The Lost Boys

by Faye Kellerman

  They parked in the circular driveway and walked between pillars to get to the front door. They rang the bell, and a second later the door opened. Harriet must have been waiting in the front foyer. She had on a white, long-sleeved T-shirt, white pants, and sneakers with no socks. Same gold hoops in her earlobes.

  “Come in, please.” She stepped aside to let them cross the threshold. “I put the air-conditioning on full blast. You two should be comfortable.”

  Decker breathed in the welcome frigid air. “Set it how you like. We’re only here for a short time.”

  “Which is why I don’t mind it cold for a bit. We’ll sit in the parlor.” She led them into the room, seated them on a couch, and took a leather club chair for herself. She waited for them to speak first.

  “We found Maxwell Velasquez’s remains,” Decker told her. “I thought you might like to know.”

  Harriet nodded. When no one spoke, she said, “Thank you for telling me. Is that all?”

  Decker smoothed his mustache. “We’re still looking for your son.”

  “I would hope so.”

  There was no real force behind the words. As if she suspected that they suspected something. Decker said, “We were just wondering if there was anything—anything at all—that you could tell us that would help the investigation.”

  She bit her lip. “No. Nothing.”

  “Any kind of a clue or—”

  “Nothing.” Harriet’s eyes moistened. “Bennett was a wonderful boy. I want you to know that.”

  “That’s why we’re out there looking for him,” McAdams said. “Lots of police power, lots of tracker dogs, lots and lots of people spending time and money on the search.”

  Harriet wiped her eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” A pause. “Until, of course, you all give up.”

  Decker shrugged. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon. Don’t worry. We’ll keep at it.” No one spoke. He said, “Max’s remains were buried. We’re looking for a shovel.”

  “Makes sense.” Harriet looked away.

  “It’s been over ten years, but we’re sure we’ll find it. We have to find it. Both boys were buried. There has to be a shovel somewhere.”

  “You don’t bury people clawing at the ground,” McAdams said.

  No response.

  Decker said, “Any idea why the boys would have brought a shovel with them to camp?”

  “Who said they did?”

  “The boys were buried,” Decker said.

  Harriet put a thumbnail in her mouth and took it out. “I told you gentlemen everything I knew.” She paused. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you more.”

  “You can’t tell us more because …”

  “Because I don’t know anything more.” She rubbed her eyes. “What do you want?”

  “Both boys were buried, Harriet.” Decker’s voice was soft and soothing. “Someone cared.”

  No response.

  “No one’s to blame,” Decker said. “Just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” First her eyes became wet, then the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. The audible crying came after that. “It’s been ten years. I think we all deserve to know the truth.”

  The crying became sobbing.

  Decker said, “Can you take us to see him?”

  She wiped her eyes and bobble-headed a yes.

  “Can you take us now?”

  “It’s not close.” Her crying had turned to a few tearful gasps. “About three hours away.”

  “By car or by plane?”

  “By car.”

  “That’s fine.” Decker stood up. “We’ll all go together in my car.”

  “My car,” Harriet said. “He’ll panic if he sees a car he doesn’t know. He has mental conditions. It haunts him.” She wiped her eyes. “He’s never been right after that.”

  Decker thought a moment. “Does he have any weapons?” No response. “Harriet, I need to know.”

  “A gun.” A pause. “Several guns.”

  “That changes things.”

  “I will not call the police, Detective. He’ll kill himself if he sees the police.”

  “Then you have to bring him to me. Weaponless.”

  “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “You have to convince him to give himself up. You have to tell him that no one thinks he did anything wrong.”

  “He didn’t do anything wrong.” The tears were back. “I’ve told him that a million times. He’s scared, Detective. Scared and scarred. Nothing you or I say will make a difference.”

  “Do you know what happened?” Harriet was silent, not about to give anything away. Decker said, “Where does he live?”

  “In a trailer in the woods in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn’t even know how to tell you to get there. I just know how to get there myself.”

