The Lost Boys

by Faye Kellerman

“I heard he left his former residential facility because people thought it would be a good idea if he and Kathrine were separated.”

  “There are a lot of rumors going around. I heard that one as well.”

  “Do you give it any credence?”

  “All rumors have a kernel of truth.”

  “Do you know if sex was involved?”

  “All rumors have a kernel of truth,” she repeated.

  “Poor guy.” Decker thought for a moment. “He had cerebral palsy or some sort of birth defect, right?”

  “Right.”

  “CP doesn’t necessarily equate with mental disability, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “But in Bertram’s case, he had cognitive disabilities.”

  “Yes.”

  “In your opinion, how mentally disabled was he? Could you give me an age equivalent?”

  “No, that whole thing is fallacious. I can’t tell you anything about Bertram specifically. But I’ll speak in general terms. Adult mentally disabled might be more advanced than let’s say a ten-year-old at some things and less advanced than a ten-year-old at other things. The delays become more pronounced as the individual moves on to more abstract learning.”

  “Then let me ask you a general question. Do you think someone like Bertram could navigate his way back to his old home?”

  A pause. “If someone gave him explicit instructions, he could probably follow them. But as I told you, he never talked to me about making an escape.” She regarded her watch. “I have someone in five minutes. It would be rude for you to see my client coming in. We try to keep things private.”

  “Thank you, Doctor. You’ve been helpful.”

  The sad smile reappeared. “If I have been helpful, then maybe you can find him.”

  “We’re doing whatever we can.”

  “We all do our best,” Belinda said. “That’s the problem, Detective. Insight doesn’t always equal success.”

  IT WAS AFTER two in the afternoon when Decker stepped outside to call Sergeant Quay at the Baniff Police Department. A few minutes later, the raspy voice came over the line. “Hello, Detective. What’s going on?”

  “I’m at the Loving Care facility, interviewing staff. If Bertram Lanz left on his own, he’d probably need help. Elsie Schulung would be the logical person for him to go to. He seemed closer to her because she was German speaking. I think we should do a welfare check to make sure Bertram isn’t there.”

  “If he left on his own and he’s a legal adult, there’s no grounds to go in.”

  “The second option is she abducted him.”

  “If you think that’s a possibility, I’d be inclined to break a lock and explain it later.” A pause over the line. “Any ransom notes?”

  “No, but I don’t think he’s lost in the woods. We’ve gone over the area inch by inch. We’ve brought in dogs. We haven’t found anything. I think he had a planned rendezvous.”

  “Why would he want to leave the home? Is there evidence of abuse?”

  “Not at all. But he did have a girlfriend at his old residentialcare facility. I’m thinking he ran off with her and Elsie was the go-between.”

  “Why would she do that? Put herself at risk.”

  “Bertram came from money.”

  “Oh. Okay. You’re now saying that she helped him because he promised her money.”

  “It’s a theory. I just want to make sure he’s not there.”

  Quay said, “I can meet you at her place in an hour.”

  “See you then.” Decker disconnected the line. Then he called McAdams. “Hey. Any luck with CCTV?”

  “No sightings of Bertram, unfortunately. We got a little footage from CCTV at gas stations and rest stops along the main highway. But most of the area is rural. Plus, the images we did get are poor quality. But we’ll keep at it. I think there’s a truck stop ten miles away. I might try there. Anything on your end?”

  “I’m going to swing by Elsie Schulung’s house. First thing I’ll do is look inside the garage and see if her car is there.”

  “Did Quay get the make and model of Schulung’s car?” McAdams asked. “You said he was going to do that. Our next step is to go through the CCTV again and look for her car.”

  “I’ll find out the information for you,” Decker said.

  “If not, I can look it up.” McAdams paused. “Do you really think she’s involved?”

  “I can’t think of anyone else who would help Bertram. She’s a long shot, but it’s all I have right now. What’s going on with our remains?”

  “The lab is doing a complicated DNA replication test because the biological material is degraded and might be contaminated. Everyone’s being careful about an identification. But some preliminary results should come in this afternoon.”

