Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2017

First published in the USA in 2017 by

William Morrow, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

Copyright © Plot Line, Inc. 2017

Cover design by Cherie Chapman © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017

Cover photographs © Tony Watson/Arcangel Images (forest);

Shutterstock.com (extra leaves, muddy hole)

Faye Kellerman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008148867

Ebook Edition © Feb 2017 ISBN: 9780008148850

Version: 2017-07-05

Dedication

To Lila, Oscar, Eva, Judah, and welcoming Masha

And as always, to Jonathan

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-two

Chapter Thirty-three

Chapter Thirty-four

Chapter Thirty-five

Chapter Thirty-six

Chapter Thirty-seven

Chapter Thirty-eight

Chapter Thirty-nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-one

Chapter Forty-two

Chapter Forty-three

Chapter Forty-four

Keep Reading

About Faye Kellerman

Also by Faye Kellerman

About the Publisher

Chapter One

The eye sees what it wants to see—and sometimes more.

Late summer in Upstate New York was glorious: warm but not hot with humidity kept in check. Deep in the woods, the sky was a blazing blue through the canopy of green trees with singing birds and humming insects, brilliant enough to turn the most curmudgeonly into optimistic fools. Rina stopped on the trail, breathing in air that would soon turn cool then cold. Back in Los Angeles, she would have never attempted a solo hike, but Greenbury was a small town, and somehow that made it feel safe.

Wearing a backpack, she made sure to keep to the trail. Cellular reception was spotty at best and as she walked deeper into the forest, it all but disappeared. The temperature dropped a few degrees and the vegetation turned thicker. Some of the oaks and maples were hinting at the fall colors to come; autumn was her favorite time of year. As she walked through the woods, she marveled at the way the light sparkled against the ground, the contrast between sun and shade. The stunning displays of nature were providing her with many Ansel Adams moments. Why not take advantage?

She took off her backpack, fished out her phone and a bag of camera attachments. One thing that was great about a phone was the nearly limitless amount of photographs she could take and delete and take again.

Having walked the trail about a half-dozen times, Rina was familiar with the terrain. Every time she shot photos along Bogat, she tried to pick out something new. Last month had been insects; she’d captured over a hundred snapshots of beetles, spiders, butterflies, and other winged creatures. Today she was aiming bigger, specifically for the magnificent, majestic trees and the interplay between light and dark. She found just what she was looking for in the form of a giant, old oak—a huge trunk with leaves shimmering in a gentle breeze, a thousand facets of broken light like the sun reflected off a lapping lake. Trouble was the oak was some distance away off-trail. Although she had a zoom lens, she wanted up-close-and-personal shots.

It isn’t that far away, she told herself. Go for it.

Taking out an old-fashioned compass, she made a note of her coordinates. It was very easy to get disoriented in the woods. Everything was green and lush and looked the same even if you were paying attention. But she was emboldened because as she walked closer to the oak, there was a clearing and some phone reception.

Off-trail, she had to be particularly careful about falling. Tree roots were thick and rocks abounded. As she inched forward, she looked around until she found a great spot to set up. She stepped forward and backward to get the ideal frame, the forest floor beneath her feet feeling spongy. Odd because it had been at least a few weeks since it had rained.

She took a giant stride backward to zero in on the tree and felt a sudden snap under her foot. At first, when she looked down, she thought she had stepped on a twig. Then she realized it was something different and in her confusion, it took a few seconds to register.

A skeletal hand with human fingers.

It had been several hours since she had eaten, but her stomach lurched and her gut felt leaden. Her head went light as her heart started pumping full force. She managed to stay upright, but she was finding it hard to breathe. Talking herself off the ledge.

Old bones, Rina. No one is here. You’re safe.

She brought her hands to her mouth and tried to calm down.

Go back to the trail.

Don’t run. Walk.

Then she heard her husband’s voice in her head.

But … first document this.

The attachment was already on.

It was easier to look at the horror through the filter of a lens. She snapped pictures not only of the hand but also of the surrounding area. She was feeling more and more anxious, so she stopped. Stowing the camera attachment, she took out her phone. Her husband’s mobile went straight to voice mail.

She took out the compass, slowly making her way down the hillside and back to the trailhead. As she walked, she kept trying her phone.

No reception.

Okay. At least you’re on the trail.

Keep going, keep going.

Don’t run. Walk.

Her perfect day had turned sour. But she didn’t dare wallow in pity.

Deep in those woods, it had once been an inconceivably hideous day for someone else.

The calls kept going to Peter’s voice mail, so Rina tried Tyler McAdams, her husband’s sometimes partner in crime solving, which really wasn’t a tall order in such a small town. When he answered, she explained what had happened. The first thing out of his mouth was “Where the hell is Bogat Trail?”

“Didn’t you live here for a year?”

“Two and a half but who’s counting? Have you personally ever seen me in a windbreaker or a parka?”

“I don’t think I have.”

“That’s because cashmere snags when caught on a tree branch. My idea of hiking is going from the law school to Widener. I repeat. Where is Bogat Trail?”

“Just call up Peter. Tell him I’m in my car at the trailhead. He’ll know where that is. And tell him to call me. I can’t get hold of him and by now, I’ve left so many messages, his voice-mail box is full.”

“He’s in a meeting with Radar and one of the college proctors. There was an altercation at one of the bars last night; punches were thrown and a window was broken. The owner is not happy.”

“The semester just started.”

“Exactly. Just stay put, Rina. I’ll go interrupt him.”

A few minutes later, her husband’s voice cut through the line.

“What in God’s name are you doing at Bogat Trail by yourself?” he thundered.

Rina paused before she spoke. “I’ve been on this trail alone at least a half-dozen times.”

“Well, you never told me you were there.”

“I’m certain I did but you never cared because I never found any human remains before.”

A pause. “Go home. We’ll talk later.”

“I’m not going home, because you need me to show you the spot. I copied down the coordinates from my compass.”

“Then I should be able to find it myself. Just go home.”

Rina sighed. “Look, sweetie, I know your anger is coming from a place of concern, but it wasn’t my fault I found bones and this call isn’t about me, okay?”

A long pause. “You’re right. You’re sure the remains are human?”

“Unless there are monkeys here, I saw human finger bones.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, but thanks for asking.” Rina felt her throat clog up. “Just get here as soon as you can.”

“I’m leaving now. It’ll take me about twenty minutes.”

“Is Tyler coming with you?”

“Probably.”

“You drive because he hasn’t a clue where Bogat is.”

“I’m sorry, Rina. It must have been awful for you.”

“It was, but I’m breathing normal again.” A pause. “I took pictures.”

“You took pictures? Of the bones?”

“Of the bones and the area around the bones. After the initial shock, I figured I might as well do something useful.”

“Are there people around?”

“No one, but I’m protected. I’m in my car eating a tuna sandwich with the windows slightly open and the doors locked.”

“Close your windows.”

“Not when I’m eating tuna. But stay on the phone with me.”

“Of course. We’re walking out to the car now. Did you happen to see anything else while you were up there?”

“Like a potential murder weapon? No. How’s your day been going? I heard about the trashing of the bar.”

“Stupid kids. Other than that, uneventful.”

“Same here until this.”

“What were you doing up there?”

“Enjoying a beautiful day. I found a magnificent oak and I was hoping to take some pictures of it. Oh well, I’m sure you’ll get lots of pictures of my tree now. I didn’t smell anything putrid, Peter. Whatever was buried rotted a long time ago. How long does it take a body to decompose?”

“If the weather’s warm, it can take weeks. Longer if the ground’s frozen, but it isn’t. Thaw was months ago.”

“So the body’s been there for a while?”

“I don’t know. There haven’t been any recent missing persons reported, but I’ll check the archives; maybe some local girls have gone missing. I’m turning on the car’s ignition. You’re going to Bluetooth. I may be cut off.”

A moment later, the line was reconnected.

“Are you there?”

“Still here,” Rina said.

“Hi, Rina.”

“Hi, Tyler. Thanks for giving Peter the message.”

“No problem. How are you doing?”

“Better than when we first spoke. Are you calling out SID?”

“Mike Radar is assembling a team,” Decker said. “He’ll call in a coroner and depending who’s available and how far away he or she has to come from, we’ll have the whole crew up there in a couple of hours. There’s still a lot of daylight left.”

“I passed a lovely meadow on the way. It was still filled with flowers. I’m sure the trail will be closed for a while. How sad. I mean it’s way sadder for the person buried up there. I’m kind of rambling. I guess I’m still a bit shaken up.”

“I’m shaken up and I’m not even there yet,” McAdams said.

“Said by the man who has been shot twice.”

“That was so last year.”

Rina laughed. “Just stay on the phone with me until you get here.”

It was the second time she said that. She was more shaken than she was letting on. Decker said, “Again, I’m sorry if I was gruff with you. It scared me, thinking of you alone up there, miles from civilization.” When Rina chuckled, Decker said, “What’s the joke?”

“I was just thinking. Despite all those spooky Grimm’s fairy tales, it’s probably still safer in the woods than in so-called civilization.”

The forensic teams were relegated to hand tools and brushes in order to preserve the integrity of the bones. It didn’t take long before the hints of a skeletonized body emerged. Decker spoke to the coroner, a man in his forties from Hamilton Hospital about thirty miles away. His name was Jerome Donner and he mostly dealt with assigning death certificates to natural causes. He wasn’t ideal, but since Greenbury was not near Boston or New York, he was as good as it gets on short notice.

“No soft tissue left so far. There is hair and nails, which can outlast soft tissue by a long stretch.”

“Long dark strands. Female?”

“Can’t tell from the position of the body. I have to wait until I get the bones in the lab.”

The body was curled in a fetal position. An unusual way for a body to be buried, but it did require a smaller grave.

Donner turned to Rina. “You didn’t notice the hand sticking out right away?”

“No. I just stepped back, heard a crunch, looked down, and saw the fingers.” She made a face. “Sorry if I ruined the crime scene.”

Decker put his arm around his wife. “Why are you still here?”

“Because I want to be here.” She stared at the open grave. “Can you age the skeleton?”

“Not easily,” Donner said. “I’ll try once we get it into the morgue. You’ve got the hair. Dead hair, but at least we have a length and a color.”

“Probably a woman,” Decker said.

“Probably.” The coroner looked up. “Aren’t these things usually women?”

Decker’s shrug was noncommittal. He said, “Once all the biological material is removed, we can poke around and see what else we can find.”

“Like a purse with ID?” Donner asked.

“In a perfect world.”

“Paper by itself would disintegrate. Paper in a purse or wallet would take longer. Even if we can’t find ID, maybe we can get bits of clothing.”

“How long do clothes last before disintegrating?” Rina asked.

“If it’s an artificial fiber, it could be a while. If there’s a purse and it’s made from plastic, then we get lucky.”

McAdams came over. “Reception’s really spotty, but I finally did connect to Kevin. He’s going to pull all the missing person cases going back around five years. I told him it could be anyone, although with long hair it’s probably female.”

Decker nodded. “The body could be local or from anywhere. This is prime dumping ground.”

“But she wasn’t dumped, she was buried,” McAdams said. “Someone took the time to dig a deep hole and cover her up.”

Rina said, “If it was a random killing, would a random killer have taken the time to bury the victim?”

“If he wanted to hide his handiwork and he had the time, sure,” Decker said. “Some killers get a big thrill out of the burial. But I know what you’re thinking: that the killer could have been someone close to the victim who thought it was disrespectful to leave her in the open.”

“Any indication of how the victim was killed?” McAdams asked the coroner.

“Nope.”

“How long do you think it’ll take to remove all the bones?”

“We’ll be working through the night.”

Decker turned to Rina. “Let me walk you back to your car.”

“Sure. You want my other tuna sandwich? I think I might even have two of them left. I always come prepared with lots of food when I hike.”

“I’ll take the sandwiches. Cool it with the hiking for a while.”

“Winter’s coming anyway.”

“Let’s go, darling.”

While they walked back, they made small talk. Then there was silence. Rina broke it. “She could be a student from the Five Colleges of Upstate. How far is the campus? A fifteen-minute drive?”

