The Lost Boys

by Faye Kellerman

  Bennett said, “I hot-wired the ignition.”

  “How’d you do that?” McAdams said. “It takes some skill.”

  “I’ve been around.”

  “You knew how to ride a bike?” Decker asked.

  “I did.” He faced Decker. “I took off and never came back.”

  “What happened to the bike?” McAdams asked.

  “Beats me. I got rid of it pretty soon afterward. I knew that someone would be looking for it.” A pause. “I lived off the streets for a long, long time. Big cities like New York, L.A., San Francisco—where they had liberal homeless laws. It took me about five years to contact my parents. Didn’t tell them where I was. I didn’t want to bring them into my mess. And I didn’t want them to bring me to the police.”

  A pause.

  “It was my mother’s idea to buy the trailer and hide it out here. Lots of people around living off the grid. She told me where it was. That she had cleaned it and stocked it and it was there if I wanted it. I didn’t trust her. But then I became sick … real sick.”

  “A staph infection,” Harriet said. “He was riddled with sores, all over. You can see his arms—all the sores and scars. I told him to go to the trailer. I got him medicine and nursed him back to the living.”

  “I’ve only been here two years,” Bennett said. “You can arrest me, but please don’t blame my mom. She’s … she’s my guardian angel.”

  The room fell silent.

  Finally, Decker said, “We have to sort this out officially, Bennett. I’ll need you to come down to the police station.”

  “You’re gonna arrest me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Murder?”

  “Yes, but I will tell you this. I’m not a district attorney, but if what you say is true, there are mitigating circumstances.”

  “Every word of it is true.” Bennett began to tear up. Then he began to sob … deep, deep breaths that were as heart-wrenching as they were pitiable. Harriet was crying as well. She held out her hand to her son. He clutched it and brought it to his chest. “You’ll stay with me, Ma?”

  “I won’t leave you, Bennett. Not even for a moment.”

  Out came a pair of handcuffs. “For your protection and for mine,” Decker said. He clamped the bracelets on, but he needn’t have bothered. The beaten man followed, as meek as a bunny.

  CHAPTER 26

  IT TOOK HOURS to liaison with the proper authorities and to formalize the charges against Bennett McCrae and Harriet McCrae (for harboring a fugitive). His parents seemed relieved by the turn of events. Bennett was impassive as they brought him to his new home called a jail cell. It was cleaner and probably more comfortable than where he had been living.

  Then Decker had the incredibly hard job of informing two sets of parents as to what might have happened that awful night. No one was sure, but the consensus seemed to be that some paranoid hermit living off the grid heard the gunshots that had been fired into the air. His brain slipped into a very dark place. Imagining himself under attack, he launched a couple of grenades in the direction of the noise, and then all hell broke loose. Perhaps the next day he was feeling calmer and remorse set in. Hence the burial of Zeke Anderson. It was assumed that he had stolen all the camp equipment. So whatever regret he had felt had been overcome by a desire to grab free supplies. Although there had been an extensive search for the students, no one had ever come across signs of someone living in the woods. Not surprising. All sorts of animals hide in the forests. The students had the misfortune of meeting a very deadly beast. Decker had seen this a few times before when he worked in the North Valley in Los Angeles. Hills hid drug labs, marijuana farms, outlaws and loners, paranoid schizophrenics and vets who never quite made it back into civilization. Most mentally ill people were harmless, but when delusions collided with self-preservation, chaos ensued. One of his past cases had been two dead hikers. The hermit who murdered them was found a week later, huddled and near starvation. Shipped off to Patton State, given proper food and medication, he recovered but lived in constant remorse for what he had done. Just like the pathologist had said.

  For someone with PTSD, the sudden appearance of three strapping young men could look like a threat.

  All this was strictly theoretical. But Bennett’s story matched the crime-scene evidence. If it didn’t happen exactly that way, Decker was fairly certain that the recitation had been close to the truth.

