Walking Shadows

by Faye Kellerman

  “It happens to the best of us,” McAdams said.

  “Well, it happened to me a lot back then. I knew I couldn’t go in smelling like a weed field or a distillery. Take your pick. I waited until it mostly wore off. By that time, it was real late or very early—like two in the morning. I knew they’d still be working. And I knew my dad would yell at me. But he’d still be grateful for the help. I walked over to the store. I took my sweet time about it.”

  The tears reappeared.

  “Right before I got there, I froze. A police cruiser was parked in front of the store, the strobe going blue to red, blue to red, blue to red. I knew that wasn’t good. Dad would never randomly call the police.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was petrified. I took a step back and hid in the shadows. I was thinking about my next move.” Head down and then back up. “About a minute or two later, I saw two guys leave the shop. They were lugging, like, totes: carry-ons that you use for airplane travel. I thought, ‘Oh shit. Mom and Dad.’ They’ve been robbed. But then I thought, ‘But the police are here!’ I was utterly confused.”

  Decker nodded. “Understandable. I’m confused as well.”

  “The two men who left the shop walked opposite from where I was hiding. Walking, not running.”

  “No big hurry,” McAdams said.

  “No big hurry,” Levine repeated. “A car pulled up, they got in, and it took off.”

  “Okay,” Decker said. “Then what did you do?”

  “Just stood there trying to figure this out. I couldn’t make out any faces—it was way too dark—but I recognized the car. It was a real beat-up clunker. Easily recognizable.”

  A long pause.

  “It belonged to Joe and Jaylene Boch. That’s why I told you I think she was there.”

  Decker waited a few moments to give him time to collect his memories. “Why her and not him?”

  “Because I had just seen Joe Boch at this party. He was so wasted, he couldn’t even steer a shopping cart.”

  McAdams said, “This might be beside the point, but what was Joe Boch doing getting wasted with a bunch of kids?”

  “He was a motherfucker and an asshole and was constantly coming on to young girls who hated his guts. But”—Levine held up a finger—“he bought the beer and the booze for all us underaged kids. When I left the party, Joe was passed out.”

  “Ah,” Decker said.

  “And besides, we all heard that his old lady was fooling around.”

  “Who with?”

  “Some of my friends bragged that they nailed her. In her house with Joe Junior in the other room. God only knows why they’d want to fuck a skank like her. Harsh, I know, considering what happened to her.” He looked down. “But it totally wouldn’t surprise me that she was doing losers like Brandon Gratz and Kyle Masterson. God, everybody in town knew to stay away from those two. They were all just bad news.”

  “What about Yves Guerlin? What did you hear about him?”

  “I didn’t know who Yves Guerlin was until that horrible night,” Levine said. “All I know is when I finally made it inside the door, Guerlin and Mayhew were standing there, looking somber. They told me my parents were dead—shot and killed.”

  Tears ran down his cheeks.

  “Things got dizzy for me. I . . . passed out, just hit the floor. When I woke back up, I was still dizzy. Then I got sick to my stomach. I threw up. I think I might have fainted again. I don’t remember all of it. I was in total shock.”

  “What were Guerlin and Mayhew doing all this time?”

  “Actually, they were taking care of me. They wouldn’t let me go into the room where my parents were—at first. They asked me if I needed a doctor. They asked me if they should call an ambulance. One of them gave me a glass of water. They were . . . nice, I guess. They got me a chair and sat me down . . . let me catch my breath.”

  He waited a few moments before he continued.

  “Like I said, it was Guerlin who did most of the talking. He told me—as much as I remember—that he knew who did this to my parents. Because he saw them running out of the shop when they pulled up the cruiser. I knew that didn’t make sense. No one was running anywhere, but I was too stunned to say anything. Then Guerlin said . . . he repeated that he knew who the killers were, but he couldn’t prove anything without my help. I was wondering exactly how I could help except by cleaning up my puke.” A pause. “Do you see where this is leading?”

