The Lost Boys

by Faye Kellerman

  He handed the picture to Guy, who shared it with his wife. They leaned toward each other until their shoulders touched.

  Alison’s eyes got wet. “That’s Kathrine. Not very recent, though. It’s about a year old. Kathrine’s hair was long back then. She cut it very short after Bertram left.”

  “Her rebellion,” Guy said.

  “She was in mourning, Guy.” A look to Decker. “And this photograph was found at the nurse’s house?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she’s missing? The nurse?”

  “Yes.”

  “What is her role in all of this?”

  “I don’t know.”

  McAdams said, “You haven’t had any communication with your daughter in the last couple of days?”

  “No, but that’s not unusual,” Alison said. “We don’t call her every day. Her wishes.”

  “Nothing like a ransom note?”

  “A ransom note?” Guy was stunned. “You think she was kidnapped for money?”

  “Unfortunately, that’s usually the motive behind kidnappings.”

  “But look at how we live!” He shook his head. “I’m a retired college professor. My wife works in a flower shop. Do we look like the ransom type?”

  “Guy, they don’t know that.”

  “Excuse my asking,” McAdams said. “But how do you afford to send her to a residential facility?”

  “There are government programs that help out,” Guy said. “And Kathrine was provided for in my mother’s will. She adored her.”

  “We manage.” Alison looked at the detectives. “Doesn’t Bertram come from money?”

  “He does,” Decker said.

  “Did you ask Bertram’s parents about a ransom note?”

  “We haven’t been able to get hold of them.”

  “You can’t get hold of them?” Guy was aghast. “Do they know that their son is missing?”

  “I’ve called them, the director of the residence has called them. According to their private secretary, the parents are not available.”

  “What!” Guy was outraged. “I can’t believe that.”

  “I can.” When the detectives looked at Alison, she said, “When this romance started up between our children, I tried calling them. I wanted to hear their opinion, ask them did they have any insight they’d like to share. I, also, got a secretary, who said they’d call me back. They never did. For all I know, they’re just names. Maybe they’re not even real people.”

  “Mila and Kurt Lanz are real people.” Decker looked at McAdams. “Did we ever do a background check on Bertram’s parents?”

  “Yes, I did a search on the internet. They’re private people. Anything made public has to do with Kurt’s professional accomplishments.”

  “Let’s do a little more digging.” Decker’s brain was whirling. “See what you can find out about the family. It’s always possible that Bertram went back to Germany with Kathrine.” A pause. “Would you know if she had a passport?”

  “She does,” Alison said.

  “We took a trip to Europe three years ago,” Guy chimed in. “Kathrine loved it. We had such a great time.”

  Decker said, “Would you know if the passport is still current?”

  “We got a new one for the trip,” Guy said. “I think they’re good for ten years.”

  “And she’s in possession of it?” McAdams asked.

  “She asked for it a while back,” Guy said. “For ID purposes.”

  McAdams said, “Is there anyone else that Kathrine felt close to at her residence?”

  “No one she mentioned.” Alison’s eyes leaked tears. “She and Bertram wanted to get married.” She looked at her husband. “In retrospect, maybe that would have been for the best.”

  Guy said quietly, “At the time we did the best we could.”

  Alison regarded Decker. “Do you think that the nurse took them both away?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Decker said. “What I’ve been told, she appeared to like Bertram very much. And then we found this photo in her house. Maybe she thought it was the right thing—for them to be together—and she facilitated that.”

  “Let’s hope that’s the case.” Alison nodded. “At least that way they’re both safe.”

  “Does Kathrine have a phone or an email address that we might be able to tap into?”

  “We’ve called her phone over a dozen times,” Guy said. “It goes straight to voice mail.”

  “Same as Bertram Lanz,” Decker said. “Their phones are probably off. But we can get a lot of information from the phone company and her ISP server. It takes time to process things so if we could get the paperwork started, that would be helpful.”

  “I understand.” Alison supplied him with the information.

