“Tell me about Yvette.”
“Michael calls me up and says he has a problem . . . a big problem.”
“When was this?”
“I don’t remember the exact date. You’d know it. I remember I had just given one of my free talks. I do it as a community service.”
“Like the one my wife went to.”
“Yeah . . . like that.” His smile was unnerving. “The girl—Yvette—had been at the talk. She sat next to Michael. They talked and Michael claimed she was coming on to him. He says she became flirtatious and asked him if he wanted to go somewhere private to talk some more. At first, he said no and they went their separate ways. But then Michael changed his mind and decided to catch up with her after my talk.”
Stalk her, Decker thought.
“She started getting physical with him—kissing and stuff like that.”
“Where did this happen?”
“Michael told me they took a walk together on the edge of campus bordering the nature preserve. He said they talked and then it started getting passionate. After a few minutes, he realized he was being an idiot and he broke it off. He told me she got angry. She started yelling and hitting him. I don’t know what really happened, but the upshot is, she wound up dead.”
“That’s a big step, going from yelling to dead.”
“I wasn’t there. I don’t know the details. I just know what he told me.”
“Did you believe him?”
“I wanted to, but did I?” A pause. “I’ll circle back to you on that one.” Carter winced in pain. “Anyway, when he called me, as I said, he was in a panic. What should he do? I told him to call the police . . . say it was an accident. The idiot was blubbering over the phone. He said he couldn’t go to the police.”
“Because . . .”
“He had had sex with her—unprotected sex . . . DNA and all that. He said it was consensual but it would look bad. So he couldn’t call the police. He begged me to help him.”
“So you helped him.”
“I like helping people because I like people.” Carter looked at Decker. “I’m sorry about your wife, by the way. I just wanted to talk to her.”
While carrying a gun. Decker said, “I understand.”
“Do you?”
“I do. You felt misrepresented and you wanted to explain your case.”
Carter nodded. “Exactly. And I had to take the gun because of that maniac. You know yourself he’s a maniac.”
“I understand,” Decker said. “How did you help your brother-in-law with Yvette Jones?”
“We waited until it was very late . . . around three, four in the morning. I’m a night owl, and I do my best thinking when everyone else sleeps. We put the body in a trash bag and carried it to the trunk of Michael’s car. I told Michael to go home. He was too shaken up to be of any use. I took it into the woods near Bogat Trail . . . before it was Bogat . . . and buried it.”
Decker nodded.
“She was dead,” Carter said. “Nothing was going to change that. I really felt that it was kinder to the parents to think that maybe she was still alive, right?”
Decker didn’t answer.
“Anyway, that was my rationale at the time,” Carter said. “Everything was going okay until I got a call from Lawrence Pettigrew a couple of days later. Who was, by the way, a good guy: a little crazy and a little showy, but very smart.”
“That’s what everyone says. Why did he call you?”
“He was walking around the nature preserve near Morse McKinley coming back from somewhere the night that Yvette disappeared.” Carter swore under his breath. “He told me he saw Michael and me moving a large trash bag into the trunk of Michael’s car. He wondered what that was about.”
“I see where this is going.”
“Yes, and so did I. I told him we were getting some firewood from an old dead tree.”
“At four in the morning.”
“It was the only thing I could think of on the spur of the moment. He knew it was a lie and he didn’t probe it further. But a few weeks later, Lawrence did mention to me that he wanted to quit college to undergo sex reassignment surgery and that it was very expensive.”
“You gave him money.”
“Michael did. I was just the delivery guy. I believe it was around ten thousand dollars. I told him the money was his to do whatever he wanted with, but he wouldn’t get a dime more. He said that was fine. He thanked me profusely. He said he considered it a loan. I told him it was a gift. He wouldn’t ask any more questions. He didn’t want trouble. He said he was going for a new identity and it would be a fresh start for all of us.”
Decker noticed that Carter was panting. “Do you want a break?”
Carter waved him off. “Naively, I thought that it was the last I’d hear from him. And for two years, all was going smoothly.”
“Then Pettigrew suddenly showed up at the colleges.”
“Dressed like some drag queen.” Carter sighed. “He had called and said he needed to talk to me. We set up a meeting over the weekend.”
“Okay.” Decker was writing notes. “Where?”
“In my office, of course. First thing I did was pat him down. I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t a setup. The guy had real breasts but he still had a penis. How weird is that?”
“Go on, Professor.”
“He was psychologically confused. And that’s why I took the time to listen to him. I really do care about people.”
“What did he tell you?”
“Not what I expected. I expected to be hit up again. What happened was that he said he had a change of heart. That he was becoming a father and he needed to clear his conscience. He had a bag of money with him. He shoved it in my face, saying it was blood money. He told us to go to the police and tell them what happened. If we didn’t, he would. That was the problem with Lawrence. He was always pushy if not downright self-righteous.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I said I wasn’t about to turn my family in. And I knew that Michael wouldn’t go to the police. I told him to do whatever his conscience dictated. But we would deny everything and it would be his word against ours. There was no body. Police would see him as a mixed-up transgender woman who hadn’t even transitioned all the way. Who was the most believable?”
