Walking Shadows

by Faye Kellerman

  “Cut the rhetorical questions, Peter. I’m grumpy. It’s late. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Maybe Guerlin didn’t do the murders, but he knew who did.”

  McAdams didn’t speak for a few moments. “You think he’s protecting his sons.”

  “I could be way off base. But if my dad just got killed, and I had nothing to do with it, I’d certainly want to know what happened. Phil hasn’t shown up for work in a couple of days. Shouldn’t we talk to them to find out what they know? Shouldn’t we at least see if they’ve been contacted?”

  “And if they have been contacted?”

  “Then I’ll go home and go to bed and continue on with my musings tomorrow.”

  “And if they haven’t been contacted?”

  “Then I still have a little work to do.”

  Radar had deep bags under his eyes. His face was pasty and his lips were cracked. His white shirt, usually pressed to military degree, was wrinkled and dirty. All he wanted was to finish his paperwork and go to bed. What he didn’t want was someone bringing up problems. His eyes swept over his desk and eventually landed on the faces of Decker and McAdams. “Guerlin admitted to the murders. It’s Baccus’s case. He’s satisfied. Go home.”

  “Brady Neil is my case—”

  “Go home!”

  Decker said, “I’m just as tired as you are, Mike. Just call him up and ask if he’s talked to Guerlin’s sons.”

  “Baccus is with his daughter right now. I’m not about to disturb him. Go home.”

  Decker paused. “Yeah, you’re right. He’s probably not taking any phone calls. What about Wendell Tran? He should know if someone contacted the sons.”

  “Why is this so important to you?”

  “Because Phil Guerlin hasn’t shown up for work for days. I want to know where he is.”

  “Okay. You must think that Guerlin’s sons had something to do with Neil’s murder—even though Yves Guerlin admitted to killing Neil and Boch. And Brady Neil has been visiting his father for the last six months, so it’s totally possible that Brandon told Brady everything about the robbery/murder. Blackmailing Yves Senior probably sounded like a sweet deal to Brady Neil.”

  “If Brandon told Brady all about the Levine murders, and Brady decided on a blackmail scheme, why would he drag Joe Junior into it?” McAdams said. “By all accounts, Joe was kind of an idiot and Brady was kind of a loner.”

  “You’re not helping,” Radar said.

  “It’s a good question,” Decker said.

  “This is what I think,” Radar said. “Phil Guerlin overheard Boch and Neil talking about their blackmail plans and he told his dad about it. His dad offed them. End of story.”

  “That is completely logical,” Decker said. “And I’d love to talk to Phil to verify that. But before I can, I’d like to know where he is. You’re right about Baccus. He isn’t going to talk to me. But how about if I make a call to Wendell Tran?”

  “It’s not your place to call.”

  “Then can you please make the call?”

  Radar exhaled. “Since you said please. But the poor man is probably asleep.”

  “He’s probably buried under a mound of paperwork. And if he’s any kind of a detective, he’s probably very busy trying to find Denny Mayhew,” Decker said. “I think Guerlin and Mayhew had split up when they saw Gregg Levine go into Greenbury station house. I think the two of them knew that they had to split up. I bet at that point Mayhew wanted out and Guerlin was on his own. Please, can you call Tran?”

  The captain’s eyes were angry, but he nodded. “I’ll see if Wendell Tran is answering his phone.”

  “Thank you very much.”

  “Wait outside,” Radar said. “I don’t want you listening to the conversation. You’re making me nervous and mad at the same time.” He paused. “How do you feel, Pete?”

  “Horrible.”

  “After the phone call, you’ll go home and get some rest?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Get out of here.” Radar picked up the phone. “Now.”

  Decker and McAdams waited in a dark, empty squad room shared by the detectives. A few minutes later, Radar came out and sat in a vacant chair. He held up his hands and let them drop by his side. “No word on the whereabouts of the boys or Mayhew. They’ve got an APB out for Denny.”

  “What about the boys?” McAdams said.

  “What about them? They’re not implicated in anything.”

