The Theory of Death

by Faye Kellerman

  DEDICATION

  As Always: For Jonathan

  And welcoming Judah

  CONTENTS

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  About The Author

  Also by Faye Kellerman

  Credits

  Copyright

  About The Publisher

  CHAPTER 1

  I NEED A FAVOR.”

  Nothing by way of introduction, but then again phone etiquette—or any kind of etiquette—had never been the kid’s strong suit. Decker knew who it was. McAdams had been calling him off and on since he left Greenbury PD for Harvard Law, mostly to bitch and moan. His complaints rarely centered on school studies. Instead, they had way more to do with his schoolmates and people in general.

  “Shoot.”

  “It’s reading period up here. Finals are in two weeks. Can I crash at your place and study down there?”

  “Sure, you can come here. But I can’t guarantee how quiet it’ll be.”

  “I can use the libraries at the five colleges. And there is an invention called earplugs. In any case, I need to get out of here.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m just sick of the place. You know me. I’m not a good team player.”

  “Not one for study groups?”

  “Weren’t you the one who said that groups were only as good as their weakest link?”

  “I might have made that remark.”

  “There are a lot of weak links around here, Old Man. I’m better off away and on my own.”

  “How long were you thinking of staying?”

  “Ten days to two weeks. I promise to behave myself. No complaining.”

  “You know what they say about making promises you can’t keep.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “You’re always welcome, Tyler. When would you like to come down?”

  “I’m on a bus.”

  “A bus?”

  “I didn’t feel like making chitchat with a limo driver.”

  “Aha. I didn’t figure you for slumming it.”

  “God forbid. It was a last-minute decision. I figured if worse came to worst, you’d kick me out. And even if you kicked me out, Rina would just invite me back in. So actually this call is a mere formality.”

  Decker smiled. “Well, thanks for the heads-up.”

  “Can you pick me up?”

  “I’m at work, Tyler.”

  “What about Rina?”

  “She’s working today as well.”

  “Surely someone can cover for you to pick up a fellow officer who was shot in the line of duty.”

  The bus station was over a half hour away in Hamilton. Not that Decker was doing much. A long silence ensued. “I suppose I could send someone.” An even longer silence. “Or I suppose I could pick you up myself.”

  “You just want to hear me say ‘please.’ ”

  “Go for it, kid.”

  “Please.”

  “What time are you getting in?”

  “In forty-five minutes. And don’t be late. I’m a stickler for punctuality.”

  THE SKIES WERE gray and threatening with temperatures in the high thirties. The highways had been cleared of snow from the last storm, but there were still pockets of ice on the asphalt. Still, it was good to get out of the station house. The new heating system was far from perfect. Most of the time it was stifling hot except for a few areas that were still freezing cold. The winter had been milder compared to last year, but in the Northeast that still meant the usual white landscape against dark tree trunks and ice in the woods and lots of bare hard ground and dead grass in backyards. Rina had planted an indoor garden of herbs and tomatoes that she lovingly tended to in their sunroom. Lately she had been talking about getting a dog—a Pug or a Papillon. Something portable so when they visited the kids and grandkids, they could cart it around. Decker was a little more hesitant, but something small would be doable. He liked animals as long as they had four legs. In his decades working for law enforcement, he’d had enough of the biped kind.

  Decker pulled up to the station just as the bus was arriving. He stretched as soon as he got out of the car. Being cramped behind the wheel of a compact for a half hour took its toll on all six feet four inches of his body. That and being older, although he felt in good shape. He still had a headful of white hair, his bushy mustache still held hints of its original red color. His spine was straight and his brain was working: What more could he ask for?

  Although he talked to the kid almost weekly, he hadn’t seen him in five months. When Tyler got off the bus, Decker immediately noticed changes. He was still a slender guy, but he appeared as if he had been working out. His chest was broader and his neck seemed to have grown in diameter. His dark brown hair sat a few inches above his shoulders, long but not coiffed. He needed a haircut. His intense hazel-green eyes scanned the platform, and as soon as he saw Decker, he managed a hint of a smile.

  When Tyler had left Greenbury last August, he had healed from his gunshot wounds. But even so, there were remnants of what had happened. Tyler walked with a small limp, discernible but only if you looked for it. Given enough time, it would disappear. The memory of what he had gone through was another thing. Decker relieved him of his duffel.

  “Welcome home.”

  A full smile. “If this is home, I’m in trouble.”

  Decker threw his arm around the kid. “Well, then how about ‘welcome back.’ ”

  He let go with a deep sigh. “Man, I feel better already. Like I can actually take a breath without it being debated. How’s Rina?”

  “I haven’t spoken to her yet.”

  “Oh.” He made a face. “She won’t mind my sojourn?”

  “Relax, Harvard. You’re among friends.”

  “First time in a long time. How’s Greenbury been doing in my absence?”

