The Lost Boys

by Faye Kellerman

  Decker said, “Can you talk inside? I’d like to eat without distraction.”

  “Sure.” McAdams went inside the house.

  Rina laughed. “That wasn’t very nice.”

  Decker cut into his steak. A perfect medium rare. “Ask me if I feel guilty. I don’t.” He popped the meat into his mouth. “Delicious. This deserves my full attention. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  They ate in silence for a few moments. McAdams came back outside. “They said we’re in the line. Maybe another week. Should I call Mangrove PD and see if they have Kathrine’s records yet?”

  “Sure. Good idea.”

  “Yeah, I get one every now and then.” McAdams’s phone buzzed. “Okay. Hold on.” Into the phone: “Hey, Spenser. What’s up?” He listened for a few moments. “No problem. We’ll make it another time. Go save the world.” He hung up and said, “My friend is in medical school. He just got paged.” A huge smile. He sat down at the table and snatched a can of beer. He popped it open. “I’ll take that steak if you don’t mind.”

  “Don’t you have to make a phone call?” Decker asked.

  McAdams handed Decker back his phone. “You wouldn’t want my dinner to get cold. Besides, you’re done.”

  Decker looked at his empty plate, stood up, and threw down his napkin. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

  As he walked away, Rina called out, “Fresh fruit in the refrigerator. You mind bringing it out?”

  “Any other requests?”

  “How about a smile?” Rina said.

  “You want to ask for the moon while you’re at it?”

  McAdams said, “He’s not really mad, is he?”

  “He is mad,” Rina said. “He was counting on eating your steak.”

  “Ah.” McAdams cut it in half.

  “You don’t have to do that.” Rina pointed to her steak. “I already saved some of mine for him.”

  “It’s fine, Rina. He’s a big guy. He’s entitled to eat.”

  “Aren’t we two so nice today?”

  “Yes, we are. We’re just the best.”

  WHEN THE HOUSE phone rang past ten in the evening, it was never good news. Rina picked up the receiver, although she didn’t know why. It was always for Peter. But this time she was wrong on both accounts.

  “Hi. Am I calling too late?”

  Rina’s heart was beating fast. “Everything okay, Gabriel?”

  “Yeah, good, as a matter of fact. She phoned me.”

  A gush of relief. “That’s great! How’s your mom doing?”

  “We only spoke for a few minutes. She’s settled in California somewhere. She said she’d call me when she’s found a more permanent home. But she wanted to let me know that she’s okay.”

  “Can I say I told you so?”

  “Gladly,” Gabe said. “I really do want her in my life.”

  “I know you do, honey. She’s your mom.”

  “Also, when she’s okay, it’s less drama in my life. She told me she’s got a few possibilities for a job. I told her not to rush it. I have plenty of money.”

  “What did she say?”

  “That she really wanted to find work. She couldn’t keep borrowing from me. I know I was kind of begrudging about writing her a check the last time we met. I feel bad about it.”

  “She knows you have her best interest at heart.”

  “I do. Honestly, I was hoping this marriage would work. And I think it did for a while. Poor Mom. Poor Juleen and Sanjay. Divorce is hard. My parents were toxic together, and it was still hard on me. I told her I’d visit them in California once they’re settled.”

  “I’m sure they’d love it. You are a very important person in their lives. How’s Yasmine?”

  “Stressed.”

  “How are you?”

  “Busy.”

  “And that’s good, right?”

  “Yes, it is. I like earning money. I like being independent.”

  “For sure.” Rina looked up and Peter had padded into the kitchen, wearing his PJs and slippers. “Want to say hello to the boss?”

  “Love to.”

  Rina handed the phone to Decker. Their conversation lasted a minute, and then he hung up. Decker said, “Nice that she made contact.”

  “I’m happy for Gabe. Maybe she learned from experience what not to do.” A shrug. “You look tired.” When he nodded, Rina hooked her arm under his. “Let’s go to bed. I’m tired too.”