  Decker said, “I think they—well, at least Phil—know something about the murders of Boxer and Brady. He worked with them and shortly after they were killed, he disappeared. That’s not suspicious?”

  “We don’t know that Phil disappeared. All we know is that he’s not home, he’s not answering their phone.”

  “And we know he hasn’t shown up for work,” McAdams said.

  “Maybe he took time off.”

  Decker said, “Can you put out an APB on him?”

  Radar glared at him. “I asked Tran what he thought about that. It’s his call. The Boch house murders are under his jurisdiction.”

  “You think he’ll do it?”

  “I don’t know. He might. He does admire your persistence.”

  “Really?”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “Persistence is my middle name.”

  “No, that would be pain in the ass.” Radar sighed. “Everything’s being taken care of, Pete. Deal with the shit tomorrow—when you’re more refreshed. Take him home, McAdams.”

  “Gladly.”

  Decker got up slowly. As he and Tyler reached the exit, Radar said, “Detectives?”

  They both turned around.

  “You made me look good. Excellent work.”

  He slept for fifteen hours. When he finally woke up, it was almost dinnertime and Rina was hovering over him, her face a mask of worry and concern. She placed a hand on his forehead. “You’re hot.”

  “I’m okay,” Decker answered. But clearly, he wasn’t. He was stiff and in pain. His mouth was dry, and his pajamas were soaked in sweat. He smelled like a sewer.

  “I think you’re running a fever,” she said. “I’ll call the doctor—”

  “No, please don’t. Just bring me a couple of Advils and a couple of Tylenols. And a strong cup of coffee. I’ll be fine.”

  She knew better than to argue. “You know, Peter, we moved here to get away from all the crime and the stress. Maybe it isn’t working. Maybe you do need to retire.”

  “You might be right, but can we talk about this some other time?”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll get you that cup of coffee.” Rina grimaced as she looked at him struggling to get up. “Need a hand?”

  “No, no. I just need to feel like a human.” He was finally on his feet. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen as soon as I’ve washed off, shaved, and dressed.”

  “I’ll get you a clean pair of pajamas.”

  “I need to go into work. I won’t be long.”

  Rina laughed with incredulity. “It’s after five in the afternoon. You’re not going anywhere.”

  She was right. Decker sighed. “Okay. I won’t argue.”

  His answer made Rina very concerned. “I’ll go make coffee.”

  “Can you call Tyler for me? Ask him to drop by?”

  Rina felt slightly better. Still obsessed with the case, but he’d pump McAdams from the comfort of home. “It’s Shabbos, Peter.”

  Decker hit his head. “Of course. I’ll do it. I’ll make the coffee, too.”

  “No, I have instant and hot water. Don’t worry about it. Go call Tyler.”

  An hour later, McAdams came waltzing through the front door. Decker had sponged himself off, washed his hair, shaved, and had put on a clean set of sweats. The medicine had also kicked in. He didn’t feel good, but he did feel better. He envied McAdams’s blithe spirit.

  “Something smells good!” Tyler sang out.

  Rina said, “Chicken vegetable soup.”


  “Yummy,” Tyler said. “What else?”

  “That’s it. Chicken vegetable soup. Oh, I also bought a baguette. You’re welcome to stay, but that’s all there is.”

  “More than I have at home.”

  “What do you have at home?”

  “A carton of milk, a can of instant coffee, and a bag of doughnut holes. You need help?”

  “No, I can ladle soup.”

  “In that case . . .” McAdams pulled up a chair from the dining room table. He regarded Decker and clucked his tongue. “Boss.”

  “Hey.” Decker took in a breath and let it out. It hurt. “What’s happening with the Guerlin boys?”

  “Still ignotus.”

  “Ignorant?”

  “Unknown. Well, they aren’t unknown, but their whereabouts are. How do you feel?”

  “Never mind about me. What are the powers that be doing to find them?”

  “Tran did put out an APB. Hamilton is doing what they can do.”

  “Right.”

  “No, it’s the truth, Decker. No one is sitting on their hands.” McAdams leaned forward. “You might as well relax, because you can’t get time to tick faster.”

