Walking Shadows

by Faye Kellerman

  Catfish wasn’t kosher. He’d give them to his brother. “Thanks very much.”

  “Okay, then.” Newsome sat back in his chair. “What can I do for you?”

  “First . . .” Decker reached in his briefcase and pulled out a still of Unknown Man #1 taken from the digital video. He handed him to Newsome. “Do you know who this man might be?”

  Newsome studied the image for a moment. “Where was this taken?”

  “At a camera in a parking lot.”

  “Good resolution for CCTV.”

  “Everything’s digital now.”

  “What’s this guy doing that you caught him on camera?”

  “He broke into someone’s car.”

  “Why?”

  “I believe he’s looking for something.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t know.”

  Newsome regarded Decker’s face, then his watch. “I suppose you should start at the beginning.”

  “How much time do you have?”

  “Enough for a quick recap.”

  “Great, but first: yes or no on the ID?”

  “Not positive. But . . . if I had to ID someone, I’d say it’s Yves Guerlin.”

  “Yves Guerlin?” The man had never popped up on Decker’s radar. “Who is he?”

  “He was with Hamilton uniform when I was there. We didn’t like each other.”

  “Okay.” Decker took out a notebook and started writing things down. “Why was that?”

  “I thought he was a bully, and he thought I was a snob.” Pause. “A little background. I came in as a detective. I think it chafed his hide because he’d been there a lot longer and was still doing patrol. He could have taken the sergeant’s exam, but either he was too dumb or too lazy. Didn’t stop him from being a know-it-all.”

  “I know the type.” Decker’s brain was firing in too many directions. “Would Victor Baccus have known him—Guerlin?”

  “There are three station houses at Hamilton. Yves worked Bitsby, which is high crime and high action. Victor was at Claremont/Bellweather, which had far less crime and far less serious crime until the Levine murders. I was only transferred there because brass wanted someone with big-city experience. Between the murders and my wife’s death, I decided I’d had enough. I retired for good.”

  “I can understand that.” Decker waited a moment. “Then they didn’t know each other—Yves and Victor?”

  Newsome shrugged. “They ran in different circles. I certainly didn’t know everyone in all three station houses. Is there a reason you don’t want to ask Vic about him?”

  “I did yesterday. He said he has no idea who it is.” Decker pulled out the sketches. “A witness helped us with these police composites. I think this one looks like the guy you identified as Yves Guerlin.”

  Newsome took the sketch. “Fair enough.”

  “What happened to Guerlin?”

  A troubled look on Newsome’s face. “No idea. After I was transferred to Claremont/Bellweather, I happily lost track of him. Like I said, we didn’t like each other.”

  “About how old would he be?”

  “He was younger than me. He’d be around sixty.”

  That fit the age of the guy in the image. “Would you know if Guerlin had any tattoos?”

  “I couldn’t tell you.” He looked up and then back at Decker. “He was a redhead when I knew him. But that was a long time ago.”

  “Twenty years ago, I was a redhead myself.”

  “I can still see it.”

  “You’re too kind.” Decker pointed to the second sketch. “How about this guy?”

  A long, hard look. “He looks slightly familiar, but I can’t put a name on him.”

  “Someone that Yves knew maybe?”

  “Maybe. He looks younger than Guerlin.”

  “I agree,” Decker said. “Could he have been a cop?”

  “Sure. I didn’t know everyone. Probably the same with Victor.” Newsome checked his watch again. “Now it’s your turn. What’s going on?”

  Decker gave him a ten-minute summation that included Neil’s murder, Boxer’s disappearance, the crime scene at the Boch house, the black and whites hidden in Jaylene Boch’s wheelchair, and the ID of Margot Flint from Brandon Gratz. He talked about Victor Baccus assigning his daughter to the case and then pulling her off the case. He concluded with the break-in at Lennie’s apartment after she had taken home the Levine murder files. The amount of sheer information seemed to stun Newsome into silence.

  Decker said, “Sometimes crimes have too few pieces to solve. I have too many.”

