The Lost Boys

by Faye Kellerman

  “Any reason why Bennett would put himself out there for a guy he felt was a pest?” McAdams asked.

  “Because he was a nice boy!” Harriet’s eyes moistened. “I know people thought he was full of himself, but they were jealous because Bennett had the world at his fingertips.” The tears were stronger. “He had his whole life ahead. He could have been a wonderful, productive member of society—the kind of person this world needed. And now he’s gone!” She was sobbing.

  Decker said, “We will keep at this case until we have some answers.”

  “No, you won’t,” Harriet shot back. “You’ll look for a while, and then newer cases will push my son to the back of the line. I’m not blaming you, but I know how it works.”

  “I am sorry you’re frustrated,” Decker said. “But it’s different this time, Mrs. McCrae.”

  “Harriet.”

  “Finding out what happened is our top priority.” Decker paused. “Harriet, was Bennett an experienced camper?”

  “Not from us. We’re not campers, but he went to sleep-away camp for five years. Maybe he got a taste of it there.”

  McAdams said, “Did he tell you he was going camping that weekend?”

  “Not specifically. He phoned me and said he wouldn’t be on campus over the weekend. Naturally, I asked him where he was going. He said he had a three-day holiday because of Parents’ Weekend and he was deciding between several places. He was thinking about Vermont or Canada. He also mentioned camping. He said the weather was going to be nice and he wanted to be outdoors. None of us knew how much colder it was in the forest until we got to Greenbury. That’s when I really started to worry.”

  “I’m sorry I have to ask these questions,” Decker said. “I know it’s hard, but if you can think back a little. When Bennett told you he was going camping, did it strike you as odd?”

  “No. Like I said, he told me the weather was going to be nice. He was a strong boy. He was athletic. Why not go camping?”

  “Did he own camping equipment?”

  “I don’t know, Detective.”

  “No gear stored away at your house?”

  “No. Like I told you, we didn’t camp.”

  Decker said, “And there was no specific reason why he went camping that weekend other than he wanted to be off-campus and in nature.”

  “I would think that would be enough of a specific reason.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” Decker said. “Getting away from campus is always a good reason.”

  She nodded her head. “Zeke was found buried in the ground. So his death wasn’t accidental.”

  “His death could have been accidental, but burying him was not,” Decker said.

  Her lip quivered. “How did he die? Or can’t you say after all these years?”

  “Still investigating, but he had a shattered hand.”

  “He was shot?”

  “We haven’t found evidence of a firearm yet,” Decker said. “We’ve asked this question to Zeke’s parents and to Max’s parents. Please don’t be offended. Did Bennett own a gun?”

  Harriet’s lower lip was still quivering. She bit it with her front teeth. “Not when he lived at home.”

  “Okay,” Decker said. “How about at college?”

  “I don’t think you’re allowed to have a gun in your dorm room.”

  An idea suddenly popped into Decker’s head. “There’s an indoor shooting range up there—at the Five Colleges. Did he ever go to it?”

  She didn’t answer.

  McAdams said, “If you don’t know, we can check it out. They’re required to keep a logbook.”

  She looked sheepish. “I believe he said something to us about going to the range.”

  “Okay,” Decker said. “Thanks for being honest—”

  “I told him that whatever he did up there, that was his business. But he was not to bring a gun home. I was adamant about that.”

  “Then he did own a gun?”

  “I don’t know if he did or didn’t. He did mention that he was learning to shoot. There wasn’t a gun when we got his things back from his dorm room. That much I can tell you.”

  McAdams turned to Decker. “It’s possible that he kept a gun in a locker at the range.”

  “It wouldn’t be there after all this time, but we could find out if he kept a locker.” Decker turned to Harriet. “Did you ever get any kind of a bill from the gun range? Perhaps a storage fee or membership bill or anything like that?”

  “Not that I remember.” She wiped her wet eyes. “Bennett was into a million activities. I’m sure shooting was just one of many things he tried out. Are we done?”

