Walking Shadows

by Faye Kellerman

  “You’ve seen the files, then.”

  “Not the originals, just a copy.”

  “She made a copy of the original files?”

  “That’s what she’s telling us.”

  “And someone broke into her apartment and stole the original files. But she just happened to make a copy of them?”

  “You think it’s bullshit.”

  “It sounds like bullshit to me.”

  Decker looked at Tran’s face. His expression was incredulous. “Let’s start looking in the woods. It’s past seven. Not a lot of daylight left, and it stinks in here.”

  They walked through the back door and into the woods, going up through a well-worn pathway. Tran said, “Baccus took the files home against protocol. Then she called you, and you went over to look at them.”

  “Basically, yes, but not exactly in that order. Let me start at the beginning.”

  As Decker explained the situation, they scoped out the hills, dodging rocks, loose dirt, and tree roots. The afternoon was warm. In Los Angeles, temperatures dipped as the day headed to twilight. In the East, warm afternoons often meant balmy nights.

  “I have two theories on why Lennie Baccus took the files. The first is like I said: she got curious and decided to branch out on her own. She took the files home. Someone found out about it, wanted to see what the original files contained, and stole them. We know that two men in hoodies went into her apartment building while she was out running errands yesterday morning. We saw the CCTV. One of the men had a tattoo. We’re trying to get an ID.”

  “Since you’ve seen the files, what’s in there that’s worth stealing?”

  “Nothing from my standpoint, because everything is blacked out. But I think the guys who pinched them didn’t know that.” The trail was getting smaller, and Decker began bushwhacking his way through the brush. “My second theory is Baccus took the original files on the order of someone higher up and she’s playing me. She might have even been instructed to show me something bogus. Like I said, the files I saw were heavily redacted.”

  “Then you think it’s bullshit, too.”

  “Maybe.”

  Tran switched topics. “What’d Gratz and you talk about today?”

  “According to Gratz, his son, Brady, had been visiting him for six months. Gratz told me that their conversation was strictly catch-up. I don’t believe him, but he’s not ready to talk. He may never talk. He may not even have anything of value to say.”

  “And that’s all he told you?”

  “No.” Decker tripped and caught himself before he landed on his face. “I showed Gratz the black-and-white snapshots that we found in Jaylene Boch’s wheelchair. He implied that maybe the woman was Margot Flint, but he also told me that the man wasn’t Mitchell.”

  “Do you think he’s playing you?”

  “No idea.” Decker exhaled. “Boxer is missing—probably dead—and since the pictures were well hidden, I have to think that whoever made the mess was looking for them. If it is Margot Flint in the snapshots, then the case has something to do with them.”

  “About the Flints and not the Levine murders?”

  “They went underground because of the Levines. I have to think there’s some kind of connection, especially since the murder file is all blacked out. My question is, who knew that Lennie Baccus took the files?”

  “You did. She told you Saturday night.”

  “I did know, but I didn’t steal them from her apartment. It’s more likely that—” Decker didn’t finish his sentence.

  Tran said, “That it’s someone from our department who was on the original Levine case.”

  “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “The only one that I know who worked the Levine case and is still on the force is the chief,” Tran said. “If you have suspicions, you should take it directly to him.”

  “Right.” They walked in silence, looking for signs of animal activity that might indicate a dead body. Decker said, “There’s nothing in the files that makes me suspicious of Victor Baccus. But there are lots of other people who worked the case.”

  “They’re probably retired.”

  “That doesn’t mean I can’t call them up and ask them questions.”

  “You can do what you want, Decker.” Trans stopped walking and looked around. He was breathing hard and sweating. “But I’m not probing anyone in my department without a reason.”

  “I get it,” Decker said. “Since Gratz identified the woman in the black-and-white photo as possibly Margot Flint, we should probably have a look at the Flint files.”

  “Who’s we, Lone Ranger?”