  Decker said, “And you will tell us if you hear from Kathrine.”

  “Of course. Right away.”

  “We just want to make sure she’s safe. If you hear from her, tell us. Even if she asks you not to tell us. You don’t want to waste police time.”

  “I understand,” Guy said.

  But Decker knew that if Kathrine asked them not to talk to the police, they probably wouldn’t say anything. Parents are parents first. Good citizenship was way overrated. He said, “I really hate to ask you this, but do you have an old toothbrush or hairbrush of Kathrine’s?”

  “DNA,” Guy said.

  “We’ve done the same for Bertram—and for the nurse we’re looking for. We have to be prepared for anything.”

  Silence in the room.

  “I haven’t given up. I’m still assuming that they’re very much alive. Right now, I’m trying to piece together a timeline. I’m sorry I can’t be more specific, but as the facts come in, I’ll let you know.”

  “I appreciate your honesty,” Guy said. “A rare thing in this day and age.”

  Decker nodded. “Thank you. I’ve always found that honesty works well. To me, lying is hard work.”

  CHAPTER 11

  IT WAS CLOSE to eleven in the morning by the time they were on the highway to Mangrove, Connecticut—approximately an hour and change away. McAdams could feel his stomach rumbling. He reached over into the backseat and retrieved a paper bag inside a cooler. “There’s tuna or what is this …” He stared at a wrapped sandwich. “I think this is egg salad.”

  “Go for it,” Decker said.

  “Thanks.” McAdams tried the egg salad. “Like the dill mayo. Good touch.”

  “I’ll tell Rina.”

  “Renee Forrester crapped out,” McAdams said. “Wasn’t she supposed to meet us at the Taylors’ house?”

  “She said she’d try.”

  “A resident is missing. You’d think she’d do more than try.”

  “You’d think.”

  “You’re a man of few words.”

  “Just thinking. If you’re bothering to kidnap someone whose parents have money, why take along another person to worry about? The only thing I can come up with is maybe Elsie figured that having Kathrine along would make Bertram more cooperative and more willing to deal with his parents.”

  “Sounds like a reasonable assumption.”

  “We really need to contact Bertram’s parents. I’m wondering about that number that was given to us. It might be fake.”

  “Do you want me to call up Interpol or something like that?”

  “We have no crime so Interpol isn’t an option. How about the local police?”

  “That can be done. Do you speak German?”

  “No,” Decker said. “Do you?”

  “No,” McAdams answered. Silence. “I know Rina’s parents were Holocaust survivors. Does she speak German?”

  “Her parents are Hungarian. She does speak a little German. And she doesn’t mind helping me out. But interviewing police officers in a foreign language is too much for her to take on.”

  McAdams agreed. He took another bite of his sandwich and popped the top on a can of Perrier. “Good stuff.”

  “When
are you leaving for New York again?” Decker asked. “Tomorrow?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “You’re renting a car?”

  “Yes, boss, I know how to do that.”

  “And you’re up for a long drive by yourself?”

  McAdams smiled. “Yes, Dad, I’ve done it dozens of times. You didn’t grow up around these parts. Los Angeles is its own island. You fly everywhere because nothing’s close. Unless you have a private plane or a helicopter, everyone around here drives from one city to another. From one state to another.”

  “Florida is on the East Coast.”

  “I mean those of us from the original thirteen colonies,” McAdams said. “Florida is an interloper.”

  “McAdams, you are such a snob.”

  “And I wear it proudly.”

  KATHRINE’S RESIDENTIAL FACILITY was located in the rolling hills of Mangrove, a town about the size of Greenbury, with its own police department. The brick two-story building was nestled between leafy trees under a blue sky intermittently whitewashed with clouds. The weather was warm, and the air was humid and perfumed with the blossoms of summer. Decker pulled into a visitor’s space in an open parking lot. He had called Detective Rand from the road, and they decided on a meeting time of twelve-thirty. Since Decker had arrived forty minutes early, he pondered the question swirling in his mind: wait, or go in and risk the wrath of the local law. Nearby he had passed a town with loads of cafés and a few restaurants. For once he decided to slow himself down. He turned to McAdams. “We’re a little early. Want to grab some coffee?”

