“At least twice a month.”
“How long was she usually gone?”
“I don’t keep track of her business.” The kid bit his lip. “Just logically, I think she’d be back on Mondays for school. But I really don’t know. We’re not close. It’s a . . . business relationship.”
“I heard she gets around.”
A beat. “Maybe.”
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“Does it matter?”
“It shows how well you knew her.”
“When guys get drunk, they’ll do anyone who happens to be around. And she was around a lot. But that doesn’t change anything. I don’t know where she is, Detective. I really don’t know.”
“Fair enough. Do you know who she’s close to?”
“She does like guys. Mitchell Law. You should talk to him.”
“What about girlfriends?”
He thought about it for a minute. “I saw her at several parties with Katie Something who goes to Clarion. I don’t know her last name.”
Decker looked at his notes. “Katie Dentner?”
“Yeah, that’s it. She’s kind of a stoner.”
“Anyone else?”
“Not off the top of my head.”
“When was the last time you saw Dana?”
“Last week . . . Tuesday or Wednesday.” He thought a moment. “You know, she told me she was running low on shit. Maybe she went up north to buy more. But that’s just a guess.”
“And you think she bought her drugs in the Boston area.”
“I don’t know, but that’s where she’s from. If she got waylaid anywhere, I would think it would be up there rather than down here.”
“You don’t think it’s possible that something bad happened to her in Greenbury?”
“Nothing happens in Greenbury—good or bad.”
“Except for the bodies at Bogat Trail.”
The boy looked blank, then wide-eyed. “I thought those bodies were real old. That they were put there years ago.”
“How many years are there in years ago?”
“Why are you asking me about that? Isn’t that your domain?”
“Rumors are my domain as well.”
“I dunno specifics. Just that I thought I heard someone say it was like twenty years ago.” Again he looked at Decker. “Not true?”
“Not true. Eventually it will be in the papers. We’ll be asking for help following the coroner’s reports on the bodies.”
“Geez . . . so it’s not like twenty years ago?”
“No.”
“I hope it’s not too recent.” When Decker didn’t answer, Wetzel said, “That would be creepy, like there’s someone still out there killing people.”
Decker remained silent.
The kid said, “Oh shit. You do think there’s a killer on the loose, right?”
“No one has ever been charged for the murders, Charlie. You can draw your own conclusions.”
It was past eight in the evening by the time Decker made it home. The place was serene and quiet. Rina walked out of the kitchen.
“You’re home.” She stood on her toes and kissed him. “I didn’t hear you come in. Must be the dishwasher. I think there’s something wrong with it. It groans like an old man.”
“Hey, hey, hey.”
“No reference to you, darling. You want dinner or do you want to wash up first?”
“I haven’t been trekking through the steppes. I’ll take dinner first. Did you eat?”
“No, I waited for you. I don’t like to eat alone.”
She went into the kitchen and Decker followed. “What’d you make?”
“Steak, salad, and if it’s okay with you, let’s crack open the Champagne.”
“Why the celebration?”
“We’re alone, for one thing. Tyler vacated his apartment but decided to check into a motel instead of staying here. I said he didn’t have to, but he insisted.”
“How was your day?” Decker asked.
“I was at Hillel making arrangements for the holidays. Sure you don’t want to wash up first?”
“Do I stink or something?”
She hit him gently on the shoulder. When he returned—clean and in comfortable clothes—she was setting the steaks on the table along with a wooden bowl of salad.
“Smells wonderful.”
“Probably won’t be able to use the grill much longer. Fall is coming on.” She sat down and took a steak. “If you wouldn’t mind opening the Champagne, please?”
Decker took a towel, wrapped it around the plastic cork, and popped it open. “Pink. Lovely.” He poured them each a glass in a cut-crystal flute. Then he sat and took a steak. It had char marks on the outside and was medium rare on the inside. He was practically drooling over it even before he managed to get a piece into his mouth. It tasted as good as it looked. “Fantastic.”
“Thanks. How was your day? Any luck with finding the missing girl?”
“Dana Berinson.” Decker wiped his mouth. “I talked to her parents, I spoke to several guys she hung with, a few of her girlfriends at the colleges.” He shook his head. “The picture isn’t nice. She dealt drugs. And from what others told me, she’s been dealing drugs for a while.”
“Yikes. Do the parents know?”
“They claimed they had no idea. On the other hand, they didn’t protest my assertions with any real venom. They’re worried, Rina. When I suggested that she could have been in Boston over the weekend and that may be where she disappeared from, they became even more frantic. A big city is a scary place to be missing. Cities are good at keeping secrets.”
“Poor girl.” A pause. “Poor parents. It’s only Monday. Is it possible she went on a bender and might suddenly show up?”
“That would be the best-case scenario.” Decker took another bite of steak, savoring each chew. “If she did go traveling, road accidents are another possibility. I’m going to start checking hospitals when we’re done.” He took another bite. “What about you? How are the arrangements for the holidays going? How many people are you up to?”
“One fifty.”
“Uh, I hate to sound cheap, but how much is this costing me?”
“It’s officially a Hillel event so whatever I put out, they’ll reimburse.”
