Walking Shadows. Faye Kellerman

a party boy, was forced to leave his cushy college life and take over the business to support his siblings and himself.

      There was nothing unusual in the reporting, and in his reading, Decker didn’t smell anything other than good, dogged police work. A crime was committed, there was an intensive and time-consuming investigation, and two very bad felons were apprehended. Everything made perfect sense.

      Still, Decker wondered about an alarm. There was no mention of anything going off, which usually points to an inside job, and it didn’t seem plausible that the Levines would be working late without the alarm being set. He wrote down the word, ALARM?, in his notebook and would check on it if he ever looked at the original files.

      McAdams walked into the station with Lennie Baccus. He said, “We got your bagel.”

      Decker looked up from the screen. “Thanks. You guys have dinner?”

      “A new café on Princeton Street. Indian-Thai fusion. That means everything they served kills your taste buds while causing excruciating pain in your gut.”

      Lennie laughed. “I liked it. In Hamilton, we don’t have anything like it. It reminded me of Philly. The restaurants there are phenomenal.”

      “You two went together?”

      “By chance,” Lennie said. “Tyler was already seated. The place was tiny with a sizable line for tables. He was kind enough to offer me a chair.”

      “I’ve done my good deed for the summer.” McAdams looked over Decker’s shoulder. “What are you reading?”

      “Lennie, go call up Detective Butterfield and ask him if he needs help canvassing.”

      “Of course.”

      “And thanks for the bagel.” Decker unwrapped the sandwich and took a bite. Cream cheese oozed out of the sandwich. His eyes went back to the computer.

      McAdams made a face. “Why are you reading articles on a twenty-year-old case? I thought we decided that was a dead end.”

      “No, you decided it was a dead end.” Decker turned to him. “If I’m going to talk to Brady Neil’s sister, it behooves me to find out all I can about the family.” He pointed to the computer. “Brandon Gratz is family.”

      “Brandon Gratz?” Lennie hung up the phone. “Why are you looking up Brandon Gratz?”

      “Good question,” McAdams said.

      “He’s Brady Neil’s father. His mom changed the surnames of her children after Brandon Gratz was arrested and convicted.”

      “Oh my God! I’m so stupid!” Lennie hit her head and clicked her long nails. “Wow! Of course!”

      “Why of course?” McAdams asked.

      “Because Brandon Gratz and Kyle Masterson dominated my childhood.”

      Decker said, “What do you remember about the case?”

      “I was seven when the news broke on the double murder. It scared the crap out of me and all my classmates. That something so terrible could happen. I remember I had this babysitter I adored. After the murders, she wasn’t allowed to watch me anymore. Her mom didn’t want her out alone at night. I was heartbroken, but I understood. To tell the truth, I wouldn’t let my parents go out at night for a long time.”

      “Did you know the family?”

      “No, I didn’t. Hamilton’s population at that time was maybe eighty thousand. Now it’s over a hundred. The town has three high schools. Brady and I are about the same age, but we didn’t live in the same school district so I never really knew him. He grew up in the Bitsby neighborhood—working class and welfare poor. Lots of the parents drank. Some were on drugs. Some were in jail. Lots of lost kids. It’s still that way. I grew up about six miles away in the Claremont area. Blue-collar working class but positively Beverly Hills compared to Bitsby.”

      “Did you happen to know the family of the victims?”

      “The Levines? They lived on the border between Claremont and Bellweather. Their house looked like a mansion to me when I was growing up, but in fact it’s just a two-story brick house probably not more than twenty-five hundred square feet. Which isn’t small, but it’s far from Lower Merion.”

      “That’s the posh area in Philadelphia,” McAdams said.

      “I’m aware,” Decker said. “And you didn’t know the Levines?”

      “Actually, I knew the youngest daughter, Ella. She was a grade older than me, and after it happened, they pulled her out of Hamilton, and she went to live with relatives for about a year.”

      “How many kids were there?” McAdams asked.

      “Five. The oldest was Gregg, who I thought was really old. In fact, he was only twenty or twenty-one when he was a state’s witness against the accused. It must have been horrible for him.”

      “Really horrible,” McAdams said. “Not more than a kid himself.”

      “Yeah, but he pulled it together. He quit school and took over the family business. After a few years, he brought them all back under one roof. There were grandparents in the mix, but Gregg and the next oldest, his sister Yvonne, continued on with the business while looking after the remaining three kids. Ella was the youngest, but the other two were in high school, so they must have been teenagers. The community helped out as well. I remember my dad taking me to a special police dinner to benefit the family.”

      Decker said, “Hell of a lot of responsibility for a twenty-year-old boy and his teenaged sister.”

      “The store is still a going concern, twenty years later. The other three kids don’t live here anymore. I don’t know what happened to them. But Gregg and Yvonne are still in town. They both married locals and have kids of their own. They do lots of charity work with foster care and disaffected youth. Drawing from their own experiences, no doubt.”

      Lennie sat down and shook her head. “I haven’t thought about Gratz and Masterson in ages. They should be up for parole soon.”

      “Next year.”

      “It won’t happen. Not if the family has their say-so.”

      “Any idea why Brandon Gratz and Kyle Masterson didn’t get life without parole?”

      “You’ll have to ask my father about that. He and the entire community thought it was the biggest miscarriage of justice ever to happen around here. The judge retired after the case and moved out of the area. I don’t remember her name. It was a she. I remember my father ranting about the bleeding-heart liberal justice system.”

      “Your father was lead investigator on the case.”

      “I know he was. He worked it night and day. I don’t think he slept a wink until Gratz and Masterson were apprehended, charged, and convicted.”

      Decker nodded. “I was looking over the articles on him. He and his solid police work were credited for the convictions.”

      “Like I said, he worked day and night.”

      To Lennie, McAdams said, “Kinda strange he didn’t tell you that Brady Neil was Brandon Gratz’s son.”

      “I’m sure my father just assumed that I knew.” She looked at Decker. “Did my dad tell you about Brady’s father?”

      “Not when Radar spoke to him, but at that time, we didn’t know who the victim was. If I ask him about it, I’m sure he’ll tell me what he knows. Whether the double murder had something to do with Brady Neil’s death?” Decker shrugged. “Right now, we’re in the beginning stages and everything should be kept under wraps. Like McAdams keeps saying, it’s best not to get distracted by twenty-year-old cases that may not be relevant.”

      The room was quiet. Lennie picked up her backpack. “I’m going to help Butterfield out in