  “Man, I’ll say. Do you have those hidden black-and-white pictures with you?”

  “Copies.” Decker retrieved them from his briefcase.

  Newsome looked at them. “Don’t know the guy. But this does look like an older Margot Flint with dark hair. Gorgeous gal. I remember very clearly when she and her husband went underground. It was a major screwup and a big scandal. Prosecutor got hell for giving them bail, and the Flints’ lawyer was accused of abetting their flight.”

  “Was it true?”

  “I think they just wanted a scapegoat. The Hamilton police chief was forced to resign. His name was Rodney Bellingham, if you’re interested.”

  “I’m interested in everything. Why’d they come after him? All the police do is gather evidence.”

  “The Flints gave a lot of money to community causes, including Hamilton police.” A pause. “I kept to myself in the department—busy with my wife. I didn’t hear every bit of gossip around. But there was lots of speculation about the Flints: that they were serial criminals, that they had inside help in their escape, that they were involved in the Levine murders. It seemed like everywhere we turned, someone had something to say about the Flints.”

  “What about the Levine kids? Did they think the Flints had a hand in their parents’ murders?”

  “I don’t know. The Levine son . . . what was his name? Senior moment.”

  “Gregg.”

  “Sure. Gregg. The sister was Yvonne?”

  “Yes.”

  “I never heard the kids accuse the Flints of murder, although I’m sure there was talk. I do remember that after Gratz and Kyle Masterson were arrested, all the rumors kind of disappeared. And then my wife died about three months after the arrest of Gratz and Masterson, and I left the area about a month later.”

  Decker was writing as fast as he could. “You said there were rumors that the Flints had inside help in their escape. Anyone else besides their lawyer come to mind?”

  “Nobody specific, but Margot was a gorgeous blonde with a shapely figure. How do I know that? Every time I saw her, she was wearing something tight.” He paused. “I didn’t know her at all. But the vibe I got from her was . . . calculated. She’d look at you, and you could sense that she was sizing you up—what could you do for her, you know what I’m saying?”

  “I do. From the old papers I read, she was always doing something charitable. Sometimes it was an event with Mitchell, but in some of the events, she was the only one involved.”

  “She had lots of friends in high places. And I think she preferred to be with her high-placed friends when Mitch wasn’t around.”

  “Friends with benefits?”

  “Like I told you, people accused her lawyer of helping them flee. And the chief resigned, so his name was bandied about. I even heard that Glen helped them out because Margot and he had something on the side. Nothing concrete to back up those claims. Glen’s statements in court were primarily against Mitchell, his partner, but he certainly seemed angry enough at both of them when he testified.” A pause. “It’s getting a little late.”

  Decker put down his pad and took a sip of lemonade. “How much time do I have left?”

  “I should leave in thirty minutes. What else is on your mind?”

  “Did you know Joseph and Jaylene Boch?”

  Newsome nodded as he thought about the question. “Not personally. But I do remember uniform
s getting domestic calls. He was a first-class jackass.” Another pause. “He . . .” A raised finger wagged in the air. “He also worked for the Levines in security. We considered him a good suspect for a while. But he had an alibi where lots of people vouched for him that night, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t set something up.”

  “Right.”

  “But then Vic arrested Gratz and Masterson and Boch became a footnote in the investigation. Gratz and Masterson never pinned anything on him, so he went way down the list.”

  He checked his watch a third time. “I need to get my stuff together. But you can call me anytime.”

  “Thank you.” Decker took a final sip of lemonade and closed his notebook. “I’d really appreciate if you kept our conversation quiet.”

  “No problem. I’m still in contact with my Boston buddies, but I don’t talk to anyone in Hamilton. That place was nothing but bad memories.”

  “Thanks for your cooperation. As an afterthought, what did you think of Victor Baccus and how he handled the Levine murders?”

  “I thought he was competent, especially considering he never worked a big-city department. He seemed professional and hardworking.”

  “No evidence of corruption?”