“Sure they will. After like a year or whatever.”
“I’ll put in the receipts right after the holiday. I do have a little news for you.”
“For me?”
“Didn’t you ask about charismatic professors?”
“Yes, I did, indeed. Let me get my pad.” He came back and said, “Lay it on me.”
“From Morse McKinley we have Calvin Greek in the Black Studies Department, Hank Carter in Economics/Poli-Sci, and Lydia Urbana in Women’s Studies. In Duxbury . . .”
“Hold on a sec. Lydia with a Y?”
“Yes. Everything is how it sounds.”
“Go on.”
“Duxbury, I have Jason Kramer in Psychology and James Hopshoff in Poli-Sci.”
“I’ve met Kramer. He was the one who pointed us in the direction of Lawrence Pettigrew when we found the first body.”
“Where did you meet him?”
“He was helping some students out at the LGBT Center.”
“So he’s gay?”
“I never asked him. Whether that’s relevant or not, I don’t know. Is there more?”
“There is. In Littleton, we have Hortensia Ballask, who specializes in contemporary automotive design. Apparently she is very attractive. Every year, she has a waiting list for her course.”
“That’s six.”
“Our final candidate is Michael Pallek from Clarion—Psych Department. His specialty is bias and prejudice in standardized testing. His Intro to Psych course is always overbooked. These are winnowed down because all of them have been at the colleges for at least eight years, which would put them in town with your oldest body at Bogat.”
She handed Decker her list.
“I also found out where they studied: they’re all Ivy Leaguers except for Hortensia Ballask, who has an engineering degree from USC, an MA in design from Otis, and worked for GM for ten years before she came out here. I figured you’re going to do your own research so I didn’t go into any great depth.”
“This is terrific. Thank you.” Decker looked up. “How did you get the names?”
“I asked my students at Hillel. The association serves all five colleges so I was able to get a good cross section. But of course, there may be others that fit your criteria.”
“This is an excellent start. Thank you very much.” Decker paused. “Do you mind if I call Tyler?”
“Why don’t you invite him over for dessert, Peter? That way you can finish your steak.”
“I’ve stripped it pretty good. Unless you want me to eat the bone.”
“I’ll save it for the dog.”
“As of yet, Rina, we don’t have a dog.”
“Not so fast.”
“You got a dog?”
“No need to panic yet.” Rina smiled. “Jacob called me. He and Ilana are coming in for the chagim.”
“That’s nice . . . wait. How many dogs are they up to?”
“Three pugs.” When Decker didn’t answer, she said, “At least they’re small.” Another pause. “The house will be a free-for-all anyway. It’ll be fun.”
“If you say so.”
“You love Jacob and Ilana.”
“Especially Ilana.”
“Hey! That’s my son you’re talking about.”
Decker laughed. “He’s my son as well. Jacob’s a wonderful kid. He’s just a little . . . restless.”
“He’s odd, but we love him. At least his start-up is no longer losing money. Maybe eventually we’ll even get our money back.”
“Better to give it to him while we’re still alive.” Decker stood up. “Let me call Tyler. Don’t clean up. I’ll do it.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No, no. I’ll do it. My watch keeps beeping me that it’s time for me to stand up anyway.” He laughed. “It’s funny. My wife never nags, but my watch is a bitch and a half.”
Chapter 25
When the cell rang, it was still dark and Decker had been sleeping deeply, dreaming about racing with either a car or a horse or maybe it was some kind of mongrel, robotic hybrid. He groped for the phone on the nightstand and grabbed it as quickly as he could, but not before Rina murmured out a “What is it?”
“Tyler.” Decker was already up and putting on a robe. Into the phone he said, “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” McAdams answered. “I’ve been looking over the names we talked about and this is what I came up with. Do you have a pencil?”
Decker went out of the bedroom and into the living room. He turned on a lamp and looked at the time on his cell. “It’s four-thirty in the morning.”
“Yeah, I couldn’t sleep. Too much coffee. Are you ready?”
“No, I’m not ready.” Walking into the kitchen, he turned on the cooktop and put on a kettle of water. “Do you know that even if you can’t sleep, most other people are sleeping at four-thirty in the morning?”
“Not if you work at a bakery. Listen, Old Man, if you want an apology, mea culpa. But you know that you’re not going to fall back asleep, so just hear me out. Do you have a pen? Yes or no?”
“I’ll call you back in five minutes.” Decker hung up and exhaled audibly. He turned off the kettle and decided to go full on with brewed caffeinated coffee.
Entitled little bastard.
He took out the coffee can and hunted around for the scoop.
Rina came trudging out. “I can do that.”
“Go back to sleep.” He turned and knocked over the coffee can. Grounds spilled everywhere. “Shit!” Another exhale. “What the hell is wrong with him?”
“No sense being mad. He’s just enthusiastic.”
“No, he’s inconsiderate. But I gave him a lot of work yesterday and he came through.”
“Everyone has their good points. I’ll take care of the coffee, Peter. As a matter of fact . . .” She checked the clock. “The first batch of fresh bagels usually comes in around five. I’ll clean up the mess, make the coffee, and then fetch the bagels. You find out what he has to say, and we can have a very leisurely breakfast before we both go to work.”
