Walking Shadows

“I don’t like doughnuts,” Decker answered. “Look, Officer Baccus, Homicide is nasty. We deal with the worst parts of humanity, and it stays with you for a long, long time. I have no idea if you’re up for the job, and nothing you’ve told me convinces me one way or the other.”

“Call up my former sergeant. She’ll tell you that I really am very good at my job. Her name is Sergeant Cynthia Kutiel. If you give me your cell number, I’ll text you her number right now.”

“Do that.” When he heard the text beep on his phone, Decker said, “I’ll give her a call. I’ll also want you to talk to Detective McAdams and Detective Kevin Butterfield. They’ll be working with me. We all have to get along for this to be successful.”

“Of course.”

“Anything you’d like to ask me?”

“Nothing right now. I’m sure I’ll ask you lots of questions when we work together.” She made a face. “I mean if we work together.”

Decker regarded her again. “You know, it’s good to show confidence even if you don’t feel it. Nobody likes people who feel sorry for themselves.”

Instead of wilting, she said, “Point taken. I really want to learn, and I’m a workhorse. I’ll be a good asset to you.”

“Good. Detectives McAdams and Butterfield are with SID at the crime scene.” Decker gave her the address. “Go out there and have a look-see. I’ll tell McAdams that you’re coming.”

“Absolutely.” She stood and offered a hand. “Thank you very much.”

“This is a trial period, you know.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Decker paused. “McAdams is studying to be a lawyer—at Harvard. He’s a good detective, but he’s young and brash. He doesn’t choose his words carefully. He can be very rude, but he thinks on his feet, and that’s important. You’ve got to be able to deal with that. The good news is he won’t come on to you, Lenora. That’s not him.”

“Then we’ll absolutely have no problem. And you can call me Lennie, by the way.”

“Fine, Lennie. And you can call me boss.”

CHAPTER 3 (#u821569d5-299d-5eb0-b818-90f997b5f7d2)

SO NOW I have to babysit a spoiled brat!”

“Ahem. Pot … kettle.”

“Spoiled I will agree to, but you can’t be a brat if you’ve been shot in the line of duty. That is just not right.”

“She worked five years with Philadelphia PD. She was in GTA as a detective.”

“GTA Philadelphia? As in your daughter?”

“The very same city. Cindy was her detective sergeant.”

“Wow. Did you tell her?”

“Baccus? Of course not. But I will call up Cindy after I get the death notification done. I just wanted to give you a heads-up about Baccus. She should be with you shortly.”

“Did she tell you why she quit Philadelphia PD?”

“Sexual harassment.”

“Ah, c’mon! You can’t be serious!”

“She’s beautiful, Harvard. I can completely believe it, but I’ll ask Cindy about it. At least, in Hamilton, no one is going to mess with the chief’s daughter.”

“But it does show a certain lack of resilience.”

“Yes, it does. She’s on her way. Be nice, Harvard. We need her on the team to get into Hamilton’s files.”

“If I’m too nice, then she’ll think I’m coming on to her.”

“Hmm, a valid point,” Decker admitted. “You’re right. Don’t be nice. Just be your usual obnoxious self.”

JENNIFER NEIL IDENTIFIED her son, Brady, from one of the photographs taken by the police photographer, saving her the agony of coming down and seeing the body in person. She was five foot two and thin as a reed. A little thing with a weathered face, making her look older than her forty-nine years. Her thin lips could have passed for another crease in her wrinkled face. Blue wet eyes were rimmed in red. She wore baggy jeans and a Guns N’ Roses T-shirt with a concert tour dated twenty years ago.

The woman looked utterly lost.

“Do you have someone I can call to be with you?” When she didn’t answer, Decker said, “A relative or friend?”

Slowly she shook her head. “When can I see him?”

“You don’t have to see him, Mrs. Neil. It’s best to remember him as he was.” She didn’t speak. “Are you sure there’s no one I can call?”

“No husband, if that’s what you mean.”

“Do you have other children?”

Her lip quivered. “A daughter. We don’t talk.” A pause. “I suppose I should call her.”

“I can do that for you if you want me to.”

She nodded.

“What’s her name?”

“Brandy.”

Decker thought, Brandy and Brady. Or maybe it was Brady and Brandy. “How old is she?”

“Thirty.”

Brandy and Brady. Jennifer had been just nineteen when she had her first child. “Do you have a phone number?”

“Gotta look it up. I don’t know if it’s current or not.” She left the living room. It was a small house, neat and clean but unadorned. The faux-leather furniture matched, the end tables were dusted, and the brown carpet was vacuumed though thin in some parts and stained in others. A moment later, Jennifer came back with a slip of paper and a number. Decker pocketed the paper and took out his notebook. “I know this is a horrible time to ask you questions, but it would be helpful if I knew a little bit about Brady.”

She said nothing. Just wiped her eyes.

“Brady was twenty-six?”