  “Great. I’ll be back tonight at around six, maybe seven. We’re thinking Thai.”

  “Are you inviting me?”

  “I am.”

  “Then I’ll come.”

  BANIFF WAS A rural town consisting of a hundred-year-old city hall, small, individually owned shops, several schools, and a church on every corner. Schulung lived in a residential area not too far from Main Street, which cut the business district in two. Most of the houses were one story with brick and white-clapboard siding and a single brick chimney that peeked out from wood shingle roofs. The lots were small, and while some lawns were dewy green, others were turning yellow in the heat. Elsie lived on a quiet street shaded by oaks and elms in full leaf.

  Decker parked in front of the address and got out of the car. He checked the mailbox. It was getting pretty stuffed at this point.

  Lots of the houses had been planted with shrubs and flowers. Elsie’s hadn’t gotten the memo. The abode was a plain Jane with a walkway that bisected the lawn and led to a step-up front porch. The outside furniture included a broken swing and a beaten-up sofa. A solid front door flaked red paint, and the screen door was hanging off of its hinges. No car in the driveway, and the shade over the window in the one-car garage prevented him from seeing inside. The garage blocked off the backyard on the left side, but there was a metal gate on the right that allowed access to the rear.

  Retrieving his phone from his coat pocket, Decker was internally debating whether to have a look around when a Baniff Police black-and-white pulled up to the curb. The middle-aged man stepping out of the driver’s side wore a short-sleeved tan uniform and tan brimmed hat. There was a police belt strapped around his waist. He was tall and thin with a big Adam’s apple. His eyes were brown, his face deeply tanned and weathered. When he saw Decker, he touched the brim of his hat. “Detective.”

  “Pete’s fine by me. Thanks for doing this.” Decker held up his phone. “For photographs in case there’s something in the house.”

  “Let’s hope not.” Quay paused. “You know, even if you didn’t ask me, I probably would have checked it out in a couple of days.” He knocked loudly at the door, announcing himself. Did it several times. “Let’s go around the back and knock there.”

  Quay went up to the side yard metal gate and lifted the latch. The two men walked into the backyard. There was a small patch of brown lawn, an old Weber barbecue, and pieces of white plastic furniture: a dinette set on a patio, and two lounge chairs, sans cushions, on the lawn. The area was fenced off by brown two-by-fours, and two trash bins were shoved into a back corner. After putting on gloves, Decker went over to the containers, shooed away flies, and pulled off the lids. The bins were empty. “If she took a vacation, she emptied the garbage before she left.”

  “People usually do that.” Quay rocked on his feet. “My time’s limited. Let’s go inside.” He banged several times on the back door but got no response.

  Decker said, “I’ve got a set of lock picks in my pocket. Neater than breaking a window.”

  Quay said, “Go for it.”

  The lock was substantial. Decker took out the tension wrench and turned it to the left. The time-consuming part was moving each pin int
o alignment. By the time he was done, beads of sweat had formed on his nose and forehead.

  “Nice,” Quay said.

  “Thanks.” Decker pocketed the lock picks. “You take the lead?”

  “Sure. Doesn’t seem to be anyone home, but we should probably clear the place before we look around.”

  Decker took off his gloves and unsnapped his shoulder holster. “I’m a good shot. I’ll cover you.”

  Quay nodded and slowly pushed open the back door, which led into the living room. Within five minutes, it was clear that the house was empty. Both men returned their firearms to their holsters. Decker had a quick look around.

  An old house with an old interior decorated with old furnishings. But the place was relatively neat, considering all the junk outside. The floor was not only free of debris, it had been cleaned with bleach and lots of it judging from the strong chemical smell. The living room was small with minimal furniture. The bookshelf had been recently dusted. It contained knickknacks and around a dozen old paperbacks. Schulung favored romances.

  Quay said, “I’ll check out the bedrooms. You can do the kitchen.”

  “Perfect,” Decker said.

