Decker said, “Poor kid. He barely started his life and then it’s gone.” He shook his head. “And then for his parents not to know what happened for ten years?”
“It’s a tragedy,” Vitello said. “Maybe identifying the body will bring the parents closure.”
“You know when closure happens, New England?” Decker said. “Never. It’s always an open wound. Sometimes it festers, sometimes it scars over for a while, but the pain never, ever goes away.”
Chapter 22
It was close to five in the afternoon, and Decker and McAdams were drowning in work. More and more evidence bags were being brought into the station house from the recent dig. It was only a matter of time before the flimsy card table would sag under the weight. It was already Thursday afternoon. Where had the week gone?
Kevin Butterfield was at the coffee maker renewing the supply of fuel for the rest of the force. He said, “We’ve searched the area in every which direction, Pete. If there was a lab, we’d have come across it.”
“Maybe it wasn’t a structure.” Decker organized his thoughts. “Maybe this one was a pop-up thing in a tent. Maybe that was the purpose of this camping trip. To make something illegal.”
“You can’t make meth in a tent.”
“Sure you can.”
“It requires supplies and equipment.”
“Not complicated supplies and equipment,” Decker said. “Maybe whoever buried the bodies also buried the evidence of the blown-up lab. The cadaver dogs were looking for bodies not bombs.”
“When are the bomb dogs coming?” Butterfield asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe never. We’re not top priority.”
“Coffee ready?” McAdams asked.
“Yeah, which one’s your cup?” Butterfield picked up a red mug emblazoned with harvard in gold. “Might it be this one?”
“That’s mine,” Decker said.
“A gift from yours truly,” McAdams said. “Mine’s the one with Goofy on it.”
Butterfield was abashed. “For my erroneous assumption, I will serve. How do you take it, Tyler?”
“A little milk, thanks.” After Butterfield poured and handed out the mugs, McAdams said, “I’ve been thinking about that.”
“About what?” Decker asked.
“The buried bodies. Specifically, what you need to bury bodies. You go on a camping expedition to make drugs or bombs or whatever, and you decide to take along a shovel? With all the other stuff, it would be a burden because it’s heavy and useless.”
“What are you saying?” Butterfield asked. “That someone knew he was going to bury bodies?”
“Or . . .” McAdams stood up and spread out a map of the wooded area on his desk. “Look at this, guys.” Decker and Butterfield got up and crowded around McAdams. “Here’s where we found Zeke Anderson’s remains. And here’s where we found the other set of remains. This is where the cops on the original case found Zeke’s car. Look at the direction of the lines—from Zeke, to new remains, to the car.”
“It’s downhill toward the main road,” Decker said. “Someone was trying to get help or get back to the car.”
“Exactly. But it was dark. He was confused and he got lost.”
“Are you thinking that a third set of remains are somewhere on that pathway?” Butterfield said.
“Possibly,” McAdams answered. “Or look at this. If you follow the trajectory from where we found the second set of remains and go straight down, you’ll hit a trail that does a switchback that leads to the main road about three miles away from Zeke’s car. It’s very possible that our remaining dude actually made it to the road and hitched his way to civilization.”
“How does this fit into your shovel question?” Butterfield asked.
“Suppose that the explosion took place Thursday or Friday,” McAdams said. “The remaining camper knows he has a limited amount of time before people start looking for them. He has two days’ grace to get rid of the bodies and hide whatever caused the explosion. Once he makes it into town, he rents a car, buys a shovel, and goes to work hiding everything. He can take some time because he knows that no one is looking for them. Once he’s done with that, he splits before anyone realizes that he and his buds are missing.”
“That takes an awful cool head,” Butterfield stated.
“Max wasn’t social, but no one ever said he wasn’t smart,” McAdams said. “Given enough time, he could do it.”
Decker said, “Why bury the bodies so far apart?”
“Throw the police off.”
“It’s a stretch, Harvard,” Decker said. “To hitch a ride into town, get a shovel, go back to the hills, bury two bodies two miles apart, and then disappear for ten years?”
“I’m not saying it happened that way. But it could be done, especially if you knew that no one was looking for you.” McAdams’s eyes returned to the map. “The trail leads out to the main road between Greenbury and Hamilton. If I were Bennett or Max, I’d go to Hamilton. More resources, and no one would recognize me.”
Decker said, “If this was ten years ago, we’d be checking out hardware stores and car rentals and CCTV. I doubt if any recordings survived for ten years.”
Butterfield said, “There’s a slight chance that car rentals do keep records.”
Decker said, “We won’t know unless we try. Let’s check it out first thing in the morning.”
“Will do.” McAdams paused. “Am I flying solo tomorrow?”
“If we get the DNA results in the morning, I’ll come with you,” Decker said. “At some point, someone needs to look over the area for evidence of an explosion. Buttress up our theory.”
“It’s fine, boss,” McAdams said. “I can go to Hamilton myself.”
Butterfield said, “I can do the search, Deck. I’m more familiar with the area than anyone.”
“You are.” Decker stood up. “Okay. Kev, you continue with the search for our third camper and while you’re out there, you can search for evidence of an explosion. I’ll go with Harvard to Hamilton tomorrow and see if Vitello has finished his report. It should be done. He was working on the remains when I saw him this morning. How are we doing with our search for Bertram Lanz?”
“It’s still going on,” Butterfield said. “But . . . you know. If he’s out there, it doesn’t look too promising.”
“People can be resourceful,” Decker said. “Lanz has overcome a lot of adversity. The least we can do is have a little faith.”
The smoke from the grill wafted over the backyard fence to the front of the house. Decker’s nose sniffed in the aroma of barbecued meat as soon as he pulled up into the driveway. After parking, he went around to the side yard, opened the gate, and saw Rina wearing a sunflower apron over a pink cotton dress. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, but she wasn’t wearing a scarf or a beret. She had earbuds in her ears, and there was an intense look on her sweaty face. The outdoor table had been set for three. Decker crept around and tried to get her attention so as not to startle her. But no matter how hard he waved, she failed to notice him. Finally, he had no choice but to place a hand on her shoulder.