  “Wendell, I don’t know who in your department worked the Flint case, but the files are relevant to me because Brady Neil’s blood was in the slaughterhouse. We’re on the same side. I’d really like to see the files.”

  Tran looked up at the sky. The sun was sinking quickly, and puffy white clouds were edged in bright pink. “I’ll see if I can pull the original files out of archives. Unless Lennie Baccus took those home as well.”

  “If she did, I don’t know anything about it.”

  “Why didn’t you tell the chief about Lennie after you found out she took the files home?”

  “I told my captain. It was his decision. Can we move on, please?”

  Tran shook his head. “Let me figure this out. I’ll give you a call once I have the Flint files.”

  “Thank you.”

  “This is not going to endear me to my buds in the department.” He waved his hand in the air. “What the hell.” He checked his watch. “It’s getting late. If Joe Boch Junior is buried out here, he’ll keep for the night. Let’s get out of here.”

  They reversed directions and headed toward the house. It took them around forty minutes to get back, and by that time, the crickets were in full chorus.

  “I appreciate your help,” Decker said.

  “Your appreciation doesn’t do me a whit of good. You’ve got your pension. I don’t.” Tran stopped in front of his car and disarmed the alarm. “If Baccus did something sketchy, he’s going to know that I’m poking around.”

  “If your inquiries make you suspicious of him, don’t go it alone.”

  “Shit. I hate anything that smacks of corruption.”

  “I understand.” Decker exhaled. “I’d like to interview Gregg Levine about the night of the murders. His statement was one of the few things that wasn’t blacked out. But there’s a problem with that. The guy is avoiding me, and I don’t know why.”

  “Maybe it’s painful for him to resurrect all this.”

  “Probably. But I still need to talk to him.”

  “I’ll see what I can do. As long as I’m there when you talk to him. Someone needs to keep an eye on you. I’ll let you know if I get hold of him. Don’t call me, I’ll call you.”

  “Got it.” Decker went back to his car, turned on the ignition, and sat while the motor ran. Wendell was a good one, sticking his neck out for someone he didn’t know. He hoped it wouldn’t come back to bite him.

  Decker’s watch said eight-thirty. He made a quick call to Rina and told her he’d be home for dinner if she hadn’t already eaten. She hadn’t. The lasagna was just coming out of the oven.

  His timing, in the case, was perfect.

  Chapter 23

  McAdams was at the dining room table, sorting through papers. He was dressed in shorts and sandals and grunted something when Decker crossed the threshold.

  “Excuse me?” Decker closed the front door. “I didn’t catch that.”

  McAdams grunted again.

  Decker took off his boots and left them in the hallway closet. He went into the bedroom and came out wearing a clean T-shirt and slippers. “Do you ever eat at home?”

  “Not really.” McAdams kept his eyes on his papers. “I did bring dessert.”

  “No doubt something fattening that I can’t eat.”

  “Can we talk business for a moment?” Tyler looked up. “Rina brought
me up to date at the prison. She said you’re going down to Florida to speak to Jack Newsome but that you want me to stay here to keep an eye on Lennie Baccus.”

  “Yep.” Decker picked up the morning paper and perused the headlines.

  “Did you know that her dad put her on suspended leave until he can figure out what happened to the Levine files?”

  Down went the paper. “Who told you this?”

  “She did. She was upset but not surprised. I told her to watch her back. She claims she’s being very vigilant. From personal experience—being on the wrong end of a bullet twice—I’m a little concerned about her safety.”

  “I am as well, unless she’s working for the other side.”

  “Yeah, Lennie the spy. I thought you didn’t buy into that.”

  “Now I’m considering everything.”

  “Ah. Open mind. I like that. Yes, she could be playing us. If that’s the case, I’ll save my nervous energy until there is a reason to expend it.” A pause. Then McAdams said, “Do you really think she’s spying on us?”

  “Don’t know.” Decker went into the kitchen. “Can I help?”