  The problem was that shooting someone—even someone who was at death’s door—was still considered a crime. It was not a premeditated homicide but Decker suspected Henry and Wanda Velasquez saw it differently. To them, a bullet hole in their son’s head was nothing less than first-degree murder.

  This was not a case where Decker celebrated getting a bad guy off the street. This was not a crime where he felt he could give justice to the parents. This was just an entire day of being a misery sponge to grieving people, and it was exhausting. Back at the hotel room, Decker felt his brain shut down. But sleep was still elusive.

  The next day—at one in the afternoon—the two detectives were on a plane headed to Albany. With a long car drive back home, Decker hoped he could stay awake. He regarded McAdams, who looked as worn out as he was. “You okay?”

  “Fine.” McAdams yawned. “At least no one shot me.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Missouri’s not going to send him back to Greenbury.”

  “No. And whatever jail time Bennett gets, his lawyer will request that he does it in Missouri. I don’t see anyone objecting to that.”

  “If he’s to be believed.” McAdams exhaled. “Did you believe him?”

  “He certainly wasn’t trying to make himself a hero.”

  “Or deflect guilt,” McAdams said. “He admitted shooting Max.”

  Decker thought a moment. “He didn’t make a lot of eye contact as he spoke. He mostly stared into space. But he’s in a different mental time zone than the rest of us.” A pause. “Did you notice that as Bennett talked, he acted out his story? Like waving the gun or slinging Max over his shoulder or covering his ears as he heard an explosion. When someone lies, that doesn’t usually happen. Because they’re making things up as they go along and they don’t generally know what’s going to pop out of their mouths.”

  Silence.

  “For the most part, I believe him,” Decker said. “What about you?”

  “His story fits all the moving parts,” McAdams said. “A little part of me is still skeptical. Maybe I’ll read the memoirs. Where are the pages?”

  “Submitted as evidence.” Decker gave a weak smile. “I suppose Hollywood will have to wait.”

  “You never know.” McAdams looked at the ceiling of the airplane. “I suppose we can now concentrate solely on Bertram Lanz.”

  “That will be the next order of business after a good night’s sleep.”

  “I’ll second that.” McAdams closed his eyes. “Think we’ll find Bertram?”

  “Who knows?” Decker said.

  McAdams said, “Probably not good to speculate right now. I’m zonked. I know you’re going to Zeke’s funeral. What about Max?”

  “Yes, I’m going to go.” A pause. “You don’t have to come with me.”

  “I’ll keep you company. I’m just wondering why? It’s not like you’ve been at this case for ten years and you’re close to the family.”

  “I’m winding down my time here, Tyler. I want to end it by doing the right thing.”

  McAdams nodded. “Rina mentioned you buying a place in Israel.” Silence. “Are you moving there?”

  “Not full-time, no. But I asked Radar for a leave of absence.”

  “For how long?”

  “Six months. Maybe a year.”

  “A long time.”

  “Yes.”

  “When is your leave of absence starting?”

  “Next spring after Passover. I doubt that I’ll go back to the department.”

  “If you leave, I’ll leave. I’ve got a law degr
ee, remember.”

  “I thought you hated law.”

  “Some law. Not all law. I’ve been thinking about criminal law.”

  “Prosecution or defense?”

  “Don’t know yet.”

  “Don’t be swayed to the dark side.”

  “It’s a constitutional right for everyone in this country to have a defense.”

  “Yadda, yadda, yadda.”

  “I could say the same for you. What the hell are you going to do in Israel for six months? I’ve been there. It’s a small country.”

  “Did Rina tell you that the place we’re buying is a wreck?”

  “You’re renovating?” McAdams opened and closed his mouth. “Don’t tell me you’re doing it yourself.” Decker didn’t answer. “You’re loco.”

  “It’s not a big job. It’s a small house with a small garden in my ideal location.”

  “What city? Tel Aviv?”

  “Jerusalem. Nachlaot, if that means anything to you.”

  “It doesn’t. Are you going to live there while you renovate?”

  “Undecided.”

  McAdams threw his arms up in the air. “At least you know how to shoot a gun.”

