Walking Shadows

by Faye Kellerman

  “Ah, c’mon!” Decker stared at Radar, who said nothing. “You can’t be serious!”

  “I’m not taking you off the case.” Silence. “You’re welcome.”

  “Thank you. But we both know it’s not Baccus’s call.”

  “No, it’s not, but—”

  “There’s a but?”

  “There’s a but.” Radar rolled his tongue in his cheek. “You wanted Friday off to see your aged mother. You told me Rina’s leaving tomorrow.” He took in a breath and let it out. “Go with her. Let Victor cool down.”

  “Right when the case is breaking and we might actually ID these guys, he wants me off.”

  “If something definite breaks, I’ll let you know.”

  “Nothing’s going to break because Baccus isn’t going to do a thing to help me ID these clowns.”

  “Pete, I’m not going to stonewall a murder. Just . . . let Victor settle down so we can work with him, okay? We need his help because the Boch house is in his jurisdiction. Let Forensics go over Lennie’s car completely. I’ll check up on it myself. You’ve done a great job. I swear if something major breaks, no one will freeze you out.”

  “We have to keep a guard on Jaylene Boch at all times. Even if Hamilton doesn’t want to give the manpower—”

  “Kevin’s already got a schedule worked out. Go home and change your airline tickets. Spend a little time with family. I’ll see you Monday morning.”

  “Fine.” Decker stood. “Fine.”

  Radar seemed stunned that he agreed so easily. “Thank you for being reasonable. I have your cell. I’ll call you if I need or hear something.”

  “No problem.”

  Decker meant it.

  The new and unexpected plan would give him more flexibility with Jack Newsome.

  There was a God in heaven.

  The original plan was to surprise Newsome with a drop-in visit on Sunday. But after reworking the airline tickets, it turned out to be cheaper to see his mother on Thursday and then go visit Rina’s mother for Shabbat. With that in mind, Decker took his chances and called the man up. As it happened, Newsome was planning a fishing weekend, leaving Thursday and coming back late Sunday night. He was willing to talk—he had no idea how he could help—but he could only find the time on Thursday afternoon, and then, only for an hour or so.

  Okay, Decker said to himself. He’d take whatever he could get.

  At four in the morning, as Decker fit the final piece of luggage in the Volvo, hoping to make a 9:00 a.m. flight from JFK to Gainesville, Rina came out carrying a small cooler of food. She wore a floral tunic/dress over a pair of white leggings and espadrilles. Her hair was brushing her shoulders, and atop her head was a white knitted tam.

  She spoke before he did. “I know that we can’t take the drinks on the plane, but we can take the sandwiches. We’ll leave the drinks in the trunk and can use them on our car ride home. Any other questions?”

  “You notice I haven’t said a word.”

  “But you gave me that look.”

  “What look?”

  “The husband look that says, ‘Why are you bringing so much stuff.’”

  He smiled. “The look actually says, ‘Why are you bringing enough food to feed the Turkish army.’”

  “It’s just four sandwiches, for your information.”

  “Okay. That’s not bad.”

  “Actually, four kinds of sandwiches, so it’s eight altogether.”

  “You made them, I’ll eat them. That’s the problem. Let’s go before we hit traffic. In New York, it starts early.”

  Rina slipped into the passenger side, setting the cooler behind her seat and a paper bag at her feet. She had taken out a thermos. “Coffee?”

  “Yeah, as soon as I back out of here.” He threw the car in reverse and went down their driveway. Ten minutes later, they were on the highway to New York. “I’ll take the coffee now. Make sure it’s not too hot and just fill it up halfway. I don’t want to burn myself.”

  “Sure. Bagel?”

  “In a bit.” He paused. “How many bagels did you bring?”

  “Two cheese jalapeños, two everything.”

  “In addition to the sandwiches?”

  “One is breakfast and one is lunch,” Rina said. “What time are you meeting Newsome?”

  “Three in the afternoon. If Radar hadn’t told me to get lost, I wouldn’t have been able to talk to Newsome this weekend. Everything worked out.”

