“Oh, right.” Decker mentally hit his head. “I’ve got too many loose threads going through my brain. You told me about this. Photos of the Morse McKinley party where you spotted Hank Carter among the students. Good work.”
“Not only Hank Carter, but after sifting through all these phone pictures, I spotted Michael Pallek there as well.”
“Pallek never mentioned he was at that party.”
“Neither did Hank Carter,” McAdams said.
“Were their wives there?”
“If they were, they didn’t make it into any of the photos.”
“Those two are very disturbing.”
“The common parlance would be pervy. Is Mr. Mob still around?”
“No, he went back this morning. But I know what you’re thinking. Rina should be protected. Scott Oliver is coming out for a bit to keep an eye on Carter. It was Radar’s idea. I should have thought of it myself.”
“How’s Scott doing?”
“He was thrilled to take the gig at minimum wage, so I guess his PI business is a little slow.”
“Minimum wage will barely keep him in burger money. I take it he’s staying with you through the weekend?”
“Most likely.”
“And your kids will be there?”
“Just Jacob and Ilana—and the pugs.”
“You can’t possibly cram all of us into your house. I’ll reserve a room at the Inn of the Colleges.”
“You don’t have to do that. We’ll figure out something.”
“I’m allergic to cats.”
“Pugs are dogs.”
“They are animals that shed hair. I’ll be fine at the Inn. It’s right on campus, which will make it easy for me to spy on our growing cast of characters. What were those two old clowns doing at a college party?”
“I asked you for a list of charismatic teachers. Both Carter and Pallek made your cut. They may have been invited.”
“I don’t know. Seeing your prof at a party might be a buzzkill. But parties are usually open affairs. All sorts of people show up.”
“Over the years, the boundaries between professors and students have really blurred. I was reading this book on the history of the teenager. It used to be that sophisticated young people imitated adults—they dressed like their parents, they danced to the same music, saw the same plays, and drank martinis when they went out. Teenagers, as we know and love them, came in the ’50s along with rebellious rock and roll. Now adults are emulating teens. It’s trickled down to universities. More and more, the students seem to be running the show. So it would make sense that profs would want to ingratiate themselves with the kids. They’re the ones who pass judgment.”
Silence over the line.
“Of course, that could be my old fogey brain talking.”
“Your brain is old and fogey, but nonetheless, it’s a pretty accurate assessment of the callow youth of today. Then again, I betcha all old fogeys from time immemorial consider youth callow.”
“Absolutely.”
“I’ll see you at the hospital, Old Man.”
“See you then, Harvard. And for the record, I don’t consider you nearly as callow as I once did.”
The kid hung up on him.
Decker laughed out loud, turning up the oldies radio station and singing along with the classics as he tooled down the highway. Sometimes he felt very old. Other times he felt like a callow youth himself. All it took was a car, a long stretch of open highway, and good old rock and roll.
Entering the small, square waiting room for the ICU, Decker saw a seated muscular guy straining the sleeves of his state trooper uniform with his shades dangling from his pocket. His head was down, and his eyes were concentrating on a notepad; he was flipping through it as if he were looking for a lost passage of something. There weren’t a lot of chairs—a half dozen squeezed into the windowless space—so Decker dragged one over to the trooper. Byrd Hissops—the same trooper he had spoken with over the phone—introduced himself. The men shook hands. A moment later, McAdams came in, wearing a white shirt under a cashmere navy pullover and black slacks. There were more introductions until a doctor—the white coat and clipboard were the giveaway—came out a few minutes later. She was in her fifties with short gray hair and brown eyes behind tortoiseshell glasses. Her name tag said Alice Anders. She looked at the three men and shook her head. “Only two at a time in an ICU.”
Decker said, “Any leeway on that?”
“None.”
“Not even for cops?”
“Two at a time.”
McAdams said, “I’ll wait. I was just going to take notes so my boss can concentrate on asking questions.”