  “I have an idea,” Decker said. “Tell me.”

  “Guerlin said . . .” A deep breath in and out. “He said that he needed an eyewitness to the shooting. He said he needed me to tell the police that I saw what happened. He said that if I didn’t give testimony in court that I saw what happened to my parents, the guys who murdered them would walk.”

  A long pause.

  “Guerlin developed this plan. It sounded like he was making it up as he went along. He told me that they were going to leave—him and Mayhew—and that I should call 911 after they left. That I should be a witness to the crime to avenge my parents. They told me what to say to the dispatch operator; they told me what to say when the cops arrived. I was completely confused. They were the cops! Why did they want me to call 911 if the cops already arrived? I mean, what were they doing there in the first place?”

  “Did you ask them about it?”

  “I might have . . . I think I did. They said they responded, but it was too late. I was the only one who could get justice for my father and mother. I was so horrified and shocked and I didn’t question it. I just did what they told me to do.”

  “Which was?”

  “Guerlin’s plan. After they left, I called 911 like it was a new incident. I told them I saw what had happened. I didn’t do it exactly like they said because, frankly, I didn’t remember exactly what they told me to do. I told them I was hiding in the closet and saw one of the guys when he took his mask off. And after Gratz and Masterson were arrested, I felt I was already in it too deep to admit the truth.”

  “The truth that you really didn’t see what happened.”

  “Yes. I did not see what happened, but Gratz and Masterson had the jewelry, so it really didn’t feel like I was lying.”

  “But you didn’t identify Gratz to the detectives at the time.”

  “No, I just said I saw one of them and briefly. It was a lie but a small one. Later, they asked me to come in for a lineup. Guerlin paid me a visit. He told me to identify Gratz because my description matched him more than Masterson. And since I knew who Gratz was, I was able to identify him. And I felt okay about it. Guerlin and Mayhew were legit Hamilton cops and those two monsters had my parents’ jewelry in their possession. I didn’t feel I was doing anything wrong. I see how naive I was, but back then I didn’t even fathom a thought that the cops were in on the crime. My mind didn’t work that way.”

  “But now you think they could have been part of it?” When Levine didn’t answer, Decker said, “How is Guerlin threatening you?”

  “He isn’t threatening me.”

  “Okay, Gregg. Then what is he saying to you to make you nervous?”

  “Just saying that with everything that’s been happening with Jaylene, Joe Junior, and Brady Neil’s murder, that I should get my story straight because they—meaning the police—may start asking me questions about my parents’ murders.”

  “And how did you respond to that?”

  “I said, ‘What about you, Yves? You were there way before I arrived.’”

  “And?”

  “And he told me that he and Mayhew couldn’t have been there. They were called out on another dispatch. If anyone looked at the police log, there wouldn’t be a record of Mayhew or him being at my parents’ store. Of course, then it hit me . . . it only took me twenty years. They had to have been in on it.” He shook his head as if to erase the memory. “I don’t know if they were in on it from the beginning—or they just happened to take the call and got greedy . . . struck a deal with Gr
atz and Masterson to keep silent in exchange for loot. Whatever the deal was, it didn’t help, because Gratz and Masterson were arrested a month later with jewelry from the store.”

  “Not all of it,” Decker said. “I heard some big pieces were missing.”

  Levine took in a deep breath and let it out. “Baccus said that the big pieces were probably fenced. They were filled with gems—easy to take apart and sell separately.”

  “Of course,” Decker said.

  “Or . . .” Levine sighed. “Yeah, the cops could have taken them in exchange for keeping their silence. I didn’t think about it at the time. Guerlin and Mayhew were never in the picture—at all. Not during the investigation, not during the arrest, not during the trial. It puzzled me, but I kept my mouth shut. You’ve got to remember how frightened I was. I wanted Gratz and Masterson to go away for life. I was shocked when they got off with such a light sentence. Maybe Guerlin got them some kind of deal in exchange for silence. I’m sure judges can be bribed.”