  “Sometimes it happens that way. Do you want me to come with you?”

  “To the interview?” When she nodded, he said, “Just handle Ida Decker. That’s enough of an assignment.”

  “That’s better for me anyway. I’m cooking dinner. I shipped a five-pound roast to your mom. Randy and his new lady are coming down for dinner.”

  Wife number four for his brother. His mother kept a special set of kosher dishes and pots and pans for them. It was a very nice concession considering that she was a practicing Baptist. Rina’s job was to clean the stove and oven when she went down.

  “Chabad is coming at two to blowtorch the oven. It would really make much more sense for me to cook everything in my kitchen, but it seems so important to your mom that I use her kitchen. Besides, she loves to bake, and it’s amazing that at her age, she still can do it.”

  “If you call ordering you around baking.”

  “She still rolls out her own piecrusts.”

  “Bless her little heart.”

  She hit him. “Any idea why Baccus is being such a jerk?”

  “I hate to think bad about anyone in the league, but that guy is hiding something.”

  “About the Levine murders?”

  “That I couldn’t tell you.”

  “Do you think he knows who the guys in the sketches are?”

  Decker exhaled. “I was watching him. I didn’t see any recognition on his face, but he could be good at lying.”

  “If Baccus is involved, why would he go after his own daughter?”

  “If Baccus is involved, why did he ask me to take her on in the first place?”

  “Like you said, maybe he thought she’d be a good source of information. And when she wasn’t, he pulled her off the case.”

  “Well, someone thinks she knows more than she does. And probably someone in Hamilton PD.”

  “Are you concerned for her safety?”

  “Yes. McAdams is with her this weekend. I’m also a little concerned about Tyler. He’s a cop, but he’s not really a cop cop. He’s never been on the mean streets.”

  “I’m sure he’s watching his back, Peter. He’s been shot twice.”

  “I know. He saved my life. He has good judgment. But he’s still a little green, and I’m not around.” He paused. “That’s why I’ve asked Kevin to keep an eye on both of them.”

  “That’s a little insulting to Tyler, don’t you think?”

  “It is. He’d kill me if he knew. This is the way I look at it, Rina. If McAdams doesn’t pick up Kevin’s tail, then I did the right thing. If he does pick up the tail, I’ll know for the future that he doesn’t need me mothering him. Either way, I feel good about my decision.”

  Florida—a state with year-round warm weather and no income tax—attracted many East Coast retirees eager to exchange freezing temperatures for a beachfront condo. The downsides were hurricanes and months on end of unrelenting heat and stifling humidity.

  Gainesville, the city of Decker’s birth, was ever changing, consistently rated a top-ten place to live. Housing was reasonable, employment was good, and it was a university town with an undergraduate population of over fifty thousand people from the University of Florida alone. The students basked in the temperate months and cleared out during the summer monsoons, although it could rain at any point in the year and often did. June, heading into July, was typically hot and damp and slapped like a wet towel on bare skin. The rental car had good air-conditioning and a good set of wipers, both amenities needed as Decker drove westward from the airpor
t. His mother’s house was outside the city. It was a modest structure that hadn’t been touched in several decades, sitting on a large parcel of land. Once it had been a bog, but his father, long ago, had diverted the waters and turned it into a manicured wetland. Although his mother let the dwelling go to seed, her gardens were still lush and green.

  At noon, Decker pulled up in front of a one-story sprawling ranch house with a wraparound porch and white-painted wood siding. The front lawn was emerald green, and the beds surrounding the grass were planted with flowers in every hue of the rainbow. As soon as he stepped out of the car, he whacked the back of his neck. The mosquitoes were out in full force. “I forgot the bug repellent.”

  Rina stepped out of the car. Beads of sweat congregated on her forehead. “I have it packed in the suitcase.”

  “Someone’s thinking.”

  “Thinking but not too clearly. I should have put it in my carry-on.” She walked quickly to the front door and knocked.