  “It’s not a dangerous place, Tyler.”

  “Sure it’s not.”

  Decker said, “Will you come visit?”

  “Will you have a guest bedroom?”

  “Yes.”

  “Internet?”

  “Yep.”

  “An oven?”

  “I don’t suppose Rina will be doing much cooking with so much kosher takeout. But yes, we will have an oven. Once in a while I’m sure she’ll want to prepare a meal.”

  “Okay, boss. Here’s the deal. When she cooks, I’m all in.”

  A GOOD NIGHT’S sleep, and the next morning at ten they crammed into Radar’s office, the biggest private place in the station house. The captain was behind his desk; Decker, McAdams, and Butterfield were on the other side, sitting in unmatching chairs. A window let in bright eastern light, and Tyler, God bless him, had made a fresh pot of coffee. After concluding the paperwork and putting a solve on the ten-year-old case, Decker turned his attention to the most pressing thing on the agenda.

  “I finally got the translation of Bertram Lanz’s German police report.”

  “Go on,” Radar said.

  Decker said, “Here’s the deal. Bertram was out with some friends—all of them disabled. The group lived together in a residential home where they were supervised by rotating chaperones, but like Loving Care, they were all independent adults. The gang was out for a night of fun and drinking. They wound up at a bar that they had frequented before so they were known to the owners. Everyone in the establishment was drinking, and more than a few were drunk. A bar fight broke out.”

  “What was it about?” McAdams asked.

  “What most drunk bar fights are about. Some insult where parties not under the influence would usually walk away. Apparently, a bunch of locals threw some derogatory comments at Bertram’s group, and the group took offense. Drinks were tossed, bottles were thrown, and the whole thing turned into a big melee. Punches were plentiful, and some of the patrons not involved with the original altercation joined in just for fun. The festivities ended when Bertram threw a punch and Gerthard Perl didn’t get back up. The police rounded up everyone, but Bertram faced the most serious charges. I did a little digging and I found out that he pled out. He was put on probation, in his parents’ care, for three years. After that, he was a free man. I don’t know why he came to the States. I suspect it was to get a fresh start.”

  McAdams said, “In all of our research on him, we haven’t discovered any close relatives over here.”

  Decker said, “Thinking about the situation, maybe the parents wanted him in an anonymous country. But given the history, we know that Bertram wasn’t afraid to use his fists. And his physical therapist told me he was a strong guy. I’m thinking that history may have repeated itself over here.”

  “He killed Pauline Corbett,” Butterfield said.

  “There was a lot of blood in that kitchen. If Elsie and Pauline were fighting, Bertram might have come to Elsie’s rescue. Or Elsie killed Pauline—maybe accidentally, maybe in the heat of the moment—and perhaps she asked Bertram for help in cleaning up the mess.”

  “But there is a chance that Pauline might be alive,” Radar said. “Until we have a body, we’re in the dark.”

  “Of course.” Decker tapped his foot. “Here’s what I think: Bertram Lanz, Elsie Schulung, and Kathrine Taylor are in Germany. Maybe even Pauline is with them. I think Bertram’s disappearance was planned.”

  “How do we prove that?” Radar asked. “If they are overseas, we shouldn’t be wasting our resources looking for them here.”

  “I don’t know how you verify that other than finding them in Germany.”

  Butterfield said, “What about Kathrine?”

  Decker said, “Yes, I think she’s with them. The thing is it’s not our business to find her.”

  “I’m just asking why do you think that Kathrine is with Bertram?”

  “Oh, okay,” Decker said. “Well, I believe she had the same arrangement that Bertram had with her residential home. She could come and go as she pleased. Her parents told me she had been dreadfully unhappy since Bertram left. Maybe Kathrine viewed Bertram’s disappearance as a chance to be with her boyfriend.”

  “If Kathrine went with Elsie voluntarily, then it’s not a kidnapping,” McAdams said.

  “If she’s a legal adult,” Radar said.