  “You don’t want to go inside?”

  “Problem is, I told the local police I’d wait for them.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t have a long drive home facing them. Let’s just look around. No harm in that.”

  Decker smiled. He had trained McAdams well. “We might as well introduce ourselves to Dr. Forrester. That’ll eat up some time.” He got out of the car. McAdams followed.

  Double glass doors made up the front entrance, which was shaded by a green striped awning. Inside, they found a good-size lobby with floral couches and wood tables resting on a terrazzo floor. Toward the back was a U-shaped reception desk. Several people were behind the counter. One woman looked up and smiled. Garbed in a deep-blue uniform, she appeared to be in her early forties, with short brown hair and small brown eyes.

  “May I help you?”

  “We’re looking for Dr. Renee Forrester?”

  “To the left down the hall. Her office is on the right side.”

  “Thank you.” No curiosity about who they were and why they were there, but Decker didn’t complain. It was nice not to have to explain yourself.

  Forrester’s office was open. A woman, with a phone at her ear, sat behind a large desk and looked up. Decker showed her his badge, and she nodded and pointed to a couple of chairs. Her expression was weary—wrinkled brow and a frown. She was raking her hair with red painted nails.

  “I hear you, Derrick. We’ll work these issues out but I can’t do it now. I have the police in my office as we speak.” She listened patiently. “I’m fine … totally. No worries … I hear you … we’ll handle it, no problem … no prob. Derrick, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later. Bye.” To the men: “That guy needs a cane around the neck to exit stage right. I can’t tell if he’s just overly loquacious or trying to jack up the bill.”

  “Your lawyer?” Decker said.

  “Yes, he is. I called him regarding Kathrine. Obviously, he doesn’t want me talking to anyone about what happened until everything is sorted out.”

  “We’re all on the same side.”

  “Yes, we are,” Renee said, “but I understand where he’s coming from. Kathrine left on her own accord, that much I can tell you. She’s a legal adult even though she has special needs, so liability isn’t an issue.”

  “Then what’s with the lawyer?”

  “CYA time.” The woman sighed. “Enough of me. How are the Taylors holding up?”

  McAdams said, “All right, considering.”

  “I was planning on being there, but then I had an emergency and then Derrick said it would be a bad idea to meet them at their house. I did talk to them on the phone an hour ago. We made an appointment for them to come in tomorrow. They wanted to see her room. She didn’t have a whole lot and there’s not much left.”

  “What is left?” McAdams asked.

  “Some clothes, some books, some frilly things like a blanket and a few stuffed animals. Her phone is gone. Her laptop is gone. No diary that we could find. There are some papers in her desk. Maybe you guys can get a clue. Do you want to go up there now?”

  “I’d first like to see the closed-circuit tape from the day she went missing.”

  “Missing is a strong word. She left of her own free will.”

  “On the day she left, then,” Decker clarified.

  “Mangrove PD took the original disc.”

  That made perfect sense. “I’ll talk to them about it,” Decker said. “They should be here in about twenty minutes.”

  McAdams said, “Your CCTV is digital?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you must have a backup disc besides the original, right?”

  “Probably.”

  “Could you check?” McAdams said.

  Renee exhaled, then picked up the phone and dialed an extension. “Hi, it’s Renee. Is Sendra around?” She waited about a minute. “Hi, Sendra. Technical question. Do we have backup discs of our CCTV system? We do.” She gave a thumbs-up. “Okay, could you get it? I have some detectives in my office, and they want to take a look at Kathrine Taylor getting into the car. You have it, great! Thanks.” She hung up. “She says ten minutes. Can I get you coffee or water in the meantime?”