  “Humming along. And after last winter, I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “True that.”

  The two men stopped at the car. Decker unlocked the doors and Tyler threw his knapsack in the back. He slipped into the passenger seat. “So nothing interesting?”

  Decker started the ignition and turned the heat on full blast. “We were called to a death, but it was natural causes: an eighty-one-year-old man who died of a heart attack. The daughter phoned it in. She hadn’t heard from him in a few days. It wasn’t a pretty scene.”

  “Poor guy.”

  It was the first time that Decker ever heard Tyler express sympathy. “Yeah, it was kind of sad. How have you been?”

  “All right.”

  “Been doing any target practice?”

  “A little. I haven’t had a lot of opportunity to go to the range. Law school takes up a lot of time.”

  “The first year
is the toughest.”

  “Tedious. It does require an attention span. Some parts I actually like. That was surprising.”

  “What interests you?”

  “Criminal law . . . what else. But to really understand criminal law, you need to really have a good grasp of tort law, and that is bor-ing. And that’s most of first year. Ah well, it’s just hurdle jumping.” He turned to Decker. “Good to see you in the flesh, Old Man. You’re looking well for your age.”

  “No need for the qualifiers. You’re looking good as well. You’ve been working out.”

  “It gives me time to unwind.” He raked his hair with his fingers. “I know. I need a haircut. I’m thinking of shaving my head.”

  “Whatever for? You’ve got a good mop. There’s time enough for being bald.”

  “It’s a pain in the ass to get haircuts. I suppose I’d have to shave my head regularly to keep it looking smooth. I hate doing maintenance on myself. If it wasn’t for social convention, I’d be walking around in torn pajamas, wearing newspaper on my feet.”

  Decker laughed. “Then it’s good you have the money to be labeled as an eccentric rather than a nutcase.”

  “Yeah, that is the only difference, right?”

  A call from the station house came through the car’s Bluetooth. Decker depressed the button and the speakerphone kicked in. Mike Radar’s voice.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  Decker said, “What’s going on?”

  “Where are you?” Radar’s voice was still tense but it dropped in volume.

  “I went to pick up Tyler McAdams from the bus station. He’s in town for a few weeks.”

  “Hi, Captain.”

  “Hi, Tyler. You doing okay?”

  “I’m doing fine.”

  “Good. Decker, how far are you from the Elwood exit off the highway?”

  “Around ten minutes. What’s up?”

  “I’m gonna give you the directions that were given to me and I’ll meet you there. The kid can come as well.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “We’ve got a dead body, that’s what’s going on.”

  WITH ALL THE turns and U-turns and the missed forks in the dirt road, it took about a half hour to get to the remote spot in the forest. Once Decker found the clearing to park the vehicle among the other police vehicles, it took Tyler and him a few minutes to hike through the copses of bare trees to the crime scene spot.

  The department had amped up its professionalism. This time there was actually crime tape that looped around the tree trunks encircling the body. There were three uniforms guarding the scene who handed out shoe covers, gloves, and evidence bags. He and McAdams slipped on the foot and hand protection and Decker ducked under the tape. The ground was covered with a layer of fresh snow and the group had the good sense not to disturb the shoe print that led to and from the corpse. Lots of other tracks zigzagged across the area—deer, hare, wild turkey, and fox.

  It was a nude male, prone and slightly twisted to the left. He appeared to be around five ten, between a hundred and forty and a hundred and fifty pounds. No obvious marks on his torso, legs, and arms—except for the rips and tears in the flesh that were probably due to animal activity. His abdomen had been torn open as well. Squatting down, Decker noticed lividity, the blood pooling to the bottom of the corpse. When he felt the skin, it was cold, but the body was far from frozen.

  He took several pictures of the body with his cell phone. Then he gently brushed away the surface powder that covered the corpse’s head. Once this was done, Decker was studying a roundish face, blue eyes, auburn, straight hair, full lips, a weak chin, and an open mouth with all of his front teeth intact. There was a single shot to the right temple with semifrozen blood splatter on his face and shoulders.

  Decker stood up. A revolver lay inches from his right hand, fingers curled as if he’d been grasping the gun. A neat pile of clothes sat around two feet from the body. Shoes had been placed next to the clothing. Decker tried his phone but there was no reception. He turned to McAdams. The last time the kid had seen a body, he had turned queasy. “Are you okay?”

  “Not too bad. Probably because we’re out in the open and it doesn’t stink too badly.”

  “Fresh air is good.”

  “The body is gruesome.” McAdams looked at Decker. “Animal activity, right?”

  “Probably.” Decker turned to Lauren Hellman, the uniform that was closest to him. She was in her thirties with blond curly hair and brown eyes. “Who found him?”

  “Anonymous call to the police station. No reception here, so whoever called had to get out of the woods first.”

  “The police system must have pulled up the cell number.”