“Not even.” Decker was quiet. Then he said, “Do you know anyone who has been at the colleges for a while? Someone who might remember missing girls from years ago?”

“Tilly Goldstein has been at Hillel for over twenty years as administrative director.”

“How old is she?”

“In her late fifties. Want me to ask her about missing students?”

“Sure. She’ll ask you why. You can tell her about the bones, but tell her to keep it to herself for the moment. And just ask her and no one else. I need to keep track of who we talk to.”

“Of course. I’ll call her when I get home.”

“Thanks.”

“Anything else I can do?”

“There’s a lot you can do, but unfortunately you can’t do it in public.”

Rina smiled and hit him.

“What?”

“What what?”

“It just means I’m still interested. At my advanced age, isn’t that a compliment?”

She took his hand. “I suppose it is a compliment. When exactly is this little tryst supposed to take place?”

“Certainly not tonight. Can I hold you to it at a later date?”

“I’ll have to see if my calendar is open.”

Decker smiled. “As they say in our former city, have your people call my people.”

Chapter Two

Despite having just a few hours of sleep, Decker felt refreshed. He woke up at seven, smelled the coffee, showered, shaved, and dressed, arriving in the kitchen with a spring in his step. Last night was a long one. He hadn’t expected Rina to wait up for him, but she did and that was very, very nice.

“Good morning.” Rina gave him a kiss. “You look good.”

“Considering …”

“No qualifiers. You look good. Take a compliment. Your bones didn’t make the papers yet.”

“They were still working when I left at two. Kevin and Karen took over for me.” He poured himself a cup and sat down. “I should give them a call. See what’s going on.”

“Absolutely.”

When Decker called, reception at the site was poor. He found out that the coroner’s office was still working on unearthing material, but that would soon be over and they could scour the grave for evidence. He told them that he was on his way and hung up.

“Did they find anything?” Rina asked.

“Not yet. But the coroner’s office is almost done. I should get up there and see if there is anything left in the hole.”

“I’ve already packed some food for you and Tyler. I called Tilly last night.”

Decker stood up as Rina sat down. So he sat down again. “The Hillel lady.”

“Yes. She remembered two missing women in the last eight years and they both made the news.” Rina picked up a scrap of paper on the table. “One had been from Clarion College—Delilah Occum—and the other had been from Morse McKinley—Yvette Jones.” She handed the paper to Decker.

“Okay … hold on.” He took out his phone and checked the names against a list that was e-mailed to him by Kevin yesterday. “I have Delilah Occum at the top of the heap.” He looked down. “I don’t have Yvette Jones, but the list only goes back five years.” He showed Rina the compilation of names.

“Wow, that’s a lot of people.”

“It’s from upstate and down through the greater tristate area. It does not include New York City, which is an entity to itself. When did Yvette go missing?”

“Don’t know.”

“Hold on.” He took out a laptop and plugged her name into the search bar. A moment later, the results popped up. “Seven and a half years ago.” He read the article. “She was coming back from a free lecture at Morse McKinley and never made it back to her dorm.” He pressed several buttons and closed the laptop. “I’ll check it out once I get to the office. Did Tilly know the girls personally?”

“I don’t know. We’re having lunch today at the Vegan Palace. I’ll ask her for details.”

“Thanks. And you told her to keep quiet—”

“Yes, yes.”

“It’s probably irrelevant anyway. There are lots of people digging, so the news is bound to hit soon.” He stood up. “I’m off. Have a good lunch munching on rabbit food and tofu.”

“I will, Mr. Me Want Steak Caveman.”

Decker smiled. “You’ve got my number down.”

“We can do a barbecue tonight while the weather’s still warm. Invite Tyler. He is also a steak man.”

“Is he worth a ribeye?”

“I suppose it depends on what he produces today.”

“The kid’s been okay. More than okay.” Decker slipped on his jacket—more for professionalism than for warmth. The mercury was predicted to be in the low eighties. “I was reading an article in the Wall Street Journal. Do you know what the top firms pay Harvard interns for the summer?”

“Around three grand a week.”

“For ten weeks. That’s thirty grand. You know what he made this summer?”

“Around ten grand?”

“Not even. What a fool.”

“Look at the workload, Peter. I dare say that the two of you have been spending way more time on the Xbox than at the station house.”

“Not anymore. Cold cases are a bitch. If it’s one of the college girls, that means she’s not local. I’m going to have to track down people who probably won’t remember much. Students are transitory. Professors leave for better opportunity. Evidence—if there was any to begin with—gets old and lost.”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

“You’re such a cheerleader,” Decker said. “Why are you always so positive?”

“Inborn genetics, supplemented by exercise and the right diet. Try some tofu, Caveman. It’ll not only help your arteries, it just might change your disposition.”

Once the bones were gone, Decker could comb through the grave proper. There was nothing much retrieved for his effort except sweat. No ID, no purse, no wallet, no cell phone, no laptop. No books or schoolwork. No intact clothing, but there was a piece of cloth; one small, silver hoop earring; and one light gray button that might have been white at some point. He handed them over to the Scientific Investigative Division for analysis.

All morning, Decker, along with Greenbury PD, searched the surrounding area, looking for something that perhaps the killer dumped or lost on the way to the victim’s burial. There were lots of rusted beer and soda cans, cigarette butts, and snack wrappers left over from summer hikes and picnics.

After the items were bagged and tagged, Decker and McAdams drove to the station house. Once there, Decker turned on the computer and read about Delilah Occum: she had disappeared from Clarion College three years ago.

“She was a brunette so she’s definitely in the running. She was last seen wearing a black coat, a red mini dress, and heels.” Decker looked up and directed his question to McAdams. “Did the fabric look red to you?”

“I couldn’t tell a color, pard. Too dirty. The button doesn’t look like it came from a black coat.”

“Which would make sense,” Decker said. “It’s hard to bury a body in winter. The ground is frozen.” A pause. “When did Delilah disappear?”

“Lemme look it up.” McAdams clicked onto her file. “Right after Thanksgiving vacation.”

“I wonder what the temperature was.” Decker clicked the keyboard. “Huh … first snowfall wasn’t until almost Christmas. I suppose theoretically you could bury a body, especially if the forest floor was covered with stuff to keep out the cold.”

McAdams said, “To me, the button looks like it came from a blouse or a shirt.”

“I agree. What about the other college student—Yvette Jones?” Decker brought up the file on his computer. “Also a brunette.”

“So she’s a contender.”

“Yep. Yvette’s roommate remembered seeing her in the morning … she was in the dining hall for lunch—cameras caught her leaving at two-fifteen. Then she went to a lecture at Murphy Hall: Investment for the Socially Conscious. She was caught on camera wearing jeans, a light-colored sweater over a light-colored blouse, and sneakers.”

“The button was light colored.”

“Yes. Yvette was five four, one twenty-six, brown hair, brown eyes. We have our files obviously, but the school didn’t turn them over to GPD until a few days later. I’m sure they also have their own files with their own information. We should find out.”

“Think they’d keep old files like that?”

“If they didn’t, they would be negligent. These are still open cases.” He leaned back in his desk chair. “Let’s see what the coroner has to say. Give him a call. He should have the bones laid out later in the afternoon.”

“He’s in Hamilton right?”

“He is. Do you want to grab lunch before we go? We’ve got time.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m still digesting breakfast.”

“It’s almost noon. What did you eat?”

“Three eggs, bacon, hash browns, orange juice, and three cups of coffee?”

“The Iris Special at Paul’s truck stop?”

“How would you know Paul’s truck stop, Old Man? There isn’t a shred of food that hasn’t been contaminated with bacon.”

“I was called out to the place last winter. Two hyped-up truckers got into it. Nothing serious, mostly tired guys letting off steam, but someone thought it was prudent to call in reinforcements. I’m sure I’d be called down a lot more often if the place had a liquor license.”

“The reason why college kids have passed it up. That and it isn’t in walking distance from the schools.”

“No, it’s definitely not a college hangout. Do you go there a lot?”

“All summer long. Paul’s makes an apple pie to rival my own.”

“Not your usual crowd, Harvard.”

“Some truth to that. The place is packed with long-distance haulers named Billy, Bud, Bubba, Cletus, Dwayne, Jessie, Jimmy, and lots and lots of Juniors. Sometimes the names are followed by Ray, Lee, or Boy as in Jonny Boy or Billy Boy. But the rednecks and I have reached a real truce. They call me Mr. Lawyer and ask me legal questions so that they can sue their employers for workman’s comp. The waitresses flirt with me and call me honey, and I leave them big tips. The place has Wi-Fi. I sit at the counter and surf the Net. Other than your house, it’s my home away from home.”

Chapter Three

Rina was early, but Tilly Goldstein was even earlier. That was a good thing. Vegan Palace was already crowded and it was good that Tilly had snagged a table. The woman had blue eyes, short curly gray hair, and glasses that hung down from a chain around her neck. Today she had on a yellow, summery dress with short sleeves exposing thin arms and baggy skin. Rina slid into the chair opposite Tilly. Immediately they were handed menus by a young woman with blue hair who was studded with piercings and inked with tattoos. She told Tilly and Rina that her name was Sarah and she’d be back with water and pita bread.

When she left, Tilly said, “She has such a pretty face. Why would she want to walk around with pins in her like a voodoo doll? And the tattoos? Do you understand tattoos?”

“Kids get them to be unique. But when I see them, I immediately think of my parents, who were Holocaust survivors with tattooed numbers. What are you going to have?”

“What are you going to have?”

“I was thinking about the tofu curry or the vegan burger deluxe.”

“Get the curry. I’ll get stir-fry. I like soba noodles.”

Ten minutes later, Sarah came over to take the order. They made small talk until the food came. Then Tilly put her napkin on her lap.

“So what’s this about finding a body at Bogat Trail?”

“They found bones. Actually, I found bones.” Rina brought her up to speed. “Of course, the immediate thought was that it might be one of the missing girls from the colleges. Since you’ve been there for a while—”

“Don’t remind me.”

Rina pulled out a small pad. “What can you tell me about them?”

“I remember Delilah better than Yvette because Delilah was more recent. It was very sad. She was coming home from a party about three years ago and never made it to her dorm at Clarion. Her disappearance caused this whole brouhaha about lax campus security especially at night. The colleges agreed to post more guards. The board also instituted this walk-home policy that if anyone—male or female—felt the need to be accompanied anywhere on the campus at any time, day or night, there would be someone available to them.”

“Is the service used?”

“All the time. It was said that Delilah had to be the sacrificial lamb before the colleges wised up that sometimes campuses can be unsafe places.”

“I agree. But it seems like they’d have to hire an awful lot of guards to keep up with the demand.”

“No, no, no. It’s like Uber. We have a huge list of students from all the colleges who are willing to walk other students to and fro for pocket change. A person calls the office and we check around to see who is available at that time. We usually have at least forty to fifty students on call.”

“And how well are the students vetted?”

Tilly looked perturbed. “Honestly, they probably aren’t vetted. But the security office does have a list of the students from the call logs. If there’s a problem, someone knows who was called out.”

“Have there been problems?”

“I haven’t heard, but if there were, I’m sure they’re not publicized.” Tilly dug into her stir-fry. “Hmmm … good.”

“Yeah, the food’s really good. I can’t get my husband interested in vegetarian food.”

“That’s just men,” Tilly said. “You know, your husband could probably talk to the colleges about the Delilah Occum disappearance.”

“I’m sure he will.” Rina smiled. “What do you remember about Yvette Jones?”

“She also disappeared at night. I don’t remember the circumstances, Rina. Just that she never made it back to her dorm room.”

“I heard she was coming back from a lecture.”

“A lecture?”

“Something about socially conscious investing?”

“Ah … that sounds like Hank Carter. He gives free lectures bi-monthly. They’re usually packed.”

“This happened over seven years ago. He was giving lectures back then?”

“He’s been at Morse McKinley for years. I’ve gone to a few of his talks. He’s a great speaker.”

Rina wrote down the name. “When you say packed, like how many people?”

