“I don’t teach during the summer. As long as I have time to work in the garden and catch up on my reading, I’m happy to be your researcher. I like it, actually.”
“Speaking of reading, do you read mystery novels?”
“I mostly read biographies, but I have my favorite crime series novels.”
“Do you know an author named Alex Delaware?”
“He’s not the author, he’s a fictional character. They’re terrific books. Why?”
Decker smiled. “Someone mentioned that the guy—Alex—drives a Seville. I’m thinking either that the character is a retro hipster or it’s a very long running series.”
“It’s the latter. And that’s a rather esoteric factoid. He must be a devoted fan.”
“You read mysteries?” McAdams asked.
“I do. This guy doesn’t.”
“What do you read?” he asked Decker.
“Travel books. I read about remote areas where you can contract horrible diseases or get eaten by wild animals and bitten by venomous snakes or bugs that cause you protracted, painful deaths. Places I don’t know anything about and I’ll never visit.”
McAdams laughed. “I love this guy.”
“I agree with you there,” Rina said.
“Can I please sleep over Friday night?” When Decker didn’t answer, McAdams said, “I promise I won’t say a word about work. And if I stay the night, I don’t have to come back for Saturday lunch.”
“I don’t recall inviting you for Shabbos lunch,” Decker said.
“You meant to do it, boss,” Tyler said. “But with everything that’s going on, it just slipped your mind.”
Arriving at the station house at seven in the morning, Decker put in a call to Detective Wendell Tran, asking the secretary to have him call back as soon as he checked in. If Tran and his partner, Smitz, were going to revisit Bigstore, he wanted McAdams with them.
While waiting for a call back, he turned on his computer in hopes of finding out more information about Joseph Boch a.k.a. Boxer. The guy had been arrested a couple of times for DUIs and possession of weed, but nothing violent. He served probation and did community service for all his offenses, the two judges going easy on him because he was solely responsible for his mother’s care. Decker did some poking into county records and eventually found his birth certificate. Boxer was born in Hamilton, and the year of his birth put him at thirty-five. His father was listed as Joseph Boch, making Boxer a junior. The old man was thirty when his son was born.
Immediately, Decker switched the search to Senior. Decker found an old tax return filed in Hamilton. The man had worked a variety of low-skill jobs: roofing, construction, and a short-order cook. There was nothing on him more recent than twenty years ago—at least in Hamilton’s computers.
Decker needed something a little more recent.
Tapping the keys, going from one agency to another, it took another fifteen minutes, even with department software, for Decker to find a birth certificate: the old man was born in Leavenworth, Kansas, sixty-five years ago. More searching produced a death certificate dated ten years ago from a mortuary in Salina, Kansas. An autopsy was performed and death was determined to be natural—atherosclerotic heart disease. Decker found several tax returns in the state of Kansas, the last one dated twelve years ago, when Joe Sr. had worked as a janitor at the local municipal airport.
Decker couldn’t find any divorce papers, so he assumed that Joe had taken his family with him when he left Hamilton and went to Kansas.
He earned money as a janitor, and he did file taxes, but it was barely enough to support a family. How did they live? And what had drawn the Bochs from Hamilton to Joe Sr.’s home state?
And if Jaylene had gone with her husband, what had drawn her back to Hamilton?
And if she didn’t go with her husband, why was that?
More questions than answers.
Decker’s cell phone rang.
A voice over the line said, “Tran here.”
“It’s Peter Decker. Thanks for calling me back. Have you gone over the Boch house yet?”
“No, because Scientific Investigative Division didn’t finish until late last night. Randy and I did a preliminary yesterday, but with all the forensic personnel, it was hard to move. We were planning to go out first thing, but we just got called out to a slash and grab. The woman’s in the hospital.”
“When do you think you’ll make it over?”
“Couple of hours.”
“Do you mind if I get a jump start?”
“Fine with me. Do you have a key?”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“You caught me just as I was ready to leave. I’ll put it in an envelope and give it to Anna—she’s the receptionist. I’ll tell her to expect you in, like, fifteen minutes?”
“Half an hour. I appreciate it, Wendell. Thanks.”
“Call me Tran. I’m named after some old shrimp fisherman who gave my dad a break. Which was nice in theory except people keep expecting me to be ninety years old.”
“Thank you, Tran. Also, are you going over to Bigstore in Claremont? Where Neil and Boxer worked?”
“Eventually we’ll get there.”
“Would you mind taking McAdams with you when you do go?”
“No problem, but it won’t happen today. Let me know if you find anything at the Boch house. I’ll call SID later and find out what they came up with. There was a lot of evidence to bag and test. Blood was everywhere.”
“I’ll be careful where I step. Talk to you later.”
After disconnecting the call, Decker phoned the hospital. After being on hold for ten minutes, he found out that there was no change in Jaylene Boch’s status. They were easing up on her sedation, but the woman was mute and very confused.
Decker realized he was shifting his focus from Neil’s murder to the missing Boxer a.k.a. Joseph Boch Jr. investigation, which wasn’t officially his case. He shuffled some papers in the Brady Neil file and found what he was looking for.