  She smiled. “Of course. When we called it back, we got voice mail—someone named Carson. Captain said it sounded like a teenage boy. He left a message that it was the police and to call back immediately. Even if the kid doesn’t call back, we’ll figure out who it is.”

  “I’ll need to interview him. The victim doesn’t look too far out of his teens himself.”

  “College kid?” McAdams suggested.

  “The colleges haven’t reported anyone missing to us.”

  “Do they do that?”

  “If it’s been more than a day or two, they do. But this may be less because the body isn’t frozen.” To Lauren. “Anyone touch anything?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Clothes were like that when you came down?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay. Has the coroner been notified?”

  “I believe Captain Radar called up the New York Coroner’s Office. I don’t know if he’s called any criminal investigative division.”

  “No need. We can handle this,” Decker said. “It’s not like last year’s murder.”

  Lauren raised her eyebrows. “Thank goodness for that; right, Detective McAdams?”

  “Right.”

  “I didn’t know you were back.”

  “Just for a couple of weeks,” Tyler said.

  “Looks like you came just in time.”

  Decker said, “He’s not here in an official capacity.”

  “I’m not?”

  “I thought you had studying to do.”

  “Study, schmudy . . .” He grinned and rubbed his gloved hands together. “What can I do for you, Old Man?”

  “If you’re serious, take out your phone and take some pictures of the clothing and shoes. I’d also like more pictures of the body before I go through the pockets. I also want to do a little measuring.”

  “Right-o.”

  Decker measured the distance between the body and the clothing, and the distance from his right hand to the gun. Once everything was recorded, he squatted down and began to search through the pockets, disturbing the pile as little as possible. Empty as in not even a scrap of paper. He stood up and brushed off his pants. “We have a John Doe.” He turned to McAdams. “What’s your take?”

  “Because I have so much experience.”

  “Answer the question.”

  The kid thought for a few moments. “Suicide or a murder made to look like suicide.”

  “Why suicide?”

  “Uh . . . gun’s near his right hand and the wound is on the right side.” McAdams squatted and looked at the wound. “Stippling on his temple. If we checked his right hand, we’d probably find gunpowder residue. No apparent bruising or strangulation to indicate a struggle.”

  “Okay, what else?”

  “I just got here. Cut me slack for jet lag.”

  “You came from a city in the same time zone.”

  “Minor details.”

  Decker smiled. “If we assume it was a suicide, Mr. Doe had to walk to this spot on his own two feet because I don’t even see any tracks from a bike.”

  “There are lots of shoe prints, however.”

  “So let’s look at the tracks. These . . .” Decker pointed to a set of shoe prints. “This comes out of the copses and stops
right here. There’s not a lot of detail in the print, most of the tread has been obscured by snowfall and its subsequent melting. There are a few good ones under a tree canopy. Meaning he walked here before it snowed last night.”

  McAdams said, “These tracks, on the other hand . . . these come from the opposite direction. There are lots of them and the tread detail is much sharper. They’re more recent, like in this morning.”

  “Exactly. Our anonymous caller and probably a friend because there are two sets of tracks. They stop at about four feet from the body. Then they U-turn. And you notice that in the turnaround, we get bigger strides.”

  “They’re running away from the body.”

  “Exactly.” Decker thought a moment. “If this was a murder, I’d expect to see some evidence in the snow . . . like drag marks next to the tracks.”

  “Maybe the murderer smoothed out the drag marks and let the snowfall cover up the rest.” A pause. “Do you think it’s a murder?”

  “It’s an odd place to commit suicide. Usually suicide victims want their last stand to be very visible.”

  McAdams nodded. “What do you think about the nudity?”

  “Good question. Going out of this world like he came into the world.” Decker shook his head. “The first thing we need is an identity. Get lots of face pictures because if we don’t find ID, we’re going to have to do this door to door.”

  “Or college to college.”

  “Or college to college,” Decker said. “After that, get some close-up photographs of all the prints in the snow—human and otherwise. Then when you’re done with that, take molds of each different shoe print you find.”

  “Do you have a kit?”

  “In the back of my car.” Decker paused. “Do you know how to take a mold?”

  “Never done it before, but I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  “It’s a little tricky to do in the snow. You need a deft touch. Even so, it won’t be perfect since ice melts. I’ll show you how to do it. It’s not hard, but you need to make sure the mixture is completely smooth and bubble-free. And you have to work fast before it starts to set up. I’ll tell you what, McAdams. I’ll do the detailed ones under the tree that were probably made by our victim and you do the ones that were probably made by the anonymous caller and friend.”

  “Sure.” While McAdams was snapping pictures, Decker walked back to Lauren. “Has anyone found a car, motorcycle, or even a bike? This spot is deep in the woods. Unless he lived in a cabin somewhere, I’m assuming he took some kind of transportation to get him in this vicinity.”