The Lost Boys

by Faye Kellerman

  “Yeah, you suggested that when we first found Anderson’s remains.”

  “I did suggest that,” Rina said. “Wasn’t Breaking Bad all the rage back then? Maybe the lab exploded?”

  “It’s definitely a consideration. But from what we’ve gleaned, none of them were big drug users.”

  “Maybe they did it for income.”

  Decker nodded. “Income … or for the thrill. None of the students were hardship cases.”

  Rina said, “Maybe that’s where Max fit in. He was the math/science guy. Maybe he proposed the idea to Bennett. Bennett proposed it to Zeke, and the rest is history.”

  “I could see Max setting up something like that. A chance to prove himself. And I could see Bennett going along with it—for the kicks and money. Then there’s Zeke. He doesn’t seem to be the type.”

  “And how well do you know any of them?” Rina said.

  “True. The Andersons didn’t know that Zeke practiced shooting. They told me that he hated guns.”

  “Kids that age are a mystery,” Rina said. “They think they’re immortal. And everything is usually okay. Until something goes wrong.” She put down her water bottle. “You want something to eat?”

  “No, I need sleep.”

  “Then let the snoozing begin.”

  The room was silent. Then Decker got up. She said, “What now?”

  “I gotta make a phone call.”

  “Peter, no one is up.”

  “I’ll leave a message.”

  “What’s so urgent?”

  “I ordered a bomb dog. Maybe I also need a drug dog. I wonder if I can borrow a dog trained in both? CBP must have a few of those.”

  “CBP?”

  “Customs and Border Patrol. They use dogs at crossings all the time. Niagara Falls isn’t so far from here. Maybe I could make a phone call. I’m sure they’re open twenty-four/seven.”

  “It’s three-thirty a.m. Even if someone answers the phone, you’ll probably have to wait until morning.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Let’s go to sleep.”

  “For real this time?”

  “For real.” A minute passed. “Unless you want to do something else as long as we’re up.”

  “That might happen.”

  “Likely or unlikely?”

  “Likely.” A pause. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I want to know my odds before I bother going to the bathroom.”

  Rina hit him. “Go in peace, Old Man. Go in peace.”

  SOME COPS MADE a habit of going down to the morgue. Decker wasn’t one of them. Usually he waited for the coroner’s report to arrive on his desk. If there were any questions, a phone call could handle it. But the case was old and cold and Decker didn’t want to wait for something formal. Vitello said he’d be free around two and didn’t object to a visit.

  The morgue was located in Hamilton, an area that typified small northeastern towns. Unemployment waxed and waned, but teen mischief was always a staple. Most of the time it was petty crime. But there was occasional spillover to Greenbury and the college campuses, and that was always a problem. Hamilton had two major hospitals, both of them capable of doing autopsies for local police departments. The remains found yesterday had been transported to the basement of Saint Joseph’s. The meeting had been called for two o’clock. Decker arrived at ten to. He waited in the car until the appointed time. There was no sense filling one’s nostrils with death earlier than necessary.

  The crypt was brightly lit and busy. As Decker walked the hallways, the sickly sweet smell of decay wafted through the air and up into his nose. Vitello was in one of the eight autopsy rooms, suited up and standing over the remains. Decker knocked and the coroner waved him inside the glass cube. The room was hermetic and blocked out most of the stink of the rest of the morgue. The remains were arranged anatomically—like a collapsed skeleton—and the bones smelled vegetative, like compost with just a hint of dead-body smell.

  Vitello looked up, his blue face mask dangling from his neck. “How’s it going, Twang?”

  “Not bad, New England. Thanks for seeing me. Got anything of interest?”

  “For one thing, I can tell you that our man here was shot at the junction of frontal and parietal bones, and it exited through the occiput.”

  Decker looked at the cavity. “The entrance hole is pretty round.”

  “Yes, it is,” Vitello said. “I don’t think he was moving much when he was shot.”

  “Did anyone find a slug?”