  “Okay. Do you think you can get him to talk to us without guns?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Because all I want to do is talk,” Decker said. “But if he has guns, I can’t do that. If you can’t get him out of the trailer unarmed, I’m going to have to call in the local police.”

  “Then I won’t tell you where he is.”

  Decker’s brain was reeling. He certainly didn’t want to arrest the woman for obstruction. He had been thinking that Bennett was institutionalized, not that he was in the middle of nowhere. It was clear that he was suffering, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Maybe twenty years ago Decker would have played cowboy, charging forward without any care about personal safety. But he was older and wiser, and with McAdams, who had already been on the wrong side of a gun twice, he was careful. There had to be a way around calling in the forces. “Harriet, is there a gun shop near here?”

  “Why?”

  “I’d like to buy some body armor—for all of us. I’m not planning on approaching him if he’s armed and paranoid.”

  “I think it would make all of us feel better.” Within seconds, McAdams was tapping his phone. He showed the address to Harriet. “How far is this place?”

  “About fifteen minutes.”

  The detour might give Decker some time to think up an actual plan. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “I should tell my husband. He’s out playing golf.”

  Decker looked at his watch. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning. How about we let your husband go about his day in peace.”

  Harriet nodded. “I’ll get my keys.”

  “I’ll come with you.” When she looked at him, Decker said, “I don’t want you warning Bennett off.”

  “There’s no phone reception where he is. Besides, I know that would be against the law. I wouldn’t do that.”

  She had turned angry. As if Decker had insulted the last vestiges of her son’s humanity. “Just being a cop, Harriet,” he said. “Just doing my job.”

  MOST OF AMERICA’S swamp region was in the Deep South—from Louisiana’s Atchafalaya Basin running east to the Florida Everglades. While Missouri was considered a border state, the heat and the humidity spoke of its southern roots, and it was packed with wetlands and fens that bred mosquitos, flies, beetles, and all sorts of water-skimming insects. Malaria, common at the turn of the century, had been basically eradicated through the efforts of the Tennessee Valley Authority and DDT, but where one disease goes, another comes along. And although Zika was not considered a problem in the United States, Decker didn’t want to be a test case. Bites were unpleasant; illness took unpleasant to a whole new level. COVID-19 had proven that point with alacrity.

  Along the way, Decker bought some cheap long-sleeved shirts and a pack of undershirts and a big can of spray-on bug repellent at a local Walmart. No sense getting his dress shirt and jacket stained with copious amounts of sweat. He had dressed himself in layers—undershirt, body armor, top shirt—and the heat was seeping into his skin like a slow-spreading fire. He had grown up in Gainesville, Florida, not noted for its cool weather, but this was something different. The air was stagnant with
a blanket that was oppressive, thick and unrelenting, similar to the ’Nam jungles in the summer. Except here no one was shooting at him.

  Not yet at least.

  Harriet was driving, and, lucky her, she got the lion’s share of the AC. The two detectives sat in the back, having to make do with an occasional whiff of cold air. Tyler was a steady stream of perspiration dripping from his forehead. His expressive eyes pleaded: I wanna go home! Instead, he whispered to Decker, “No wonder they’re called the flyover states.”

  “Sure, just dismiss an entire part of the country,” Decker said. “Where’s your mettle, Harvard?”

  “It melted about twenty minutes ago.”

  Harriet said, “You two okay back there?”

  “We’re fine,” Decker said.

  “Liar,” McAdams whispered. “Do we have a strategy going forward, boss?”

  “Yeah. Don’t get shot.” Decker looked out the side window. The natural greenery was dark and wet, the ground hosting patches of low-level stagnant pools and ponds, the terrain heavy with trees: swamp tupelo, locust, sweet gum, hickory, and bald cypress with their knobby knees protruding from the water. The road was paved but barely so, with holes of missing asphalt. Vapor was shimmering off the tar.