  She was reaching her limit. No sense pushing her when Greenbury PD could check the gun range’s records. Perhaps they’d make some headway. “Thanks so much. I’m sure it’s been difficult.”

  “You have no idea.”

  She was right. He didn’t have any idea. Thank God for that. Decker said, “We’ll show ourselves out.”

  Harriet stood up. “I’ll show you out. Least I can do since you came all this way for nothing.”

  “Not for nothing,” Decker said. “Getting background is important. Meeting you … looking you in the eye, that’s important. It reminds us why we work in Homicide. There is justice to be done and someone’s got to do it. Who better than me?”

  DRIVING TO THE airport. This time McAdams was behind the wheel. Decker said, “What do you think about Harriet throwing away all the PI files?”

  “Same as Wanda Velasquez.”

  “At least Wanda kept something—a synopsis.”

  “A meaningless synopsis, but I see your point. There was something about both of them that said, ‘I really don’t want to talk to you.’”

  Decker said, “Wanda seemed to blame everything on Bennett, who, depending who you talked to, ranged from being a nice guy to an arrogant user of people.”

  “Yeah, Wanda really didn’t think twice about throwing Bennett under the bus. And Harriet didn’t think twice about portraying Max as a pest. It’s odd. All three boys were victims.”

  Decker said, “Maybe Harriet and Wanda just want someone to scapegoat.”

  “Or Max and Bennett could still be alive,” McAdams said. “They were both a little evasive.”

  “Leery. I’m sure they’ve been disappointed many times and they don’t want to get their hopes up.” Decker opened a bottle of water. “On a whole other topic, what do you think about Bennett taking shooting lessons?”

  “Totally plausible. Everyone has portrayed him as an adventurous guy.”

  “I think that’s important,” Decker said. “Everyone we talked to said Max followed Bennett like a puppy dog. It’s conceivable that once Bennett started with shooting lessons, Max imitated him.”

  McAdams said, “But even if Max did kill both of them, do you see him as capable enough and strong enough to bury two guys like Bennett and Zeke?”

  “If he had enough time. Desperate men do desperate things.”

  “Bennett, on the other hand, would have no problem.”

  Decker said, “I’m just trying to work out a motive. Why would Bennett kill Max and Zeke?”

  “I don’t know. Why would Max kill Bennett? He idolized him.”

  “Maybe he just got tired of being the butt of everyone’s jokes.”

  McAdams said, “He snapped. Something trivial might have finally gotten to him.”

  “Possibly,” Decker said.

  “He snapped and took it out on whoever was around,” McAdams said to himself. To Decker he said, “We should check the range to see if Max was taking shooting lessons along with Bennett.”

  Decker said, “We should check out all three of them. We’ll do it first thing tomorrow morning.”

  “Yeah, we have to get back to Greenbury first. We’re going into Kennedy?”

  “Yes, Rina will meet us with the car. We’ll drive back tonight.”

  “You’re not eating dinner with the kids?”

  “We’ll
get in too late. Rina will pick something up for the car ride back. I think she’s getting sandwiches from somewhere. I’ll ask her to pick you up something.”

  “Thanks,” McAdams said. “What are you having?”

  “Probably a chicken breast sandwich.”

  “I’ll take pastrami on rye with mustard.”

  “The ironclad stomach of youth.”

  “You’re just jealous.”

  “Damn right, I am. My blessing to you is thus: may it be many years before you learn the joy of heartburn.”

  “Amen to that.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THE FIVE COLLEGES of Upstate New York were spread over considerable acreage, each institution with its own land, its own specialties, its own dorms, and its own character. The oldest school, Duxbury, was founded about 150 years earlier and had a reputation for excellence. It boasted Beaux Arts architecture, which translated into stately buildings of limestone, weathered to a perfect patina. Its curriculum emphasized liberal arts and had a strong core in the classics and seemed like a perfect fit for Zeke Anderson. It was also a good fit for Bennett McCrae who had a variety of interests, although Decker pictured him more as a Morse McKinley guy. MM College was a wheeler-dealer school, noted for its classes in government and politics both domestic and international. Many of its alumni went on to do things in DC and all over the world.