  “No you’re not.” He kissed her cheek. “But it’s nice of you to placate an old man.”

  “You’re not old. It’s just the job. I know you don’t want to retire, but it’s wearing you down.”

  Decker didn’t answer. They went into the bedroom, and a few minutes later it was lights-out with the bedcovers drawn to their chins. He said, “I had a great time in Israel.”

  That was almost a year ago. “As did I,” Rina said. “What brought that to mind?”

  “I guess I remembered how wonderful it was to walk everywhere and explore. And do things on my own time. And you seemed so happy. It was really liberating.”

  “We can go back anytime, you know.”

  “I know.” A pause. “I’ve been looking at real estate ads—”

  “What?” She sat up. “Are you serious?”

  “I don’t want to sever any roots.” Decker sat up and took her hand. “America is my country. I love it and I’m thoroughly red, white, and blue. But I am thinking that we could afford something small. It might be a fun adventure.”

  “Not a cheap adventure.”

  “We have assets—social security and my pension—certainly enough to live on. I have a retirement account. You have some money. Not a bad idea to have a second home. The kids would certainly use it.”

  Rina eyed him in the dark. “You’re thinking about the property in Nachlaot that we saw on a whim. The one where you said that you wouldn’t mind a project. And then I said, ‘It’s not just a project but a total reno.’ And it’s tiny.”

  “Two bedrooms, two baths. That doesn’t qualify as tiny in my book. The inside has good bones—high ceilings and architectural features. The outside has a small garden.”

  “It’s a weed-choked patch.”

  “Which you can have fun with.” He kissed her hands. “Didn’t you say you always wanted a biblical garden? You know the Seven Species.”

  “Did I say that?” Decker didn’t answer. She said, “Yes, I did say that.”

  He said, “Don’t you love the neighborhood?”

  “Honey, it’s where all the kids hang out. It borders the market and it’s loud at night.”

  “It’s filled with action and restaurants, and at my age, who can hear anyway?”

  “Stop that,” Rina said. “When we left L.A., you said you wanted peace and quiet.”

  “It’s a stone house. All I have to do to get peace and quiet is close the doors. Besides, here may be a little too quiet all the time.”

  “Can I ask where this is coming from?”

  “We had a great time there.”

  Rina sighed. “It’s very different visiting as a tourist than owning.”

  “Why? We’re not picking up stakes. I thought you’d be happy.”

  Rina laughed. “Look at us. You’re pushing for Jerusalem and I’m resisting.”

  “Wonder of wonders.”

  “That place was a wreck, Peter. If you really want a part-time place, I suggest we call a real estate agent and look at other properties. Maybe we can find something that’s in better shape.”

  “I don’t need to see other places. That property is perfect. I could create something beautiful, and the area is great. It’s so central.” When Rina sighed, Decker said, “Let’s forget about it and go to bed.”

  “I just don’t want you in over your head.”

  “Last I checked I was still an adult male with a cogent brain.”

  Rina sighed again. “Okay. Fine. Let’s call up the real estate agent.”

  “Do
n’t get mad.”

  “Now what?” Rina sighed. “You’ve bought the place, haven’t you?”

  “No, not exactly. We’ve just been talking price.”

  “For goodness’ sake, why didn’t you say something to me?”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Of course I’m mad.”

  Decker took her hand. “I’m wrong. No excuses. I’m sorry.”

  She shook her head. “How much?”

  “I haven’t signed anything yet.”

  “Good for you. How much?”

  “Approximately $437,000.”

  “That’s a precise amount for approximately.”

  “It depends on the conversion rate.” A pause. “I told her I have to talk it over with you.”

  “Well, thank you for that!” A long silence. “That’s a sizable chunk from our savings, Peter.”

  “We don’t spend on much, Rina. Our needs are simple. And the kids are all working and independent.”

  “That’s debatable.” A pause. “The only reason I’m not murdering you right now is because I’m rational enough to know that you have worked hard all your life.”

  “I have.”