“That’s another thing,” the doctor said. “Dana is still disoriented. She is up now, which is fortunate for you. Please don’t tire her out.”
“How long do we have?” Decker asked.
“Not more than a few minutes.” She handed out two tags to Decker and Hissops. She looked at McAdams. “Sorry.”
“I understand. It’s fine.”
“Wait here. I’ll have to ask the parents to leave so you can come in. They’re not going to be happy.”
After Anders left, Decker turned to McAdams. “You know, you might want to stay and talk to the parents when they come out. We might learn something from them.”
“I can do that.”
Hissops was still paging through his notes. Decker said, “The official ruling is still attempted homicide?”
“The car was definitely set on fire,” Hissops said. “Since we don’t have a lot of time, I think one person should ask questions.”
“Agreed. I know it’s your territory, but if it’s okay with you, I’d like to ask a couple of questions. I’ve spoken to her parents before. I know a little about Dana’s life at college. She’s not going to be able to tell me a detailed account, but maybe she can remember something.”
“Fine with me. You’re the homicide cop. If I think of something, I’ll chime in.”
Five minutes later, Larry and Jamie Berinson walked into the room, making a crowded space even more cramped. Decker shook Larry’s hand and nodded to Jamie, who was dabbing her eyes. They both appeared to have lost weight and aged ten years: pale, gaunt faces and stooped shoulders.
“She recognized us right away,” Jamie said.
“I heard the good news. That’s great.”
“Did you meet the doctor?”
“Alice Anders?” When Jamie nodded, Decker said, “She seems very caring and very competent.”
“The nurses are very nice, too.”
“Jamie, he doesn’t care,” Larry Berinson said.
“Actually, I do care. I’m very sorry you have to go through all this. I know it’s very traumatic as well as taxing. Can I get either one of you a cup of coffee before we talk to your daughter?”
“I’ll get it.” McAdams gave an appropriate smile to the parents. “Can I get you something to eat as well? A donut or a pastry?”
Larry sat down and threw his head back. “Coffee, please. Black. A croissant if they still have them from this morning. If not, just coffee.”
“And you, ma’am?”
Jamie sat next to her husband. “Coffee is fine. Cream. No sugar. Maybe a fruit bowl.”
Larry sat up. “Actually fruit sounds good.”
“Two coffees, one black, one with cream, two fruit bowls and a croissant. I’ll be right back.”
Before McAdams left, Larry said, “I suppose you’ll want to talk to us?”
“Only if you’re up to talking.”
“Why not,” Larry said. “It’s better than staring at the walls . . . which is all we’ve been doing for the past week.” His eyes watered. “Not that I’m not grateful for her recovery.”
The room fell silent. Jamie dabbed her eyes again. “My husband has been a rock.” Larry waved her off. “Yes, you have.”
“It’s good that you two are united,” Decker said.
McAdams said, “I’ll be back.”
He walked out of the room with Decker. “What should I ask them?”
“How they’re doing, how they’re feeling, have they gotten any sleep, things like that. Let them do the talking and if they don’t feel like talking, don’t push it. But I have a feeling they’ll both be chatty. They haven’t seen anyone in a while. You may have to direct conversation traffic so each one gets their say.”
“Got it. Get them food, be caring, and just listen.”
“Yep.” Decker placed a hand on McAdams’s shoulder. “It’s like the old country song.”
McAdams waited. “Okay, Old Man. What country song?”
“‘You say it best when you say nothing at all.’”
Chapter 35
Dana was hooked up to a spaghetti pile of tubes. They monitored her heart rate, her blood pressure, her pulse, and her oxygen level. The IV line fed her glucose and Demerol. She had an oxygen mask and was also on a catheter. She had broken bones, a bruised face, bandaged hands and arms, and greasy hair. Her brown eyes, though bloodshot, were alert.