  Twenty minutes later, as the vegetation thickened, Harriet turned into a rutted path and parked the car. She killed the motor. “His trailer’s up there.”

  Decker looked over the front passenger seat and out the windshield. “I can’t see it.”

  “Yeah, but he can see you.”

  McAdams said, “It’s stifling in here.”

  “Sorry.” Harriet rolled down the windows. “I’d leave the motor on for the AC but it’ll make him suspicious. You can hear everything from up there.”

  “We’re fine without the AC.”

  “Speak for yourself,” McAdams grumbled.

  “Let me go up first,” Harriet said. “See if I can talk some reason into him. If not …” A long sigh. “I suppose at that point, it’s your call.”

  Decker’s face glistened with sweat. “Go for it.”

  Harriet opened the car door. Within a minute she had disappeared among the trees.

  “I dunno which is worse,” McAdams said. “Getting shot or dehydrating to death. You know, wet heat is way worse than dry heat?”

  “I did know that.” Decker slid into the front passenger seat, squeezing his big body through the small open space. Once there, he crouched down, eyes remaining focused through the front windshield.

  McAdams said, “I got a bad feeling about this. Maybe we should have called the local law enforcement. I mean, what are the odds that after hiding for ten years, McCrae is going to talk to us?”

  “Not very good.”

  “Yeah, not very good.” McAdams exhaled angrily. “I know you think you owe the Velasquezes and the Andersons the truth, but is it worth a bullet hole?”

  “You’re thinking bad juju. Drink some water. Dehydration is the enemy.”

  He took a swig from a thermos bottle. “It’s probably cooler outside than inside.”

  “Probably. But until we know what’s happening, we’re staying inside. Sweating isn’t lethal.”

  “That’s what you think.”

  The car turned quiet. Stayed that way for another five minutes.

  Decker sat up. “I think I see them.”

  “Them?”

  “Maybe it’s just her. Get down, Tyler. I don’t know if he’s following her or if it’s a setup.”

  He obeyed. “You think she’d let him use her as a shield?”

  “Don’t know.” Decker slid out of view from the windshield. He took out his weapon. When McAdams did the same, Decker said, “You just stay down, okay?”

  “And let you have all the fun?” A minute later: “What’s going on?”

  “She’s just walking down the hillside.”

  “Maybe he isn’t inside the trailer.”

  “Maybe.” Decker slowly raised his head so he could see out the windshield. “I want to wait until she’s closer.”

  “Wait for what?”

  “Hold on, Tyler. Give me a few more seconds …” A pause. When she was around a hundred feet away, Decker said, “Stay down, Tyler. I’m going for it.” He threw open the passenger door and used it for protection. He called out loud, “Harriet?”

  She stopped immediately.

  “Anyone with you?”

  “Nope.”

  “What’s going on?”

  She looked around. “Can’t see you. Come out from hiding. He’s not with me.”

  Decker wasn’t sure he believed her. He began to stand from a squat, his eyes scanning the area left to right, right to left. Nothing but trees and brush: the forest hid a lot. When Harriet was around ten to fifteen feet away, he told her to stop walking. “Where’s Bennett?”

  “Up in his trailer. He said he’d talk to you. But you’ve got to come to him. He refuses to leave.”

  “Then we have a problem.”

  “Can I move? I don’t like to shout from a distance.”

  “Yes, but walk slowly.” When Harriet was at the car, Decker said, “You’ve got to talk him into coming down here, or else I have to call the police.”

  “He’s not going to agree to that, Detective. I can only push him so far.”

  “Bennett has firearms. You tell me he’s mentally unstable. That means I can’t go up there. He’s got to come down.”

  “He won’t do it.” Harriet had tears in her eyes. “Detective, he said he’d talk to you. But he’s only comfortable talking where he can see everything. He thinks you’re setting him up.”

  “And I think he’s setting me up. If I start up the hill, Bennett can pick me off with a simple scope.”