  “I didn’t. I don’t think SID located anything, either.”

  “It was an execution?”

  “If he was tied up, I didn’t find any ligatures at the site or any indentation in his arm bones. The wrist bones fell apart. I’ll examine them one by one and write that up in my report.”

  “Thanks,” Decker said.

  Vitello said, “Now the killer could have taken the ties with him after our victim was shot, but that requires a lot of forethought.”

  “How does the bullet hole fit in with the other damage done to the long bones?”

  “Like we discussed before, and I’m not saying this happened, but I would posit that our victim sustained near-lethal injuries in an explosion and afterward someone decided to put him out of his misery.”

  “Then why bother burying him?” Decker said.

  “Hide the evidence.”

  “Then why bother with an explosion? If there was even an explosion.”

  Vitello shrugged. “Twang, the dead only tell me so much.”

  Decker said, “And you think the explosion came first.”

  Vitello said, “I couldn’t tell you for certain, but yes I think the explosion came first and then GSW. The shape of the hole, and the cleanness of the execution. Like I said yesterday, when the bullet penetrated the skull, the victim wasn’t moving much. With the wounds he sustained on his legs, he would be in a great deal of agony. Someone might have thought a mercy killing was the right thing to do.”

  Decker said, “Poor kid. He barely started his life and then it’s gone.” He shook his head. “And then for his parents not to know what happened for ten years?”

  “It’s a tragedy,” Vitello said. “Maybe identifying the body will bring the parents closure.”

  “You know when closure happens, New England?” Decker said. “Never. It’s always an open wound. Sometimes it festers, sometimes it scars over for a while, but the pain never, ever goes away.”

  CHAPTER 22

  IT WAS CLOSE to five in the afternoon, and Decker and McAdams were drowning in work. More and more evidence bags were being brought into the station house from the recent dig. It was only a matter of time before the flimsy card table would sag under the weight. It was already Thursday afternoon. Where had the week gone?

  Kevin Butterfield was at the coffee maker renewing the supply of fuel for the rest of the force. He said, “We’ve searched the area in every which direction, Pete. If there was a lab, we’d have come across it.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a structure.” Decker organized his thoughts. “Maybe this one was a pop-up thing in a tent. Maybe that was the purpose of this camping trip. To make something illegal.”

  “You can’t make meth in a tent.”

  “Sure you can.”

  “It requires supplies and equipment.”

  “Not complicated supplies and equipment,” Decker said. “Maybe whoever buried the bodies also buried the evidence of the blown-up lab. The cadaver dogs were looking for bodies not bombs.”

  “When are the bomb dogs coming?” Butterfield asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe never. We’re not top priority.”

  “Coffee ready?” McAdams asked.

  “Yeah, which one’s your cup?” Butterfield picked up a red mug emblazoned with HARVARD in gold. “Might it be this one?”

  “That’s mine,” Decker said.

  “A gift from yours truly,” McAdams said. “Mine’s the one with Goofy on it.”

  Butterf
ield was abashed. “For my erroneous assumption, I will serve. How do you take it, Tyler?”

  “A little milk, thanks.” After Butterfield poured and handed out the mugs, McAdams said, “I’ve been thinking about that.”

  “About what?” Decker asked.

  “The buried bodies. Specifically, what you need to bury bodies. You go on a camping expedition to make drugs or bombs or whatever, and you decide to take along a shovel? With all the other stuff, it would be a burden because it’s heavy and useless.”

  “What are you saying?” Butterfield asked. “That someone knew he was going to bury bodies?”

  “Or …” McAdams stood up and spread out a map of the wooded area on his desk. “Look at this, guys.” Decker and Butterfield got up and crowded around McAdams. “Here’s where we found Zeke Anderson’s remains. And here’s where we found the other set of remains. This is where the cops on the original case found Zeke’s car. Look at the direction of the lines—from Zeke, to new remains, to the car.”

  “It’s downhill toward the main road,” Decker said. “Someone was trying to get help or get back to the car.”