  Clarion was a hundred-year-old women’s college that had consistently voted to stay a women’s college although the definition of a woman had changed over the past ten years. It accepted biological women, transgender women, and biological women who transitioned to men during their stays at the institution. The fourth college, Littleton, was a funky, artsy school that preached social action with an emphasis on sustainable living. Life was, by its very definition, sustainable until it morphed into death, which was anything but sustainable.

  Although smart and gifted, Max Velasquez didn’t seem particularly curious, which made Duxbury an odd choice. He never showed signs of being interested in the world around him socially or politically, which excluded MM and Littleton as ideal institutions. And he wasn’t a woman either by choice or biologically, so Clarion wasn’t an option. The last and most recent college, Kneed Loft, emphasized the STEM subjects and, in Decker’s mind, would have made the best fit for the kid. But from what Decker had learned, the young man seemed more interested in proximity to Bennett McCrae than a specific college.

  What all five colleges had in common were disaffected teens who, on numerous occasions, found outlets to vent their spleens. There was much to protest in an imperfect world, and outrage on campus could be found in almost anything. What wasn’t a stretch was to rant against a gun range on campus. Decker had never been to this building, precisely because there was a constant cadre of protestors, and to him it was worth the extra fifteen-minute drive into the more gun-tolerant town of Hamilton.

  But the kids had a point.

  While it was true that people kill people, guns seem to be the destruction of choice to carry out the mission most efficiently. And while it was also true that most gun owners are balanced people, the few unbalanced ones do horrible damage. Decker had witnessed unspeakable mangling and mutilation over the years. The images never completely left his mind. It was a pain in the ass to deal with the protestors, but he wasn’t offended when twenty-plus sneering, hot-faced students met McAdams and him in the parking lot. They swarmed the car like a funnel of angry bees.

  “Dedicated group,” Decker said. “To take the time to do this during summer classes.”

  “What’s more fun than rousting police?”

  “They don’t know we’re police.” Decker turned off the motor.

  “They’ll know as soon as we come out.”

  “Yes, they will.” Decker opened the door.

  They were immediately engulfed by screams of “murderers,” “sickos,” “psychos,” and a lot worse. All this without having shown their badges. But as long as it stayed at the verbal level, Decker was fine. He, being tall and remarkably strong for his age, could have forged through the group, but instead he turned to address the irate mob.

  “We’re detectives. We’re investigating the disappearance of three students who went to college here ten years ago. We found remains up in the hills, and one of them may have practiced shooting at the range. We’re trying to find out what happened to these poor guys. If it was one of you, we’d do the same thing. All we’re trying to do is give the parents some answers.”

  One of the women—a curly-haired redhead with a mass of freckles who appeared to be about nineteen—spoke. “Zeke Anderson?”

  “Exactly,” Decker said.

  “We spoke to his parents on Sunday,” McAdams said. “They’ve been wondering about their son for ten years. Think about how your parents would feel if it was one of you.”

  “Two other students that went missing with Zeke,” Decker said, “we talked to their mothers yesterday. They’d like to bury their children, but first we have to find them. We’re still looking in the woods for bones, but it’s a slow process. We’re here because we’re following up on a lead.”

  The redhead put down her sign. “Good to see the cops doing jobs other than shooting unarmed African Americans.”

  “Thanks, I guess.” Decker smiled. “If you’ll excuse us, please.”

  The attitude disarmed them, and the group parted like the Red Sea to allow them passage. The gun range was housed in a brick building—rectangular and big enough to accommodate indoor shooting. The entrance was two double glass doors—bulletproof—and once inside, Decker could hear the muted pop, pop, pop of discharging weapons.