  The kitchen counter was clean. There were no dirty dishes in the sink, and the floor’s white tiles appeared recently scrubbed. Here, the odor of bleach was even stronger, and it didn’t take a genius to realize that someone had been intent on scouring something. He looked inside the refrigerator. There were some condiments and some cans of soda and beer but nothing perishable. The freezer was a bottom-drawer pull-out. Nothing in there to warrant alarm.

  His eyes went to his shoes and he knelt down. He swept a gloved finger under the appliance, and it came back rust-colored and sticky. A quick sniff revealed what he thought it was. Since the freezer was on the bottom, it was possible that he was looking at animal blood from meat, but that combined with the bleach smell was adding up to a more nefarious conclusion.

  “Quay! I need your help.” The sergeant appeared within moments. “Could you help me move the fridge?”

  “What did you find?” Quay sniffed the air. “Wow, that’s strong.”

  “Yes, it is.” The two of them positioned themselves and carefully slid the refrigerator off to one side, revealing a sizable pool of the same sticky stuff that was on Decker’s gloved finger. “Do you have a presumptive blood test in your cruiser?”

  “No,” Quay answered. “But with the smell and this … I’ll call the techs from Scientific Investigation Division.” His breathing became shallow and his complexion tinted yellow. “That’s a lot of blood.”

  “And I’m betting we’ll find more blood evidence with luminol. Bad accident—we are in a kitchen—or something way worse.” Decker waited as Quay made his phone calls and stowed the mobile in his police belt.

  “While we’re waiting for a forensic team, I have something to show you.” Quay took in a breath and let it out. “I’ll be right back.” He returned thirty seconds later. “These photographs were in her nightstand drawer. Take a look.”

  “Photographs? That’s old school.” Decker regarded the first one, then the next one and the next one. The snapshots of Bertram that he’d be given at the beginning of the case had been pretty blurry as far as features went. He was now looking at a clear picture. The man had deep-set eyes, a round face, and sandy-colored hair. He had a wide smile that bespoke of some hidden secret. His arm was around a short woman—she looked short compared to the man—with blond hair and dark eyes. She was smiling as well. She looked to have Down syndrome if Decker had to guess. Both of them were photographed from the waist up.

  Decker said, “This might be Bertram.”

  “You don’t know what he looks like?”

  “I was given poor-quality snapshots,” Decker explained. “I’m betting the woman he’s with is his girlfriend, Kathrine.”

  “Why would Elsie have pictures of them?”

  “Don’t know.” Decker scanned through the other photographs. There were several of a woman in her mid-to-late thirties—long face, long, straight hair, and round eyes. Her mouth was halfway between a sneer and a smile. He showed the picture to Quay. “Any idea who she is?”

  “Not a clue.”

  “I’d like to show this to Lionel Lewis from Loving Care Home. Could I keep them for a day or so?”

  “I don’t know how my captain will feel about that”

  “How about if I keep the one of Bertram and his girlfriend, and the one with this thirties-plus unidentified woman.” He handed back the rest of the photographs.

  Quay said, “I suppose it’s fine.”

  “Thanks,” Decker said. He looked at the sticky stuff under the fridge. Now that it was exposed to the air, and without the appliance on top of it, the edges were seeping outward. “If the pool is a leftover amount from a good cleaning, there was a lot of blood originally. We should cordon off the area.”

  “I have some crime-scene tape in the car.” Quay again rocked on his feet. “I’ll go get it.”

  “I have the gloves,” Decker said. “Do you have any paper shoe covers?”

  “Sorry, no.”

  “It’s fine.” Decker smiled to himself.

  An old cop joke came to mind.

  What does a dog park and a crime scene have in common?

  In both places, you need to be careful where you step.