  Rina was cutting up a vegetable-and-cheese lasagna. “You can take out the salad and the garlic bread.” Her squares were perfect. “How did it go this afternoon? Is Wendell Tran friend or foe?”

  “He’s not happy because I’m still asking him favors.”

  “You want to see the Mitchell and Margot Flint files.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “And is he going to get them for you?”

  “I got a resounding maybe.” A beat. “I think he’s honest, but he’s upset because I’m putting pressure on him to do things he doesn’t want to do. Like spy on his colleagues.”

  “Anyone would be peeved about that. Has he seen the Levine file?”

  “He says no. I’ll send him my copy. He said he’ll call me when he has the Flint files. I guess I’ll just wait.”

  “And while you wait, we might as well think about going to Florida. I can get a good deal if we go this weekend. I’m thinking Thursday through Sunday.”

  “Rina, why don’t you go visit your mother on Thursday. I’ll come down Friday afternoon and we’ll spend Shabbos with her. I mean not at the retirement home, but at the hotel around the corner. We can get takeout. We’ll go visit my mom on Sunday and, hopefully, I’ll squeeze in an interview with Jack Newsome.”

  “Both moms will be thrilled. It’s been a while. Then I should book the tickets?”

  “Go for it.”

  Rina took out a serving fork. “Peter, do you think it’s possible that Tran might call up Newsome and give him a heads-up about your visit?”

  “He can’t tell Newsome about a visit that he doesn’t know about.” Decker went to the refrigerator and took out the salad with one hand. In the other, he held a platter of garlic bread. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”

  When they placed the food on the table, McAdams cleared the papers and put them in his backpack next to his chair. “Radar is working on enhancing the CCTV mystery man’s tattoo. He found someone in Boston who specializes in that kind of thing. He’s FedExing the original image up to him and keeping a copy. Compared to LAPD, it must be hard for you to work for a department still stuck in the Stone Age.”

  “Technical things are never at your fingertips,” Decker said. “Greenbury doesn’t have much, but it moves much faster than the dinosaur I used to work for.” He picked up the plate. “Can I serve you, Rina?”

  “Sure.”

  McAdams said, “Have you talked to Butterfield today?”

  “Yes, we finally connected,” Decker said. “He’s compiled a list of thirty-four Toyota Camrys in the vicinity. He’s checking them out one by one . . . gone through about a third.”

  “I can help.”

  “Good,” Decker said. “What’d you do today other than worry about Lennie Baccus’s safety?”

  “While you were talking to Gratz and trying to get on Wendell Tran’s good side, I was looking into the employment record of Joseph Boch Senior.”

  “Okay.” Decker gave himself two pieces of lasagna and passed the platter to McAdams. “And?”

  “He had filed taxes for the following occupations.” McAdams took a piece, set the platter down, and then poked around in his backpack. “I haven’t had a chance to look at his employment record once he moved to Kansas, but in Hamilton, he worked two primary fields—in the building trades as a roofer and as a line cook in local diners. Never held a job longer than nine months and never filed for more than twenty grand a year.”

  “Not very exciting,” Rina said. “I hope there’s more.”

  “There is,” McAdams said. “One stint of employment stuck out: Joe Senior worked for six months doing night security at City Hall.”

  Decker stopped eating. “He did security?”

  “For six months.”

  “Huh.” A beat. “Why didn’t I pick that up when I searched?”

  “It took me a while to find it. I don’t even think it was listed on his tax forms.”

  “It had to be if it was the government.”

  “In a small town, sometimes people cut corners. As I said, it didn’t pop out immediately.”

  “Good work,” Decker said. “You know, to get that job, at one point, he had to have been vetted.”

  “Or maybe he just knew someone who put in a good word,” Rina said. “Like Tyler said, small towns.”

  “If he worked security, he had to be familiar with alarms,” McAdams said.

  “Maybe,” Decker said. “When was this?”

  “He quit working at City Hall six months before the Levine murders.”

  “Convenient,” Rina said.