Brett Baderhoff and Patrick Markham with accompanying phone numbers.
Better to concentrate on what you have control over.
Carrying an armful of CCTV tapes, Kevin Butterfield walked in the room at eight. He laid them on his desk and said, “These are the last of them. I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee and start viewing. Anything new?”
“I was looking up Joseph Boch Senior.” Decker gave him a recap.
“Leaving for his home state around the time of the Levine murders,” Butterfield said. “That has to be more than a coincidence.”
“Probe and ye shall find.”
“They’re connected then: Joe Senior and the Levine murders?”
“It’s certainly a thought worth pursuing. I’ve put in necessary papers to interview Brandon Gratz at prison. Who knows what he’ll tell me. But . . .” He held up a finger, then picked up the phone. “I can call Jennifer Neil. She might know something about her ex-husband’s friends.”
Decker looked up her number and punched them into his cell phone. A moment later, he was told that the line was no longer operable. He checked to make sure he had the correct number.
Butterfield noticed a look on his face. “What?”
“Jennifer Neil’s line is disconnected.” Decker paused. “I’ll try the daughter.” No one was home, but at least Brandy’s line was working. He left a message. “Kev, we need to interview these two young men.” He handed Butterfield the slip of paper. “Could you call them and set up a time? If they can’t come here, I’ll go to their houses.”
“Who are these guys?”
“High school friends of Brady Neil’s. I got the name from Brady’s mother and sister. Maybe they know something. I’m free this afternoon and all day tomorrow.”
“I’ll call them right now.”
“Thanks.” When McAdams walked in, Decker said, “Don’t bother sitting down. We’re going back to the Boch house to do a thorough search.”
“Ugh!”
McAdams wrinkled his nose. “It’s going to stink.”
“Death always stinks. Let’s go.”
Butterfield hung up the phone. “I left messages with the two men. Gave them my phone number and your phone number.”
“Perfect, Kev.” To McAdams, he said, “Ready?”
“Not really. I’m wearing three-hundred-dollar sneakers.”
“Ever heard of shoe protectors?”
Butterfield said, “Why don’t you just wear normal, rubber-soled shoes, Harvard?”
“Good question,” Decker said.
“I like good shoes. They make me feel good. What’s wrong with that?”
“Under ordinary circumstances, nothing.” Decker rolled his eyes. “This is your fourth case dealing with homicide, dude. If you don’t learn from prior experience, then I have nothing more to say.”
McAdams sighed, took off his sneakers, and put on some beaten-up oxford rubber-soled shoes that he kept under his desk. “I got shot in these. I keep them under my desk to remind me that I am not invincible.”
“Whatever keeps you humble.”
“Let’s hope lightning doesn’t strike three times.” He gave them a sniff. “They stink . . . of death.”
“As long as it’s not your own,” Decker said. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 14
On the way to Hamilton, Decker filled in McAdams about his research on Joseph Boch Sr. “I don’t know if Brady Neil’s murder has something to do with the Levine murders, but I’m beginning to think that more people were involved in the robbery than just Brandon Gratz and Kyle Masterson.”
“Do you think that Gratz was the one-in-a-million con that actually told the truth?”
“From my experience, probably not. Most convicts are con men. Can’t believe a word they say. I’d really like to talk to Gregg Levine since he was an eyewitness. I’ve called him twice. I’ve left a card at his house. He’s avoiding me.”
“Why?”
“Good question.” Decker thought a moment. “He’s too old to be a chum of Neil—or Boxer, for that matter. I’m trying to find a link between Brady and Boxer other than Bigstore. They couldn’t have been school chums. Boxer is ten years older than Brady. I’m having Kev put in a call to Brady’s high school buds. Maybe they can tell me something. Because I have to consider the past bubbling over to the present.”
“Okay,” McAdams said. “For argument’s sake, let’s assume that Boch Senior was connected to the Levine murders. And assume that he ran away to the Midwest after everything went down. Then are we assuming that Jaylene went with him?”
“My feeling is that if Joe Senior was in big trouble and went underground, Jaylene would run as well.”
“Then why would she come back to Hamilton with Joe Junior after Joe Senior died?”
“I don’t know.” Decker pulled over to the curb and parked in front of the Hamilton Police Department, intending to pick up the key to the Boch house. Instead, he didn’t get out of the car. “Harvard, I’m a little queasy about Jennifer Neil’s phone line being disconnected.”
“Jennifer Neil knows something and got the hell out of Dodge?”
“Who knows?”
“If you’re that worried about Jennifer Neil, let’s just go to her house.”
Decker checked his watch. It was nearly ten. “How far away is it?”
McAdams pulled up the address and said, “About ten minutes, according to Waze.”
“The Hamilton detectives were called out on a case. They aren’t going to be ready for another hour. Okay, go get the key to the Boch house, and then I’ll feel better if we drive by Jennifer Neil’s first.”
“Not a problem. But if something happened to her, it’s going to be Hamilton’s case.”