  “I suppose that’s true.”

  McAdams blew out air. “No easy way to say this, boss. Jaylene Boch died this morning of a massive heart attack. And before you even ask the question, yes, we had people on her day and night. No one went in or out without being screened. The upshot is she passed from natural causes, probably brought on by all the stress. But we both know she wasn’t a well woman. Shit happens.”

  Decker bit his lip but said nothing. Although it hurt to talk, it didn’t hurt to think. He spent a few moments taking in what the kid had told him.

  McAdams filled in the silence. “Which means, or course, we’ll never really know about the bloodbath at her house, the hidden pictures in her wheelchair, or the ins and outs of the Levine murders unless we get other people talking—like Brandon Gratz. And since he’s not likely to talk, we are at an impasse. And maybe that’s okay. It’s a twenty-year-old case. If Guerlin Senior is to be believed, we basically know what happened. Maybe not every detail but . . .” He threw up his arms. “Boss, the Levine case is dead. Let’s just say a few words and bury the body.”

  Decker didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “I think you’re right.”

  Tyler stared at him. “That’s a first.”

  “When you’re right, you’re right.”

  “Why do I feel there’s a but.”

  “I still have an open case with Brady Neil. I know you think that Phil Guerlin overheard Boxer and Neil talking about blackmail. I know you think that Phil told his father about the blackmail plot. And I know you think Yves killed them both, but it doesn’t make sense. Why in the world would he and Mayhew stick around if they killed Boxer and Neil? The file was stolen after the murder, Harvard. The son, on the other hand, suddenly disappeared. The son. Not the dad. I mean, a seasoned cop murders two people, leaves a key witness alive, and then sticks around to steal a police file? Does that make any sense?”

  “Not really,” McAdams said. “What are your thoughts?”

  “My thoughts are confused right now,” Decker admitted. “I think we’re working two different cases with different motives. I think we have Yves Guerlin and Denny Mayhew, who came to Hamilton to find out what we had on them regarding the Levine case when I started poking around. And I think we have the Phil Guerlin/Boxer/Neil case, which really didn’t have anything to do with the Levine case.”

  “Okay, let’s expand on your idea. Forget about Guerlin and Mayhew. Why would Phil Guerlin kill Boxer and Neil?”

  “Let’s look at the crime scene again, Harvard. Boxer’s blood was all over the place. It spurted, it spattered, it dripped. Neil, on the other hand, was hit with a fatal blow to the back of his head.”

  “Boxer was the intended target. We always knew that.”

  “Right.” A pause. “The one and only time I talked to Phil, he said he liked Neil. But it was clear he didn’t like Boxer. Boxer and Neil were friends, although no one seems to know why. By all accounts, Neil was smarter than Boxer. Joe Junior was a dummy like his dad. And the two of them were ten years apart.” Another pause. “Still, I’m sensing some kind of triangle here. No, not a lovers’ triangle, but something.”

  McAdams said, “You are back to your original theory, then—that Neil was working some kind of electronic sales scam. Even though there are cameras all over the place.”

  “Cameras can’t capture everything. We know that from experience, after looking at dozens of CCTV footage on the tollway. And if Neil worked there long enough, he might know where the cameras are.”

  “Maybe,” McAdams said.

  “Suppose . . .” Decker thought a moment. “Suppose that Neil was working the scam with Phil—who worked in the warehouse. Boxer found out about it and horned in.”

  “Or maybe Neil invited Boxer in because they were friends,” McAdams said. “Phil didn’t want it. The three of them argued and, boom, we have a bloodbath.”

  “Exactly.”

  “One thing, though. Why did Phil leave Jaylene alive?”

  “Maybe the adrenaline had worn off and he didn’t have the heart to kill an old lady. Or maybe she played dead.”

  “Why tie her up?”

  “Just in case.”

  “Hmm, I don’t know about that,” McAdams said. “Anyway, when we find Phil, you can ask him yourself.”

  “If we find him. He may be long gone.”

