The Lost Boys

by Faye Kellerman

  “That much blood would need attention,” McAdams said.

  “Of course,” Decker said. “Quay has checked with local urgent care centers as well as hospitals. Negative.”

  McAdams said, “Boss, Elsie was a nurse. She could have tended the wound herself.”

  It was a good point. Decker told him so.

  McAdams said, “Suppose Elsie and Pauline got into a fight and Pauline got injured. Elsie might be hesitant to go to a hospital. She’d get arrested. And maybe Pauline wouldn’t want her to be arrested. You know how domestics are. Love-hate-love-hate.”

  “Okay. I understand that,” Decker said. “Then where does Bertram fit in?”

  “What we’ve been saying from the start, Rabbi. Maybe it was too much for Elsie to care for Pauline and do all the cleanup. She calls Bertram for help. She picks him up from Loving Care and tells him to clean up the blood while she tends to Pauline’s wound. As a reward, she’ll reunite him with Kathrine.”

  “It’s about a half hour from Loving Care to Elsie’s house. Would she just leave Pauline to tend to a bleeding wound while she goes to pick up Bertram? Caring for the injury is more important than the cleanup of a house.”

  McAdams said, “She tended to the wound and then she picked up Bertram?”

  “But that wouldn’t explain why Elsie would abruptly leave town with two adults with special needs. If Pauline turned out okay, no harm done. Why skip town?”

  “Maybe Pauline threatened to go to the police.”

  “If it was an accident, why would she do that?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t an accident,” McAdams said. “Maybe Pauline was attacked.”

  Decker said, “That makes more sense to me. Given the strong bleach smell, someone was hiding something. How Bertram and Kathrine fit in is anyone’s guess.”

  McAdams thought a few moments. “We know the blood isn’t Elsie’s. Let’s assume it is Pauline’s blood.”

  “We’re back to that?”

  “Just hear me out. What if Elsie and Pauline had been planning to take off with Bertram and Kathrine? The accident or stabbing just delayed everything. Then instead of taking off that night, they wanted to give the wound time to heal. So, they waited a few days. Then they picked up Bertram from the diner during the field trip and picked up Kathrine a day later at her facility.”

  “All right,” Decker answered. “That scenario makes a modicum of sense and it explains some of the moving parts. But why the massive cleanup if they were leaving anyway? And why would Elsie take off with Bertram and Kathrine? What did those two bring to the table?”

  McAdams said, “Bertram promised Elsie money if she could convince Kathrine to come along with them. Or maybe it’s a kidnapping for ransom. Bertram’s parents have money.”

  “Right now, kidnapping is the only thing that makes sense,” Decker said. “That Elsie is trying to extort money. And that’s why she needed Kathrine—to keep Bertram under control. How Pauline would fit in is anyone’s guess.”

  “Maybe Elsie and Pauline planned the kidnapping together,” McAdams said. “To me, that makes more sense than Elsie killing Pauline. And if Pauline was dead, they wouldn’t be traveling in her car. That would be stupid. Then, Elsie would have to get rid of two cars—hers and Pauline’s. Bertram doesn’t drive. To me, that points to Pauline being alive.”

  Decker said, “Just to muddy up the waters, what about suicide? Slashing your wrists produces a lot of blood, but you have to cut pretty deep to get an artery. It’s a good theory to explain what we found at the scene.”

  “Pauline cut herself, and Elsie had no choice but to take her with them.”

  Decker shrugged. “I suppose if Elsie did a good enough job of bandaging, Pauline could still drive her car. That would at least explain why both cars are gone. Actually, both cars aren’t gone. We found Elsie’s car.”

  McAdams said, “This is getting very complicated.”

  “Way too complicated. I like our Pauline as a homicide victim better. It explains why Elsie would need Bertram’s help and why she’d take off immediately. If that’s the case, Pauline’s body should be out there somewhere.”

  “And we should be looking for Pauline’s car, don’t you think?”

  “I do think,” Decker said.