  “None that I saw. Actually, I think the Levine murders were handled well.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Decker put away the photographs, the still digital of Yves Guerlin, and the sketches. “One last question and it’s a biggie. Who gave up Gratz and Masterson?”

  “Anonymous tip. It was a woman. Some say it was Margot, others say it was the wife.”

  “Jennifer Neil?”

  “She was Jennifer Gratz back then. Cold woman as I recall, but then again, Gratz was beating on her. Maybe it was her who made the call.”

  “What do you think?”

  “Didn’t know, didn’t care. She gave us good information. It was a big case. We were just happy to catch a break.”

  Chapter 29

  Over the phone, McAdams spelled the name Yves Guerlin back to Decker. Then he asked, “Who is he?”

  “He was a cop with the Hamilton Police Department when the Levines were murdered.” Decker was driving back to Gainesville. There was still daylight, and if he kept up the pace, he’d make it back for dinner with time to spare.

  “About twenty years ago.”

  “Newsome remembered him being there from even longer—to the time when the Flints skipped bail and fled underground. Could you look him up for me?”

  “Absolutely. Just give me a second . . .” Clicking of the keyboard in the background. “Okay, this Yves Guerlin appears to be about thirty. He’s posing with friends in front of a giant plate of nachos.”

  “What network are you on?”

  “Instagram.”

  “That’s probably a son. The Yves Guerlin we’re hunting would probably not be on Instagram.”

  “Some old guys are a lot hipper than you.”

  “Unless you have a page for the elder Yves Guerlin, look somewhere else.”

  “Okay, okay.” More tapping. “Okay. Google gives me a group picture of men around sixty golfing at a charity event for underprivileged children.”

  “Now we’re getting somewhere. Do you see Yves Guerlin in the photo?”

  “The event lists the names in an article, but there’s no caption under the picture. It’s a very small snapshot, and when I make it larger, I lose definition.”

  “How old is the picture?”

  “Dated two years ago . . . oh wait, this is interesting. It was sponsored by the Levine Foundation.”

  “Is Gregg Levine in any of the pictures?”

  “I don’t know what Gregg Levine looks like, and like I said, the resolution is bad at best. Let me look up the actual event.”

  “Do that eventually, but first I need an address of Yves Guerlin the elder.”

  “Right. Hold on and let me pull up his driver’s license. How are you doing otherwise?”

  “Fine. How’s Lennie?”

  “Back at Hamilton.”

  Decker was surprised. “I thought she was suspended.”

  “Desk duty. Maybe her father wants to keep an eye on her.”

  “If he’s any kind of normal father, that would be a priority.” Decker waited a beat. “How safe is she there?”

  “With her father around, I’d say she is okay. We’re keeping in contact via texts, but if something happens, I can’t do anything.”

  “What would happen?”

  “It’s theoretical. You know I’m totally pissed about you leaving for the weekend. It’s a big responsibility to watch Baccus and watch my back at the same time. And to make matters worse, where am I going to eat?”

  “You won’t starve. Where is Lennie staying over the weekend? I don’t want her alone.”

  “I’ve offered up my apartment. If someone does break in, there’s absolutely nothing to steal. It’s really bare bones because I spend so much time with Rina and you . . . Okay, here is Guerlin’s address according to his New York driver’s license.” McAdams gave him the numbers and the name of the street. “I suppose you’ll want a tail on this guy?”

  “I do once you find him. Be careful. At this point, he has to be expecting it.”

  “Who do you want on Guerlin’s tail while Guerlin’s tailing Lennie and me?”

  “That would be Butterfield. Where is Kevin?”

  “Going through CCTV at Bigstore with Benton Horsch.” There was a pause. “Did you put him on my tail, by the way?”

  “Kevin?” Decker waited an appropriate moment. “Why would he do that? Why would you ask that, Harvard?” Another pause. “Is he following you now?”

  “Never mind. I must be tired.”

  “I’m sure that’s true. Anyway, I’ll call Kevin, pull him off CCTV, and put him on Guerlin. Since you’ll be watching Lennie over the weekend, you two can go to Bigstore and check the CCTV. Keep you both safe and occupied.”

