Walking Shadows

“Thank you.”

“Black, right?”

“You’re a quick study. Let’s go.”

“Where are we going?”

“I think I got Boxer’s address. We’ll talk in the car.”

Silently they walked across a big expanse of asphalt. The parking lot was half full, mostly small cars and pickups. Once in the car, Decker put the keys in the ignition. As soon as he pulled onto the street, he said, “You go first.”

“Not too much.” Lennie pulled out her notepad. “I talked to four people—the two women who work at the café—Marie and Gilliam. Neither of them know Boxer, but they did know Brady Neil. He used to come and buy coffee and a croissant, and he was always friendly. They felt really bad and a little worried, like it has something to do with the store.”

“It might,” Decker said. “Joseph Boch a.k.a. Boxer hasn’t shown up for work in two days.”

“Since Neil’s death. Wow. That’s a little creepy.”

“The guy I talked to in the warehouse—his name is Phil—described Boxer as a little guy and kind of a wimp. If he and Neil were stealing electronics, 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?”