  The station-house phone rang. Decker picked up the receiver and listened intently. “Where?” More listening. “Okay, Kev, we’re on our way.” He hung up and looked at McAdams. “The cadaver dog sat on a spot about two miles from Zeke Anderson. The crew started digging and stopped when they found a human tooth. Coroner is on his way.”

  “Two miles?”

  “Yes.”

  “All righty dighty. Let’s go.”

  “Pull a half dozen waters from the fridge, McAdams. It’s hot out there and we’ll be camping out for a while.”

  IT TOOK THEM almost an hour to find the exact spot because GPS is useless in uncharted areas. By the time they parked, SID was in full operation. There was a white forensics van parked next to a pop-up tent enclosing the affected area—standard procedure in Greenbury for remains in remote locations. It prevented unwanted animal activity and detritus from falling into the hole as Forensics unearthed the bones. A large flap had been rolled up and tied at the top, probably to allow some air inside. Kevin was walking out just as they were coming toward the tent. He pulled off his cap and gloves and wiped his forehead. His bald head was dripping sweat. His naturally thin frame probably had lost a couple of pounds in water weight. Decker and McAdams stopped at the open flap. Butterfield said, “Fucking hot in there.”

  “You want some water?” McAdams asked.

  “Yeah, that would be great.” Butterfield downed the contents of the plastic bottle in three gulps. “Scientists are digging carefully. They’ve found two more teeth and an intact mandible with some teeth in the bone. No cranium yet. SDI has just finished setting up. Coroner should be here momentarily.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  “I’ve laid out a grid,” Butterfield said. “Most of it is ground we haven’t covered. I wanted to be as organized as possible. We’ve got bags, gloves, and metal detectors in the van.”

  “Still got the dogs?”

  “A dog, yes. And its handler. I’d like to head up the search team, but someone needs to stay close to the diggers.”

  “I can do that,” Decker said. “I’ll have to suit up.”

  “There are suits in the van as well. I’m warning you, it’s hot and dusty inside.”

  “I’ve handled worse.” Decker shielded his eyes from the glare of sunlight as he glanced around. “Has anyone searched the area around the tent?”

  “Not yet.”

  “I can do that while they’re working inside. I’ll do like a fifty-foot radius, and you and your crew can go out from there. Sound good?”

  Butterfield nodded. “How about if you take McAdams and search a hundred-foot radius? If you do that, my crew will be out of the way.”

  “Okay with me,” Decker said.

  “Want a tape measure?”

  “I’ll just pace it off from the four corners with a string.”

  McAdams said, “That might be more of a rectangle than a circle.”

  Decker crooked a finger in Tyler’s direction. “The kid knows geometry.”

  Butterfield smiled. “Nice to know that elite universities still have some standards.”

  THE LEFTOVER SCRUB sets were too short for Decker’s long limbs. The shoe covers barely fit over his oxfords. But it was enough protection for Decker to take a peek at the remains inside the tent. Digging was still going on. Inside the hole—as with Zeke Anderson—there was hair around the skull. The locks weren’t as plentiful, but what was there was dark and curly, scattered over the cranium like a halo. There was a neat hole in the forehead but no sign of a weapon. He’d ask Kevin Butterfield about it. The thorax had been removed but not the limbs. There were fibers near the body—possibly denim. No jewelry on the fingers or around the neck. SID was worki
ng to expose the legs. The femurs seemed intact, but that’s where it stopped. Below the knee of both legs were splintered fragments of tibia and fibula, indicating the area that took the brunt of the damage. The ankle and foot bones on the right were intact; the left foot was shattered.

  On the table, the coroner was arranging the thorax. Decker walked over, hoping to get more information. The doctor was burly and barrel-chested. He had a round face with a double chin and thick black glasses that were fogged in the heat and the humidity. He promptly pulled them off and cleaned them with a wipe. He smiled at Decker.

  “Craig Vitello. I don’t think we’ve ever met.” He extended his hand, and Decker shook it.

  “No, I don’t think we have. Pete Decker. Thanks for coming down.”