  THE RED POOL was tested and determined to be human blood. Then the floor was sprayed with luminol. Previously white tiles became streaked, smeared, and spotted with electric blue. As the techs dusted for prints and took numerous samples of the rusty pool, detectives from Baniff were busy searching the house for other potential evidence of a crime as well as canvassing the area, talking to neighbors. Whatever happened occurred days ago, which complicated the situation. One thing that the discovery allowed them to do was check the garage. Elsie Schulung’s car was gone, which prompted an immediate BOLO. Decker had finished his statement and went outside for a breather. After inhaling stale smells and the metallic odor of blood for the last hour, he welcomed the fresh air. His first call was to the stationhouse—to McAdams specifically.

  “Awful,” the kid said. “Can the techs tell you anything about the makeup of the blood?”

  “It’s human. They’re waiting to get a DNA profile before they say anything else. We have Bertram’s toothbrush and comb, but they’re back in Greenbury in the evidence room.”

  “I’ll get them for you,” McAdams said. “Want me to run the items to the lab in Hamilton?”

  “Yeah, at this point, I think we need Bertram’s DNA. Deliver the items in person”

  “Sure thing. So right now, we don’t know if Elsie Schulung is the cause of the blood or the victim.”

  “That is correct. The only thing I can tell you is that the place was cleaned up—which takes attention to detail. I don’t see Bertram scrubbing it down without guidance. Elsie’s car isn’t in the garage, and Bertram can’t drive. I looked up her license and registration. Elsie drove a six-year-old silver Ford Focus.”

  “Yes, I know. I looked it up as well.”

  “Any luck with CCTV?”

  “No.” A silence across the line. “There are lots of back roads around here. If she knew the area, she could avoid the main highway pretty easily.”

  “Why do you think she knew the area?” Decker asked.

  “If she was planning on escaping with Lanz, she must have done some homework.”

  “True,” Decker admitted. “It would be super if we had evidence that the two cases are related.”

  “That’s a good point, boss,” McAdams said. “I’ve been thinking. You said there was about four or five days’ worth of mail in the box. Bertram’s only been gone a couple of days. It sounds like her disappearance could have predated his disappearance.”

  A valid point. Decker said, “Why would Elsie drag Lanz into a situation like this?”

  “She had a friendly relationship with Bertram. Maybe she called him in a panic.”
r />   Decker said, “You would think she’d have other friends that she’d call first, right?”

  “Maybe she called him because her other friends might go to the police,” McAdams said. “She probably had more control over Bertram, especially if she did something criminal and needed money in a hurry.”

  “His parents are wealthy, but that doesn’t mean that Bertram has a lot of money in the bank.” Decker paused. “Lionel Lewis called Bertram’s parents in Germany yesterday. He got their assistant, who said they’re not in communication reach.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “I thought so, too,” Decker said. “I suppose there are a few places left on earth where cell phones don’t reach. According to Lewis, the assistant was evasive. At that time I thought maybe Bertram’s parents received a ransom notice and were told not to involve the police. I think I need to call them myself.”

  “Sure. Maybe you’ll have better luck than Lewis.” McAdams waited a few moments. “We need like a timeline.”

  “It would help. Any thoughts?”

  McAdams said, “First something bad happens at Elsie’s house. In a panic, she contacts Bertram. He comes over and helps her clean up the mess and dispose of the body.”

  Decker said, “Then you’re thinking that Bertram is not the victim in the kitchen?”

  McAdams paused. “Good question. Assume that he’s not the victim. He is an accomplice after the fact. I’m thinking that he and Elsie cleaned up the mess together.”

  “And buried an anonymous victim’s body?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Where?”

  “No idea,” McAdams said. “I’m just working through a timeline.”

  “Go on,” Decker said.

  McAdams said, “Okay. At some point during the cleanup, Lanz tells her about the field trip. Something starts percolating in Elsie’s brain. She knows she needs money. But she also knows that if she escapes with Lanz that night, it’ll raise suspicions. Both of them disappearing at roughly the same time. So, she takes Lanz back to Loving Care. That gives her a few days to think. She hatches an escape plan and that involves picking up the one person who knows what she did.”

  “Okay. She arranges to pick up Bertram from the diner. Then what do they do? Does she kill him since he knows about the body? Does she take him with her?”