  “Exactly. But it was dark. He was confused and he got lost.”

  “Are you thinking that a third set of remains are somewhere on that pathway?” Butterfield said.

  “Possibly,” McAdams answered. “Or look at this. If you follow the trajectory from where we found the second set of remains and go straight down, you’ll hit a trail that does a switchback that leads to the main road about three miles away from Zeke’s car. It’s very possible that our remaining dude actually made it to the road and hitched his way to civilization.”

  “How does this fit into your shovel question?” Butterfield asked.

  “Suppose that the explosion took place Thursday or Friday,” McAdams said. “The remaining camper knows he has a limited amount of time before people start looking for them. He has two days’ grace to get rid of the bodies and hide whatever caused the explosion. Once he makes it into town, he rents a car, buys a shovel, and goes to work hiding everything. He can take some time because he knows that no one is looking for them. Once he’s done with that, he splits before anyone realizes that he and his buds are missing.”

  “That takes an awful cool head,” Butterfield stated.

  “Max wasn’t social, but no one ever said he wasn’t smart,” McAdams said. “Given enough time, he could do it.”

  Decker said, “Why bury the bodies so far apart?”

  “Throw the police off.”

  “It’s a stretch, Harvard,” Decker said. “To hitch a ride into town, get a shovel, go back to the hills, bury two bodies two miles apart, and then disappear for ten years?”

  “I’m not saying it happened that way. But it could be done, especially if you knew that no one was looking for you.” McAdams’s eyes returned to the map. “The trail leads out to the main road between Greenbury and Hamilton. If I were Bennett or Max, I’d go to Hamilton. More resources, and no one would recognize me.”

  Decker said, “If this was ten years ago, we’d be checking out hardware stores and car rentals and CCTV. I doubt if any recordings survived for ten years.”

  Butterfield said, “There’s a slight chance that car rentals do keep records.”

  Decker said, “We won’t know unless we try. Let’s check it out first thing in the morning.”

  “Will do.” McAdams paused. “Am I flying solo tomorrow?”

  “If we get the DNA results in the morning, I’ll come with you,” Decker said. “At some point, someone needs to look over the area for evidence of an explosion. Buttress up our theory.”

  “It’s fine, boss,” McAdams said. “I can go to Hamilton myself.”

  Butterfield said, “I can do the search, Deck. I’m more familiar with the area than anyone.”

  “You are.” Decker stood up. “Okay. Kev, you continue with the search for our third camper and while you’re out there, you can search for evidence of an explosion. I’ll go with Harvard to Hamilton tomorrow and see if Vitello has finished his report. It should be done. He was working on the remains when I saw him this morning. How are we doing with our search for Bertram Lanz?”

  “It’s still going on,” Butterfield said. “But … you know. If he’s out there, it doesn’t look too promising.”

  “People can be resourceful,” Decker said. “Lanz has overcome a lot of adversity. The least we can do is have a little faith.”

  THE SMOKE FROM the grill wafted over the backyard fence to the front of the house. Decker’s nose sniffed in the aroma of barbecued meat as soon as he pulled up into the driveway. After parking, he went around to the side yard, opened the gate, and saw Rina wearing a sunflower apron over a pink cotton dress. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, but she wasn’t wearing a scarf or a beret. She had earbuds in her ears, and there was an intense look on her sweaty face. The outdoor table had been set for three. Decker crept around and tried to get her attention so as not to startle her. But no matter how hard he waved, she failed to notice him. Finally, he had no choice but to place a hand on her shoulder.

  Of course, she jumped. She took an earbud out. “You scared me.”

  “Sorry. I tried to get you to notice me, but whatever you’re listening to must be pretty engrossing.”

  “Just some old devrai Torah from an old rabbi.”

  “Sounds fascinating.”

  “You’re being facetious.” Her smile was wide. “It’s actually not too bad.”

  “That’s a rousing endorsement.”

  “He repeats himself a lot.”