  “And you have a good pension to show for it.”

  “I do.”

  Rina hit her forehead. “I can’t believe I’m saying this. Okay, here goes.”

  “Lay it on me.”

  “You pay half from your retirement. I’ll pay half from my trust fund. Go for it.”

  A pause. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Thank you so much, darlin’. I won’t let you down.”

  “You know we have to get a lawyer.”

  “I know. The agent knows some people.”

  “I know a few people who can make recommendations also.” She shook her head. “Do you really think you can do a remodel by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “You can install a kitchen, bathrooms, air-conditioning, heating, a smart house—”

  “I can do it all. And if I hire a few people to help me, so be it.”

  “Ah, so now it comes out.”

  “I promise I won’t get you involved.”

  “Peter, you don’t speak the language.”

  “Most everyone there speaks English.”

  “I mean the language. And if we’re both going to live there, I’d like to have some say in what’s going on.”

  “It’s a total joint venture.” Decker kissed her hand. “I hope you have an opinion on everything.”

  Rina grinned. “You may come to regret that statement.”

  “I already have.”

  CHAPTER 23

  PLACING THE CALL as soon as the lab was open, Decker waited at his desk, doodling on a blank sheet of paper. It was eight in the morning on Friday. He was always antsy at the end of the week, and maybe that explained why his mind was skipping from topic to topic, landing on each item for a second or two like a fly being chased from a picnic. McAdams walked in, looking dapper: a blue polo shirt, tan khakis, and deck shoes with no socks. He noticed the receiver tucked into Decker’s shoulder and said, “Who are you talking to?”

  Decker looked up. “You look dressed for lunch at the Hamptons.”

  “I should be so lucky. Who’s on the line?”

  “It’s the lab. I’m on hold.”

  “Did they call or did you call?” McAdams said.

  “I called.” Decker paused a moment. “Tell me why you’re going into Hamilton again?”

  “To see if one of the students rented a car ten years ago.”

  A remote possibility. Decker didn’t harbor much hope. Someone came back on the line. “Yes, hello. I was asking about the remains that came in with Dr. Vitello a few days ago. We sent them out for DNA … yes, to test against Bennett McCrae and Max Velasquez.” A pause. “Great. When can I pick it up? … I’ll be right over.” He hung up. “The remains belong to Max Velasquez.”

  “We sort of thought that. Then it’s possible that Bennett buried the other two.”

  “Or there’s another set of bones out there.”

  “If there is another set and it’s Bennett’s remains, who buried the boys?”

  “Good question. Let’s go.”

  DECKER AND MCADAMS were sent from one office to another as various people tried to locate the DNA file. They finally wound up in a pathologist’s office, waiting while the doc finished up with a body. While it wasn’t an autopsy room, it was located in the Hamilton crypt with its pervasive smell of rotting meat and treacle. Even though the air-conditioning was on, the place was warm. One side of the small, narrow area was lined with shelves containing pathology books, tissue samples, and a jar of teeth; a complete human skeleton was suspended from a coatrack. The other side was the lab—shelves of liquids, powders, and reagents along with a countertop covered with notebooks, scales, microscopes, beakers, vials, calipers, and calibrators. Since it was in the basement, there was no natural light, only the glare of fluorescent tubing strung across the ceiling. There was no place to sit, so both of them stood, shuffling feet and glancing at watches. Twenty minutes of doing a two-step until the doc came in, white coat open and smelling none too fresh.

  He looked to be in his sixties, with a short and compact build. His round face was emphasized by a round bald head. He extended a clean hand. “Edgar Ferdinand. Here are the DNA papers and the autopsy report for Maxwell Velasquez. Sorry I took so long. It’s been a busy morning.”

  Decker thanked him and turned to the first page of the DNA report. The material found in the bones was matched to Maxwell Velasquez with 99.9993 percent certainty.

  Ferdinand said, “We were talking about the case—Vitello and me—and Vit got me curious. Specifically, the neat little round bullet hole in the head and then the shattered legs. They don’t go together.”