“They’re at Murphy Hall, which holds at least three hundred students. He’s not the only one who gives free talks, but socially conscious investing is his topic. He’s been mining that pipeline for years.”

There was a lull in the conversation as Rina scribbled a few notes.

Tilly said, “Bogat Trail. That isn’t far from town.”

“About fifteen minutes,” Rina looked up. “The hike isn’t exactly strenuous, either. It’s around two miles before you hit a fork. Then there’s a switchback or you can go farther, and I think that one trail is a four-mile loop. I’ve never taken that road. It’s too deep in the woods for my taste.”

“I think you’re fearless just walking out there by yourself.”

“I had a gun in my purse when I found the bones, but to tell you the truth I forgot about it.”

“You carry a gun?”

“It’s for protection, Tilly. The woods have critters. Haven’t you ever read Stephen King?”

Tilly smiled. “You actually know how to shoot a gun?”

“I do.”

“You could actually shoot another human being?”

“I’ve never been tested so I don’t know. I probably should go to the range, though. Hone my skills.”

“I can’t believe you own a gun.”

“My husband is a police officer.”

“Yes, he is. I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s just you’re … we’re Jewish. What do we know from guns?”

“Israel does have an army. And women are drafted. It’s where I first learned how to shoot. My pedigree goes long and deep.”

The bones were assembled on the metal table, disarticulated but arranged as a human skeleton. Decker and McAdams were standing in a small room that was used for hospital autopsies, very different from the multiple-roomed L.A. morgue. What was persistent and all too familiar was the smell—decayed, cloyingly sweet, and medicinal. It was an odor that stayed in the nostrils long after the visit.

Most bodies in hospitals died from natural causes. Decker wondered how many actual murder victims Jerome Donner had dealt with in his career. Not that it mattered that much. It was clear how the victim had died.

Decker said, “The skull is caved in.”

“Blunt force trauma,” Donner told him. “By how severe the skull is depressed, it was more than one blow.”

“Any idea of what type of instrument could have done this?”

“It’s irregular in shape, but repeated strikes could do that. My guess is a rock or a stone maybe. Or even the butt of a gun.”

“So she died of blunt force trauma?” McAdams said.

“That’s the cause of death, yes. The she part? Not so fast.”

“You’re kidding.” McAdams said.

“Look at the pelvis, Detectives. We’ve got a small pelvic outlet, a forward-tilting sacrum, and the anterior view shows an angle of less than ninety degrees. We’ve got a dude.”

A moment of silence, then Decker said, “Well, that certainly changes a few things. What else can you tell us?”

“According to my calculations based on the femur length, I’d say he was easily six feet.”

“To bash someone who tops six feet, it would have to be a tall person,” McAdams said.

Decker said, “Or our victim could have been on his knees.”

“That, too,” McAdams said.

“The trauma was at the lower end of the parietal right above the occiput. More like a swing to the back rather than on top of the head.”

“He was ambushed from behind.”

“Probably. By the way, our victim had thin bones and long fingers … piano fingers.”

“Lanky guy?”

“More lanky than stocky.”

“The skull also has a full set of straight teeth,” Decker said. “Any dental work?”

“Yes, you are lucky because very few kids have cavities anymore with all the sealants. There are two small class-one amalgams. If you have dental records, you can probably do a match with them as well as the roots of the teeth.”

“Okay. Do you have an approximate age?”

“Early twenties to mid-twenties by the skull sutures and the teeth. See, we have two erupted third molars and these two in the mandible. Those puppies are impacted. And you’re right. The teeth are aligned, indicating good genetics or good dental care.”

“Race?”

“Spatulate teeth … no flaring of the nostrils. European. Better known as Caucasian.”

“A white male with long, thick hair.” Decker raised a finger. “Could be why we only found a single earring—a small, silver hoop. I looked for the mate, but when I didn’t find it, I figured it was lost during a struggle.”

“He could have been gay,” McAdams said.

Donner said, “Maybe. Look at the nails on the fingers and toes. There’s some keratin left on the digits.”

Decker and McAdams leaned over. The tips had a purple glow to them.

“Nail polish,” Decker said. “Any idea how long he’s been in the ground?”

“It’s really hard to date once the bones have been stripped of the meat. But since there’s still a lot of hair and a little nail polish, I’d say probably less than ten years. If you get some possibilities, we can match the dental records.”

Decker looked at his list. Identifying the body was the first order of business.

Most of the missing people were female between the ages of eighteen and forty-five. But there were a few Caucasian males in the proper age range. Two had been students at the colleges. If none of those fit the description; he’d have to fan out the search. The young man could have been from anywhere and dumped in the woods. Worst-case scenario, if they didn’t get an ID, it was possible to do a forensic reconstruction of the face based on the bony landmarks.

But he wasn’t complaining too much, because he had something to work with. The height, the age, the long hair, the earring, and the purple nail polish were a pretty distinctive combination. Not too many edgy young people lived in town. The colleges were a car ride away. It was as good a place as any to start.

Chapter Four

Fourteen years ago, Byron Henderson, a twenty-one-year-old member of the wrestling team, disappeared from Duxbury College. He went riding on his bike and never came back. He had been five ten with a stocky build and short curly hair, and since he didn’t match the physical description, Decker ruled him out.

Kneed Loft student Kirk Landry had been nineteen when he disappeared after attending a party eleven years ago. He’d been very drunk and it was theorized that he might have fallen through the ice in one of the many numerous ponds and lakes in the Greenbury woodlands. When springtime came and there was still no sign of the boy, people gave up the search. He had been short with thinning hair: not Decker’s current set of bones.

“What’s the next step?” McAdams said.

“I should get dental records of the two boys just to make certain it’s not one of them.” Decker shook his head. “I hate that. It panics the family and then if it’s not him, they crash. I’ll put something over the wire, also. This isn’t going to be a quick resolve. You’re back in school soon. You don’t have to concern yourself with this.”

McAdams thought a moment. “You know—with the long, long hair and the nail polish—I can call up the LGBT Center in the colleges. I’m not saying our John Doe is gay, but we’ve got to start somewhere.”

“He doesn’t fit the description of any of our missing boys.” Decker stood up. “What the hey. It’s a ten-minute walk to the colleges. The weather is beautiful. Your idea is worth a shot.”

After Labor Day, Greenbury started gearing up for the cold weather. No more picnics, parades, or lazy days listening to impromptu acts playing in the park’s bandstand. Instead of swimsuits and shorts, the boutiques’ window displays featured the latest styles in sweaters, parkas, and ski-wear. Although autumn was still weeks away, all the local coffee shops and supermarkets featured anything with pumpkin.

Walking the grounds of the Five Colleges of Upstate, it seemed to Decker that more students were sprawled out on the lawns than learning in the classrooms. The consortium sat on a sizable swath of acreage featuring manicured lawns and wooded land, all of it walking distance from the town of Greenbury. Each institution had its own dean, its own professors, its own campus and dorms, and its own identity. Duxbury was the oldest, a top-tier liberal arts college akin to Amherst or Williams with architecture that would blend into any Ivy League university. Clarion Women’s College was built in the 1920s with scaled-down brick federalist buildings adorned with hints of art deco. Morse McKinley was the government/economics college built after World War II. Students were taught in functional classrooms that sat in functional structures. The residence halls looked more like dingbat apartment buildings than college dorms. Kneed Loft was the smallest and most bunker-like of the five colleges. It specialized in math and sciences and engineering. Littleton, built in the ’60s, was the art and theater college. In its hallowed halls and environs, students grew their own kale, squeezed their own apple cider from the college orchard, and raised sheep for wool.

The clubs, associations, and student centers were more storefronts than actual buildings, and all of them were located within a mile from one another. Most of them were considered Five C organizations, which meant that anyone from any of the colleges could join. There were dozens of places to find affiliation and camaraderie, and the LGBT Center was just one among many. The sign had been up for ages and someone had added a Q in bold, black marker after the T.

As they walked into the room, a tiny bell rang. It was stuffy inside because it was still warm outside, and the place didn’t have air-conditioning. Several fans in the corner were blowing tepid air. The space held a large dining room table topped with dozens upon dozens of pamphlets dealing with everything from sexual identity—Was it even necessary to have one?—to safe sex that will rock your world. A moment later, a petite girl wearing shorts and a T-shirt strolled into the area from a back room. She had blue eyes and a pixie haircut. She stuck out a manicured hand, nails coated with pink polish.

“Arianna Root.” She shook McAdams’s hand first and then Decker’s. “How nice of you to bring your son into the center. It shows a real willingness to be accepting. And I want you both to know that the Five Colleges are among the most liberal and tolerant colleges in the states. You won’t have any problems here, I assure you. How can I help you specifically?”

Decker looked at McAdams, who said, “He’s not my father, and I’m not gay. But don’t be embarrassed. It isn’t the first time that someone has made either of those mistakes.” He pulled out his identification.

Arianna’s expression went from cheerful to suspicious in a nanosecond. “You’re the police?”

“I am,” McAdams answered. “We both are. I’m Detective McAdams. This is Detective Decker—”

“Wait here a second.” Arianna disappeared and came out with reinforcements. His name was Quentin Lewis. He looked to be around twenty with short hair, brown eyes, and dozens of pieces of ear jewelry—rings, studs, and cuffs. He was slight of build and also wore pink nail polish.

After introductions were made again, Decker got down to business. “Do either of you know what’s happening up on Bogat Trail?”

“I’m not even aware of a Bogat Trail,” Quentin said. “I’m not much of a hiker.”

McAdams explained the situation. “We have no idea if the guy was gay or not but because he had very long hair and an earring and nail polish, we thought we’d talk to someone at the center first. We’re not biased. We don’t need to be woke. But we have to start somewhere.”

“What was the color of the polish again?” Arianna asked.

“The nails had a purplish hue that has probably worn off over time.”

“So it was dark when it was first applied?”

“Probably.”

“Our signature color is bubblegum pink so if he wanted to be identified with the center, his nails wouldn’t have been dark. Deep purple nail polish was all the rage about five years ago. It sounds like Vex or Vampire. How old is the body?”

“To be determined,” McAdams said. “But it could be five years old.”

“Obviously, I wasn’t here five years ago.”

Decker said, “Is there anyone who was here five years ago?”

“No, this is a student-run center,” Lewis said.

“What about faculty members?”

“The center is for the students,” Arianna said. “We do have LGBT faculty who are supportive and come to our events as a show of solidarity. But we run the show.”

“But you might have faculty involved with the center for a long time?”

Quentin nodded. “Sure.”

Decker said, “Could you supply us with some names?”

“I don’t know … privacy and all that.” Quentin turned to Arianna. “What do you think?”

“I think we should contact the professors and ask if they want to help. This is not our decision to make. Sorry.”

At that moment, a fortyish man in with salt-and-pepper hair walked into the center. He looked at Decker and McAdams and then at Quentin and Arianna. “Is everything okay?”

“We’re from Greenbury Police Department.” Decker showed the man his badge. “And you are?”

“Jason Kramer. I’m a professor of psychology at Duxbury. Why are you here?”

“We found the bony remains of a young man yesterday afternoon near Bogat Trail. We’re trying to identify him. His physical description doesn’t jibe with any of the young men who disappeared from the colleges in the last fifteen years, but he could have been a former college student. We’re at the very early stages of our identification. We’re asking for help.”

“Is there something that makes you think the man was gay?”

“Long hair, earrings, nail polish. It’s just one avenue we’re exploring.”

“If he wasn’t a student at the colleges, why would he be associated with the center?”

“Students come and go. They transfer to other colleges, some transfer to here. And they graduate and revisit their old haunts.” McAdams smiled. “Like Detective Decker said, we’re at the very early stages and we’re trying to work with whatever information that we have available.”

Kramer pursed his lips. “Describe him to me again?”

Decker said, “Long, thick brown hair, one silver earring. He wore purple nail polish on his fingers and toes.”

Arianna said, “You mean you have just bones, nails, and hair?”

“Flesh goes, hair and nails often remain long after.”