  “Exactly,” McAdams answered. “I know it was a long time ago, but I could go down to City Hall in Hamilton and see if anyone remembers him.”

  Decker nodded. “Give it your best shot.” A beat. “Do we have anything that links Joe Senior with the Levines?”

  “Like did he work security for them?” McAdams said. “I couldn’t find anything, and I looked. But the Levines could have hired him anyway and been paying him under the table in cash. That way, they wouldn’t have to pay employee tax and Social Security, and he wouldn’t have to declare income for tax purposes. Plus, the Levines might have hired him without references since he had worked for City Hall.”

  Decker said, “Right. Any link between Senior and the Flints?”

  “Still looking,” McAdams said. “Maybe the link is between Jaylene and the Flints. The pictures were hidden in her wheelchair.”

  “Right. I should probably go see Jaylene tomorrow. See if there’s improvement.”

  “She’s still in the hospital?” Rina said. “It’s almost been a week. Is she not over the hump?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll talk to her doctors.”

  McAdams said, “Maybe she can finally tell you what happened.”

  “That would be ideal,” Decker said. “First, let’s see if she can talk.”

  It was past eleven by the time Rina came to bed. She expected to find Peter out for the evening. Instead, his nightstand light was on and he was reading out of his little black notebook, flipping through the pages. She pulled the covers over her chest and faced him. “You’re still at it?”

  “Sometimes it helps to review.”

  “I’m sure it does, but not right before you’re ready to call it a night. I mean, you do want to sleep, right?”

  “Something was bugging me, and I found out what it was.” Decker hit the notebook with the back of his hand. “This guy . . . C. Bonfellow. He works at the Bigstore where Brady Neil and Joseph Boch were employed.”

  “That’s his name? C?”

  “No, that’s what his name tag said. It’s probably Chris or Carl or something like that. Anyway, the guy made a point of telling me that he knows secrets, that people talk around him because they ignore him.” He looked up. “He’s got a chip on his shoulder, that’s for sure.” />
  “You think he might have had something to do with the murders?”

  “I don’t know, but he was a weird guy. He claimed he didn’t even know who Boxer was. But that was before I knew that Boxer was Joseph Boch. And a lot has happened since the first time I talked to him. It might be worth paying him another visit.”

  “Okay. Sounds good. Can we go to sleep?”

  “Sure.” Decker put his notes down and turned off his light. “And while I’m there, I can talk to the coworkers again. They’re usually a gossipy lot.”

  “Gossip isn’t all bad, you know.” She leaned over and gave Peter a kiss. “I mean, where would detective work be without gossip?”

  “That is very true. It’s a misconception that science solves most crimes. It doesn’t. What science does is convict criminals. It’s plain old gossip that solves most of the cases, because people love to talk.”

  The room was a semiprivate, but Jaylene’s bed had the outside window. It let in light and a little blue sky, but it was still a hospital room with its hospital smells and a foreboding of a bad outcome. It was Tuesday, seven in the morning, and Jaylene was up and eating breakfast when Decker arrived. Her eyes landed on his face, her expression a mixture of confusion and apathy. She was still being fed supplemental oxygen, but her color was better. He drew a curtain for privacy and pulled up a chair bedside.

  “Hello, Jaylene. How are you feeling?”

  She didn’t answer, bringing a shaky spoon of cornflakes to her mouth. Milk dripped down her chin and onto a bib that covered her blue-and-white hospital gown. Emaciated arms poked free from oversize sleeves. He waited until their eyes met before he spoke.

  Then he said, “Do you remember me?”

  She put the spoon down. “The boy?”

  “By the boy, do you mean your son, Joseph?”

  She didn’t answer. Then her eyes watered. “He left me.”

  Decker said, “I don’t know if he did or didn’t, Jaylene, but I can’t find him. Any idea where you think he might be?”

  “Kansas.”

  Decker tried not to react. “Kansas?”

  “Yeah, Joe’s from Kansas.”