Decker pulled up a chair close to her so if she talked, he could hear her. He said, “Hi, Dana. It’s good to see you awake.”
A nod.
“I’m Peter Decker and this is Byrd Hissops. We’re the police. We’d like to ask you a couple of questions if you’re up to answering them.”
She was struggling to take off her oxygen mask. Decker helped her.
“Ber . . . ?” She made an attempt to flap her arms.
Hissops smiled. “B-Y-R-D. I think my mom was woozy from childbirth.”
She tried to smile. It was lopsided and didn’t last long.
“How are you, Dana?” Decker asked.
A tear came down from her eye.
“I realize this is very hard, but time is important. Do you have any memory of what happened to you?”
She nodded. “Little . . .”
“Do you know that you were in a car accident?”
She shook her head no.
“You don’t remember that?”
“No . . .”
“Do you remember driving from the Boston area to go back to the colleges?”
She shook her head. “I . . .” Decker waited. Her voice was a whisper. “Not driving.”
Hissops said, “You weren’t driving?”
She nodded.
“So you were with someone,” Decker said.
Again a nod.
“Do you remember who?”
“Snow . . .”
Hissops looked confused. “There was snow on the ground?” He turned to Decker. “It’s way too early for snow.”
Decker’s eyes had gone wide. “That’s not what she means.” The bruises on Snowe’s face suddenly made sense. “Were you with Cameron Snowe?”
She nodded.
“You know this guy?” Hissops asked.
“Yes. I’ll fill you in later.” To Dana, Decker said, “Did he drive with you up to Boston?”
She nodded. “He . . . okay?”
Dana may have been a dealer, but she wasn’t a psychopath. “Yes, he’s okay, Dana. Don’t worry about him.” Silence. “So Cameron Snowe was driving with you back to the colleges?”
A nod.
“In your car?”
“Yeah . . .”
“Okay,” Decker said. “Anyone else with you in the car?”
She shook her head no.
“Great. That helps a lot, Dana. Were you and Cameron arguing about something? Did you two have a fight?”
Another shake of the head.
“No fighting, no arguments, no conflict over which route to take?”
“No.”
“Okay. Do you remember getting into a car crash, Dana?”
“No.” She closed her eyes.
Decker tried to pare down his questions because she was clearly getting tired. “You don’t remember being in a car crash or the car stopping? Maybe there was car trouble? A flat tire?”
She shook her head no. “Don’t . . . know.”
“So the last thing you remember was being in the car with Cameron Snowe.”
A nod.
“And he was driving you both back to the colleges.”
Another nod.
“If you can’t remember the crash, what’s your next memory, Dana?”
She shrugged, eyes still closed.
“Do you remember how you got here? In the hospital?”
“No . . . tired.”
“You did great,” Decker said. “We’ll go now, but I want you to know you’ve been a tremendous help.”
She didn’t answer. Her breathing became labored, so Decker placed the mask back over her face. After a minute, it was quieter and regular. Both men got up and left the room. Nurse Aarons was waiting on the other side of the window. She introduced herself.
Decker said, “Nice to meet you in person. Thanks for all your help.”
“I haven’t done anything.”
“I’d debate that.” Decker smiled. “I hope we didn’t tire her too much. Can you tell me when she’s up again and talking?”
“I’ll try.” The nurse went back into the ICU.
On the way to the waiting room, Hissops asked, “Are you staying over?”
“No, I have to get back to Greenbury. I’ll try to come back when she’s more awake. I’ve got to make a call. Excuse me.”
Hissops said, “Who’s this Cameron Snowe—besides now being our primary suspect in Dana’s attempted murder?”
“Tell you in a minute.” Decker called up the station house. Kevin Butterfield picked up the phone. After a brief recap, Decker said, “Pick Snowe up, pronto. Before he finds out that Dana Berinson is up and talking.”
“I’m on it,” Kevin said. “Unbelievable.”
“Yes, it is. And call me when you have him in custody.”