Kramer said, “And how old are the remains?”

“I don’t know. We suspect within the last ten years, maybe. Or do you mean the age of the person who died?”

“Both, I guess.”

“The bones are of a man in his early twenties: a tall young man, six one or two. The coroner said he had long fingers. He called them piano fingers.” Decker could see a light behind the man’s eyes. “He sounds familiar to you, Dr. Kramer?”

“Jason is fine.” He sighed. “There was a student here around six or seven years ago. Lawrence Pettigrew. Brilliant guy. He went to Morse McKinley—PEG major.”

“What’s that?”

“Political science, economics, and government,” Quentin answered. “You have to apply to be in the major. Seven years ago was before my time.”

Kramer said, “He played a concert at the Christopher Street Gay Pride Fete while he was here.”

“I was a junior in high school,” Arianna said.

The professor said, “Lawrence was always on. He was exuberant—the proverbial life of the party. He had long, long hair, but it was blond when I knew him. He dressed in costumes rather than clothes: long silk scarves, crazy hats, patterned pants and shirts that purposely clashed. He wore lots of jewelry—rings, earrings, necklaces. I don’t recall the nail polish.”

Decker wrote down the information on his pad. “Would you know where I could find him? Just to rule him out?”

“No, but the administration might know.”

“And would you know where I could get a picture of him?”

“No idea.”

“Do you remember anything else about his face? Eye color, the shape of the face? Beard or mustache? Moles? Tattoos?”

“I didn’t pay much attention because his clothing was so outrageous.” He blew out air. “Long face, but no facial hair. I want to say he had brown eyes, but I’m not sure. I don’t remember tattoos.”

“Okay. And did anyone ever report him missing?”

“He didn’t go missing here, Detective. He dropped out at the end of his junior year, which was a real shame. The last I saw of Lawrence, he was alive and well.”

“And when would that be?”

“Like I said. Around seven years ago.”

“Any idea why he dropped out?”

“I believe he dropped out with the intention of getting hormonal therapy. He told anyone who was listening that he was planning on having a sex reassignment operation.”

Chapter Five

Decker switched his cell phone to his other ear. He and McAdams were walking to the Morse McKinley administration building. “I don’t know that he’s missing, Kev, just see if you can find an address for him … Lawrence Pettigrew. Do you want me to spell the name?”

McAdams was on his iPhone. “No listing of him in the immediate area.”

“Yes, he went to Morse McKinley … hold on.” Decker turned to McAdams. “What did you say?”

“No listing in the immediate area.”

Back to the cell, Decker said, “Pettigrew supposedly dropped out to have a sex change operation. I’m on my way to see if I can’t access his school file. I’ll try to get a home address and phone number. Anything you can find on him would be helpful, starting with a photograph … Okay … thanks, Kevin. Bye.”

McAdams said, “You know, if he had undergone a sex change operation, he could be listed missing under a woman’s name.”

“True, but he probably kept his last name. Check the women on our missing persons list and see if any of them match Pettigrew’s physical description.”

McAdams said, “The tallest missing woman we have is five nine. Caroline McGee. Blond hair, blue eyes. She’s from the greater Boston area.” He did an image search and then showed it to Decker.

She was a plain-looking woman in a drab uniform with shoulder-length brown hair. She was older—around thirty-five. Decker shook his head. “The hair can be grown out, but the age doesn’t match.”

“This is an aside, but what should we call the remains? He, she, or it?”

“Let’s go with he until we find out that he was officially a she.”

“Right. We didn’t find tons of jewelry with him. If he was wearing a lot of flashy stuff when he was murdered, it seems reasonable that whoever buried him might have taken the stuff off his body. The earring was small. He might not have noticed it.”

“Agreed.” Decker sighed. “Why would Pettigrew even be here if he had dropped out of the colleges?”

“Like I said, maybe he was visiting friends.” McAdams paused. “Assuming that he came just to say hi to old buddies, what could he have done to get himself murdered and buried?”

“First thing that comes to mind is a hate crime.”

“Someone from the colleges or someone local?”

“Don’t know, of course. The colleges make a big show of being supertolerant, but that doesn’t mean individual students don’t have their prejudices. It also could have been a townie.”

“Greenbury’s filled with retirees.”

“True, but Hamilton, which is only ten miles away, is strictly blue collar and has a high unemployment rate since the Elwood air-conditioning plant closed down.”

Decker thought a moment.

“I’ve been here through two winters. I don’t see many kids from Hamilton drink in Greenbury. They would stick out. Then again, I only get called in to the college watering holes if there’s a problem. And despite what happened last weekend, that’s really not too often.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s not often. I do remember getting called down to the College Grill to break up a drunken brawl right when I came here. No weapons but a lot of punches were thrown. There were lots of bloody faces. The college boys claim the townies came in to cause problems. The townies claim they were just passing through and the college kids started the whole thing. We told them to walk it off and go home, no official arrests.”

“So you wouldn’t have names of the participants.”

“Nope. Mostly it was Kevin and Ben who handled everything. I was new—inexperienced and very obnoxious—so no one talked to me much.”

“Some things never change.”

“Har-de-har-har.”

“You came on three years ago, right?”

“About.”

“Do you remember … hold on.” Decker consulted his notes. “Delilah Occum’s disappearance?”

“It was about six months before I arrived. Besides, we’re not looking for Occum, we’re looking for a dude. I’m just saying that it is possible that a bunch of drunk kids did a number on Pettigrew and after they realized what they did, they all got shovels and dug the hole.”

“Maybe. First we have to find out if Pettigrew is even missing. For all we know, he may be alive and well and living happily as a woman.”

“That assumes that women are happy.”

Decker laughed. “Lots and lots of women are very happy, Tyler.”

“True enough, boss. Maybe women are just not happy with me.”

It took them awhile to muck through the red-tape bureaucracy, but eventually they found a person willing to talk to them, and even he was making their life difficult. Leo Riggins was about thirty-five, clean cut, wore wire-rimmed glasses, and had a small nose and big ears. He had been working for Morse McKinley for ten years.

“I don’t see why I should divulge this information if the former student hasn’t even been reported missing.”

Decker said, “If the bones are his, he probably has been reported missing. We just don’t know where the report was filed. That’s why we’d like to know where he’s from. If we can rule him out, we can move on.”

“I will not give out his number without his permission.”

McAdams said, “Well, if you get his permission, then we won’t need the number.”

Decker said, “If his cell number is listed in his files, just call him up and talk to him. It won’t violate his privacy and it’ll confirm to Greenbury Police that we should concentrate our efforts elsewhere.”

“By the way, he could be a she by now,” McAdams said. “Apparently he left school to undergo sex reassignment surgery. So if a woman answers, ask him if he was the former Lawrence Pettigrew. ”

“I probably should go to my boss about this.”

“It’s a phone call, Mr. Riggins,” Decker said. “Please?”

“Hold on. Let me see first if I can find him in the files.”

“Thank you.”

“You really should bring in proper warrants or whatever you people need to search through files.”

“If Pettigrew turns out to be our bones in the woods, we’ll do just that.”

Riggins licked his lips. “How awful! I’ve hiked Bogat Trail before. That’s really creepy. It makes you wonder what else is out there. Did you find any other sinister things?”

“Not so far,” Decker said. “You say you’ve worked here for around ten years?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t remember Lawrence Pettigrew?” Decker said. “From what we’ve gathered, he was an out-there kind of guy, dressed in lots of colors and played piano all the time.”

“I don’t deal with students directly. If something is amiss in the files, I shoot them an e-mail and ask them to rectify the problem. It usually involves updating their personal information. Everything is done electronically.”

“Not a lot of face-to-face contact,” Decker said.

“Exactly.” Riggins blew out small puffs of air as he scrolled through the files on his computer. “Okay, here we go. He does list a cell phone.” He muttered some numbers to himself. After he punched in the numbers on the desk phone, Decker took the handset from him.

Riggins furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?”

“This is a homicide. It’s better if I handle it.” The phone rang and then disconnected. “Hmm …” Decker said. “That’s not good. Does he list a number for his parents?”

“You know, he does.” After putting in the numbers, Riggins gave the handset to Decker.

“Thank you.”

“If this guy is missing or dead, I’m definitely not talking to his parents.”

“Good thinking.”

The phone machine kicked in.

Hello, you’ve reached the Pettigrews. Please leave a name and number and we’ll call you back as soon as we can.

Beep.

Again Decker left his name, rank, and serial number without specifying the reason for a phone call from the police. If Lawrence Pettigrew was alive, there was no sense in alarming anyone. And if he had been missing, the parents would know exactly why he had made contact.

As they left the colleges, Decker heard a small voice calling out, “Detectives!” They both turned around to find a winded Arianna Root trying to catch up with them. She waved. They waved back. When she finally reached the two of them, she held out her hand asking silently for a minute to catch her breath.

“Take your time,” Decker said.

“Is there …” Pant, pant, pant. “Is there a place where we could talk privately?”

McAdams said, “We have a few private rooms at the police station.”

She waved the suggestion off. “I was thinking like a café.”

Decker looked at his watch. It was almost twelve. “How about Bagelmania? It’s just a block or two from where we are.”

“That’s fine.” She held her side as she walked. “Do you know for sure that you found Lawrence Pettigrew?”

“No idea,” Decker said, looking at the girl. “You knew him.”

“Yes. I didn’t want to say anything in front of Jason and Quentin.”

“Fair enough,” Decker said. They reached the café and everyone sat down. McAdams took their order while Decker pulled out a notepad.

“When was the last time you saw Lawrence?”

“Around five years ago.”

“Was Pettigrew a he or a she?”

“He was dressing like a woman and he was taking hormones. Whether he actually went through with the surgery?” She shrugged. “I just ran into him. He recognized me before I recognized him. He told me he was glad that I decided to come here. He said he hoped that I was happy. I told him I was.”

“How was his affect?”

“He’s always friendly. He did seem preoccupied, though. I asked him if he wanted to get coffee and chat, but he said he was in a rush. We left it at that.”

“Can you back it up a little? How did you meet him?”

“At the Christopher Street Gay Pride Fete seven years ago when I was doing my college tour. I wanted to experience the different LGBTQ centers. I wasn’t out yet, but I knew what I was.”

McAdams came back with the bagels and coffee. He passed the food and cutlery around and then sat down.

Decker said, “She originally met Pettigrew at the gay pride fete seven years ago, but she also saw him about five years ago. She ran into him. He was taking hormones and dressing like a woman, but he hadn’t undergone sex reassignment.” He turned to Arianna. “Did I get that right?”

“Perfect.”

“Was Lawrence still calling himself Lawrence?” McAdams asked.

“He introduced himself as the former Lawrence Pettigrew. He was now calling himself Lorraine Pettigrew.”

Decker said, “Is the name Lorraine Pettigrew on the list?”

“Let me check.”

“I’ll send something out over the wire using both names.” Decker turned to Arianna. “Tell me about this Christopher Street fete where you met him. Obviously Lawrence made an impression on you.”

“He was dressed in drag, but that was no big deal. A lot of the guys were in drag. The costumes are outrageous: chaps with no underwear, feather headdresses, angel’s wings, leather thongs with leather masks and whips.”

“Sounds like Halloween in the Village,” McAdams said.

“Kinda, yeah. The party isn’t sanctioned by the administration, but as long as we mind our manners, they turn a blind eye. Lawrence came up to me and introduced himself. He was very nice—really funny and warm. I told him I was interested in Morse McKinley and he talked to me for about twenty minutes. He was articulate and smart. Actually it was because of him that I made the decision to go here.”

Decker said, “And when you ran into him about five years ago, you talked for about five minutes and that was that?”

“About. You see, by the time I came here, he wasn’t in school anymore. So when I ran into him, I wanted to find out why he dropped out. I wanted to know if people were giving him a hard time about his change from male to female.”

“Ah,” Decker sipped coffee. “What did he say?”

“He said his dropping out had nothing to do with the attitude of the colleges. They were very accepting. He dropped out for personal reasons—his sex reassignment. And that’s when he said that he was glad I decided to come to Morse McKinley. And that was the end of it because he was in a hurry.”

