Walking Shadows

by Faye Kellerman

  “Do you know him, boss?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Do we know if the kid has a record?”

  Decker said, “We do, and he doesn’t. But I still want to talk to those boys.”

  “Are we getting cooperation with Hamilton?” McAdams asked.

  “This is the deal,” Radar said. “Chief Baccus wants full cooperation between the two police departments. No one has any problem with that. But Baccus wants us working with his daughter, Lenora: Lennie Baccus. She’s twenty-seven and was with Philadelphia PD for five years, including two as a detective, where she broke a very sophisticated GTA ring.”

  Decker said, “What GTA ring was that?”

  “I don’t know,” Radar answered. “If you and McAdams take her on, it will definitely grease the skids. And you both know that the murder could have happened in Hamilton and the dump was here. If they find a crime scene, it isn’t going to be our case anyway.”

  “Sounds reasonable,” McAdams said. “We have an address from his license.”

  “I’ve already looked it up. It seems that Brady lives—or lived—with his mother,” Decker said. “I’ll do the death notification after I’m done talking to this person.”

  “Officer Baccus, Decker.”

  “Officer Baccus, excuse me.” Decker took the phone off speaker.

  McAdams said, “What do you need from me?”

  “You can stay at the scene and help Kevin direct. Unless you want to do the notification.”

  “You’re much more adroit with these things, boss. As hard as I try, I just don’t have the soul sensitivity.”

  “McAdams, only you could saddle me with an onerous chore and make it sound like a compliment.”

  “That’s me in a nutshell. I’m terrible at feelings but good with words.”

  She was a beautiful woman with short blond hair surrounding a serene face. Her features were strong—defined chin, full lips, and almond-shaped, bright blue eyes. She appeared to be around five ten but more lanky than muscular. Dressed in a black suit and white shirt, she looked more executive than cop. Decker found her to be self-effacing, but not shy. They were talking in one of Greenbury’s four interview rooms because the detectives’ squad area was a big room of open desks and everyone could hear everyone else’s business. It was a good layout insofar as information sharing, but not so good for privacy.

  About ten minutes into the conversation, Decker said, “I heard that you broke a very sophisticated GTA ring in Philadelphia.”

  “My dad told you that?” Her laugh was nervous. Lennie had long red nails. She clicked them against one another before she spoke. “He exaggerates. More to make himself feel good, I think. He always wanted boys.”

  “Tell me about the operation.”

  “First of all, I was one of four. But we were all women, including the sergeant who led the operation. We worked really well as a team. The sergeant was a tough taskmaster, but she was fair. We got results. It turned out well for all of us.”

  “Why’d you leave Philly, then?”

  “Philly?” She smiled. “Are you a native?”

  “No, but I know a few people there. Why’d you leave?”

  A pained look came across her face. Click, click went the nails. A nervous habit.

  She said, “This is going to sound very bad, but the truth is, I was smart enough but not mentally strong enough. I couldn’t stand the harassment from the guys.”

  “Did you file suit?”

  “I thought about it. I talked to my sergeant, and she said she’d support me. But we all know the drill. Once you file, you’re finished. Word gets around that you’re not a team player and no one wants to work with you anymore.” She shook her head. “I should have powered through it. But then Dad offered me a position here—more money, less stress.” She shook her head again. “I suppose I took the easy way out.”

  “It’s good to know your limits.” He regarded her face. “I was told that your mother is ill. Not that I’m getting personal, but was that also a factor in your returning to Hamilton?”

  “Mom has multiple sclerosis. She’s been ill for a long time. And I suppose maybe I considered her illness when I came back. I’m certainly helping Dad out with the care.” A pause. “I would love to work on a real homicide. The cases I’ve been getting aren’t very challenging.”

  “You want big-city cases, you have to work in a big city. Most of what I do is routine and not interesting. And that’s why I came here. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “Of course, you’re right,” Lenora said. “When you’re part of a team, nothing is too little or too menial.” Decker was quiet. She smiled and looked down. “I’d be happy getting the coffee and doughnuts.”

  “I don’t like doughnuts,” Decker answered. “Look, Officer Baccus, Homicide is nasty. We deal with the worst parts of humanity, and it stays with you for a long, long time. I have no idea if you’re up for the job, and nothing you’ve told me convinces me one way or the other.”

  “Call up my former sergeant. She’ll tell you that I really am very good at my job. Her name is Sergeant Cynthia Kutiel. If you give me your cell number, I’ll text you her number right now.”

  “Do that.” When he heard the text beep on his phone, Decker said, “I’ll give her a call. I’ll also want you to talk to Detective McAdams and Detective Kevin Butterfield. They’ll be working with me. We all have to get along for this to be successful.”

  “Of course.”

  “Anything you’d like to ask me?”

  “Nothing right now. I’m sure I’ll ask you lots of questions when we work together.” She made a face. “I mean if we work together.”

  Decker regarded her again. “You know, it’s good to show confidence even if you don’t feel it. Nobody likes people who feel sorry for themselves.”

  Instead of wilting, she said, “Point taken. I really want to learn, and I’m a workhorse. I’ll be a good asset to you.”