  “I’m okay, thanks.” Decker looked at McAdams.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Let me know if you change your mind.” She shook her head. “I sure hope this can be resolved soon. Any luck with Bertram Lanz?”

  “We’re still investigating.”

  “What about that blood in that nurse’s house?”

  “Still investigating.”

  “Is it Bertram’s?”

  “I don’t know. We took toothbrushes from Bertram and Kathrine for DNA purposes. Maybe I can also pick something up in her room?”

  “Like I said, there’s not much, but maybe you can see something that we missed.” Renee stood up. “I’ll walk you over to Sendra.”

  Decker stood up. “Thanks.”

  “God, what a mess.” Renee shook her head. “Everyone here is a mess.”

  “So are the Taylors,” McAdams added.

  Renee continued walking and didn’t respond. She kept her eyes glued to the terrazzo floor.

  THERE WAS NOTHING on the disc to identify the car’s make and model, but it wasn’t a total bust. The computer tech, Sendra—a twentysomething woman with multiple piercings and multiple tattoos—printed out three images that showed the car’s hubcaps. Sometimes hubcaps were as unique to the car as the badge itself. By the time Decker and McAdams climbed the steps to Kathrine’s room, two people from Mangrove PD were already poking around. One of them was tall and Nordic looking with blond hair, blue eyes, a jutting chin, and a florid complexion. He introduced himself as Michael, spelled Mikael, Rand. His partner was Sergeant Amy Rosner—short and compact, with blue eyes and curly dark hair. After Decker made introductions, he asked, “Have you found anything?”

  “We came here about ten minutes ago,” Rand said. “Someone said you were checking out something on the computer downstairs?”

  “I was looking at a copy of the disc from the CCTV that showed Kathrine leaving,” Decker said. “Trying to see if I could get anything distinguishing on the car.”

  “And?” Rosner asked.

  “Nothing on the car, but we saw parts of the hubcaps. Maybe they’re associated with a specific make or model.”

  “Clever. What else?”

  “Fro
m the disc?” Decker asked. “Nothing. Why? Did you notice something?”

  “Me, no. I didn’t even think about the hubcaps. What did you learn from the Taylors this morning?”

  “They didn’t know anything about the phone call or even much about Kathrine’s life once she left home. She tried to be independent, like Bertram. There is a possibility that they ran off together with the help of Elsie Schulung, the nurse who worked at Loving Care, where Bertram lived. We found a year-old photograph of Bertram and Kathrine in Elsie’s house.” Decker shook his head. “Maybe Elsie thought of herself as a modern-day matchmaker.”

  “Why do you say that?” Rand asked.

  “Well, for one thing, she had a picture of these two in her home. That says she had a relationship with them.”

  “Could be she was planning on kidnapping them and wanted a picture.”

  “Then why a year-old picture?”

  “How do you know it’s a year-old picture?”

  “Because Kathrine’s hair was very long in the picture. Her parents told me that she cut it short after Bertram left here. It wouldn’t have grown back that quickly.”

  “Clever,” Rosner said. “What about the blood you found in the nurse’s house?”

  “Baniff PD will do a DNA profile,” Decker said. “They promised to share.”

  Rand said, “Well, we haven’t found anything of use—no phone, no laptop, no tablet.”

  “Her parents told me she had a phone and an email account,” Decker said. “I’ve already been in contact with the phone company and her server, but it’ll take time to get the information.”

  Rosner said, “I’ve checked social media—Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, and WhatsApp. Nothing.”

  “Bertram isn’t on social media either,” McAdams said. “I suspect that many residential homes don’t allow it because it would expose their charges to all sorts of predators.”

  Rosner said, “Her two bottom desk drawers are stuffed with papers.”

  Decker walked over. “Anything interesting?”

  She pulled out a wad of papers from the middle drawer and sifted through them. “Pencil drawings. A lot of happy faces. One after the other.”

  Rand said, “Her maturity was like a kid, right?”

  “Yes and no,” McAdams said. “Can I see some of those?”