McAdams said, “And he didn’t give any hint as to why he had come back to Morse McKinley?”

“No. Nothing.”

“Do you know if he was close to any particular faculty member?” Decker said. “Was there someone he might have wanted to visit?”

“What about Jason Kramer?” McAdams asked.

“Jason has been there awhile but by the way he was talking about Lawrence, they didn’t seem close. Lawrence was more than just a gay man. He was brilliant.”

“But you don’t who he was close to.”

“No idea. But Morse McKinley is a small school. Besides, you don’t even know if it’s him.”

“You’re right.”

McAdams said, “Not to seem lurid, but a description of him as a woman might be helpful.”

Arianna sighed. “A tall girl with makeup and big boobs. He still had long hair, but it was brown. He wore tight jeans, a sweater, and boots.”

“Good memory,” Decker said.

“Lawrence made a big impression on me, obviously.”

“And you haven’t seen him since that time.”

“No.”

“And you didn’t keep in phone contact or anything like that?”

“No. You know how it is. I was more interested in my own life than his.”

“Of course.”

She stood up. “I have to go catch a class. It’s an important one.”

“Where can I contact you if I need to talk to you again?”

“Why would you need to talk to me again?”

Decker said, “You never know. What’s your cell?” After Arianna recited the numbers, he gave her his card. McAdams followed suit.

She turned the cards over in her hand then stashed them in her satchel. Then she picked it up and left without saying good-bye.

McAdams said, “What do you make of her?”

“Seems like a good kid. She volunteered the information.”

“Maybe to lead us off-track.”

Decker stood up and smiled. “You have a very suspicious mind.”

“That’s a good thing for a detective.” McAdams raised his eyebrows. “It’s even a better thing for a lawyer. In my meager dealings with both professions, I’ve found that clients lie a hell of a lot more than the suspects I’ve encountered.”

“It’s a close call.” Decker’s cell rang. He fished it from his pocket. “Not our area code.” He depressed the button. “Decker.”

The woman on the other end didn’t bother to introduce herself. “He’s dead.”

It took a moment to register who it could possibly be. “Mrs. Pettigrew?”

Silence. Then she said, “Yes, I’m returning your call.”

“Thank you very much for calling back. Where are you calling from?”

“New York City. Staten Island. I assume you’re calling about my son, Lawrence. You found his body?”

“Since you’re being direct, I will be direct as well. I’m from Greenbury Police. We found a body in the woods near a popular hiking trail. We’re trying to identify it.”

“So you’re not sure it’s Lawrence.”

“No, we’re not. Did you report your son missing, Mrs. Pettigrew?”

“Five years ago.”

“Do you remember the exact date?”

“December ninth.”

“Okay.” So the timing certainly fit. “Where did you report him missing? What police department?”

“We live on Staten Island. But Lawrence wasn’t living with us at the time. But I didn’t know who else to call, so I called the local police.”

“Okay, I’ll certainly contact them if I need to.” Decker paused.

“Do you think it’s him? You must have some idea. Otherwise you wouldn’t call me.”

Decker sidestepped. “I hate to ask you this, but do you have dental records?”

“So he’s been in the ground for a long time, right?”

“You’re a very astute woman.”

“How much do you know about my son?”

“Mrs. Pettigrew, I think any further conversation would be best in person. I’m about three hours away from you. I could be down at around …” Decker checked his watch. “Around six or seven in the evening depending on traffic.”

“That would work. My husband should be home by then.” She gave Decker her address. “I suppose you’ll want me to pick up his dental records?”

“That would be very helpful to my case.”

“It’s a murder case, then?”

“Yes.”

“That was Lawrence, Detective. Wherever he went, trouble followed.”

Chapter Six

Over the phone line, Rina said, “But I want to come with you.”

“I’m not staying overnight. I’m talking to the poor woman, then turning around and heading back up to Greenbury with the X-rays.”

“Just drop me off and I’ll get to Brooklyn. Why waste an opportunity to see the kids?”

“Lily will probably be asleep by the time you get there.”

“Maybe they’ll keep her up long enough for me to read her a bedtime story. And don’t you want to hear what I found out about Yvette Jones and Delilah Occum?”

“They’re not my remains, Rina.”

“This guy disappeared between the times the two women disappeared. You’re not the least bit curious?”

“I’m always curious about a missing person, but I can’t see how Delilah Occum or Yvette Jones would have anything to do with my guy.”

“Who was in the process of becoming a woman when he disappeared, no?”

Decker paused. “Are you suggesting a serial killer?”

“I’m just saying until you know who you’re dealing with, doesn’t it pay to consider all possibilities?”

“Fair enough. I’m leaving the station house in ten minutes. Be ready and I’ll pick you.”

“I’m ready right now. But while I’m waiting for you, I’ll pack us dinner. That way you won’t have to stop for food.”

Ten minutes later, Rina slid shotgun into the car with a big brown bag. She turned around. “You okay back there, Tyler? I took your kisay hakoved.”

“Which means?”

“Your place of honor.”

“I’m fine in the back. This way you can deal with his crankiness.”

“Ah, c’mon,” Decker said. “I’m not even out of the driveway.”

Rina placed the bag in the unoccupied backseat and turned down the AC. “How about if I tell you my conversation with Tilly Goldstein.”

McAdams took out his iPad. “I’m ready whenever you are.”

It didn’t take too long. Afterward Decker said, “Two things come to mind. Who is Hank Carter? And more important, why didn’t the colleges institute the walking-home policy after Yvette disappeared?”

“Can’t help you with the second question,” McAdams said. “I can look up Hank Carter when I get some Wi-Fi. Unless you want me to use my phone, but it’s always pretty slow when we leave Greenbury. It gets very rural.”

“Indeed.” Rina gazed out the window at the open road. It was all green and leafy but within a month or two, it would catch fire with the brilliance of autumn. City folk poured into the area to leaf watch.

From the backseat, McAdams said, “Interesting theory about a serial killer, Rina. All of them in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Decker said, “What did you do with the original list of missing women in the area?”

“It’s on my iPad.”

“Can you pull it up?”

“I think it’s in my e-mail, so no. As soon as I get connected, I’ll give it to you.”

Rina said, “Are you looking for other remains near where you found Pettigrew?”

“Not actively, no.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Not a bad idea,” McAdams said. “We should at least look around before the ground gets frozen over.”

It was a good point. Decker said, “Maybe I’ll ask Radar about bringing in a cadaver dog, but first let’s identify the body. If it’s Pettigrew, I’d be interested in knowing who he was meeting up with in Greenbury.”

“And you think the parents would know?”

“Perhaps his mother might. Usually, kids talk more to their mothers than their fathers.”

McAdams said, “It’s kind of a toss-up with me. My mother is nice, but she really isn’t listening to what I’m saying. My dad is listening. That’s the problem.”

Rina smiled. “If this Pettigrew was undergoing hormonal therapy, how could you keep that from your parents?”

“You could if you were estranged from them,” McAdams said.

“I suppose, although if he was that in your face when he went off to college, the parents would suspect something, right?”

Decker said, “They probably knew something but maybe they didn’t know everything. And I’d just like to point out that we’re getting a little fixated on Pettigrew’s sex change. The murder could have nothing to do with Pettigrew, the woman. It’s better if we first find out about Pettigrew, the person.”

After dropping off Rina at their son and daughter-in-law’s apartment, Decker wended his way through the neighborhoods of lower Brooklyn, relying on navigation because he sure as hell wasn’t familiar with the area. Within ten minutes, he hit the on-ramp to the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge, better known to natives as the VZ, crossing over the bay until he exited into Staten Island. The Pettigrews lived five minutes from the VZ in a compact, one-story brick house on a block of one-story brick houses. Daylight was almost gone, but there was enough to see the sidewalks lined with old oaks and yellow-tinged leaves although the weather was still hot and muggy. Eastern summers were one of those things that Decker had forgotten about after living in L.A. all those years. Southern California was hot but for the most part dry, and even when people complained it was muggy, it usually wasn’t all that bad.

After parking curbside, he and McAdams got out, their faces hit by a wave of wet heat as they walked to the front entrance. Someone must have been watching because the door opened before either of them knocked.

They came face-to-face with a woman in her midfifties: five nine, average build, short brown hair, dark eyes, thin lips, roman nose set into a long face. She wore a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and baggy jeans a tad too short for her height. There were slippers on her feet.

“Joanne Pettigrew,” she said. “Please come in.”

Decker and McAdams followed her into a tidy living room—couch, chairs, tables, and a baby grand piano that couldn’t be played because the lid was weighted down with framed pictures of family adventures. Plenty of photos of a long-haired teenager, but as he grew older, the pictures disappeared. Before Decker sat down, he introduced himself and McAdams. Both of them gave the woman their cards. She pointed to the couch. The men sat, but she didn’t. Instead she walked out of the room and came back holding a manila envelope.

“I had plenty of time to pick up the dental records.” She handed the envelope to Decker. “If they don’t match, could you please get them back to me?”

“Of course,” Decker said. “Thank you so much. I know this must be hard for you.”

She let out an exhale. “The local police have a copy so if they come across unknown bones or whatever you call them—remains, I guess—they automatically plug them into their system.” She dropped down into a chair and dry-washed her face. “What makes you think it’s Lawrence?”

Decker said, “The description we got of your son roughly matches the dimensions of the body that we found.”

“There are a lot of men who could match my son’s dimensions, Detective.”

“Of course.”

“So …” She held up her hands in a shrug. “You must be going on something else.”

Decker said, “The body had long, dark hair. The coroner also described him as having piano fingers. There were remnants of nail polish on his fingers and toes. We also found an earring. We asked around the colleges and found someone who told us the description might match Lawrence. We don’t have a whole lot to go on and we may be completely wrong. And if we are, I’m sorry to put you through all this. But I’m following the meager leads we have.”

Joanne nodded. “So you know that Lawrence went to Morse McKinley.”

“Yes,” Decker said. “He dropped out after his junior year.”

“Do you know why?”

“I heard he dropped out to get hormonal treatments.”

“So you know.” She rolled her eyes. “He went around calling himself Lorraine. The boy always had a flare for the dramatic.”

“Tell me about him.”

“I have three children. The first two were just …” She threw up her hands. “Like normal people. Lawrence was the youngest and he was always different. Don’t get me wrong. I loved my son. I won’t exactly say I was supportive of his choices, but I accepted who he was. There are men who are gay. And then there are gay men. Lawrence fit the gay men category. Everything he did revolved around showing the world his sexual identity. And if you didn’t like it, he was right there in your face. I stopped counting how many times I got a call from high school: ‘Don’t worry. No one was hurt, but Lawrence got into an altercation.’”

“It can get wearisome.”

“You’ve got that right. Lawrence kept claiming he was being bullied and that he had to defend himself. That was probably true. There were a lot of, you know, regular kids who went to his high school. We have a lot of cops and firemen and just normal guys in the community. I’m sure the school wasn’t big on sensitivity training.”

“Do you think he was bullied?” McAdams asked.

“I don’t know. But he certainly didn’t act like a bullied teenager. He wasn’t the least bit withdrawn. He did really well in school. And he had friends, Detectives. Lots of friends. Lawrence could rein in the act if he had to. For instance, he never got into fights with the neighborhood boys. They liked him even though they knew what he was.”

“The people in college who knew him described Lawrence as very bright and very friendly.”

“All true.” She looked down. “Lawrence changed drastically after puberty. He became so overt. It was embarrassing at first, but eventually my husband and I got used to it. And, yes, Lawrence was very smart. Everyone knew that. His teachers knew that. They recommended Morse McKinley to him. He was always interested in government and economics.”

“Morse McKinley would be a good fit then,” McAdams said.

“We thought it would be a terrific fit. And we hoped that maybe he’d settle down in college with more expected of him. Of course, he just went even more extreme without any family constraints.” A shrug. “I may not have understood my son—he could be challenging—but I loved him.”

“Of course you did,” Decker said. “When did you find out he was undergoing hormonal therapy?”