  Rina brought in a tray of soup bowls. “Business is over.”

  “I’ll eat to that,” McAdams said.

  “Are you hungry?” Rina asked her husband.

  “Actually, I am.”

  “Then let’s eat and talk about things other than unsolved cases and murder.”

  Which meant the three of them ate in silence.

  Blessed silence.

  Chapter 34

  A week later, the small town still reeled in the aftermath. Lenora Baccus, adorned with honors and hailed as a heroine in service to her city, was given accolades as well as an extended leave of absence. She left Hamilton two days after it was over, without so much as a wave good-bye. Decker wasn’t granted an opportunity to talk to her, but she did leave him a note—given to him by Wendell Tran—that included her warmest regards and her gratitude to him for being a true mentor. The phraseology didn’t sound like her, and Decker suspected that someone in the office had penned it for her. He had thought about contacting her directly, but he had enough going on in his life without stirring up the pot.

  Levine’s Jewelry immediately posted a notice of indefinite closure. Going along with the same theme, Yvonne Apple’s house bore a For Sale sign that matched the sign sitting on Gregg Levine’s front lawn. Both families moved out a few days after the incident. And both left no forwarding address.

  Victor Baccus put in his papers for retirement: a good thing considering that the murder convictions of Brandon Gratz and Kyle Masterson were about to be overturned due to Gregg Levine’s perjury. The felons knew that the wheels of justice grind slowly: red tape took a long time to advance through the system. The D.A. still had the option of retrial, but since the defendants had served almost twenty years and both were up for parole in a year, it was decided that the sentences would be commuted to time served. Within a couple of weeks, both men would be out—as free as yellowjackets, buzzing around some poor unsuspecting soul, waiting for their next meal of blood.

  The dust was still settling when Philip Guerlin walked into Hamilton PD ten days after his father was murdered. By the time Decker arrived with McAdams in hand, Guerlin had been seated in an interview room. He had lost weight and muscle, and his inked arms sagged with loose flesh. His bald head had grown into a ginger crew cut now that his red mohawk was gone. His eyes were tired and his cheeks were all bone. He wore a black T-shirt over denim jeans, both items of apparel two sizes too big for him.

  McAdam
s pulled out a laptop. His primary function was to take notes, although the interview was being recorded and videotaped. Tran and Decker would do the majority of the questioning. Tyler had no doubt that Decker would take the lead. He was not only a great detective, he was a great interrogator.

  The men shook hands without enthusiasm. Guerlin took a sip of water. His voice was a quiet hollow. “I heard you were looking for me and my brother.” He cleared his throat. “YJ isn’t coming in. He’s . . . I told him I’d find out what’s going on for the both of us.”

  “Where is Yves Junior?”

  “None of your business,” Guerlin said. A beat. “What do you want?”

  Tran opened a notepad. His dress included a white shirt, pink tie, black slacks, and black sneakers. “Initially, we wanted to contact you and your brother about your father’s death.”

  “I think we’re past that. Anything else? Your phone calls to me are menacing.”

  “That wasn’t our purpose.”

  “What was your purpose?”

  Decker said, “Thanks for coming in.”

  “Yeah, yeah. What do you want?”

  Tran said, “Where have you been?”

  “Anywhere but here. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

  “Must be hard for you,” Decker said.

  “Thank you, Detective Obvious.”

  “Press been hounding you?”

  Guerlin fidgeted. “I don’t talk to the press. And I really don’t want to talk to the police.”

  “Yet here you are,” Tran said.

  “Like I said, the phone calls were threatening.”

  Decker said, “I’m sorry for your loss, Phil.”

  Guerlin’s nostrils flared. “Right.”

  “I understand that your father was very dedicated to you and your brother.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I don’t know what he did behind closed doors, but that’s what he showed to the public. Was it accurate?”

  Guerlin stared into space. He didn’t answer.

  Decker continued. “When your father was in the jewelry store with Detective Baccus, he told her a lot of things.” Guerlin’s eyes returned to Decker’s face. “We’re wondering if he told you things about his life before he died—”