  “She is.” Decker thought a moment. “At first, I was thinking about a kidnapping for ransom. Why else wouldn’t Bertram’s parents call back unless they’ve been threatened? Now I’m thinking that they didn’t call back because the parents were in on Bertram’s escape plan.”

  Radar said, “Before we go any further, what we need to know is this: Was an actual crime committed—in our jurisdiction?”

  Decker threw up his hands. “If the blood we found at Elsie’s house was a crime scene, and if Bertram took part in the crime, even after the fact, then we have a reason to be involved in Baniff’s territory.”

  “What’s our next move?”

  Decker said, “If we think that Bertram is with Elsie and they’re all in Germany, someone should contact Interpol. I’m not well versed in international law.” He looked at Tyler. “Perhaps this is your cue.”

  “I’ll look up what is needed to involve the agency, but before I do anything, we should find out if they are in Germany.”

  “Agreed,” Decker said. “You know, if they are in Germany, we’re going to reach a dead end with credit cards, phones, passports, visas, and other personal effects because Bertram’s family is wealthy enough to carry them. They could have even purchased new identities.”

  McAdams said, “Since it was Pauline’s blood in the kitchen, do we look for her? If she’s alive, we have no case for anything.”

  Butterfield said, “Actually, Pauline isn’t our case.”

  Decker said, “Our only case is Bertram Lanz and unless the department wants to give us money to go to Germany to look for him, I think we’re done until we have more information.”

  McAdams said, “And even once we arrived in Germany, we’d have to work with the local police. The Lanz family is well established and has money. How much cooperation do you think we’re going to get?”

  Radar said, “Until we have Pauline’s body, we have no way of knowing what happened at Elsie’s house. And we have no way of knowing what Bertram’s role was in all this … if he even had a role. He could have just escaped with Kathrine.”

  “Speaking of Kathrine,” Butterfield said. “I’m sure her poor parents would like to know where she is and that she’s safe.”

  “She may have contacted them,” Decker said. “I can go talk to them and feel them out.”

  Radar said, “Kathrine’s not our case, either.”

  “Yes, that’s true. But there’s at
least a connection between Bertram and Kathrine. I don’t mind paying them a visit, giving them my thoughts.”

  “How is Mangrove PD going to feel about that?”

  Decker said, “Nothing wrong with talking to them in regards to Bertram’s disappearance. I’ll make it clear that Kathrine’s not my case.”

  “It’s going to look to them like we’re giving up.”

  “Unless of course they’ve heard from her—and Bertram by extension. At the very least, it would mean we can stop looking for Bertram in the woods, and start looking for him in Greenbury.”

  Radar paused. “This is what I want to do. Decker, you contact Baniff PD regarding Pauline Corbett’s blood and Elsie Schulung’s disappearance. Ask them to keep you in contact with whatever developments might come through.”

  “No problem. Been doing that all along.”

  “Tyler, you look up international law and find out what we can do if they are in Germany. Also, contact local police in Bertram’s hometown in Germany and ask them to look out for sightings of Bertram, Kathrine, Elsie, and possibly Pauline. They may not be cooperative, but we have to try.”

  “I can do that.”

  “Kev, where are we on the search for Bertram?”

  “It’s been a couple of weeks,” Butterfield said. “If Lanz is in the woods, we’re probably looking for a body.”

  Radar thought a moment. “Do we still have a cadaver dog?”

  “I can get one.”

  “Do it. We’ll continue searching for another few days with the dog. I don’t want anyone thinking we gave up.”

  “I’d like to visit the Taylors and feel them out,” Decker said. “I’ll tell them what I think is going on. And the rest is up to them.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “After the visit, I want a couple of weeks off.”

  “What’s going on?” Radar asked.

  “We want to go to Israel. We are looking at a property and everything is simpler if you get a lawyer and sign power of attorney when you’re there. Otherwise, I have to go to the embassy. On our way back, Rina and I would like to visit our mothers in Florida.”

  Radar was stunned. “You’re not moving to Israel, are you?”

  “No. This will be a vacation home.”