“They gave up at some point,” McAdams said. “Otherwise why relegate the files to the basement?”
“I agree.” They walked several blocks until Decker saw an espresso machine through a glass door in a storefront. “This okay?”
“Fine.”
They sat at one of the four tables and ordered two coffees. Decker said, “By the accounts of his former friends, Zeke seemed like a very nice kid. If he was a big doper, they didn’t know about it. If he was a dealer, they didn’t know about it. If he had any weird preoccupations with the occult or the dangerous, they didn’t know about it.”
“Okay. Nothing in high school. But like I said, in college kids change. They experiment—drugs, alcohol, and sex.”
“Yeah, the triad.” Decker paused. “The only thing I found out is that he might have been gay.”
“Hence no college girls.”
“Or sex just wasn’t his thing,” Decker said. “The girl he dated in high school, Sally Kelton, told me he was respectful, maybe a little too respectful. Her words, not mine. But nothing she could pinpoint. He just was a solid kid—idealistic and excited to be out in the world. Right now, I’m baffled as to a motive for a murder.”
“If it was a murder.”
“Why? What did you find out?”
“I only got through one PI.” McAdams took out his notebook. “Selwin Barnaby. He was on the case for two months. He started with the college, naturally, since that’s where Zeke disappeared. Barnaby spoke to people he knew there. He interviewed Jack Carlson.”
“And?”
“Barnaby’s report indicated that Zeke and Jack had different interests. Jack liked to party, Zeke was a perennial cause person: global warming—now it’s called climate change—the homeless, third world poverty, third world sickness, police brutality, racism, sexism, elitism . . . lots of isms.”
“Idealistic.” Decker took a sip of coffee. “Nothing wrong with that. His parents said he most certainly would not own a gun.”
“So, the gun—which may or may not exist—didn’t belong to him.”
“Something blew a hole in his chest.” Decker thought a moment. “Zeke was really keen on working out. That’s kind of a narcissistic thing—perfecting your body.”
“Yeah, it fits more with what the PI learned about Bennett McCrae.”
“Did he work for the McCraes?”
“No, but in investigating Zeke, he looked into Bennett, who seemed to be quite the party guy,” McAdams said. “He and Jack knew each other well because they went to the same bashes. Bennett came alive with people. He was the more usual college guy—he drank, he smoked, he hooked up.”
“Was he known to camp out a lot?”
“Bennett? No idea. But it seems to me that it wasn’t a natural fit for his busy social life. The PI didn’t say a whole lot about Max Velasquez. He didn’t have many friends, he was really shy, he didn’t date. Most of his classmates said he was kind of nerdy—which must mean real nerdy because most of his classmates were probably on the spectrum.”
“Tut, tut.” Decker smiled. “Isn’t that being a bit . . . mathist?”
McAdams smiled back. “Stereotypes grow up for a reason. I’d be your typical aggressive asshole attorney if I practiced law. Instead I’m your typical aggressive asshole cop.”
“I’m a cop,” Decker said. “I am not an asshole.”
“Depends who you ask.”
“Low blow.”
McAdams smiled. “I was referring to felons, not colleagues.”
“Most of my felons and I got along. We all knew where we stood. Anyway, is there anything in the notes to suggest what might have gotten Zeke in trouble?”
“No.” McAdams finished his coffee. “I’m hungry. You want a pastry? I think the place might be kosher.”
“Why would you say that?”
“There’s a certificate in the corner saying it’s kosher.” Decker laughed and then McAdams said, “There are sandwiches. How about mozzarella, tomato, and basil on a French roll.”
“Sure.”
McAdams placed the order and came back to the table. “From my reading, if anyone would be involved in funny business, it would be Bennett.”
Decker said, “First, let’s read through all the material we have on Zeke Anderson and see if we missed anything. Then we’ll read through it again. And then a third time. Because no matter how many times we read it, we’ll overlook something. Then we start looking at the others.”
“Why can’t we do them all simultaneously?”
“It’ll increase our odds that we’ll miss something with Zeke. Besides, we have his body, and that gives us justification to work the case as a homicide. For all we know, the two other men could still be alive.”
“Right,” McAdams said. “What time is our appointment with Jack Carlson?”
“Five.”
“We’ll have to tell him that we found Zeke’s body.”
“I think he sensed it when I called him up for an interview,” Decker said.
“Of course,” McAdams answered. “When are we going to visit the other sets of parents?”
Decker thought for a moment. “Soon. I was hoping that once they heard about Zeke—once it’s common knowledge—they’ll call us.”
“If they don’t call us, that’ll tell us something.” McAdams got up and retrieved the sandwiches. When he got back to the table, Decker was on the phone. By the conversation, it was clear he was talking to Kevin Butterfield at the station house. After he hung up, McAdams asked, “What’s up?”
“Still processing Schulung’s car. We’ll know more on Monday. The good news is that if something bad did happen, it didn’t happen in the automobile. Kevin and a few uniforms are going down the back roads, checking to see if there are any workable cameras in any of the houses or businesses. They’re also checking out service stations with convenience stores. Her car was littered with junk food.”
“What about that truck stop?”
“Yeah, right,” Decker said. “Kev paid it a visit, looked over the CCTV. Nothing promising so far.”
McAdams said, “At some point Elsie switched cars with someone, right?”
“Or she could have been murdered and is buried somewhere in the woods.” Decker seemed frustrated. “Butterfield’s looking for tire tracks. It hasn’t rained. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“To make it into that terrain, it must be a four-wheel drive.”
“Elsie’s car wasn’t a four-wheel drive, but I see your point.”
McAdams said, “Has anyone heard from Bertram’s parents?”
“I don’t know.” Decker checked his watch. “I’ll give Dr. Lewis a ring. Maybe he’s had some luck.” He stood up and placed the call, then left a message. “Not answering. Or maybe he’s not answering me.”
“Or maybe he has the weekend off.”
“Lewis shouldn’t be relaxing with a resident missing,” Decker snapped. “I’m wondering if he might be in on Bertram’s disappearance.”