  It took several minutes for Ida to make it to the door. It swung open, and Rina was looking down at a diminutive, wizened figure with dark blue eyes and thinning pearly-white hair, dressed in light blue stretch pants and a short-sleeved floral blouse. Both of them smiled. Then came the quick hug.

  Ida said, “Come in before you let all the cold air out. You need help, Peter?”

  “Sure, you can bring in the suitcases.” When Ida started toward the car, Decker held a bony arm. “Ma, I’m kidding.”

  “Why? You don’t think I can do it?”

  “I know you can do it, but so can I.” He bent down to kiss her proffered cheek. “How are you?”

  “We’ll chat once you’ve got the suitcases.” She turned and headed into the house.

  Rina followed past a neat living room that was in perfect style sixty years ago. The furniture was clean but very, very tired. It didn’t reflect the near boundless energy of the ninety-four-year-old woman. The kitchen was the heart of the house: big and cool thanks to a room AC unit pouring out refrigerated air. The appliances were old, colored with enameled avocado, but they still worked well. The countertops were covered in hard plastic sheets in deference to Rina’s rules of kashruth.

  “I haven’t pulled out the pots and pans yet.” Ida sat down in the middle of the space at a large round table, covered in a new tablecloth. “I wanted to make sure you approve before I take anything from the cupboards. I changed the sponges and got new kitchen towels. Two sets for meat and milk. I needed to change my old ones, anyway, and they had towels on sale at Walmart.”

  “It looks perfect. Thank you for doing this.”

  Ida sighed. “What choice do I have? You won’t eat here otherwise.”

  “Mom, be nice,” Decker said.

  “I am nice,” Ida said. “I did it, didn’t I?”

  Rina laughed. “Yes, you did. I know you got the rib roast I sent you, Ida. Do you want me to cook it, or do you want to do it?”

  “You do it. I’ll bake. I got fresh apricots from the farmers’ market. I’ll make some pies.”

  “Sounds great,” Rina said.

  “I could make more if you’d stay longer.”

  “Mom—” Decker wagged a finger.

  “Who comes all the way out here for one day?”

  “I’m in the middle of a case.”

  “You’re always in the middle of something.”

  Decker nodded. “Yes, you’re right about that.” He checked his watch. “As a matter of fact, I’m going to shower and change. I have to interview someone, and it’ll take me at least an hour to get there. What time’s dinner?”

  “What time do you want it to be?”

  “Well, what time is Randy and whatshername coming in?”

  “Her name is Blossom.”

  “Blossom?” Decker held back a smile. “Is she nice?”

  “She’s forty-two with a tattoo on her neck.”

  “Randy has tattoos.”

  “Trash begets trash. And don’t tell me to behave myself. I am what I am and at ninety years old, I’m not going to change.”

  “Um, I think you’re ninety-four.”

  “Nonsense. I’ll be ninety-one in September.” Ida stuck her chin out in defiance. “Don’t you even know how old your own mother is?”

  “I thought I knew,” Decker said. “I guess not.”

  She grunted. Rina cleared her throat. “Why don’t you go shower now?”

  “Good idea. But I still don’t know when’s dinner.”

  “I’ll call you and let you know.” Ida paused. “Blossom’s okay. But she’s no Rina.”

  “Thank you, Ida,” Rina said. “That’s a terrific compliment.”

  “The woman can’t even boil water.”

  “Maybe she has other talents,” Rina said.

  “Probably the kind we can’t talk about in public,” Ida groused.

  “I’ll see you later, Ma,” Decker said.

  “Seven,” Ida told him. “Dinner’s at seven.”

  “Does Randy know the time he’s expected?”

  “No.”

  “Are you going to tell him?”

  “You tell him.”

  “Not a problem.”

  Ida said, “You will make it back on time, right?”

  “I’m planning on it.”

  “Good. I’d like to see you even if it’s only for a day.”

  “We’ll make it longer next time.”

  “You always say that.”

  Decker kissed her head again. “I do always say that, don’t I. I’m sorry about that, Mom. I promise to do better.”

  “Ach.” She waved him away. “Go do your business. I got cooking to do.” With that, she got up and went to fetch the kosher cookware.