“He told us right away. He announced: ‘I’m dropping out of school to become a woman.’ You know what my husband said?”

“What?”

“He said, ‘There aren’t women in college?’” Joanne shook her head. “I think it deflated the shock value that he hoped he’d get. Like I said, I loved my son. I would have loved him as a daughter.” Tears moistened her eyes. “Male or female.” The tears escaped and fell down her cheek. “When he started taking hormones … it seemed to me that he was starting to find peace. He took the test for his stock brokerage license and got a job with a small firm as a woman. He started dressing like a conventional woman—clothes, makeup, the whole bit. So maybe he did find his true self.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

“He didn’t come around the house anymore—that was probably for our sake—but he did call. And we had normal conversations. He talked about work instead of his gender. It was refreshing. When he hadn’t called us in over two weeks, I got concerned.”

“Where was he living, Mrs. Pettigrew?”

“Joanne. He was living in the city, but I didn’t know where at first. Later on, after he went missing, I found out he was living in the East Village in a very nice studio apartment in a doorman building. So he must have been making money.”

“You were at his apartment?”

“Yes. When he stopped calling and wouldn’t answer his cell, I began to get very worried. I called up his work. I didn’t have the number, but I knew the name of the firm. After a couple of tries, I found the right branch. It’s when they told me he hadn’t been at work for the last two weeks. I became … that awful feeling of dread. Like his life on the fringes finally caught up with him.”

“His life on the fringes?” McAdams asked.

“Parties, alcohol, drugs, and lots of weirdos.”

“You think it was someone from his fringy life?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Do you have any names?” Decker asked.

“Not a one.” She waved it off. “Anyway, I finally got his city address from his work files and I went over to the apartment. At first, the super wouldn’t let me in. But I pleaded, and he finally opened the door.”

She stared off into space.

“His apartment was very large—superneat—he was always a neat person. There was no sign of him.”

“What about things in the apartment?” Decker asked.

“His clothes and personal items were still there.”

“Did you happen to check the refrigerator?”

“A few items—mostly water, beer, and club soda. I think Lawrence ate out a lot. I guess he could afford it. His clothes were nice—custom made to fit his body.”

“And that was the only time you ever visited his place?”

“No, there was another time afterward. The management called me to say he hadn’t paid his rent. At that point, I knew something was wrong. I told the police something was wrong. But they kept insisting that without anything to go on, they couldn’t do much. Lawrence could have disappeared on his own accord. When they found out he was undergoing a sex reassignment, they really stopped paying attention. They thought that if something terrible happened, it was because of his lifestyle. Which may be true. But that doesn’t mean you don’t investigate.”

Decker said, “You must have been frustrated.”

“Beyond frustrated. No one was listening to us.”

“What happened with his apartment?” McAdams said.

“I paid his unpaid bill for the month, but I told the apartment management I wasn’t paying anything else. I didn’t cosign the lease. I wasn’t obliged to pay them anything. After I explained the situation, the building supervisor let us in there to clean up. I boxed up Lawrence’s things …” She lowered her head. “My husband and I went through everything we could find. Every bill, every piece of correspondence, every scrap of paper. We didn’t find his phone or laptop or iPad. And the service providers wouldn’t give me access to his information because they didn’t know if Lawrence was alive or dead. He was a grown man—or grown woman. For all we knew, he could have been put in witness protection.”

“Why would you think that?” Decker said.

“Like I said, he knew a lot of counterculture people. Not that Lawrence seemed to be the type of guy to become an informant, but I really didn’t know a whole lot about his life, did I?”

“Right.”

“Besides, Lawrence bucked authority wherever, whenever. Anyway, when it was plain that he wasn’t going to suddenly show up, we hired a private eye.”

“And?”

“He talked to people—Lawrence’s old friends, his new friends, his friends on Facebook. The investigator talked to people Lawrence worked with, talked to old college friends and faculty. He charged us a lot of money. He got nowhere.”

“Did he give you the files, Mrs. Pettigrew?”

“He gave us a report. You can have it if you want. But if the body isn’t Lawrence, I’d want that back as well.”

“Of course,” McAdams said. “Could we have the PI’s name? He probably has an entire file on Lawrence—more than he included in the report.”

“His name is James Breck. He was a former New York police detective. He came highly recommended. My opinion is he was just churning up hours. But of course, I wasn’t thinking charitably about anyone at that point.”

“We’ll check him out,” Decker said. “Where is his office?”

“Somewhere in Queens. I have an address, but I don’t know if it’s current.”

“Anything you can give us will help,” McAdams said.

Decker said, “In the report, did he list the people he talked to?”

“I don’t remember. I haven’t looked at the report in a while. I did have a list of people that I thought he should talk to. If you hold on, I’ll get you the report and see what I still have in the file.”

“That would be great,” Decker said.

As soon as she left, McAdams said, “Breck is in Astoria.” He took out his cell and called him up. He reached a human voice. Surprise, surprise. “Hello, this is Detective Tyler McAdams from Greenbury Police Department in Upstate New York. I’m trying to get hold of James Breck … okay, do you have any idea how often he calls in for messages?” Tyler paused as he listened. “Could you please have him give us a call as soon as possible? It’s important … yes, thank you.” McAdams spelled his name and left both his and Decker’s cell numbers. He hung up.

“Answering service?” Decker asked.

“Yes. It’s strange to actually talk to someone. Here’s the address.” McAdams looked at his watch. It was seven in the evening. “I don’t think he’ll be in, but we could swing by and leave cards to show we’re serious.”

“Let me call Rina after we’re done here …” Decker stopped talking as Joanne Pettigrew came back into the room.

She said, “Yes, I suppose we did give James a list of all Lawrence’s friends.” She handed it to Decker along with a folder. “Tell me if you find anything interesting.”

“I’ll keep you posted.”

“Although I suppose you won’t want to be wasting your time if it’s not Lawrence.”

“I’ll be happy to look it over regardless.” Decker smiled. “Anything you’d like to ask me?”

She sighed again. “Not at the moment. Maybe I’ll think of something later on.”

“You have my number. Feel free to use it.”

“Thank you.”

There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Decker stood up and said, “Thank you for your time and for the dental X-rays. If we have something, I’ll let you know right away.”

He extended his hand and Joanne took it with the slightest of touches. No energy in the gesture. She had used up her reserves for the evening.

Chapter Seven

McAdams looked over Lawrence Pettigrew’s PI report as Decker drove back toward Brooklyn. Just as they wended their way over the bridge and into Flatbush, the Bluetooth kicked in. It was a number Decker didn’t recognize. He accepted the call.

“Decker.”

“This is James Breck.”

“Mr. Breck. Thank you so much for calling me back. I’m here with my partner, Detective McAdams.”

“What is this in regards to?”

“Lawrence Pettigrew.”

“Ah, so you found him … or her, I guess.”

“We don’t know. We’re in Brooklyn right now. You have a listed address in Queens. We can come to you.”

“I’m at home. I don’t have his folder on me. It’s in the office.”

McAdams said, “Is it possible to meet you at the office?”

“Let me think … maybe around nine.”

“Nine is fine. Thank you.”

Breck said, “Being that you don’t know if you found Lawrence or not, I’m assuming you found a body.”

“We did.”

“In an advanced state of decomposition.”

“Yes.”

“I have a copy of his dental records.”

“We got a set from Mrs. Pettigrew.”

“She has the originals so they’re probably better. I’ll see you later.”

“Thank you,” Decker said.

McAdams looked at his watch. “That’s an hour from now.”

“We’re ten minutes away from my son and daughter-in-law’s house. I’d like to stop in and say hello.”

“Sure.” McAdams paused. “Do you ever discuss your cases with your kids?”

“Not really, no, especially now that Sammy has a child. Parenthood is like the first stage of mortality. Once you have children, you realize you’re no longer invincible.”

After an interlude of coffee and cake with Rina, Sammy, and Rachel, the two detectives were off to Queens.

McAdams was unusually quiet.

“Tired?” Decker asked.

“No, I’m fine.” He paused. “It’s weird. This is probably the most I’ve ever seen of the other four boroughs. Well, three actually. We haven’t made it to the Bronx yet. To us Knickerbockers, the only city is Manhattan.”

“You’re an original Knickerbocker?”

“Not at all, but I have enough money to buy the title.”

The car’s navigation told Decker to turn right in one hundred feet.

“I really am sheltered,” McAdams said. “I only know Queens as an exit on the highway going to Kennedy. I really have to get out more.”

It took another ten minutes until the navigation informed them that they had reached their destination. It was a three-story ’60s-style office building—read it as no style—located in a strip mall. Breck’s office was above a fast-food sandwich shop, now closed, and next door to a Pilates studio, also shuttered. There was some illumination coming from behind the closed blinds. The door was locked: Decker rang the bell. Several footsteps could be heard before the door opened.

Breck was his fifties: short and slight, white hair that held hints of blond. Pale blue eyes were focused behind spectacles and a flared nose sat on a round face. His smile was white and broad. He immediately asked for ID. Decker showed him his badge, and he and McAdams went inside a one-room office. Furnishings included three desks, each with a computer, a printer, and a landline phone, two walls of file cabinets, a copy machine and a fax machine, a small kitchen bar with a coffeepot, a water cooler and a fridge, and a very big cardboard box that held a junk pile of laptops, phones, and electronic tablets.

Breck saw McAdams staring at the electronics. “It’s confiscated stuff. After a certain period of time, we can erase the drives and reuse them or just donate them to the local schools. Sit wherever you’d like. I’ve already pulled the file and made each of you a copy. So you found the body in Greenbury?”

“In a hiking area called Bogat,” Decker answered.

“I always wondered if Pettigrew had gone back to Greenbury. From what I gathered, he seemed attached to the school.”

McAdams pulled up a folding chair. “In what way?”

“Everyone I interviewed said he seemed happy there. It was at Morse McKinley where he really figured out who he was. Or who she was. It’s all in the file.”

“How many people did you interview?” Decker asked.

“The list is pretty long because he had acquaintances from a lot of different groups—his friends in high school, his college buddies, and people from the gay and transgender community. He had a lot of alternative friends. You’ve got to be comfortable talking to those guys. If not, you’ll never get anything out of them.”

“It’s not a problem,” Decker said.

Breck faced McAdams. “You’d probably have better luck. No offense, but you’re less threatening than your partner.”

“No problem for me,” McAdams said. “I had two gay roommates in my suite. I was always running interference between them. They tolerated me, but they hated each other.”

Breck managed a small smile. “Exactly. They are as different as you and me. I do a lot of PI work for the LGBT community. When Lawrence Pettigrew became a missing person, Fred from Staten Island PD recommended me to the family. From the start, I had a feeling it wasn’t going to end well.”

“Why’s that?” Decker said.

“Lawrence … Lorraine … from what I gathered seemed well adjusted to her new persona. For one thing, she had a husband.”

“She was married?” Decker took out a notebook.

McAdams said, “Was it even legal for gay people to be married when he disappeared?”

“Definitely, but it wouldn’t have affected them anyway. Pettigrew was married as a man to a woman who was in the process of sexual reassignment; he was named Karl—née Karen. The last name was Osterfeld. But I think Lorraine and Karl kept their own surnames.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “So they were married as a man and a woman, but they were both in the process of getting surgery.”

“It’s not as uncommon as you might imagine. It’s all in the file.”

“What about Lawrence’s mate as a suspect?”

“I don’t think Karl had anything to do with it. He was very broken up by Pettigrew’s disappearance.”

Decker was paging through the file. “The address is in Manhattan.”

“Chelsea.”

Decker looked up. “Does he still live there?”

“Last I checked he did. Short, chubby guy. Pettigrew was tall and lanky. Odd couple. But then again who am I to talk. My wife is three inches taller than me. No great feat, but there you have it.”

“If it isn’t Pettigrew, I don’t want to put the spouse through emotional trauma.” Decker checked his watch. “But if the remains are Pettigrew’s, I’ll have to come back.” He looked at Breck. “You have Lawrence’s dental records on your computer?”

“I do.”