  “Not a lot of calls in your department for my profession?”

  “Thankfully not too many.”

  “Not a local accent.” Vitello wrinkled his fleshy nose as he thought. “Slight drawl. Can’t tell if it’s southern or western.”

  “Born in Orlando but lived in Los Angeles for over thirty years.”

  “The accent is a little bit of both, huh?”

  “People have told me that I have a twang, although I don’t hear it.” Decker smiled. “Not hard to hear where you’re from.”

  “New England through and through.”

  “Can you tell me anything?”

  “I just got here ten minutes ago. First glance, the remains look like they’ve been interred for a while. I know you’re investigating a ten-year-old cold case. The bones certainly could be that old.”

  “Anything about the ethnicity?”

  “You’re referring to the curly dark hair?”

  “I am.”

  Vitello smiled. “Probably not a Swede, but let’s wait for that one. You saw the bullet hole in the forehead.”

  “Yes.”

  “I understand that no weapon has been recovered: no guns, no knives, no blunt objects, no firearms, no bullets, no casings. That’s unusual.”

  “Maybe there’s a bullet that went through his skull and has buried itself into the ground. Or it could be that someone picked it up after firing the weapon. If it was a revolver, there’d be no spent cartridge.”

  “Of course.” Vitello paused. “I want to show you something on the table.” The coroner pointed to the re-creation of the rib cage inside the tent. “The thorax has sustained damage. We’ll know more once we get the bones into the lab, but to me it looks like a projectile went from the back to the front at an upward angle. It took out a floating rib and the bottom of the false ribs, traveling up, and exited.”

  “What kind of a projectile?” Decker asked. “A bullet?”

  “It’s messy for a bullet.”

  “Then what are we looking at?” Before the coroner could answer, Decker said, “There were three students who went missing. The first one, Zeke Anderson, had a shattered rib cage and a shattered forearm and hand. I was thinking defensive wound, but as with these remains, we found no evidence of a firearm.”

  Vitello nodded. “An explosion of some sort would be my guess. If you look here”—he pointed to remaining false ribs—“they have a lot of tiny scratch marks.”

  Decker stared at the bones. “Am I seeing tiny frags of metal?”

  “Yes. The victim was standing with his back toward something that erupted.”

  “Which came first, then?” Decker asked. “The explosion or the GSW?”

  “Don’t know,” the coroner said. Could be the explosion injured him and the bullet to the head finished him off.”

  “Weird to murder someone by explosion,” Decker said.

  “I agree,” Vitello said. “The more likely scenario is he was fatally shot first and someone had the grand idea to try to blow him to pieces to hide the bullet wound.” A pause. “Or it could have been an accidental explosion that severely injured our buried body and the shot was a mercy killing.”

  “Yikes. Poor kid, regardless of how it happened.”

  “Yes, that is cause for empathy,” Vitello told him. “Life is funny. Some people die old, some die young, and some should have never been born.”

  CHAPTER 21

  MCADAMS HUNG UP the phone. He and Decker were back at the station house after being in the field for over eight hours. There were bags of evidence to be sorted and paperwork to be done. Their desktops were stacked with files, and a card table had to be brought out to hold everything else. He took a sip of cold coffee and said, “The remains were male by the angle of the pelvic bones. Vitello will have more information later on, but he wanted to pass that on.”

  “Okay.” Decker was sitting at the card table, carefully removing the contents of one of the paper bags.

  “What are you looking at?”

  “These very small patches of material.” Decker picked up a magnifying glass. “This could be denim.”

  “Were Velasquez and/or McCrae wearing jeans when they disappeared?”

  “Probably, but that doesn’t mean anything. Almost the entire student body of the Five Colleges wear jeans.” Another stare. “There’s a fiber on the patch.” He took out a pair of tweezers, lifted it off the piece of denim, and bagged it separately. “Could be from a sweater.”

  “Can you tell the color?”

  “There’s a tiny bit of pigment.” He examined it closely. “Maybe red.”