  But not before Decker saw the tears in her eyes.

  Chapter 28

  The drive was over an hour from Gainesville going northwest but more west than north. Outside was hot and humid, and the roads hadn’t been looked at for a while. The two-lane highway took Decker through lush acreage of dogwoods, live oak, magnolia, and leafy cabbage palms. Newsome’s place was in the middle of nowhere—a one-story ranch home on a sizable spread of cleared ground. Greenery was all around—dense and deep—but there were power lines, which meant a decent chance that the man had AC.

  The area in front of the house was all gravel, the space taken up by a camper/trailer, an SUV, and a pickup. Decker parked on the pitted asphalt road, not wanting to ruin the undercarriage of the rental. The walk from the road to the house was around one hundred feet. By the time he rang the bell, his back was drenched in sweat.

  The door opened and a blessed waft of cool air hit his face.

  The man on the other side appeared to be in his seventies. He sported white hair, grizzled white stubble, and wrinkles all over his face—above his lips, on his forehead, creasing his cheeks, and surrounding his dark, perceptive eyes. Wearing a short-sleeved shirt and tan khakis, he was long and lean with big hands, extending one of them for Decker to shake. “Jack Newsome. Welcome.” His voice was deep and raspy. “Come in. It’s hot out there.”

  “That it is.” Decker walked inside, carrying a briefcase filled with information about his case as well as the sketches. “Thanks for seeing me.”

  “You want something to drink? Water? Lemonade?”

  “Whatever you’re drinking, I’ll have.”

  “I have vodka and lemonade. You want that?”

  Decker laughed. “I’m driving. Plain lemonade is fine.”

  Newsome led him into a small living room—more like a parlor with a leather couch, a big chair with a footrest, and a bay window holding a reading nook. One wall was filled with bookshelves that held actual books. “Ever been to Florida?”

  “I grew up in Gainesville. My first job was with their PD.”

  Newsome smiled. “Not foreign territory, then.”

  “It’s my ancestral home.”

  “How long were you with Gainesville PD?”

  “Four years. I signed with
the academy right after I came out of the army. I met my ex-wife at the university, and she wanted to go back to Los Angeles after we married. I have to say, I didn’t object. I liked L.A.”

  “You were with LAPD?”

  “I was. I ended my career as a lieutenant detective. Lots of pencil pushing, but I didn’t mind. Whenever there was a difficult homicide case, I got to work it.”

  “How long were you in Homicide?”

  “Many years.”

  “What brought you to Hamilton PD?”

  “Greenbury, actually. A good pension in my pocket and a slower pace of life.”

  “Understood. Have a seat.” Newsome left and came back with a pitcher of lemonade, a glass filled with ice, and a bottle of Stoli. “Just in case you change your mind.”

  “Thanks.”

  Newsome sat down. “I was born in New Hampshire, worked in Boston PD for thirty years. After I got my pension, I thought like you, only I wound up in Hamilton.”

  “How long were you there?”

  “Five years.” He shook his head. “I didn’t like it. I don’t mind small towns, obviously, but I didn’t like the small-town mind-set. After my wife died of cancer, I came down here and retired for good. Maybe that’s why I don’t like Hamilton. I associate it with a really rough patch in my life.”

  Decker nodded. “What brought you to Florida?”

  “It’s cheap, for one thing. It’s quiet. I don’t mind the heat, and I like the great outdoors. I fish in the Gulf, and I hunt whenever I get a chance.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “Do you hunt?”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “Too much death after homicide?”

  “Could be. But I’m Jewish, and we keep kosher. Which means that meat has to be ritually slaughtered. I couldn’t eat what I hunt, so there’s no sense shedding blood for sport.”

  “Oh . . . can you drink?”

  “Alcohol?” Decker smiled. “I can and I do, just not now.”

  “What about fish? Do you fish?”

  “I do fish, but I haven’t done it for a while.”

  “Can you eat the fish?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have some catfish frozen. I’ll give you a few steaks.”