“Could you please forward them to my police department captain? He can take them over to the morgue first thing tomorrow, and if he gets an initial match, we’ll confirm with the original X-rays when I get back upstate.”

McAdams said, “You want to stay in town for the night.”

Decker said, “If that’s okay with you.”

“It’s fine with me. You want to bunk out at Nina’s house?”

McAdams’s step-grandmother. She owned a huge co-op on Park. “I think Rina would rather stay with the kids even though it means sleeping on a pull-out couch or, even worse, an air mattress. She’d probably like to be there when Lily wakes up.” He turned to Breck. “Our granddaughter.”

“Don’t have any of those. Don’t even have any married children although that doesn’t stop people from having kids these days. If there’s nothing else, give me the e-mail of your station house computer and I’ll send in the X-rays on file.”

“I’d really appreciate it.” Decker gave him Captain Mike Radar’s e-mail address and then his card. “If you should think of anything else, please call.”

Breck gave Decker his card. “Likewise.”

“Thanks for your time. You’ve been very helpful, Mr. Breck.”

“Jimmy.”

“Pete,” Decker said, pointing to himself.

“I’m Tyler.” McAdams handed him his card. “But people don’t usually call me Tyler.”

“What do they usually call you?”

McAdams smiled. “People call me lots of things. Most of the names aren’t fit for polite company.”

“Helpful guy.” Decker started up the motor.

McAdams shuffled through the pages. “Big file. My nighttime reading. Where are we going?”

“Let me give Rina a call.”

“Do you want me to drive while you talk?”

“No, just hang on a sec. It’ll be a quick conversation. Do you mind staying overnight?”

“I’ve got my toothbrush and jammies in Nina’s co-op. What’s the plan?”

“Interviewing in the city tomorrow. I’d like to get it done as long as we’re here.” Sammy picked up the phone. “Hey, son.”

“Hi. How are you?”

“Fine. You sound tired.”

“Not too bad. At least I’m not working as late as you are. Are you picking up Eema, now?”

“Actually I’d like to stay the night if that’s possible.”

“Of course it’s possible. It’s great. Eema will be happy. I’ll pull out the couch. I’ve got an extra air mattress, too. You should be okay although your feet might stick out.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. Is Eema there?”

“Of course.”

Rina got on the phone. “So we’re spending the night?”

“Okay with you?”

“Do I really have to answer that? Where’s Tyler staying?”

“At his grandmother’s apartment in Manhattan.”

“Nice place.”

“It is. I might be there very late, Rina. I want to do some reading and it’s easier for us to spread out at the co-op.”

“Why don’t you just spend the night there? A sofa mattress won’t do your back any good.”

“My back is fine. Besides, I want to see Lily.”

“Peter, it isn’t a social visit. You can see Lily when you come to pick me up tomorrow. Go get some rest. A sofa bed is fine for me. It’s even fine for you if I’m not there. It’s not good for the both of us.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Positive. This is the rule: you can sleep wherever you want, just not with whomever you want. You stick to that and we’ll both be fine.”

Chapter Eight

The next morning at nine, just as Decker got off his cell phone, McAdams walked into his step-grandmother Nina’s eat-in kitchen—a caterer’s space that held the most up-to-date appliances, rare wood cabinets, and countertops of concrete and stainless steel. Nina didn’t cook but there was a housekeeper who made morning coffee and had set out china, silverware, and linen napkins. The table had fresh-squeezed juice, iced water, toast, croissants, pastries, and jam and butter.

“I see Esther has put out the spread.”

“A lovely woman,” Decker said.

“Nina only gets the best.” McAdams poured himself coffee and nabbed a piece of wheat toast from the basket. He took a nibble on the dry bread. “What’s up?”

“That was Mike Radar. We’ve got a tentative match.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Yeah, a little. We pull out this random set of bones from the ground. And by asking a few questions to the right people, we identify the remains. It just seemed like a long shot.”

“It’s called being a detective.”

“Well, I can’t argue with success. Poor Lawrence … Lorraine. Are we going back to Staten Island?”

“We’ll tell Joanne Pettigrew today, but if Pettigrew was legally married, our first obligation is to the spouse.”

“Who is usually the primary suspect.”

“Yes. Keep that in mind.”

“Are we sure they were legally married?”

“I thought of that as well. I’ll check with records. Even if Pettigrew wasn’t legally married to Osterfeld, I’ll want to talk to her. See what she can tell me about the day Lawrence disappeared.”

“Actually, Lawrence is the she and Osterfeld is the he.”

“Yes. Right.”

“Do we tell Osterfeld about the match?”

“We only have a preliminary match. I’d hate to tell Osterfeld and be wrong. I’ll have to think about how I want to handle this. The most recent address I have is in Queens. Astoria. Not far from James Breck.” Decker sipped his coffee. “Ready when you are.”

“Just let me wolf down some breakfast.”

“Take your time.”

“Thanks.” Tyler buttered his toast. “How many people on the list that Breck gave us?”

“About forty.”

“How many will we need to re-interview?”

“We’ll prioritize. First the closest to Pettigrew and then we’ll fan out. Work with the usual questions, McAdams. Who has motive and opportunity? Who stands to gain by Pettigrew’s death?”

“I’ll check insurance.” A pause. “If Pettigrew was reported missing, there wouldn’t be a payout right away. Don’t you have to wait like seven years?”

“Yes. But there are other things to look at besides insurance payouts. For instance, did Pettigrew and Osterfeld have any joint accounts? Did they own any real estate? Were they in business together? Did they make investments that went south? Was either having an affair? Was there abuse?”

“Got it.”

“I hope we find a suspect. If not, it’s called a random killing and those stink. But it’ll be my problem, not yours. You’ll be back in law school.”

“How likely is it that Pettigrew was a victim of a serial killer?”

“Why are you asking?”

“If the death was due to an altercation between friends or even a one-off hate crime because Lawrence was gay or transgender, do you bother to lug a body deep into the woods and bury it? Seems like the kind of thing that you might do if you’ve done it before.”

“I see what you’re saying. But right now we only have one body. Let’s take it one measly step at a time. Otherwise, we’ll both trip and fall.”

It took a while to locate Karl née Karen Osterfeld’s two-bedroom apartment. It was a few blocks past the Queensboro Bridge, on the seventh floor of a ten-story unadorned redbrick building. There was a small, slow, hot elevator that emptied them into a narrow, stuffy, but well-lit hallway. The unit was the last one on the right. Through the door, children could be heard running around.

Decker knocked and a feminine voice asked who it was, and after they identified themselves as the police, the door swung open. The woman was petite with short dark hair, green eyes, and delicate features. Her hands were tiny and kneading each other as she read their police badges. “What’s going on?”

“I’m looking for Karl Osterfeld?”

“It’s Karen Osterfeld. She’s not here.”

“Okay.” There were noises in the background. Decker said, “Do you have a contact number for her?”

“And you want to talk to her because …”

“Can we come in?” Decker asked. “It’s odd talking out here.”

The woman hesitated, but then relented. Once they were in the apartment, she decided to be hospitable. “Would you like some coffee?”

“Water would be great.” McAdams said.

“Times two.” Decker’s eyes followed a boy of around four and a toddler who wore nothing but a diaper as they ran constant circles around the couch. The boy didn’t stop moving, but the toddler finally did. The little thing had short, curly blond hair. She stuck fingers in her mouth. Decker bent down—as close to eye to eye as he could get—and decided the toddler was most definitely a little girl. “Hey there. Aren’t you very pretty?”

She stared, then gave him a drool-laced smile.

The woman came back in and Decker stood up. “What is she? Around eighteen months?”

“Right on the money.” She handed him the water.

“What’s her name?”

“Birgitta. Say hello, Birgy.”

The girl remained mute and rooted to her spot.

The woman gave McAdams a glass. “And this handsome guy is Aesop. I’m Jordeen Crayton.” She looked at the kids. “Hey guys, let’s do some quiet time. I’ll put on a video.”

“Power Rangers,” Aesop said.

“How about Mickey Mouse?” Jordeen said.

Birgitta smiled and said, “Moss …”

“No, that’s stupid!” the boy protested.

“Aesop, we don’t talk like that. Let’s go.”

The two little kids disappeared with Jordeen, who returned five minutes later. “I have to get them a snack. Please.” She pointed to the sofa and the men sat. “I’ll be right back.”

When she disappeared, McAdams whispered, “Karen to Karl to Karen?”

Decker shrugged.

McAdams said, “Maybe we’re working with a love triangle?”

“It’s as good a theory as any.”

Jordeen came back into the living room and sat down. “Why are you looking for Karen?”

McAdams said, “We were told that she became Karl.”

“She’s been Karen for over two years. Is this in regard to Lorraine Pettigrew? I mean, why else would you be here and asking for Karen as Karl. Did you find her? Lorraine?”

“First, I’d like to ask you something, Jordeen,” Decker said. “Were Karen as Karl and Lorraine ever legally married?”

“Not legally, no. They were going to get married, but then Lorraine disappeared. But if it concerns Lorraine, it concerns Karen, and if it concerns Karen, it concerns me. We are legally married.”

“Okay. As a woman to a woman.”

“Yes, of course. Do you think I’m transgender?”

“No, ma’am,” Decker said. “We were wondering about Karen. I heard she was planning to undergo sex reassignment surgery.”

“Well, she didn’t, and there you have it. Karen hasn’t been Karl for over two years.”

“How’d you two meet?” McAdams asked.

“Why does it matter?” She waited but no one said anything. “I was hired as a babysitter for Aesop. One thing led to another. We were married two years ago. It was love at first sight for me. It took a while for Karen. She was still mourning Lorraine.”

Decker said, “Karen was Karl when you met her?”

Jordeen was peeved. “What does it matter?”

“I was wondering why she went back to being a woman if she was intent on marrying Lorraine as a man.”

“You’d have to ask Karen.”

“I will,” Decker said. “But I’d like your opinion. We’re all on the same side.”

“Are we? You haven’t even told me what side you’re on.”

“We all want to know what happened to Lorraine Pettigrew.”

“You found her body, right?”

“We found remains, yes, ma’am.”

She sighed. “Oh God. I’ve been dreading this day. Karen will be devastated. She loved Lorraine.” Tears started falling. “Lorraine loved her. Aesop is his … hers … Lorraine’s. Whatever. Karen got pregnant from him. Both of them had started transitioning when they met, but neither had completed it where it counts. And then they fell in love and wanted a baby together before it was impossible. They both stopped taking the hormones, of course. Luckily the pregnancy happened quickly. After it did, Lorraine went back on her hormones, but Karen didn’t. She couldn’t. Not while she was pregnant.”

“Of course.”

Jordeen said, “No one would call Karen feminine. But I think after the baby, she became comfortable in her biological skin. And then I came along. Of course, I knew she was gay because I was referred from a nanny organization that deals with gay, lesbian, and transgender people.”

McAdams looked confused. “I don’t mean to sound like an out-of-touch geek but there’s a specific organization for gay nannies?”

“You don’t know how much prejudice gay people face when raising children, even in New York City. It was just business at first. We were all about Aesop’s well-being. But then we became emotionally close. Karen had confided in me that she was in the middle of transitioning. But then she decided she was more comfortable as a lesbian than as a man. Frankly, I didn’t care what gender she was. Birgitta is my biological daughter. One of each. We thought that was fair. Karen’s the primary breadwinner and I’m the primary caretaker.”

“What does Karen do?” McAdams asked.

“She’s in law school.” McAdams rolled his eyes and Jordeen caught it. “You have something against lawyers?”

“Me and a trillion other people.” He smiled. “Relax. I’m also in law school.”

“Oh. Do you go to night school?”

“Yes,” McAdams lied.

“Do you like it?”

“Not really. But I don’t hate it.”

“That sums up Karen’s opinion of the profession. She has to learn all these things she doesn’t care about. She wants to work as an advocate for children of LGBTQ people.”

Decker said, “Do Pettigrew’s parents know they have a grandson?”