  “Good. Detectives McAdams and Butterfield are with SID at the crime scene.” Decker gave her the address. “Go out there and have a look-see. I’ll tell McAdams that you’re coming.”

  “Absolutely.” She stood and offered a hand. “Thank you very much.”

  “This is a trial period, you know.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good.” Decker paused. “McAdams is studying to be a lawyer—at Harvard. He’s a good detective, but he’s young and brash. He doesn’t choose his words carefully. He can be very rude, but he thinks on his feet, and that’s important. You’ve got to be able to deal with that. The good news is he won’t come on to you, Lenora. That’s not him.”

  “Then we’ll absolutely have no problem. And you can call me Lennie, by the way.”

  “Fine, Lennie. And you can call me boss.”

  Chapter 3

  “So now I have to babysit a spoiled brat!”

  “Ahem. Pot . . . kettle.”

  “Spoiled I will agree to, but you can’t be a brat if you’ve been shot in the line of duty. That is just not right.”

  “She worked five years with Philadelphia PD. She was in GTA as a detective.”

  “GTA Philadelphia? As in your daughter?”

  “The very same city. Cindy was her detective sergeant.”

  “Wow. Did you tell her?”

  “Baccus? Of course not. But I will call up Cindy after I get the death notification done. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about Baccus. She should be with you shortly.”

  “Did she tell you why she quit Philadelphia PD?”

  “Sexual harassment.”

  “Ah, c’mon! You can’t be serious!”

  “She’s beautiful, Harvard. I can completely believe it, but I’ll ask Cindy about it. At least, in Hamilton, no one is going to mess with the chief’s daughter.”

  “But it does show a certain lack of resilience.”

  “Yes, it does. She’s on her way. Be nice, Harvard. We need her on the team to get into Hamilton’s
files.”

  “If I’m too nice, then she’ll think I’m coming on to her.”

  “Hmm, a valid point,” Decker admitted. “You’re right. Don’t be nice. Just be your usual obnoxious self.”

  Jennifer Neil identified her son, Brady, from one of the photographs taken by the police photographer, saving her the agony of coming down and seeing the body in person. She was five foot two and thin as a reed. A little thing with a weathered face, making her look older than her forty-nine years. Her thin lips could have passed for another crease in her wrinkled face. Blue wet eyes were rimmed in red. She wore baggy jeans and a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt with a concert tour dated twenty years ago.

  The woman looked utterly lost.

  “Do you have someone I can call to be with you?” When she didn’t answer, Decker said, “A relative or friend?”

  Slowly she shook her head. “When can I see him?”

  “You don’t have to see him, Mrs. Neil. It’s best to remember him as he was.” She didn’t speak. “Are you sure there’s no one I can call?”

  “No husband, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Do you have other children?”

  Her lip quivered. “A daughter. We don’t talk.” A pause. “I suppose I should call her.”

  “I can do that for you if you want me to.”

  She nodded.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Brandy.”

  Decker thought, Brandy and Brady. Or maybe it was Brady and Brandy. “How old is she?”

  “Thirty.”

  Brandy and Brady. Jennifer had been just nineteen when she had her first child. “Do you have a phone number?”

  “Gotta look it up. I don’t know if it’s current or not.” She left the living room. It was a small house, neat and clean but unadorned. The faux-leather furniture matched, the end tables were dusted, and the brown carpet was vacuumed though thin in some parts and stained in others. A moment later, Jennifer came back with a slip of paper and a number. Decker pocketed the paper and took out his notebook. “I know this is a horrible time to ask you questions, but it would be helpful if I knew a little bit about Brady.”

  She said nothing. Just wiped her eyes.

  “Brady was twenty-six?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he live with you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did Brady work or go to school?”

  “Both.”

  “Where is work and where is school?”

  “He worked at Bigstore in the electronics department.”

  “He’s good with computers?”

  “No idea.”

  Her apathy took Decker aback. “No idea?”

  “No. He was secretive about his life.”

  “Okay. Secretive as in . . .”

  “We just didn’t talk about anything personal. Truth be told, we hardly talked at all. He’s a single male in his twenties. We don’t have anything in common.”

  “Got it. Do you know how long he worked at Bigstore?”

  “About a couple of years. He must have gotten a promotion because Brady always had money.”

  “He had money?”

  “Always.”

  “What kind of money are we talking about?”

  “He had a car and all the gadgets—y’know, the Xbox and the iPhones and that kind of stuff. It kinda pissed me off that he had money for that shit and never offered to help out with the food and rent until I asked him for it.”

  Store managers didn’t make that kind of expendable money. The kid was probably dealing, and something stronger than weed. Opiates were an issue upstate. He said, “Did he give you money when you asked?”

  “Couple of hundred here and there.”

  “And he lived with you even though he had money?”

  “Maybe that’s why he had money. Anyway, I never bothered him and he never bothered me. He lived in the basement. It’s a big basement with two rooms and a bathroom. If he ever got his own place, I was gonna rent it out.” She bit her lip and wiped her eyes. “Guess that’s not a problem now.”

  “How did he behave with you?” When Jennifer looked confused, Decker said, “Was he rude or apathetic or physical—”

  “No, he never got physical with me even when he was out of control.”