“Hey, they could have done exactly what we’re doing. If they’re late to the party, well, then it’s their faux pas, not mine.”
The little bit of lawn fronting the bungalow was turning weed choked. Bunches of dandelions sprouted a carpet of spiky leaves and yellow blooms. An oversize pine tree dominated the front. Not a shrub in sight. Brady’s car—which Decker assumed Jennifer was using—wasn’t in the driveway or parked at the curb, but it could have been in the garage. There were hardly any vehicles on the street—a stretch of pocked asphalt with tar seeping out. Infrastructure in the neighborhood was minimal. But it was quiet. The birds and bugs didn’t seem to mind a bit.
Decker and McAdams walked up the pathway and stepped onto the porch. They knocked at the door, and when no one answered, Decker tried the doorknob. It held tight. “I could pick it, but there isn’t much justification for that.” He peeked into the living room windows, partially obscured by sheer drapes, but he could still see inside. Nothing looked out of place. From what he remembered from the last time, the place was spare and pretty neat. “I’m going to take a look around the back.”
Just then, the Ford Focus pulled into the driveway. The men waited as Jennifer Neil got out. She stared at them and they stared at her. “Can I help you?”
“Police, Mrs. Neil,” Decker said. “Remember we talked?”
“Of course I remember. I’m not senile. Are you releasing my boy for burial?”
“No, ma’am, unfortunately we still need a little more time.”
“So why are you here?”
“I wanted to ask you a few questions. Do you mind if we talked inside?”
“No, I don’t mind.” She went over to the back of the car and popped the trunk. She took out two Walmart bags and headed up to the door. McAdams walked over and tried to relieve her of the bags, but her grip on them was strong. “I’m fine.”
When she got to the door, she paused, put the bags down, and fished out her keys from a black leather handbag. Opening the door, she said, “Come in.” She set the bags down along with her black handbag. “What questions?”
Decker looked at her purchases and gave a quick glance around. Nothing appeared disturbed. “Your phone is disconnected.”
“I know. I disconnected it.”
“May I ask the reason for that?”
“I got a few calls asking about Brady.”
“From whom?”
“TV stations. Local paper. I don’t want to talk to anybody. It’s none of their business.”
“Do you have a new phone number?”
“Not yet. Just a new phone.” She reached down into her Walmart bag and pulled out an iPhone still in the box.
“Can I see that?” She handed it to Decker. It was the latest incarnation from Apple. “Very nice.”
“About time I did something nice for myself.”
“No time like the present,” McAdams said.
“That’s for damn sure, young man.” Jennifer nodded. “The man at the store told me he’d set it up for me once I get a new phone number. Why are you here?”
“We swung by to make sure you’re okay, Mrs. Neil.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
“For one thing, your phone was disconnected.” Decker took out a small notepad. “Also, you must have heard about what happened to Jaylene Boch.”
She was quiet, didn’t seem overly perturbed. Then she said, “Some people are bad. I’ve known a couple in my day. I heard her boy was missing.”
“Joe Junior,” Decker said. “Yes, he is missing. We found out about Joe Junior—he goes by the name of Boxer—because he worked with your son. They were friends.”
Jennifer was silent.
“Did you know they were friends?”
“No.” Quick answer. Then she thought a moment. “You think he killed my boy?”
“Maybe. Or possibly Joe Junior was murdered as well. Something bad happened in that house.” Decker said, “What do you know about the Boch family?”
“I know who they are. It’s not that big of a town in our area. I’m not talking about the snooty people in Bellweather or Claremont. Here, we all run into each other now and then.”
“Are you friends with Jaylene?”<
br />
“I see her around in the grocery store with her son. We’ll chat a minute and that’s that. The boy seemed pretty dedicated to her.”
McAdams said, “What do you know about the father, Joe Senior?”
“He was no good: a lazy drunk with a big mouth.”
Decker said, “Did your husband, Brandon, know him?”
“Probably. Brandon seemed to know every lowlife in town. I’m not saying his company turned him bad. I’m saying Brandon was bad so he kept bad company.”
“Were they friends—Joe Senior and your husband?”
“I have no idea. Brandon didn’t tell me what he did at night. Most of the time, he’d come home drunk with perfume on his clothes. Then there were those other nights, when he came home sober. Scary sober, if you know what I mean. Never laid a finger on me, but I sure didn’t cross him when he had that look in his eye. If I was honest, I preferred him drunk.”
“He had money when he came home on those sober nights?”
“He didn’t tell me anything about his finances. But there was always enough to keep the kids in milk and cookies and new shoes.”
“Do you remember when Joe Senior and Jaylene moved out of Hamilton? It was shortly after your husband was arrested.”
“No, I don’t remember. I was a little busy with my own problems, Detective. Are we done? All these questions make me depressed. And I don’t see what this has to do with Brady.”
“Probably nothing, but a few more questions, if you’ll indulge me.” She didn’t answer. Decker said, “I came out because I was concerned about you. I still am concerned. Do you remember when Jaylene Boch moved back into Hamilton?”
Walking Shadows Page 11