  McAdams paused before walking up to the front desk. “I understand what’s going on with the kids. I’m still a student myself, and college is an angry time. But all this protesting is a colossal waste of time. It has nothing to do with the outside world.”

  “At least they’re protesting weapons instead of words.”

  “Yes, you’re right about that. Man, you should see the babying the administration does, even at the law school. Great legal minds shouldn’t need grief counselors when the candidate of their choice loses. It’s appalling.”

  “Life will thicken their skins. Either that or they’ll be perpetually unhappy because no one gets their way all of the time.”

  “Some people do,” McAdams said. “It’s called ‘to the manor born.’ And yes, I’m speaking about myself.”

  “You could have coasted.”

  “I still do, actually. In the recesses of my mind, I always have that safety net. That privilege of ‘I really don’t have to do this.’ Not like some of these working-class kids who go into the police academy as their career to put bread on the table. I’ve had opportunities that most people can’t even fathom. Specifically, how it feels to not need money.”

  “Self-awareness is good, but I’ll tell you this, Harvard. Wealth doesn’t mean you haven’t paid your dues. A bullet doesn’t know the difference between rich or poor.” When McAdams colored, Decker laughed. “I’ve embarrassed you. That’s a feat.”

  “You didn’t embarrass me,” McAdams said.

  With that, Tyler turned and walked away. Decker smiled, shook his head, then followed him to the front desk, which was enclosed with glass except for a metal grate where sound could come in and out. The young man behind the partition was blond with a sunburned complexion and a short haircut. He had a thick neck, thick arms, and a broad chest. He could have come directly from a farm in the Midwest, except he had a British accent that made him sound aristocratic. “I see you made it past the mob.” He rolled his brown eyes. “Every day they hassle me. I’m a student just like they are. This is part of my work-study for my scholarship. I need a job to satisfy the school visa, or else I get sent back. I once tried to explain that to their leader, but to Neda I’m just a stupid, dumb hick from the hinterland. Not that she knows what the hinterland is. Instead, she keeps telling me to go back to Iowa. I’m not even sure where I
owa is.”

  “It’s in the middle of the country,” Decker said.

  “Do I sound like I come from Iowa?” He exhaled. “Anyway, you’re not here to listen to my woes. How can I help? I’m Boyd Evans, by the way.”

  “Nice to meet you, Boyd.” Decker introduced McAdams and then himself. “We’re working on a ten-year-old cold case. We think that one of our victims may have practiced shooting here. He may have kept a gun locker. We know you keep records. We’re wondering if they go back that far.”

  “I’m not sure. Most of the entry and exit logs are handwritten into binders, but the gun-locker rentals are computerized. I don’t know if they go back ten years. What’s the name?”

  “Bennett McCrae.” Decker spelled it and gave him the approximate date.

  Evans pressed some buttons on the keyboard. “I don’t see it … but it’s a long list of names.”

  “Mind if I take a peek?” Decker asked. “I know what I’m looking for.”

  “You’ll have to sign in.”

  McAdams said, “Happy to do that.”

  “I’ll need ID. Your badge numbers will do.” The men took out their IDs. “Do you have weapons on your person?”

  “We’re police, Boyd.”

  “Sorry. You still have to check your weapons in through the steel box. You can pick them up in the gun-locker room.”

  “No problem.” Decker took out his Glock. McAdams carried an S&W .38 snub-nosed revolver. After stowing their guns in metal boxes and getting tickets for the pieces, the men passed through the metal detector until they were on the other side of the glass. Looking down a long list of names, Decker didn’t see Bennett McCrae’s name. But Max Velasquez had rented a locker. Three months after the boys disappeared, the box and its contents were seized for failure of payment.

  McAdams said, “Wither you go, I will go.”

  Boyd looked up. “Excuse me?”

  “He’s quoting the Bible,” Decker said. “This student—Max Velasquez—what kind of paperwork do you have on him?”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea.”

  “Do you know what they might have done with the contents of the box?” Decker asked.