“Got it.”
“But Pettigrew just wouldn’t give up.” Carter adjusted his hospital bed. “He said that I should at least tell the police where the body was. It was terrible for the parents not to know. I said I didn’t know where the body was. I told him to go back to New York and live his life. He left. I thought I got through to him or her.”
“Obviously not,” Decker said. “Pettigrew wound up dead.”
“After he left me, he approached Michael.”
“And . . .”
“And what do you think?”
“What do I think?”
“Michael talked to him on the phone and arranged a meeting with him later in the evening around eleven. Very late so no one else was around. He had asked me to come, but I said no. I told him to blow Pettigrew off. He couldn’t harm us because there was no body and if he went to the police, no one would take him seriously.”
Carter rolled his eyes and again adjusted the bed.
“Pettigrew tried to convince Michael to tell him where we buried the body. He said he wouldn’t report us, just give an anonymous tip to the police so the parents could bury their daughter. Michael said he couldn’t describe the spot—it was too wooded—but he’d show him the spot where Yvette was buried.”
“Did he know where you buried Yvette?”
“Not a clue. I wanted it that way. Michael buckles under pressure. That’s why I knew I’d better tell you my story because it’s all going to come out. I know I was an accessory after the fact with Yvette, but I didn’t kill her. I just did Mike a favor.”
“I believe you,” Decker said. “So what did Pettigrew say after Michael offered to show him the spot?”
“The kid wasn’t dumb. He wasn’t going to follow a murderer into the forest. This is what Michael said happened, okay? He said they started arguing. It got heated very quickly. Pettigrew pushed him and Michael, out of self-defense, picked up a paperweight and smashed it over his head. Next thing he knew, Pettigrew was dead.”
“Michael argues with Yvette. Then he argues with Pettigrew. Then they both wind up dead.”
“I’m just telling you what Michael told me.”
“You know forensics said that Pettigrew was bashed in the back of the head. That indicates that Pettigrew had his back to Pallek when he hit him.”
Carter shrugged.
“Go on,” Decker said.
“I took the body—again in Michael’s car—and buried it near Yvette. I figured if someone was to find them, they’d think it was the work of a crazed serial killer.”
Which it was, Decker thought. “Why’d you keep helping your loser brother-in-law out?”
“Family is family.”
Even if Carter didn’t kill anyone—and Decker had his doubts—he clearly enjoyed burying dead bodies. He said, “Tell me about Delilah Occum.”
“Michael swears that he found her dead, that either Cameron Snowe or Casey Halpern had killed her and just left her there to rot. He stumbled upon her accidentally and he felt bad about that.”
“Why didn’t he just call the police?”
“After killing two people, I don’t think Michael wanted to have anything to do with the police. Plus . . .” Carter sighed. “My brother-in-law has some very peculiar habits.”
“Tell me,” Decker said. He was pretty sure where this was going.
“Well, let me put it this way. He was horny and she was young and pretty and warm.”
“But dead.”
Carter was silent. Then he said, “So you see why he couldn’t go to the police.”
“DNA and all that.”
“Don’t look at me,” Carter said. “I’m not enamored with necrophilia.”
“But you helped your brother-in-law out and buried her with the others.”
“Every person should have a proper burial.” Carter looked quite pleased with himself.
“I know Michael is in very bad shape especially with Dana Berinson being alive. I had absolutely nothing to do with that.”
Decker thought for a moment. “You know he’s being accused of setting up the accident, of pushing the car over the embankment.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“By any chance, before he pushed the car . . . did he tell you that he thought she was dead and . . . you know, DNA and all that.”
“No, he didn’t tell me. But I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.”
Decker felt sick to his stomach. The act was just vile. Then, deliberating like a cop, Decker thought to himself that it was unlikely that when Dana was brought in that any doctor performed a rape analysis on her. It was doubtful that any biological evidence had survived. But if something did survive, it would absolutely tie Michael Pallek to Dana Berinson. He’d have to talk to the parents first.
Carter said, “I know that I’m going to get a few slaps on the wrist. I deserve it. I shouldn’t have tried to protect him. I’ll be charged with accessory after the fact. But I’m telling you straight out. I never harmed a soul.”
“You stalked my wife. And you shot at a perfect stranger.”
“I didn’t stalk her. She bumped into me. As far as the stranger, I thought it was that Donatti guy. I thought he was going to kill me. It was as much self-defense as Rina shooting me. It was all one big misunderstanding. Look, right now I’m not going to press charges against your wife, either civilly or criminally, although I reserve the right to do it later on if you give me a hard time. I never hurt anyone.”
“You buried three bodies.”
“They were dead. Nothing anyone could do about that. I might as well have given them the respect of a place to rest.”
“And you’d swear under oath that they were dead?”
“Yes, of course they were dead!”
“Just like Erin Young was dead?” Decker asked.
Carter’s eyes clouded with fury. “Who?”
