Walking Shadows

CHAPTER 7 (#u821569d5-299d-5eb0-b818-90f997b5f7d2)

THE BITSBY AREA was one step above blighted. It had an oversupply of bail bond houses, twenty-four-hour convenience stores with bars on the windows, seedy motels, OTB outlets, deep discount electronics stores, and pawnbrokers. There were blocks of weed-choked lots and junkyards secured by chain link. The uneven roads were pocked with potholes, and the sidewalks were tattooed in graffiti. Streetlights looked few and far between. Decker had no idea how bright the lamps shone because the sun was still out when he and McAdams arrived at Brandy Neil’s apartment.

The woman who answered was thirty with a thin face that bordered on emaciated. She wore no makeup, her filmy blue eyes looking tired and sad. Oddly, her face was framed with luxuriant chestnut-colored hair that had been set in waves and curls. She wore denim jeans and a black T-shirt. Her feet were bare. After Decker made the introductions, Brandy invited them in; her voice was soft and sober.

Stepping over the threshold, Decker thought about Lennie’s description of an arm’s-span apartment. This one was made even more claustrophobic because the ceiling was low—an acoustical, popcorn top, which meant the place was probably built in the ’60s or ’70s. It was spare in furniture and spare of personal items. The couch was floral in yellow and blue, the material torn and worn. She invited them to sit on it, and the men complied.

“Coffee?”

“Water, if you wouldn’t mind,” Decker said.

“And you, Detective?” She was looking at McAdams.

“Water as well. Tap is fine.”

“Times two.” Decker pulled out his notepad.

She got up and went to a back counter that held a two-burner cooktop and a microwave oven. The fridge was bar sized and sat under the cabinets. She took out glasses and filled three cups from the tap. She handed out the water, and then she sat down. “I don’t know what I can tell you that will help. I don’t know a lot about Brady’s life. I mean, about his life after I left. When we lived as a family under one roof, it was hell.”

“How so?” Decker said.

“Well, I’m hoping you know about my dad so I won’t have to get into all that shit.”

“I do know. You were shunned after he was jailed?”

“We were terrorized. We had to move thirty miles north to Grayborn—a little shit town with a nice name. We lived there for about three years until Mom brought us back to Bitsby and enrolled us in school under her maiden name, Neil. By then I was around fourteen. Of course, my classmates knew who I was, but now we were all teenagers. They fell into two categories about me. In the first group, I was a total pariah. In the second one—the bad kids—having a parent in prison for murder was cool. Guess which group I fell into.”

“Not hard to understand.”

“I dropped out at sixteen. I was a druggie and a groupie and a horrible influence on Brady. Mom and I fought all the time, but I never expected her to kick me out.” She looked down. “But she did, and things worked out well. Being self-reliant made me get my act together very quickly. I got a job with a very kind boss who knows who I am and what I went through.”

“What do you do?” McAdams asked.

“I’m a bookkeeper, believe it or not. I was always good with numbers. So was Dad, and that’s probably what got him in trouble initially. Dad gambled. Mom used to tell me he had a system. It worked for a while, but then it failed and he got into debt. Real bad debt. Hence the robbery—robberies. The Levines were probably not the first.”

McAdams said, “Forgive me for saying this, but you must have a very unusual boss.”

“Every week, I go over everything with his wife or with him. All invoices, payments out and payments received. I leave nothing up to chance.”

“What business is your boss in?” Decker said.

“Paper supplies. He wholesales out everything from typing paper and lined notebooks to high-quality stationery. I’ve turned my life around. I’ve got a little money in an IRA and a little money in the bank. I live in this shithole place in this shithole area because it’s cheap and all I want is somewhere to rest my head at night. I’m not saying my party days are over. If someone else foots the bill, I’ll go out. But I’m not paying for drinks that are pissed out in an hour and leave me with a bad headache. Most of the time, I live like a monk.”

“And you’re still on nonspeaking terms with your mother?”

“She is positively toxic. So, no, I don’t talk to her. I do send her a Christmas card with a hundred-dollar check every year, and she always cashes it. That way, I know she’s still alive.”

Decker said, “She didn’t mention that.”

“She wouldn’t. To her, I’m just a bad girl who doesn’t care.” A long sigh. “What the hell happened to my baby brother?”

“We were hoping you could maybe help us out with that. What do you know about Brady?”

“Not a lot. We did talk, but not too often.”

“What did you talk about?” McAdams asked.

“Mostly we talked about how we were coping.”

“How was he coping?”

“He said he was okay. He had a job, he had a few friends. Mom basically ignored him and he ignored her. Plus, he had the entire basement for his living quarters. About four times the space of this apartment and no rent. Mom always favored Brady. Me? Not so much.”

“Did you know any of Brady’s friends?”

She paused and shook her head. “I knew a few of his school friends, but that was a long time ago.”

Decker paged through his notes. “Patrick Markham and Brett Baderhoff.”

“Yeah. Wow, haven’t heard those names in a while.”

“Anyone of a more recent vintage?”

Brandy smiled. “Yes, come to think of it. He had a pal from work. Boxer. He was a warehouse worker. I never met him, but Brady told me that he and Boxer would go out drinking sometimes. He was an older guy—around thirty-five or so. Sounds like loser company, but I’m not one to judge.”

“Is Boxer his first or last name?”

“Don’t know. Brady just called him Boxer.”

“It sounds like a nickname,” McAdams said.

“It might be.”

“What about girlfriends?” Decker asked.

She shrugged ignorance. “He never mentioned anyone specific.”

“I have to ask you this. Did you know of any activities that might have compromised Brady in some way?”

“If he was dealing, I didn’t know about it.”

“Your mom said he always had cash.”

“Then ask my mom about it.”

“I did. She had no idea how he got it.”

“Neither do I.”