Walking Shadows

“Okay. That could mesh with what the punks told me. That they were there around three and the body was already there. Dash Harden also said they heard something a little later and they all took off. Maybe that’s what she heard.”

“Maybe,” Kevin said. “That’s convenient. I’ve been looking at tapes from CCTV close to Canterbury Lane. It took me a while to locate CCTV because not too many businesses have them, and it took me an even longer time to see anything on them, because Greenbury is a ghost town at that time in the morning.”

“Got it. What’d you find?”

“See for yourself. This baby had a time of 3:17:34 and was taken from CCTV perched at the intersection of Tollway and Heart. It’s heading away from Canterbury Lane.”

“Where did you find this camera?”

“It’s mounted on the front of Sid’s Bar and Grille on Tollway. The place is four blocks from the body dump. Sid’s closes at two, and I checked the make and model with the owner. It doesn’t belong to him or any of his employees.”

“What is the make of the car? I can’t tell.”

“From this picture, it’s hard to see. But at 3:23:17, it shows up again blocks away from Sid’s on Tollway in front of the Bank of Northeast. I’d say it’s a 2009 or 2010 Toyota Camry—dark gray or black.”

“I agree. It might be heading toward the highway. You have any more sightings?”

“No, I’d just started looking in all directions when I found these two tapes. Tomorrow, I’ll go pull any CCTV tapes along Tollway and see if I can spot the Camry again. I’ll also try to pull current registries for 2009 and 2010 Camrys from the DMV.”

“Good work.” Decker stared at the screen. “I can’t see the face of the driver.” Another pause. “This blob over here. That might be someone in the passenger seat. Can you enlarge it?”

“I tried already. All it did was make the blurry images even blurrier. We don’t have the proper resolution equipment. I could try Hamilton. They’re a real city.”

“Leave Hamilton out of the mix for the time being.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to impose any more than necessary on Chief Baccus.” The excuse sounded lame to Decker’s ears.

“I’d think he’d want to know about this,” Butterfield said. “The mailbox felons live in his city.”

Decker had to backtrack. “Yeah, you’re right. Give Hamilton a call.”

“Unless you think there’ll be turf issues,” Butterfield said.

McAdams came to the rescue. “Baccus wasn’t too hot on giving us access to their files. Now that things are heating up, I think he’ll want the case back.”

“Really?” Butterfield said. “Even with Lennie on our team?”

Decker said, “Give Hamilton a call. Find out what kind of equipment they have to enhance this tape.”

Butterfield thought a moment. “I have a few buddies in NYPD in Queens and in Brooklyn. They’re way more likely to have the kind of equipment we need. I can give them a call. If it’s there, we can email in the tape.”

Decker said. “I’ll leave it up to you.”

“I’ll make some phone calls tomorrow.”

McAdams said, “It would be interesting if there were five figures in the car—our mailbox felons?”

“I thought about that,” Butterfield said. “I checked out the felons’ cars and the cars of their parents. Only one of them—Noah Grand’s dad—owns a Camry. It’s a 2006 and it’s light silver. That car on CCTV is too dark to be light silver.”

Decker looked at his watch. It was almost nine-thirty. He’d been working for over twenty hours and decided to call it quits for the day. “Kev, continue this in the morning. Let’s go home and get some sleep.”

“I’ve got the Riley Summers interview at ten. Lennie Baccus is doing the questions, remember.”

“Right,” Decker said. “I forgot about that. How about if I prep Baccus. You make the phone calls to the DMV. Then, you and McAdams check out the businesses on Tollway and see which ones have CCTV. See if you can spot the car and where it’s heading.”

“Sure, boss.” Tyler paused. “You know what goes in, must come out. We have a car driving away from Canterbury Lane. How about a car driving toward Canterbury Lane?”

“Too true,” Butterfield said. “I haven’t checked all the tapes. And I’ve just looked for the cars between the time frame of one a.m. and four a.m. If a car came in earlier, I wouldn’t know. Plus, the mailbox felons could be off on their time frame.”

“Or lying,” McAdams said.

“Always a strong possibility,” Decker said. “Get the tapes and we can all watch some TV tomorrow. Right now, let’s go home.”

They all walked out to the parking lot together. McAdams said, “You’re taking me home?”

“Unless you want to walk.”

McAdams said, “What are you going to do after Riley Summers?”

“Well, assuming I let him go, I suppose I’ll go track down Brady’s friend Boxer.”

Butterfield smiled. “Boxer?”

“Apparently he works in Bigstore’s warehouse department.”

“Maybe Brady Neil’s friend is a dog. Or maybe Boxer is the name of his profession? Or his favorite hobby?” McAdams started jumping around feigning punches. One came near Decker’s face, close enough that Decker jerked his head back.

“What is wrong with you?” He was annoyed. “Did you take your Ritalin this morning?”

McAdams looked chastened. “Sorry.”

Butterfield said, “Where’d you learn the moves?”

“I’ve been taking mixed martial arts classes in Boston.”

“Really?”

“No joke. I started with Brazilian jiujitsu. On the first day of class, I grappled with a five-foot, ninety-nine-pound girl and she took me down. After that, I switched to boxing.”

Decker smiled. “There’s got to be a lesson here somewhere.”

“Of course, there is. Don’t get hurt. However, if you do get hurt, you can always sue.”

AT ELEVEN THE next morning—after an hour of interviewing Riley Summers—Decker was having a hard time deciding if the kid was a deft psycho or if he was just another confused and/or stoned teen. The few coherent statements he did make seemed to jibe with the statements given by Dash Harden and Chris Gingold. Perhaps they all colluded, but it was hard to believe that these guys could keep a false story straight without tripping up. In the end, Decker released the kid, giving him the same stern warning that he gave Harden and Gingold yesterday: keep your nose clean and don’t go anywhere too far away.

“Does that mean I don’t have to go to work?” Riley was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and was scratching a pimple on his face.