They parked in the circular driveway and walked between pillars to get to the front door. They rang the bell, and a second later the door opened. Harriet must have been waiting in the front foyer. She had on a white, long-sleeved T-shirt, white pants, and sneakers with no socks. Same gold hoops in her earlobes.
“Come in, please.” She stepped aside to let them cross the threshold. “I put the air-conditioning on full blast. You two should be comfortable.”
Decker breathed in the welcome frigid air. “Set it how you like. We’re only here for a short time.”
“Which is why I don’t mind it cold for a bit. We’ll sit in the parlor.” She led them into the room, seated them on a couch, and took a leather club chair for herself. She waited for them to speak first.
“We found Maxwell Velasquez’s remains,” Decker told her. “I thought you might like to know.”
Harriet nodded. When no one spoke, she said, “Thank you for telling me. Is that all?”
Decker smoothed his mustache. “We’re still looking for your son.”
“I would hope so.”
There was no real force behind the words. As if she suspected that they suspected something. Decker said, “We were just wondering if there was anything—anything at all—that you could tell us that would help the investigation.”
She bit her lip. “No. Nothing.”
“Any kind of a clue or—”
“Nothing.” Harriet’s eyes moistened. “Bennett was a wonderful boy. I want you to know that.”
“That’s why we’re out there looking for him,” McAdams said. “Lots of police power, lots of tracker dogs, lots and lots of people spending time and money on the search.”
Harriet wiped her eyes. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” A pause. “Until, of course, you all give up.”
Decker shrugged. “That’s not going to happen anytime soon. Don’t worry. We’ll keep at it.” No one spoke. He said, “Max’s remains were buried. We’re looking for a shovel.”
“Makes sense.” Harriet looked away.
“It’s been over ten years, but we’re sure we’ll find it. We have to find it. Both boys were buried. There has to be a shovel somewhere.”
“You don’t bury people clawing at the ground,” McAdams said.
No response.
Decker said, “Any idea why the boys would have brought a shovel with them to camp?”
“Who said they did?”
“The boys were buried,” Decker said.
Harriet put a thumbnail in her mouth and took it out. “I told you gentlemen everything I knew.” She paused. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you more.”
“You can’t tell us more because . . .”
“Because I don’t know anything more.” She rubbed her eyes. “What do you want?”
“Both boys were buried, Harriet.” Decker’s voice was soft and soothing. “Someone cared.”
No response.
“No one’s to blame,” Decker said. “Just being in the wrong place at the wrong time.” First her eyes became wet, then the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. The audible crying came after that. “It’s been ten years. I think we all deserve to know the truth.”
The crying became sobbing.
Decker said, “Can you take us to see him?”
She wiped her eyes and bobble-headed a yes.
“Can you take us now?”
“It’s not close.” Her crying had turned to a few tearful gasps. “About three hours away.”
“By car or by plane?”
“By car.”
“That’s fine.” Decker stood up. “We’ll all go together in my car.”
“My car,” Harriet said. “He’ll panic if he sees a car he doesn’t know. He has mental conditions. It haunts him.” She wiped her eyes. “He’s never been right after that.”
Decker thought a moment. “Does he have any weapons?” No response. “Harriet, I need to know.”
“A gun.” A pause. “Several guns.”
“That changes things.”
“I will not call the police, Detective. He’ll kill himself if he sees the police.”
“Then you have to bring him to me. Weaponless.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
“You have to convince him to give himself up. You have to tell him that no one thinks he did anything wrong.”
“He didn’t do anything wrong.” The tears were back. “I’ve told him that a million times. He’s scared, Detective. Scared and scarred. Nothing you or I say will make a difference.”
“Do you know what happened?” Harriet was silent, not about to give anything away. Decker said, “Where does he live?”
“In a trailer in the woods in the middle of nowhere. I wouldn’t even know how to tell you to get there. I just know how to get there myself.”
“Okay. Do you think you can get him to talk to us without guns?”
“I don’t know.”
“Because all I want to do is talk,” Decker said. “But if he has guns, I can’t do that. If you can’t get him out of the trailer unarmed, I’m going to have to call in the local police.”
“Then I won’t tell you where he is.”
Decker’s brain was reeling. He certainly didn’t want to arrest the woman for obstruction. He had been thinking that Bennett was institutionalized, not that he was in the middle of nowhere. It was clear that he was suffering, but that didn’t make him any less dangerous. Maybe twenty years ago Decker would have played cowboy, charging forward without any care about personal safety. But he was older and wiser, and with McAdams, who had already been on the wrong side of a gun twice, he was careful. There had to be a way around calling in the forces. “Harriet, is there a gun shop near here?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to buy some body armor—for all of us. I’m not planning on approaching him if he’s armed and paranoid.”
“I think it would make all of us feel better.” Within seconds, McAdams was tapping his phone. He showed the address to Harriet. “How far is this place?”
“About fifteen minutes.”
The detour might give Decker some time to think up an actual plan. “Okay, let’s go.”
“I should tell my husband. He’s out playing golf.”
Decker looked at his watch. “It’s ten-thirty in the morning. How about we let your husband go about his day in peace.”
Harriet nodded. “I’ll get my keys.”
“I’ll come with you.” When she looked at him, Decker said, “I don’t want you warning Bennett off.”
“There’s no phone reception where he is. Besides, I know that would be against the law. I wouldn’t do that.”
She had turned angry. As if Decker had insulted the last vestiges of her son’s humanity. “Just being a cop, Harriet,” he said. “Just doing my job.”
Most of America’s swamp region was in the Deep South—from Louisiana’s Atchafalaya Basin running east to the Florida Everglades. While Missouri was considered a border state, the heat and the humidity spoke of its southern roots, and it was packed with wetlands and fens that bred mosquitos, flies, beetles, and all sorts of water-skimming insects. Malaria, common at the turn of the century, had been basically eradicated through the efforts of the Tennessee Valley Authority and DDT, but where one disease goes, another comes along. And although Zika was not considered a problem in the United States, Decker didn’t want to be a test case. Bites were unpleasant; illness took unpleasant to a whole new level. COVID-19 had proven that point with alacrity.