Walking Shadows

Decker wondered how much he should say to her. Brandy appeared to be truthful. Maybe it was worth the chance. “I pulled in a couple of punks this afternoon. Both of them told me that Brady was selling used and out-of-date electronic equipment to recycling dealers.”

She waited. “Okay. Is there something wrong with that?”

“No. The kids said he found the stuff dumpster diving. Does that sound like the kind of thing your brother might do?”

“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Brady could be … entrepreneurial. But his business wasn’t always legal, to put it mildly.”

“He dealt drugs?”

“Nothing big, but yes, he sold pot and pills in high school.”

“And that’s all?”

“He didn’t peddle tar or crack, if that’s what you’re asking.” A pause. “At least, if he did, I didn’t know about it.”

“So it’s possible he could have dealt harder stuff.”

“Maybe.” She looked at the ceiling. “Something got him murdered.”

“True enough,” McAdams said. “Was he good at computers?”

“I’ve never known him to be a whiz or geeky or anything like that. But he did work in the electronics department at Bigstore, and he was promoted to manager. So maybe he was more adroit than I knew.”

“Was Brady good at numbers like you and your dad?” Decker asked.

“Yes, he was, come to think of it. He was no abstract math genius, but he could add and subtract in his head. I imagine that a gift like that would come in handy working in retail. Today, with calculators and computers, his skill doesn’t bring much to the table. But it’s a great party trick.”

“How about if you’re betting and the odds keep changing?”

“I don’t think Brady was a gambler. We both had our fill of that life from Dad.” Brandy checked her watch. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I have to meet my mom at the mortuary tomorrow and I’m just dreading it. I need a little time to relax. If you have more questions down the road, I’m fine with it. Just not now.”

The men got up and gave Brandy their cards. “Call if you can think of anything else,” Decker told her. “You’ve been very helpful.”

“Have I?”

“Very much. Thanks for your time, Ms. Neil.”

“Just call me Brandy. It’s kind of a stripper name, but I like it. It’s about the only thing I’ve kept from my old life.”

AFTER THEY GOT into the car, McAdams said, “If Brady was a gambler like his old man, it could explain how he wound up dead. Maybe he borrowed money from the wrong person.”

“It’s a thought, but a true gambler usually doesn’t have cash lying around. They spend it as soon as they get it.”

“A professional poker player?”

“Living in the basement of his mother’s home?”

“A mediocre professional poker player?” When Decker didn’t answer, McAdams said, “Well, what do you think?”

“I don’t have any definite theories right now. But what do you think about a manager of the electronics department of Bigstore keeping company with a warehouse worker?”

“He was stealing from the inventory?” McAdams said. “Don’t they keep meticulous records?”

“I’m sure they have records … how meticulous?” Decker shrugged. “If he was dealing in broken-down parts, what’s to say that a box here and there didn’t get accidentally dropped and ruined?”

“Then Bigstore would return it to the manufacturer.”

“Yes, if it was a really big, expensive item. But Bigstore sells a lot of glasses, decorative pots and vases, and kitchenware and small appliances and food in jars. Stuff they wouldn’t ship back because it’s too little. If it was a smaller item—a phone or a cheap game system—maybe the store would elect to lump it all together under its breakage insurance policy.”

“Okay. Suppose Neil and Boxer were occasionally lifting broken items. That’s a good theory for explaining Neil’s extra cash. But it doesn’t explain how he got whacked in the head and ended up dead.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Decker’s phone rang and Butterfield’s voice emerged on Bluetooth.

“Hey, Deck.”

“Hey, Kev. How did the canvassing go?”

“Between that and CCTV, I have a few things. I’m at the station house. Where are you?”

“We’re just coming back from talking to Brady Neil’s sister. We’ll be right over.”

“Is the kid with you?”

“The kid is right here,” said McAdams. “When do I lose the moniker? I mean, is it really proper to call someone a kid if he’s been shot two times in the line of duty?”

Over the line, Kevin Butterfield said, “You’re right. You are now officially Harvard. The girl can be The Kid. Because I’m sure you can’t call any female a girl anymore without getting into trouble by the PC police.”

Decker smiled. “Okay, Lennie Baccus is officially the kid.”

“Good to have the rules down,” Butterfield said. “See you both later.”

After he disconnected, McAdams said, “You didn’t tell him about Lennie’s supposed sexual harassment.”

“It’s not supposed, it’s real. My daughter confirmed it. I didn’t tell Butterfield because I don’t want to bias his opinion of her. She needs to be judged on her own merit.”

“Even though she’s a spy for her father.”

“I never said that. You did.”

“But you did tell me that you don’t trust her.”

“That has nothing to do with who she is. It has everything to do with who I am. I’m very cautious.”

“Indeed,” McAdams said. “I started out cynical. You’ve turned me suspicious. If I keep going at this rate, I’ll be downright curmudgeonly before I hit thirty.”

CHAPTER 8 (#ulink_e267a6f9-094e-557d-8881-ae649bb3b21d)

THERE WAS A woman.” Butterfield was flipping through his notes. He was wearing a white shirt under a light blue sports coat and tan pants. “She had insomnia. She heard something around three-fifteen in the morning. It might have been a car motor. She peeked through the curtains but couldn’t see because it was too dark and she didn’t have her glasses.”