  Decker said, “We were thinking that it could be a mercy killing. Dr. Vitello was thinking that the remains—now we know it’s Max Velasquez—that he could have survived for a while with shattered legs. But he would have been in tremendous distress. Maybe someone put him out of his misery.”

  “Sure, it’s a possibility.” Ferdinand leaned against the counter. “Vit told me that, in his mind, the shattered chest and leg bones of Zeke Anderson point to an explosion. He also told me that you think it’s from a meth lab?”

  “It’s something we’re considering,” Decker said. “In the woods there’s a lot of room to operate unnoticed.”

  “Yes, there is. But I think the explosion was more up close and personal. Have either of you ever been in the military?”

  “I was in ’Nam.” The lightbulb went off. Decker raised his eyebrows. “A grenade?”

  “It would explain the fragments in the bones.”

  “What in the world would three students from Duxbury College be doing with grenades?”

  “I could be wrong,” Ferdinand said. “Did you find evidence of a bomb lab or a drug lab?”

  “No, we haven’t.”

  “The woods are hidden outposts for all sorts of outside activities like drug labs and pot farms. It could have been a meth lab. But this is my thinking. Ten years ago we were dealing with two wars: Afghanistan and Iraq. Most of our people came through it okay. But some remain driven by demons. Some can’t cope with civilian life. They isolate themselves and live off the grid. For the most part, they’re harmless. That is unless they’re having a mental breakdown and think they’re under attack. For someone with PTSD, the sudden appearance of three strapping young men could look like a threat.”

  “The boys were buried,” McAdams said. “Someone took the time to do that.”

  “It could be that one of the campers escaped and came back and buried the other two. But none of them were ever heard from again. I’m thinking that if someone launched the grenade during a psychotic episode, eventually he may have clicked back into reality and grasped what he had done. When were the students discovered missing?”

  “About four days after they went
camping.”

  “That would have been plenty of time for some misguided vet with PTSD to become rational and bury the bodies.”

  “How do you explain the one gunshot to the head?” McAdams asked.

  “Maybe he brought a gun as well as grenades. Or maybe it was field mines that he planted around himself for protection. Or perhaps it was none of the above.” Ferdinand shrugged. “Food for thought.”

  “A grenade, of all things.” Decker shook hands with the doc. “Thanks for your input.”

  “Hope it helped.”

  “It helped and it muddled things up.”

  “Yeah, sometimes the truth is like that.”

  WALKING BACK TO the car, McAdams said, “A maniac roaming the woods.” He shook his head. “That’ll sure kill tourism. The stuff of horror movies. Not to mention the stuff of panic.”

  “It was ten years ago,” Decker said. “Our so-called maniac could have died. He could have moved on. He could have gotten some therapy and become an upstanding citizen.”

  “Or he still could be out there waiting for some other hapless hikers to encounter,” McAdams said. “Have we found any evidence of someone living off the grid?”

  “You know as much as I do.”

  “On the slight off chance that someone is still sequestered in the hills, we should alert our teams.”

  “Right. Give Kev a call.”

  McAdams extracted his cell from a pocket and phoned Kevin Butterfield. After updating him, he hung up. “He’d like more people out there. He’d like to redouble his efforts to find Bennett McCrae’s remains, should they be there. And they’re still looking for Lanz.”

  “I’ll talk to Mike Radar. Maybe he can round up some volunteers from other agencies.”

  “Are you going up there?”

  “Yes, but first I have to go back to the station to make a death call.” He turned to McAdams. “It might be worthwhile to take a quick trip to Cleveland. It’s more respectful to deliver the news in person.”

  “As soon as you call, the Velasquezes are going to know that it’s bad news, boss. And you have to call. You can’t just pop in on them. What’s the real motivation?”

  “I’d also like to go to Saint Louis and interview Harriet McCrae again. But Radar’s more likely to give me the funds if I say I’ll go to Cleveland to talk to the Velasquezes.”