  “Sign me up.” Decker looked at the grill: steak and asparagus. “My mouth is watering.” It was close to eight in the evening. “I’m starving.”

  “Salad and drinks in the fridge. You can bring those out.”

  “You want wine, darlin’?”

  “I’m good with sparkling water.”

  “Then I’m having a beer.”

  “There’s a cold six-pack that’s calling your name. Is Tyler coming?”

  “He didn’t say yes or no when he left, so I’m taking that as a no.” He snaked his hands around her waist. “And that’s just as well. More food for me.”

  “How did it go today? Any DNA on the remains?”

  “Not yet. Soon, I hope.”

  “Then you still don’t know who it is.”

  “No, but the bones are old.”

  “Okay. Any news on Bertram?”

  “No.” He dropped his hands to his sides. “We found out that Elsie Schulung had a girlfriend. Pauline Corbett. Did I tell you this?”

  “No. I’ve barely seen you for the last couple of days. Could you get me the platter and the tongs from the table? We’re good to go.”

  “Gladly.” He gave her the dish and the tongs, then went inside to fetch the salad, sparkling water, and the six-pack. As she doled out the meat and asparagus, Decker popped the top of the can and sipped suds. “Looks wonderful.”

  “Let the meat rest for a few minutes.”

  “Your form of torture?”

  “Hence the salad.” Rina put a heap of leaves into individual wooden bowls. “This is the appetizer. Eat. What about Pauline Corbett?”

  Decker said, “You’re all over the place.”

  “No, I’m just able to keep several lines of conversation going in my head at one time. Why is she relevant?”

  “I don’t know that she is. But her car is missing and she hasn’t been seen in about a week.”

  “She helped Elsie kidnap Bertram and Kathrine?”

  “Maybe. We think that there were two people in the car when it came to pick Kathrine up.” Decker stuffed his mouth with another forkful of leaves and chewed intently. “We’re also thinking that maybe it’s Pauline’s blood in the kitchen.”

  “Why?”

  “The blood is female. The DNA results from material at Pauline’s apartment haven’t come back. But we should know soon if it matches. Here’s something interesting. Q
uay brought in a blood expert. She said that there wasn’t a lot of spatter or blowback. She thinks it might have been a nonfatal stab wound or an accident.”

  “Like a knife cut?”

  “Exactly.” He finished the beer and opened another can. “The blood was found in a kitchen.”

  “Didn’t you say it was a lot of blood?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “How do you cut yourself by accident that badly to bleed that much?”

  “You drop a very sharp knife, and it hits a major vein in the thigh or foot.”

  Rina’s face expressed skepticism. At that moment McAdams came into the backyard. “Am I interrupting anything?”

  “Sit, Tyler,” Rina said. “I made a steak for you.”

  “As tempting as it is, I’m going to pass. I’m meeting an old friend for dinner. A guy I went to school with. I just dropped by to give the old man some lab results.” He handed Decker a manila envelope that had been opened. “Sent over from the lab right after you left the station. It’s Pauline Corbett’s blood.”

  “We were just talking about that,” Rina said. “How a person loses that much blood in an accident without hitting an artery.”

  “You can fall down and hit your head,” McAdams suggested.

  “That too.” After glancing at the report, Decker slid the piece of paper back into the envelope. “We now have a person instead of just blood. What about her car?”

  “BOLO went out yesterday.”

  Decker drummed his fingers on the table. “Did Bertram’s parents ever call back?”

  “Nope.”

  “When was the last time we called them?”

  “I did a follow-up on the way to the airport on Tuesday. I didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  “Probably because there’s nothing to report. They’re still out of cell phone reach. It could be the truth. The secretary said they’re mountain climbing in Nepal.”

  “Okay. Where are we with phone records?”

  “Takes time, boss.”

  “Call up the phone company and bug them.”

  “Sure … now?”

  “I’m in the middle of dinner. Do you mind?”

  “You’re the boss.” McAdams scrolled down the contacts of Decker’s phone and pressed the phone number.