red to you?”

“I couldn’t tell a color, pard. Too dirty. The button doesn’t look like it came from a black coat.”

“Which would make sense,” Decker said. “It’s hard to bury a body in winter. The ground is frozen.” A pause. “When did Delilah disappear?”

“Lemme look it up.” McAdams clicked onto her file. “Right after Thanksgiving vacation.”

“I wonder what the temperature was.” Decker clicked the keyboard. “Huh … first snowfall wasn’t until almost Christmas. I suppose theoretically you could bury a body, especially if the forest floor was covered with stuff to keep out the cold.”

McAdams said, “To me, the button looks like it came from a blouse or a shirt.”

“I agree. What about the other college student—Yvette Jones?” Decker brought up the file on his computer. “Also a brunette.”

“So she’s a contender.”

“Yep. Yvette’s roommate remembered seeing her in the morning … she was in the dining hall for lunch—cameras caught her leaving at two-fifteen. Then she went to a lecture at Murphy Hall: Investment for the Socially Conscious. She was caught on camera wearing jeans, a light-colored sweater over a light-colored blouse, and sneakers.”

“The button was light colored.”

“Yes. Yvette was five four, one twenty-six, brown hair, brown eyes. We have our files obviously, but the school didn’t turn them over to GPD until a few days later. I’m sure they also have their own files with their own information. We should find out.”

“Think they’d keep old files like that?”

“If they didn’t, they would be negligent. These are still open cases.” He leaned back in his desk chair. “Let’s see what the coroner has to say. Give him a call. He should have the bones laid out later in the afternoon.”

“He’s in Hamilton right?”

“He is. Do you want to grab lunch before we go? We’ve got time.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m still digesting breakfast.”

“It’s almost noon. What did you eat?”

“Three eggs, bacon, hash browns, orange juice, and three cups of coffee?”

“The Iris Special at Paul’s truck stop?”

“How would you know Paul’s truck stop, Old Man? There isn’t a shred of food that hasn’t been contaminated with bacon.”

“I was called out to the place last winter. Two hyped-up truckers got into it. Nothing serious, mostly tired guys letting off steam, but someone thought it was prudent to call in reinforcements. I’m sure I’d be called down a lot more often if the place had a liquor license.”

“The reason why college kids have passed it up. That and it isn’t in walking distance from the schools.”

“No, it’s definitely not a college hangout. Do you go there a lot?”

“All summer long. Paul’s makes an apple pie to rival my own.”

“Not your usual crowd, Harvard.”

“Some truth to that. The place is packed with long-distance haulers named Billy, Bud, Bubba, Cletus, Dwayne, Jessie, Jimmy, and lots and lots of Juniors. Sometimes the names are followed by Ray, Lee, or Boy as in Jonny Boy or Billy Boy. But the rednecks and I have reached a real truce. They call me Mr. Lawyer and ask me legal questions so that they can sue their employers for workman’s comp. The waitresses flirt with me and call me honey, and I leave them big tips. The place has Wi-Fi. I sit at the counter and surf the Net. Other than your house, it’s my home away from home.”