  “How about if I stand in front of you?”

  “I’m taller than you. And I don’t want you picked off either.”

  “He wouldn’t hurt me.” She looked up at the sky and wiped sweat from her forehead. “He’s rational today.”

  “What do you mean by that?” McAdams asked.

  “It means he knows what’s going on. Unfortunately, that isn’t always the case.” She looked at the detectives. “If we leave now without seeing him, he’s either going to run away or kill himself. How long do you think he’d last in this heat?”

  “He lasted ten years, running away from what happened,” McAdams said.

  Decker’s head was whirling. “Okay, Harriet, this is what I want you to do. I want you to go back up there. How long does it take you to walk back up?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “We’ll come up in ten. We’ll have weapons, but they won’t be drawn. You keep him calm and away from his guns. If he suddenly gets riled, you let us know.”

  “Okay. I’m off.” She turned around and started hiking upward.

  No one spoke for a few minutes as Decker’s eyes were glued to his watch. Finally, McAdams said, “I’ll walk behind you and cover your back.” A pause. “Is this really a good idea?”

  “It’s a terrible idea, but it’s the only one I have right now,” Decker said. “She should be up in a minute or so.”

  “Maybe I should lead. I don’t have a family.”

  “Just because you don’t have one now doesn’t preclude the future. Just stop talking and pay attention. Let’s go.”

  With deliberation and caution, they started up the hill. Decker was constantly using whatever foliage and trees he could find for cover. Within a few minutes, the trailer came into view, peeking through thick brush. Which meant if Decker could see the trailer, someone looking out the window of the place could see him. But he soldiered on, his eyes fixed on the lodging in front of them. Finally, he and McAdams reached the top of the hill with the trailer about ten yards away. He shouted, “Bennett, we’re the only ones out here. I need you to come out so I can see you.”

  Without hesitation, he said, “I can see you. If I wanted to shoot you, I would have done it already.”

  “I appreciate
that.” Decker was dripping wet. “But I’m not going to approach you until I can see you.”

  Silence.

  “Bennett, I’m here to help you.”

  Still no answer. He could hear Harriet’s voice but couldn’t make out the words.

  “Bennett,” Decker said. “I can’t stay around waiting. I need a commitment.”

  Seconds passed. And then a minute … two minutes.

  Finally, the trailer door opened. The man who stepped out was around thirty, but his face looked twenty years older. He had an uncut beard with gray streaking through the dark brown. His hair was unkempt and sported long Rasta curls. There were wrinkles on his forehead, wrinkle lines that fanned out from the corners of his eyes. Dark orbs were surrounded by red and yellow spots swimming in a sea of white. He wore a long-sleeved plaid shirt and a pair of faded jeans with old boots on his feet. Harriet was right behind him.

  “Hands up, Bennett.”

  “Don’t shoot him,” she said.

  “I’m not going to shoot anyone. I just want to see his hands.” To Bennett: “That okay with you, buddy?”

  Bennett said nothing.

  “Put your hands on the top of your head, Bennett.”

  The passing seconds seemed protracted. Finally, he complied.

  Decker turned to McAdams. “Watch his hands.”

  “My eyes are glued.”

  “I’m going to walk toward you now, Bennett. Just keep your hands up where I can see them.” Decker approached slowly until he was looking into the tired man’s jaundiced eyes. “I’m going to pat you down now. It means I’m going to touch you. You keep your hands up and I’ll make it quick.”

  “I’m not a moron. I understand.”

  “Just spelling it out so no one gets the wrong idea.”

  “Go ahead. I’m unarmed.”

  And he was. Decker said, “You can put your hands down now.” Bennett complied. “Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

  Bennett’s eyes darted between McAdams and Decker. “You didn’t give me an option.”

  “Bennett, he’s trying to help,” Harriet said.

  “No, he’s trying to solve a case.” He addressed Decker. “You found the others?”