  “Neither Baccus nor Radar is going to like Lennie being involved.”

  “She’s entitled to know who’s stalking her. Especially now that we have a name. How old is Guerlin?”

  “Sixty-two, according to the DMV. If you wait a sec, I’ll see if there’s an announcement of his retiring.”

  “Yeah, it wouldn’t be good if he was still with Hamilton.”

  “Hold on . . . ah, he retired eight years ago.”

  “Good. What else can you tell me about him?”

  “Let me see if he has a Facebook profile . . . uh, no, he doesn’t.”

  Decker thought a moment. “What about Yves the younger? Does he have a Facebook profile?”

  “Let me check.” Clicking. “Yes, he does have a Facebook. He’s an electrician . . . went to Andrew Jackson High School in Bitsby . . . thirty-one, unattached . . . he takes a lot of pictures of food.”

  “Any pictures of his father?”

  “Let me see . . .”

  It was quiet over the line. Decker asked, “Tyler?”

  “I’m going through his photos. He’s into snacking in a really big way. I don’t see any pictures with any older folks, but this guy has to be the son. How many Yves Guerlins could there possibly be?”

  “Is he a redhead? Newsome said Yves the elder was a redhead.”

  “He is, as a matter of fact. Dark reddish. Like brick color.” A pause. “There are a lot of pictures of him with a guy named Phil. Captions like: ‘Here’s Phil and me getting hammered at Madness.’ That’s a bar near Claremont, FYI. Phil may be a brother. He’s also a redhead.”

  Something was whirling around in Decker’s brain as it flipped through a Rolodex of names and images.

  Bald except for an orange mohawk.

  His name tag said Phil G.

  Right before his eyes, damn it.

  Decker said, “Harvard, I need you to listen carefully.”

  “Okay . . . what’s going on?”

  “There’s a guy who works at Bigstore named Phil G with an orange mohawk. He was one
of the first people I talked to after Brady Neil died. I was working on the theory that maybe Neil stole electronics from the warehouse and Phil worked in the warehouse. I talked to him about Neil and about Boxer. This was even before I went to Jaylene Boch’s house.”

  Silence over the phone.

  “Tyler?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Find out Phil G’s last name for starts. Then find out if he’s working today.”

  “Right. Then what?”

  “Good question. I’ve got to think about how to handle this. If his last name is Guerlin, someone needs to keep an eye on him.”

  “Him meaning Phil G with the orange mohawk.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think he murdered Neil and Boxer?”

  “No idea, but he knew both of them. He could have easily overheard them talking about a case that might have a big effect on his father.”

  “The Levine murders?”

  “That or possibly Mitchell and Margot Flint going underground. Or maybe something totally unrelated. Whatever it was, it’s possible that he passed the information to his father.”

  “Wow. That’s a pretty weird coincidence: Phil, Boxer, and Brady all working together.”

  “Not so weird,” Decker said. “We’re not talking about Manhattan. We’re talking about three local boys—or men—living in a smallish town, all of them without skills, working nonskilled labor jobs in a big store that hires a lot of nonskilled labor.”

  “Right. But it’s still weird. Second generation involved with first generation.”

  “Past coming back to bite you in the ass. I know Radar wanted me to take the weekend off, but that’s not going to happen. I can’t direct from down here. It’s too late to catch a plane tonight, but I’ll come back tomorrow.”

  “Want me to let him know?”

  “I’ll call him, but thanks.”

  “Is Rina coming back with you?”

  “Probably not. She’ll still want to visit her mom for the weekend. It’s been too long since she’s seen her.”

  “Okay. Then what will you do about Shabbos?”

  “We’ve got a freezer in the garage filled with food. It won’t be a problem, but thanks for asking.”

  “You want company?”

  Always an ulterior motive. Decker said, “Sure. Come over. Stop by the house in the morning, pick out what you want to eat, and leave it on the kitchen counter to defrost. Everything’s in there from soup to dessert.”