“How can you be so chipper after being woken up at four-thirty in the morning?”
“It’s the calm before the storm. Once the holidays hit in a couple of weeks, I’ll be a monster.”
“You’re never a monster—at least not to the guests.”
“What does that mean? Never mind. Don’t ask the question if you don’t want to hear the answer.” She pushed him out of the kitchen. “Go make your call.”
Instead of calling right away, Decker took the opportunity to put on sweats and slippers. He made the bed, albeit with lumps, and then took out his pad and pencil. As he was phoning McAdams, he smelled the distinct aroma of a fresh brew of java. “What?” he barked into the phone.
“You have a pencil—”
“Yes, I do. What?”
“I’m going to ignore your piqued tone of voice and cut right to the chase. Let’s talk about Jason Kramer. He’s not only involved in the LGBT Center, he’s also deputy chairman of the Psych Department at Duxbury and at Clarion.”
“He’s got an appointment at both colleges?”
“He does. And get this. He’s also one of the liaison faculty members for the incoming freshman classes at Clarion. Delilah Occum was a psych major. She took his Intro to Psych class her freshman year at Duxbury, which is usually SRO, and it’s only open to Duxbury students because psych is a popular major. When Kramer is listed as the prof, it’s got a waiting list a mile long. Delilah must have pulled strings to get into the class. And Kramer’s got a lot of fans judging by the Duxbury rate-a-prof survey.”
“What is that?”
“All the colleges have them: yearly surveys of how the students feel about classes and teachers. It’s the first website I went on once you gave me the list of names. Usually the only people who have access to the Five Colleges rate-a-prof website are students. But I use Mallon’s address. Even though she graduated, her e-mail is still active. Colleges usually keep them active for a while before they pull the plug.”
“Does she know you’re using her school address to access files?”
“Yes, Dad, I asked permission. It’s [email protected] in case you’re interested. Anyway, Kramer gets high marks for content as well as teaching. Plus, he identified Pettigrew when we first met him, so there’s our link between him and Lawrence. We also know that Yvette Jones was active in the LGBT Center during her freshman year. It’s certainly possible that she and Kramer crossed paths. So I would rate him a keeper on our potential killer list.”
“What about Erin Young?”
“She was working as a waitress when he was an assistant prof. Beyond that, I haven’t found a link. You could probably ask around and find out if Kramer drinks at the College Grill.”
“Okay. Done. What else?”
“Hank Carter, of course. He’s definitely up there in the charisma category. He was voted number one teacher at Morse McKinley for the last five years running. In addition to being a prof—and this may or may not be relevant—for the last five years, he has been developing a nonprofit mutual fund of socially conscious investing. Every penny that the fund makes at the end of the year is disbursed to charity.”
“Is there something fishy about it?”
“Nothing came up when I did a prior lawsuit search. But usually saints are too good to be true.”
“I would agree.” Rina brought Decker in a fresh cup of coffee. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” McAdams said.
“I wasn’t thanking you. I was thanking Rina for making me fresh coffee.”
“Rina’s up at four-thirty in the morning?”
“This may
come as a revelation, but she and I share a bedroom.”
“Tell her I’m sorry for waking her up.”
Rina shouted so McAdams could hear. “Apology accepted—this time.” To Decker, she said, “I’m off to get bagels. Finish this up by the time I get back.”
“Do my best.” He kissed his wife. To McAdams, he said, “What else?”
“Hold on to your mustache, Old Man, I’m getting to the interesting part. About two other popular teachers: Lydia Urbana, who teaches women’s studies at Morse McKinley, and Michael Pallek, who is a full professor in the Clarion Psych Department with an adjunct appointment in Littleton and Morse McKinley.”
“Links to our victims?”
“Yvette took some women’s studies courses at Morse McKinley. She could have easily crossed paths with Lydia. And Delilah, like I told you, was a psych major at Clarion so she could have theoretically crossed paths with Pallek. Not sure where Pettigrew fits in. I’m still looking.”
“Good. Is that it?”
“One more thing that I found interesting. Hank Carter’s wife’s name is Christine. Her maiden name is Urbana.”
“She’s Lydia’s sister?”
“She is. Hank Carter is Lydia’s brother-in-law. And if that’s not enough for you, Michael Pallek is married to Lydia Urbana. He is also Hank Carter’s brother-in-law. I’ve heard of husband and wife serial killers. I know about fraternal and sororal serial killers. Yes, FYI, sororal is the proper adjective. Anyway, I looked up family serial killers. There have been a few in history—the Benders of Kansas in the late 1800s, the Sawney Bean clan on which the movie The Hills Have Eyes is based.”
“Interesting,” Decker said. “It’s not just biology that determines a homicidal family, Harvard. Think Manson.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“What about the other teachers on the list?”
“Nothing to report so far. I can’t find connections between them and our victims except that they were all teaching at the colleges when the girls went missing. But I’ll keep looking.” A pause. “That’s it for now.”
“Good start, McAdams, but it could have waited until seven in the morning.”
“Whatever. What do you think about a murderous family hypothesis?”
“Anything’s possible.”
Bone Box Page 20