“Got it.” Butterfield hung up.
Decker returned his attention to Hissops. “Delilah Occum was one of the bodies we unearthed at Bogat Trail. She was last seen leaving a party after arguing with Cameron Snowe, her sometimes boyfriend. He took a leave of absence after she disappeared, but he came back to finish up his degree. I interviewed him on Sunday afternoon around one. So whatever took place on the road probably happened Saturday night. I had noticed Snowe had some bruising.”
“Do you think it was from an accident?”
“It was minor bruising, but sure it could have been from getting smacked in the face with an airbag.”
“Dana’s injuries were primarily from the car going over the road and the arson. It’s a miracle she’s alive, her brain is intact, and her burns are minor.”
“Incredible.” Decker was puzzled. “Why would Snowe want to kill her? She doesn’t remember any arguments between them.”
“If she was a dealer, maybe he wanted the goods all to himself.”
“It seems like a very extreme measure to get some weed and some pills. There had to be some bad blood between them. Maybe they were arguing and that’s how he got the bruises and she doesn’t remember.”
“Do you remember any cuts on Snowe’s hands?”
“No. But after I saw the bruises, I glanced at his hands. If I’d seen something off, I’d have made a note of it.”
“And, again, when did you interview Snowe?”
“Sunday afternoon. I was interviewing him about Delilah Occum. The next day, Monday, I got the call about Dana having disappeared. I haven’t spoken to Snowe since then. He could be long gone by now.”
“If he didn’t run right after the accident, he probably thought he was safe, that Dana was dead.”
“I’m sure at this point he knows that Dana isn’t dead. The whole school knows.” Decker thought a moment. “He probably doesn’t know, though, that she is conscious and talking.” He looked at Hissops. “You keep that cop on her. There’s no way that Snowe handled the car and arson all by himself. Also, when we spoke over the phone, you said something about picking up CCTV of the toll roads to get a time frame for Dana’s acci
dent.”
Hissops made a face. “I did pick them up because I didn’t want them erased. But I haven’t gone through them.”
“As long as you have them. If they did go through toll roads, it would show who was behind the wheel.”
“I’ll get to it right away.”
Decker was visibly trying to control his fury. “Man, that little prick was slick, especially considering he had just tried to murder Dana.”
“He probably had practice with the first one. What is he? A serial killer?”
“He’s a killer and the rest is semantics. One girl is dead and another is messed up, and both of them have Cameron Snowe in common.”
“Just a bad egg then.”
Decker nodded. “Rotten to the core.”
As soon as Decker and Hissops came into the waiting room, Larry and Jamie Berinson stopped talking and stood up. Larry spoke first. “Did you find out anything?”
“Quite a bit,” Decker said. “According to your daughter, she wasn’t alone and she wasn’t driv—”
“What?” Berinson blurted out. “Who was behind the wheel?”
Decker looked at McAdams and put his finger to his lips. “A young man named Cameron Snowe.”
McAdams broke into a coughing fit. “Went down the wrong . . . pipe.”
Decker said, “Has Dana ever talked about him before?”
Larry looked at his wife. “Not to me,” Jamie said. “Who is he?”
“He’s a senior at the colleges. His name has been brought to our attention before.”
Berinson said, “In what capacity?”
“Various things. I want to hear what he has to say before I tell you anything else.”
“Why is my daughter in the hospital in critical condition and this Snowe guy not even around?” Berinson raged. “If he was driving, it was his fault! Why isn’t he here?”
“It’s one of the things that Trooper Hissops and I need to find out—”
“What? The son of a bitch just left her to die?”
“We’ll find out, Mr. Berinson. Dana’s memory is very hazy. At this point, we all need to make sure that what she’s telling me is what happened.”
“You don’t believe her?”
“Of course I believe her,” Decker said. “We totally believe her. But it is possible that she’s getting things confused. She had a very serious accident—”
Bone Box Page 29