  “Some can be bought,” Decker concurred.

  “The thing is . . .” Levine swallowed coffee. “If Guerlin and Mayhew were actually the ones who murdered my parents, you can see why I’m nervous. And since they were actually legitimate cops, you can understand why I don’t want to talk about this with Hamilton police.”

  “I thought Baccus was your friend,” McAdams said.

  “He is. But he’s also chief of police and was the lead investigator in my parents’ murders and I don’t know what he knows or doesn’t know. I just don’t want to involve him right now.”

  “You think he might have been in on it?” McAdams asked.

  “No.” Levine was adamant. “I can’t believe that. But he could have found out something after the fact. I’m not saying he did, but I know if my testimony is thrown out, it screws up the entire case. And this was Victor’s breakout case.”

  “Your testimony will be thrown out,” Decker said. “You know I’m going to have to report this, right?”

  “Yeah, I guess I was hoping . . . of course. As long as you go after Guerlin and Mayhew.”

  “That’s for damn sure.” Decker pulled out a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Write down everything you remember about that night. Every detail, no matter how small and insignificant.”

  Levine took the pad and pen. “To this day, even now, I never felt guilty about lying about Gratz and Masterson. I know they robbed my parents. They had jewels in their possession. And deep in my heart of hearts, I know they killed my parents.”

  “That could be, but the case is going to be overturned. The D.A. won’t retry unless there’s evidence against them for murder. The case hinged on your eyewitness testimony. And now that’s gone.”

  “My parents had been brutally slaughtered and I did what the cops told me to do. I don’t apologize for that.”

  “But maybe it was those cops who did the murders,” McAdams suggested.

  “Then shame on them for taking advantage of a horrified kid who was in emotional and physical shock.” Levine grew red. “Shame on them, and shame on all of you.”

  It was almost dark when Decker and McAdams walked Levine out of the Greenbury station. Decker was famished and exhausted, and all he wanted to do was go home to a hot sabbath meal and a warm bed. What awaited him instead were piles of paperwork and endless phone calls in wake of what Levine had just admitted. Everyone had to be contacted—Radar, Baccus, district attorneys, judges. But most of all they needed to find Guerlin and Mayhew and get their side of the story.

  Levine had parked across the street. As the trio waited for the light to change, he took out his phone and unlocked the car doors with a smart app. “I can’t say this has been fun.” He looked up at the sky. “It’s been a long time coming. Those bastards served twenty years. I won’t say it’s enough, but it’s something.” His eyes went to Decker’s face. “Am I going to be prosecuted?”

  “That’s not for me to decide, Gregg. I will have to present everything you told me to the people in charge and let them decide. For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t bring charges against you. Even if Gratz and Masterson didn’t pull the trigger, it was the robbery that set the whole thing in motion. I don’t feel sorry for them.”

  “Thank you for saying that even if you don’t mean it.”

  “The boss always means what he says,” McAdams told him.

  Levine managed a smile. The light changed. As they stepped off the sidewalk to cross the street, Levine aimed his phone at his car to start the motor.

  The explosion was immediate.

  Without conscious thought, Decker hit the ground, taking Levine and McAdams down with him as an earsplitting boom reverberated in his ears. A ball of blinding light and heat with glass and metal flew over his body, some of the shards piercing his clothing. A wave of hot air reeking with gasoline scorched his back. Then came the stench of burning rubber and melting metal. As Levine started to lift his head, Decker shoved it back down. “Don’t move. There could be more than one bomb.” He realized he was on top of McAdams and slithered off.

  “You okay, Harvard?”

  “Peter, your back is pocked with glass and metal.”

  “Yeah, it feels like it’s been hit with a bunch of needles.” Slowly, he got up, shards of glass and metal slipping down his back and onto the sidewalk. People were rushing out of the police station. Several moments later, fire trucks were racing down the street, diving into pure chaos.

  McAdams stood, bringing Levine up with him. Decker said, “Get him back in the station house.”