“She was a cashier at a local convenience store who went missing four years ago. The poor woman was attacked and then someone tried to bury her while she was still alive.”
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Dr. Carter, that gash on your back says you know very well who she is.”
Carter was silent. Then he said, “Yeah, I hurt myself a long time ago. I backed into a barbed-wire fence. I tore up my back.”
“You’re not very good at making up spur-of-the-moment stories.” When Carter didn’t answer, Decker said, “So if I were to look at your health records on the night Erin Young went missing, I wouldn’t find an emergency room where you happened to get your back sewn up?”
Carter weighed his words. “The missing girl. What’s her name?”
“Erin Young.”
“You found her?”
“Nope.”
“Then how do you know that she was attacked and left for dead?”
Decker covered his goof. “You’d be surprised by what I know, Dr. Carter.”
“But you don’t know if she’s alive or dead.”
“True,” Decker lied. “You know we have Ricardo Diaz in custody. I’ve charged him with Erin’s murder.”
“Who’s Ricardo Diaz?”
The guy was a smooth operator. Decker said, “He’s a bartender at the College Grill.”
“Oh . . . yes. We’ve spoken a couple of times. He murdered the girl?”
“We’ve charged him with the murder, yes.”
“So if you have your man, why are you talking to me about this?”
“I’ve heard that you might have been helping him out—the same way that you’ve helped out Michael Pallek.”
“Why would I help him out?” Carter asked.
“Because you’re a night owl and you prowl the streets, looking for prey.”
Carter smiled broadly. “Did you find this woman’s body up at Bogat?”
“I’ve already told you that we don’t have a body. But I heard that you went a little overboard in helping Diaz out and that’s how you got the gash.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carter stared at him. “Has he admitted killing this girl?”
“No.”
“Do you have evidence against Diaz?”
“Of course we have evidence.”
“But if you don’t have the girl and you don’t have a body, all you must have is circumstantial evidence. You’re on a fishing expedition.”
Decker said, “You have a good grasp of the law, but I’ve been at this longer than you have.”
“I still think that you’re going to have a very hard time making your case.”
“I don’t know about that. Diaz seems pretty weak-willed. He’ll start talking.”
“I doubt it. And if he doesn’t talk, you’ll have to prove your case without him.” Carter lowered the hospital bed, closed his eyes, and smiled. “Good luck with that.”
Chapter 44
By the time the last of the holiday lunch guests had left the house, it was close to six in the evening. The students had tried to clean up as best as they could, but there were paper plates and cups scattered throughout the living room and dining room and a slew of dirty serving platters. It was depressing to look at, even more depressing to know it was going to happen all over again tomorrow. But in keeping with the Rosh Hashanah, Decker tried to maintain a positive attitude. His stepson, Jacob, and his wife, Ilana, came out of the bedroom with their three pugs. Jacob was a heartthrob with his big blue eyes, black hair, and athletic build. Ilana was petite with curly hair, wide brown eyes, and a perpetual smile. They both were in their midthirties and were now thinking about children of the human kind. The two of them were very deliberate.
“They’ve been coop
ed up all afternoon,” Jacob said. “We’re taking them for a walk. Want to come?”
“Love to, but I think I need to clean this up.”
Rina said, “Go, Peter, I’ll take care of it.”
Decker said, “Why don’t you go and I’ll take care of it?”
“I’ll help you,” McAdams offered.
“No.” Decker smiled. “Don’t need it. You all go. I’ll be fine.”
“Someone needs his alone time,” Jacob said.
“Someone is right.” Decker fluffed out a trash bag and began to dump paper goods inside. It would soon join the other ten trash bags already sitting in the garage. And they still had another lunch to go. “It’s going to get dark soon.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” Rina tried again. “It’s so lovely outside.”
“Let me make a dent in this first.” Decker smiled. “Really, I need to unwind.”
“Fair enough,” Rina said. “If you feel like it, you can set the table for dinner. I’ll warm up the food as soon as Shabbos is over.”
“Rina, we just finished lunch.”
“We should at least make Kiddush. It’s Rosh Hashanah. And I for one have a lot to be thankful for.”
“How about we talk about it later?” McAdams was ushering everyone out the door. “Want me to take one of the dogs, guys?”
“Take Pogo,” Ilana said. “She likes you.”
“That’s me—a real lady killer.”
As soon as the front door clicked shut, Decker breathed a sigh of relief. It was wonderful to be doing something concrete. His brain had been on all afternoon and it immediately shut down without words to stimulate it. The first thing he did was throw away all the disposables. After he did that, he began to gather up the dirty platters and take them into the kitchen. When that was done, he collected items left behind, mostly sunglasses but a few yarmulkes and hats and several sweaters. After he established the lost and found in the front closet, he washed down the tables, brushed the crumbs from the chairs and couches, and took out a broom. He really didn’t even know why he bothered because it was only going to get messed up again tomorrow, but cleanliness and godliness and all that jazz. He’d vacuum the area rugs after the holidays.
Bone Box Page 36