  “You don’t have to bother with the clothes. All the boys have their DNA on file. That should short-cut the process of identification.”

  Decker put the tweezers down. “We don’t know who the fibers belong to. Could be from the body. Could be from the person who buried the body.” He stood up and stretched his back. “What do you make of the two being buried so far apart?”

  “Murdered at different times?”

  “So, you think they were intentional murders?”

  McAdams said, “If it was an accident, why hide the bodies?”

  “Fear.”

  “That’s an awful lot of work for fear. And the longer you are missing, the more people are going to start looking for you. Maybe just leave the bodies where they are and get the hell out. In any case, it isn’t logical to bury one body in one place and then drag another body for two miles through wooded areas and bury it there. The inclination would be to dig a deep hole big enough for the both of them and say sayonara.”

  Decker nodded. “I’m going to pack it in. What about you?”

  “I’ve got a few more hours left in me,” McAdams said. “You like the coroner’s explosion theory?”

  “A bomb would explain the injuries.”

  “But not why they were buried so far apart.”

  “More than one explosion?” Decker suggested. “The blasts went off at different times.”

  McAdams thought about that. “Maybe that’s why they went camping. To make bombs. You’d need a lab for that. But why would they make bombs? They didn’t appear to be radicals.”

  “People have secret sides.”

  “Even with two explosions, boss, it still doesn’t explain why the two boys died two miles apart. Unless there was more than one lab. That’s a little far-fetched.”

  “Agreed.”

  “You’d think the dogs would have sniffed something out.”

  “They’re cadaver dogs, not bomb dogs.” Decker scratched his cheek. “And even if there were trace odors from bombs—unlikely after ten years—the dogs weren’t trained to alert with explosives. That’s how it is nowadays, Harvard. Everyone’s a specialist.”

  AT THREE IN the morning Decker tiptoed into the bedroom. He picked up the pajamas that had been laid out for him on the bed and went into the bathroom to change, wash, and brush his teeth. He crawled into bed and closed his eyes. A moment later, Rina said, “How was it?”

  “Long. Let’s talk in the morning.”

  “Sure. Sorry.”

  “No apologies necessary.”

  “I’m just saying I’m sorry it was long.”

  “Oh. Okay. Let’
s go to bed.”

  “Of course.”

  A few seconds passed. He said, “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  “You didn’t wake me. I always have an ear open when you’re gone. Do you need anything?”

  “No. Let’s go to sleep.”

  “Sure.” About a minute passed and Rina heard him getting up. “What do you need?”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  “I left a bottle of water on the nightstand.”

  “Oh.” He slid back under the covers but sat up. “I didn’t see it. Thanks.”

  Rina sat up. “Now I’m thirsty.” She opened her water bottle. In the dark she could see his profile. “Cheers.”

  “Cheers.” They clinked plastic. “When I left, the remains were still being removed. DNA will take a couple of days. We’ll know soon.”

  “Do you think it’s one of the missing students?”

  “I do. The remains are male. And the bones have been there for a while.”

  “Which one?”

  “Don’t know. Maybe Velasquez. But I have no scientific reason for that other than Bennett McCrae was stronger and probably more able to bury the other two.”

  “Why would Bennett kill either one? Max was giving him money, and Zeke was his friend.”

  “Our thinking has shifted a little.” Decker finished the bottle. “I’m still thirsty. I’ll be right back.”

  “Can you bring me another?”

  “Sure.” He came back a moment later. “This isn’t good.”

  “What isn’t good?”

  “A man my age drinking at three in the morning.”

  “You’re probably dehydrated. What has shifted in your thinking?”

  “We haven’t found any evidence of a firearm. And we found some frags in the remains. We’re thinking that maybe it was an explosion.”

  “Like what?”

  “McAdams suggested a bomb lab.”

  “Why would those boys be making bombs? Were they secret radicals or something?”

  “I don’t think so. But a bomb would explain the frags in the bones.”

  “True.” Rina opened her water bottle. “What about a meth lab?”