  “You need a doctor,” McAdams said.

  Decker could hardly hear him above all the noise. That and his ears were still ringing hot from the explosion. Kevin Butterfield suddenly materialized. “What the fuck!” He looked at Decker’s back. “Oh shit!”

  “I’m fine, Kev. Get some officers out here, do crowd control, and secure the crime scene. Do we have a bomb squad?”

  “No. I’ll handle this, Deck. You take care of yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Decker rolled his shoulder. The heat had burned through his clothing. He knew his back, on top of being a pincushion, was also sporting a bad sunburn. “We need to get Gregg to safety.” Levine had several jagged pieces of metal in his back. “Wait. Don’t move. You’ve got debris in your back, Gregg. I don’t want you walking until you’ve been looked at.”

  McAdams took out his phone. “I’ll call for an ambulance.”

  “Somebody beat you to it. Go inside and get some face masks. These fumes are toxic.” He whispered, “And get a cruiser out to Levine’s house ASAP.”

  McAdams left as an ambulance was careening down the road. Decker waved it forward. Two paramedics—a woman and a man—jumped out.

  “He needs attention.” Decker was referring to Levine. “I don’t know if anyone else was hurt more seriously.”

  Just then a firefighter from across the street shouted to them. “I’ve got a woman down!”

  Immediately, the paramedics raced across the street. Someone had turned on an arc lamp from one of the fire trucks. The water from the fire hoses let loose, and billows of rancid, oily smoke filled the air. Another ambulance pulled up. Decker said, “There’s a woman down across the street. When you’re done with that, can I have someone look at his back? I don’t want him walking if the pieces are deeply embedded.”

  Amid the fire, the heat, the smoke, and the stink, two other paramedics dashed onto the scene. One of them was a stout woman named Candy. She tore off Levine’s shredded shirt and took a look at his back. It was scratched and burned and had small pieces of metal stuck into the skin.

  “Can he walk inside? The fumes are toxic out here.”

  “Just wait a sec. I’ll be right back.”

  McAdams returned with a box of face masks. Officers started reining in the gathering crowds. Kevin had returned with crime scene tape and was barking orders. Tyler said, “Cruisers are on the way to the Levine house.” When Decker told him to go inside and wait
in better air, he said, “I’m not going anywhere.”

  The paramedic returned with a black bag. As she swabbed the area, Levine winced. Slowly, she took out the biggest metal shard. It bled profusely. She applied pressure to the spot. “You’re not going to die, but you need to go to the hospital. This should be done by a doctor.”

  From across the street, paramedics were wheeling a gurney to an ambulance. The woman had an oxygen mask over her nose and face.

  “She okay?” Decker shouted.

  A paramedic gave him a thumbs-up, meaning she’d live. How seriously she was hurt . . . The paramedic continued to work on Levine’s back, slowly pulling out bits and pieces. Five minutes later, another ambulance pulled up.

  “Go to the hospital, Gregg.” He looked at McAdams. “You go with him.”

  Levine had yet to speak. He paled and his knees buckled. He whispered, “My wife and kids!”

  McAdams checked his phone. “I just got a text. Someone’s out there. They’re fine.”

  “Who?” Levine panicked. “Not from Hamilton!”

  “No, it’s our officers,” McAdams said. “Your family is fine.”

  Radar had pulled up and jumped out of his car. “I was on my way home when I heard.” His face was horror-stricken—wide eyes and a pasty complexion that Decker could see even in the poor street lighting. “God Almighty! What the hell happened?”

  “Mr. Levine’s car was bombed—”

  “Christ!”

  McAdams said, “We have two men from our department out at Mr. Levine’s house. His family is fine, but Mr. Levine needs to go to the hospital.” He cocked his head toward Decker. “So does the boss, but he’s not budging.”

  “Go with him to the hospital, Decker.” Radar’s phone rang. “That’s an order.”

  “Not going to happen until I figure out what’s going—”