Walking Shadows. Faye Kellerman

I can bet who ran the show.”

      “If the company found out,” Lennie said, “they’d just fire them. Not kill anyone.”

      “No, you’re right about that. But we have to start somewhere, and since Boxer didn’t show up at work, we need to find out why. You said you talked to four people. Who are the other two?”

      “Buss Vitali, who worked alongside Brady Neil. Said he had no problems with Brady, that he was a nice guy. Always willing to carry an extra load to help someone out.”

      “Could be he was a nice guy. Or it could be because he was a nice guy, his coworkers looked the other way.”

      “You really think he was stealing.”

      “I think he was pulling off some kind of scam. Especially now that Boxer is AWOL. Who’s the last person you talked to?”

      “Well, Buss pointed me toward a girl named Olivia Anderson, who works in clothing. She and Brady went out a couple of times. She didn’t show up yesterday for work, but she was there today. It looked to me like she’d been crying.”

      “What’d she say to you?”

      Lennie checked her notepad. “They were dating for around two months, but then he broke it off. Neil told her that he had something he needed to work on. But he never told her what.”

      “When did he break off the relationship?”

      “About six months ago.”

      “When you get back to the station house, call her and say that I’d love to talk to her. She can either come to the station or I’ll interview her at her home.”

      “She seemed like a nice girl.”

      “And by all accounts, Brady was a nice guy. But something got him killed.”

      “Can I come with you when you interview her?” Lennie bit her lip. “I think she trusts me. It might make things easier.”

      “I’m sure you would help, Baccus, but this isn’t a look-see. I need someone experienced to play off of. It’s going to be McAdams. Did you give her your phone number?”

      “I gave her my card, yes.”

      “Good. Then she might call you after she’s talked to us. If she wants to talk to you, that would be fine. But do it in an open place. Do not go to her house, okay?”

      “Got it.”

      “Did she say anything else other than Brady was a nice guy?”

      “Just that he paid for everything. Consistent with the mother saying he always had cash.”

      “Do you see him earning that much cash from recycled parts?”

      “Enough for a dinner at Steaks! and a movie. Not enough to take her on a trip to Paris.”

      “Yeah, having an extra fifty bucks qualifies as having lots of cash around here. And it’s certainly possible to make an extra fifty bucks in recycled parts. Especially if you didn’t pay for any of it.”

      “True, but would an extra fifty bucks get you killed?” Lennie asked.

      Decker said, “I’ve seen people killed for less. Especially if you’re an addict. But addicts don’t usually take a body from the crime scene and dump it in a second spot. They just take the cash and run.”

      “And it’s a definite that Brady Neil wasn’t killed on Canterbury Lane?”

      “The blood loss at the scene doesn’t fit the severity of the wound. Plus, we have a second person of interest who’s missing. This seems like something more than some random mugging.”

      “Maybe Joseph Boch a.k.a. Boxer can shed some light on the situation.”

      “One can always hope.” Decker smiled. “And one can always be disappointed.”

      THE ADDRESS WAS in an impoverished area on Crane Street. It was a small bungalow with a wraparound porch, the house built around the turn of the twentieth century. The outside lawn was brown even though the weather was no longer cold, but there were a few weeds popping up, giving it spots of green. No planting along the border or the steps, but there was a giant oak tree that shaded a crumbling stone pathway to the front door. Although the place had a dirt driveway, there was no car parked outside. The whitewashed flooring of the porch was missing boards, and what was still there was splintered and looked none too safe to walk on.

      When they reached the front door, Decker pulled back a torn screen and knocked on the sash. After announcing himself several times, he closed the screen. He went around to the side yard and peeked over. “Don’t see a car.”

      He eased his shoe into a chain link and hopped over the fence.

      Lennie said, “Do you want me to follow you?”

      “Nah, just going to have a look around. See if there’s any visibility from a back window inside the house.”

      The backyard was as brown as the front but with no tree to give it any life. The area was fenced off from its neighbors by chain link alternating with rotted two-by-fours. Spare automobile parts were strewn about—a few rusted hubcaps, a piece of a fender, several spare tires, and three or four wheel-less bicycles. The house had two windows that looked out to the backyard, but the curtains had been pulled. He knocked on the back door.

      No answer.

      “Detective Decker?” Lennie yelled out.

      “Over in the back. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

      “You okay?”

      “I’m fine.” Decker took a last look around, and then he scaled the fence and landed on his feet with a thud. Thank God for rubber-soled shoes. “Quiet as a tomb.”

      “Just leave our cards?”

      “No, I’m going to try his phone. You call up records and find out who the house belongs to.” Decker punched in the numbers, and the line went straight to voice mail. While he was considering his next move, Lennie interrupted his musings.

      “The tax bill goes out to Jaylene Boch. She’s fifty-nine and bought the house twenty-five years ago.”

      “Call up the station and ask whoever is there to look her up.”

      “Greenbury or Hamilton?”

      “Greenbury.” Decker looked through the front windows, which were obscured by curtains just like the back of the house. “If they don’t have anything on her, we’ll try Hamilton. And while you’re talking to someone at Greenbury, find out what they pulled up on Joseph Boch.”

      “Right away.”

      Decker tried the front-door handle. It was locked, but by jiggling it, he could tell that the spring pin wasn’t very tight. He picked up his phone and called McAdams, who was still pulling CCTV from Tollway Boulevard. After a brief recap of his morning activities, Decker said, “I have Lennie on several calls. Can you get a cell-phone number for Jaylene Boch?”

      “If I were at the station house, I could. But not here in the field.”

      “Right. Who’s there now?”

      “Nickweed might be there. Kev is here with me. I bet Radar’s there.”

      “I’ll give him a call.”

      “Can’t you jiggle the lock?”

      “I could, but that wouldn’t be legal.”

      “The guy’s been missing for two days. Can’t you justify a forced entry?”

      “He’s an adult. And you’re the law student. What do you think?”

      “Your hands are tied, unless you smell something weird.”

      “The windows are shut, so