Walking Shadows. Faye Kellerman

      “We wait around until Radar gives me a call. Want a cup of coffee or something? I think I saw a place a couple blocks away.”

      “No, thanks, I’m pretty coffee’d out.”

      Decker said, “I’m going to call my wife.”

      “Do you want privacy?”

      “I’ll take a walk down the block.” He walked away for a short distance, then phoned Rina. “Hey.”

      “Hi, I’m in the car. Can I call you back in ten minutes?”

      “It might not work. I have a lull right now, but I don’t want you talking while you’re driving.”

      “Everything okay?”

      “Just a whole lot of nothing … well, that’s not entirely true.” He told her about Boxer and his disappearing act.

      Rina said, “That doesn’t sound good.”

      “No, it doesn’t. Not with Brady Neil being dead. I’m trying to get information on Jaylene Boch from Radar, who’s busy right now. We seem to be a little shorthanded.”

      “Have you tried looking her up on the internet on your phone?”

      “And what’s that going to tell me?”

      “Maybe nothing, but you never know. Hold on. I’ll pull over.”

      “Nah, don’t bother.”

      “Just hold on. There’s a space right here.” A moment passed. “Okay. What’s the name?”

      “Jaylene Boch.” Decker spelled it.

      “Unusual name. Let’s see if she has any hits.”

      “How are you doing?” Decker asked.

      “I’m fine. I just spoke to my mom.”

      “How is she?”

      “Okay. It’s been a while since we’ve visited either mother. Since they both live in Florida, it should be part of our summer plans.”

      “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll go, but not in the summer, please. It’s so hot and humid.”

      “Fair enough, but no more excuses.” Rina shook her head. “Okay, here we go with Jaylene Boch. There are six citations, all of them having to do with a car accident eight years ago.”

      “Car accident?”

      “Yes. I’ll pull up the article …” A pause. “This is sad. She was plowed into by an eighteen-wheeler semi. She got a pretty good settlement. But the poor thing is in a wheelchair.”

      “Well, that certainly changes things. If Boxer was her son and he disappeared, I’m wondering who is taking care of Jaylene. And that might justify a welfare check. I’ll call Radar and see what he thinks. Thank you, honey. As usual, you’ve been a big help.”

      He hung up and called Radar, who said, “Jaylene Boch is on disability.”

      “Yeah, I just found out that a car accident left her a paraplegic eight years ago. If Joseph Boch is Boxer and he’s missing, who’s taking care of Jaylene?”

      “I’ve got her phone number. Call it and let me know if she answers. If she doesn’t, go ahead and make a forced entry, just to make sure she’s okay. Knock hard.”

      “Got it.” Decker hung up. He called Jaylene’s cell phone. After three rings, there was a beep and Decker left his name and number. But he still didn’t feel comfortable about walking away. He went over to Baccus. “We’re going to do a forced entry for a welfare check. Turns out Jaylene Boch—”

      “Is a paraplegic.”

      “Looked it up on your phone?”

      “Yep.”

      “Radar gave me her cell phone. No one is answering. I just want to make sure she’s not in there, lying on the floor and incapacitated. Agreed?”

      “Absolutely.”

      “All right, let’s do this.” Decker took out a set of lock picks, and then he backtracked and put them away. Instead, he took out a credit card. After working it back and forth, the bolt retracted and the lock popped. As he opened the door, the stench was overwhelming. Involuntarily, he turned his head. Then he brought out a handkerchief. Lennie was a few steps behind him. She had turned ashen.

      Decker took out his revolver. “Watch my back. I don’t think this is a fresh kill.” He waited for her to respond. “You do have a firearm, don’t you?”

      “Yes, sorry. Of course.” Lennie disengaged her gun from her shoulder holster.

      Single file, they walked into a messy living room—paper cups and plates, food wrappers, soiled clothes, dirty towels, all of it scattered on tables, the sofa, and the two chairs opposite the sofa. Off the living room was the kitchen in an equal state of disarray and mess. Dirty dishes and used pots and pans piled in the sink. Ants were crawling in neat little roadways on the counters, down the cabinets, and onto the floor.

      Decker said, “These two rooms are clear. I’m going to check out the other rooms. You okay?”

      “Fine,” she said.

      Slowly he walked down the hallway that had three doors. With his back to the wall, he opened the one closest to the living room. As soon as he did, the stink grew stronger.

      He pivoted, gun drawn, and went inside.

      She was tied to her wheelchair, head lolling to the side, her eyes closed, her lips parched and cracked. A rag was stuck in her mouth.

      “Damn it!” Quickly, Decker checked out the room closet. Empty. He felt for a pulse and was shocked to find something thready and weak. He turned to Baccus. “She’s alive. Call an ambulance!” Carefully, he removed the rag from her mouth. She had defecated over herself, down the chair, and onto the floor. Decker patted her sweaty forehead with his handkerchief. As he did this, she moaned. “Mrs. Boch, we’re the police. We’re taking you to the hospital. Just stay with me, okay.”

      Baccus said, “Ambulance is coming. I also called for additional officers and SID.”

      “Which police station?”

      “Hamilton, sir. It’s in their jurisdiction.”

      “It’s related to our case, but you’re right. It’s their call.”

      Jaylene moaned again.

      Lennie said, “Is she going to be okay?”

      Decker put his fingers to his lips. “Just hang in there, Jaylene. Just a few more minutes.” To Baccus. “We’ve got to clear the two other rooms. Otherwise emergency services won’t come in. C’mon.”

      “We just leave her alone?”

      “You have to protect my back, Baccus. We have no idea who else is in the house.”

      “Yes.” Lennie wiped sweat off her brow. “Of course.”

      The door across the hall was a bathroom—broken toilet, cracked tile floors, and a browned acrylic tub/shower for the handicapped. He took out his handkerchief, ran it under the faucet, and wrung out the excess water.

      “C’mon,” Decker said. “One more to go.”

      The last room was all the way in the back and looked over the rear yard. He stood with his back against the wall and threw open the door. The stench was horrible. Blood was everywhere—on the walls, on the floor, on the bed linens, and on discarded clothing. Decker quietly walked over to the closet and opened it. It was the only area of the room not smeared with blood.

      Definitely a crime scene, but no body.

      He rushed out of the room and back to the old lady and wiped her brow with his damp handkerchief.