  “Out of control?”

  “Typical teenage stuff—drinking, smoking marijuana, not going to school, not coming home at night. He still goes out at night on occasion, but in the morning, he’s sober enough to go to work.”

  “And you said he’s also in school?”

  “Night school. That’s what he told me. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not. The kid used to lie for the hell of it. Shades of his father.”

  “Did Brady ever have problems with the law?”

  “Not that I know of.” She looked at him. “Can’t you look that up?”

  “I did. No record as an adult, but juvenile records are sealed.”

  “He used to be truant. Couple of times, cops brought him back home. But then he dropped out of high school so truancy wasn’t a problem. He went through some low-paying jobs—fast-food counter, things like that—until he got a job at Bigstore. Like I said, it must pay well, because he has spare money.”

  Decker thought about Brady, working in the electronics department. He could also have been involved in warehouse theft. Working for a bigger ring and it caught up with him? Both sidelines—dealing and theft—were dangerous enough to explain his corpse.

  “And you don’t know where he went to college?”

  She continued talking. “A year ago, he said he was taking some classes at community college. Like I said, don’t know if that was true or not.”

  “Do you know if his money may have come from something other than a job?”

  “Wouldn’t know that, either. You mean like drug dealing?”

  “Do you think he was dealing drugs?”

  “I don’t know, Detective. When are you going to release the body?”

  “I’ll call you as soon as I know.” Decker waited a beat. “Do you know of anyone who’d want to hurt Brady or held a grudge against him?”

  “No.” A quick response. “Is that all?”

  “I’d like to take a look at his basement room, Mrs. Neil. Would that be okay?”

  “I don’t have the key.”

  “Can I bust open the lock?”

  Her eyes started to water. “Sure.”

  “Thank you.” She was quiet. Decker said, “Mrs. Neil, would you know the names of any of Brady’s friends?”

  “No. The basement has a private entrance. He came and went as he pleased. I know that occasionally he had people down there. I could hear voices. But that’s all I know.”

  “Male? Female?”

  “Mostly male, but a woman now and then.”

  Decker mentioned the names of the thugs who were probably responsible for the mailbox vandalism. “Any of those names ring a bell?”

  Jennifer shook her head no.

  “How about friends from when he was a teenager?”

  She gave the question some consideration. “You might try Patrick Markham or maybe Brett Baderhoff. Those are the only two I can think of. You also can try his sister. I’m not on speaking terms with her. But that don’t mean that the two of them didn’t talk.”

  He needed a pair of bolt cutters to break open the padlock. Once Decker was inside, he wondered why all the secrecy. It was an ordinary living area, only much neater than he had expected from a young adult living at home.

  The space was divided into a small living room with a kitchenette. It had a two-burner cooktop and an apartment fridge. No oven. Brady had a sofa, a couple of big chairs, and a big-screen TV. Jennifer was right. He had a massive game console set. No photographs of himself or anyone else. Off the living area was a shower, toilet, and sink.

  The bedroom was taken up by a queen bed. It had two doors, one from the living area and the other that emptied into a one-car garage that also held a washer/dryer. The s
ole vehicle inside was a maroon Ford Focus that was around five years old. Brady may have owned the car, and that may have put him a step ahead of his mother, but it wasn’t exactly a showpiece.

  Decker went back inside and began his search in earnest. He checked drawers and cabinets. He looked inside the pillows’ cases and pockets. He peered under the mattress and did find a half-dozen photographs of a much younger Brady with a girl. He looked around fifteen, the girl a few years older. The boy had dark brown hair and intense dark brown eyes. The girl was a blonde with blue eyes. The boy’s stare pierced through even though the couple was mugging for the camera.

  The inspection took about thirty minutes because Brady kept a spare apartment. He wasn’t much of a drinker—a couple of six-packs in the fridge. And not much of a doper except for a dime bag of weed. No hidden pills. No hidden powders and no drug paraphernalia. There were no closets brimming with electronics and no stash of phones. If he was involved in illegal activity, he was operating elsewhere.

  Jennifer was waiting for him at the top of the stairs. She said, “Find anything?”

  “A little marijuana.” Decker climbed the steps. “Nothing that makes me think he’s dealing.”

  She nodded. “What does it look like down there?”

  “It’s pretty tidy. If he was having wild parties, he cleaned up after himself.”

  “I don’t think I can go down there just yet.” Her eyes watered up. “I suppose I’ll have to do it eventually . . . especially if I’m gonna . . .”

  Her words drifted off. Decker filled in the blanks: if I’m gonna rent it out. Jennifer was a little short on maternal feelings, but there didn’t seem to be open hostility between mother and son as far as he could tell. He took out a photograph. “Mrs. Neil, could you tell me who’s in the picture with Brady?”

  “That’s my daughter.”

  “Brandy?”

  “Yes.” A pause. “I remember this picture. It was during the summer, and we were visiting a corn maze. I took the photo on Brandy’s phone.”

  “How old were they?”

  “Sixteen and twelve. Shortly after that, Brandy ran away after a blowout fight. I didn’t even try to stop her.”

  “Where’d she go?”