Jordeen sighed. “Karen didn’t talk much about Joanne. After Lorraine disappeared, I believe Karen’s main goal was moving forward. I don’t know if she ever got around to telling her about Aesop.”

McAdams said, “You don’t know if Karen told her?”

“She hasn’t told her,” Jordeen admitted. “Karen wanted to hold off just in case Lorraine came back. And then time passed and then it became awkward, I guess.” Jordeen lowered her head. “I’ll talk to her … to Karen about it.”

“We need to talk to her, Jordeen,” Decker said.

“She won’t be home until seven.”

“We can catch her at school,” Decker said. “I think she’d like to know about the latest developments.”

“Of course she would. She goes to CUNY School of Law.”

“Can I have her cell number so I can make arrangements to meet with her?”

“It might be best if I phone her. If she sees it’s from me, she’ll be more likely to answer.”

“Go ahead and call her, but please let me talk.”

Jordeen punched in the numbers and gave Decker the phone. The conversation was two minutes during which Decker told Karen about the remains. Afterward, he said to Jordeen, “We’re meeting in a half hour. I think that’s about it for the moment. I know this must be overwhelming for both of you. Thanks for your help.”

“Did I help you?”

“You were honest and forthright so the answer is yes.”

Jordeen gave them a small smile that didn’t last long. “About Aesop. Do you think the Pettigrews would want to know about him?”

“As a grandparent, I would really want to know about the grandchild of my deceased son or daughter. It’s the moral thing to do, Jordeen.”

“I agree.” Again tears moistened her eyes. “How can Karen advocate for children if we deny grandparents the right to see their grandchild?” She stood up. “I’ll walk you out.” She opened the door and paused. “I’m not trying to be selfish but I am concerned about Joanne Pettigrew causing trouble: saying that we’re not fit to raise our son and things like that.”

“I can’t guarantee anything, Jordeen,” Decker said. “But when I spoke to her last night, I thought she was a very reasonable woman. I’m sure she’d work with you. Besides, I think whatever fight she had possessed left her a long time ago.”

Chapter Nine

By the time they reached CUNY, it was almost noon and the day had become warm and humid. Decker was suffering in a suit and tie. Karen had asked to meet them at a nearby sandwich café that lacked air-conditioning and depended on a giant fan to make the inside tolerable. The place was overflowing with people. Besides a long line at the counter, all the tables were taken. Beyond ordering, there was very little conversation going on. The patrons, interchangeable in their shorts and T-shirts, were either reading or glued to electronic devices.

McAdams looked around. “That person in the corner table is guarding those two empty chairs like they hold the secret of the ancients. She has a short haircut, no makeup, and no jewelry except for a wedding ring. I think we’ve found our woman.”

Decker loosened his tie. “Let’s go.”

“Why do you dress like that when it’s boiling outside?”

“Like what? You’re wearing a jacket.”

“With a black T-shirt underneath. Not a long-sleeved shirt and a tie.”

“This is my professional uniform. People talk to me easier if I’m in a suit. That’s what they see on TV and that’s what they’ve learned to expect. Shall we go? The woman at the table is eyeing me, probably because I’m old and dressed in a suit and tie.”

“Yeah, you don’t exactly blend in.”

“Astute of you to notice.” He walked up to the table. “Karen Osterfeld?”

She nodded and the men sat down. Karen’s expression was somber: intense dark eyes capped by thick brows. There were wisps of facial hair over her lip, but her complexion was smooth. She was dressed in a white T-shirt and red board shorts showing considerable downy arm and leg hair. Her feet were shod in sandals.

“I’m Detective Decker, and this is Detective McAdams. Thank you for speaking to us.”

“You found remains.”

Decker nodded gravely. “The bones have been tentatively identified as Lawrence or Lorraine Pettigrew.”

“Call her whatever you want. I knew her as Lawrence as well as Lorraine. I’ve been expecting this day for a while. Where did you find the bones?”

“They were off a hiking trail north of Greenbury.”

“Which one?”

“Bogat Trail.”

“I don’t know it, and I knew most of the trails up there.”

Decker said, “You went to Morse McKinley?”

“Clarion. I was a year ahead of Lorraine in school. Back then we weren’t romantically involved. We met again down here—same circle of friends.”

“Bogat was put in after you graduated,” Decker said. “Karen, was Lorraine a hiker?”

“Not that I knew.” A beat. “I remember that once I asked him—he was him back then—if he wanted to go hiking with me. I remember it was an easy trail and it was a beautiful autumn day. He gave me a resolute no. I can’t imagine why he’d be in the woods voluntarily.”

“When Lorraine disappeared, did you two still have friends in the area?”

“Not so much for me. When she vanished, I’d been out of school for a while. I knew maybe a couple of teachers. No one close.”

“What about Lorraine?”

“She had some connection up there. The day she left to go up north, she told me she was visiting some friends. And that was the only thing she told me.”

“No names?”

“No, and I didn’t ask. As showy as she was, Lorraine could be very private. I didn’t want to intrude into her personal space.”

“By asking her who she was visiting?”

“If she had wanted me to know, she would have told me.” Karen winced. “You’ve got to remember that I was pregnant. It was a rough first trimester. I was happy to be alone and I thought that Lorraine just needed some time to herself.”

“How was her mood?” Decker asked.

“Like, did I detect something wrong?” Her eyes moistened. “Nothing that I saw. I certainly didn’t expect her to vanish.”

“Of course not,” Decker said. “And you have no idea who her old friends were?”

“I knew she was still in contact with a few of her old professors via e-mail. She contacted them once she started working in finance.”

“So she might have been visiting them?”

“Possibly.” Karen blinked a couple of times. “After she disappeared, I combed through her e-mails to see if I could figure out where she went and who she was seeing. I know Joanne hired a private detective. I’m sure the PI talked to dozens of people. I know I did. You don’t know how panicked I was. I was alone, I was pregnant, and I was very, very confused.”

She looked at the tabletop as she spoke.

“When she didn’t come back Sunday night and I couldn’t contact her by phone, I started calling people that we knew in common. No one even knew she was going up to the colleges.”

Tears started falling down her face.

“At the time, I thought she might have lied to me. That she was having second thoughts about the baby. That she was having second thoughts about me. That she found someone else. I was half mad at her as well as half panicked. When I called her work on Monday and she hadn’t shown up, I was beside myself.”

“What did you do when you couldn’t locate her?”

“I frankly don’t remember too much because I was in such a state. I did call the Greenbury Police. They wouldn’t take a report right away. Since no one remembered seeing Lorraine, they claimed it was doubtful that she made it up north. They were claiming that she probably disappeared in the city. After a while, I began to believe that she really did cut bait and run.”

“Did you contact Pettigrew’s parents?”

Karen sighed. “No. Lorraine didn’t want her parents to know about the pregnancy. She wanted to wait until after the baby was born.”

“Whose idea was the pregnancy?” McAdams asked.

“It was hers. That’s why I couldn’t figure out why she disappeared. She wanted a baby way more than I did. But I loved Lorraine, and she wanted to be a mom of her own biological child. So we decided to do it before we finished off our sex reassignment surgeries. I’d already had top surgery, so I knew I couldn’t nurse, but that was fine with Lorraine. She wanted to be the primary caretaker.”

There was a long pause.

“I never transitioned completely. After I had the baby, it didn’t seem important. Gender is fluid, and I am who I am. I don’t need gonads to tie me down.”

Decker nodded. “Karen, you said you called people when Lorraine didn’t come home.”

“Yes.”

“Do you still have any record of who you called?”

“Of course. I made a list. I have a whole file on her.”

McAdams asked, “Who’s in the file?”

“People I called. As much as I could, I tried to get hold of her phone records or her e-mail because without a body, she still could be alive. I just couldn’t believe that Lorraine would take off on me. I kept thinking there had to be a reason. I didn’t want to think bad of her.”

“We’ll subpoena the records. In the meantime, could I take a look at the file?”

“Sure. It’s at home.” Karen put her head down. “You might also want to talk to Joanne Pettigrew … like that never crossed your mind. I suppose you already talked to her.”

“Yesterday,” McAdams said. “Before we got tentative confirmation of the remains. We’re going to her house after we’ve finished talking to you.”

“Joanne still doesn’t know about Aesop.”

“We know. Jordeen mentioned that you never told her about her grandson.”

Karen sighed.

“At first, I didn’t tell Joanne because I felt I was sort of honoring Lorraine’s last wishes. And I was dealing with so much. I really didn’t want to have a pity party with Joanne. I know that sounds callous, but there was only so much grief I could take.” A long silence. “You can tell her.”

“It might be better coming from you,” Decker said.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” A sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll man up and call her.”

“Wait a few minutes until we call and tell her that the remains have been identified.”

“When are you going to do that?”

“Right now.” Decker stood up. “I’ll be back in a moment. You can talk to Detective McAdams.”

“About what?” Karen asked. But Decker had left the café. “Strange one, your boss.”

McAdams thought: Pot … kettle. “How did you and Lorraine fall in love?”

“When I came back from top surgery, Lawrence—he was still a he back then—he told me he admired my commitment to who I was. We started talking about sex reassignment, what it would mean to us, to our families and friends. We had long, long talks about it. When we met again in New York City, he told me that I had inspired him to take the plunge and undergo sex reassignment surgery. We talked some more and we fell in love. We made love. You know, just because you identify as the other gender doesn’t mean that your biological gonads don’t function. He was dressed as a woman and I was the man with my top surgery, but we were still technically boy and girl. What a world, huh?”

McAdams nodded, but remained silent.

“We were both going to get surgery that summer. But then Lorraine got it in her head to have a baby. What could I do?”

Decker came back. “I told Joanne that we’d be there in an hour.” Silence. To Karen: “This might be as good a time as any to make contact with her.”

Karen looked at her watch. “I’ve got class in ten minutes.” When Decker didn’t answer, she said, “I suppose I should get it over with. I named my son Aesop because those were Lorraine’s favorite stories. Believe it or not, she loved morality pieces. They provided absolutes in our ambiguous world. Are we done here?”

“Yes,” Decker said. “When can I get your Pettigrew file?”

“Come to my place around eight. By then the kids are asleep and if we need to talk at greater length, I can concentrate on you instead of the children.” She looked at her watch again and stood up. “I gotta get this call over with. I’ll see you tonight.”

After she left, Decker said, “What did you two talk about?”

“How they fell in love and wanted to marry: she as a boy and he as a girl. I know that none of this is relevant, but even she admitted it was a strange world.”

“It is a strange world. But as a detective I don’t care about those things. All I care about is who put Pettigrew in the ground.”

It had been an emotional day with tears coming in all directions. There was one positive upshot. As he and McAdams were talking to Joanne, Karen and Jordeen dropped by with Aesop and Birgitta. That’s when the waterworks became unstoppable. It was a good time to make an exit and leave the newly formed family in peace.

After dealing with Joanne, they went back to Manhattan. Decker went to the local Staples and made two copies of Karen’s files, which she had brought to Joanne’s. By the time he was done, it was close to six in the evening. He walked back to the Park Avenue apartment. The door was open when he knocked.

McAdams was stretched out on a rose-colored silk brocade sofa in his pajamas. He had his nose in a book. “Wassup?”

“Good book?”

“A course book.” He put it down. “One year down, two to go.” He shrugged. “What’s our next step?”

“I’m going to Brooklyn for dinner.”

“Have fun.”

“You’re not coming?”

“I didn’t know I was invited.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course, you’re invited. I’d like to make it to Brooklyn within the hour so you might want to change.”

“Funny ha-ha. Where are we going for dinner?”

“Does it matter?”

“How should I dress, Old Man?”

“In street clothes would be a start. Rina made supper so we’re eating in. Dress lightly. Sammy and Rachel have very poor AC.”

“So why don’t we go out?”

“They couldn’t find a babysitter.”

“So why not just take the kid?”

“I don’t make the decisions, Tyler, I just follow orders. When you’ve been married as long as I have, you just show up and smile. Rina invited you. Do you want to come or not?”

“Yes, I’ll come. Jeez.”

“By the way …” Decker plopped down a box onto the floor. “Your copy of the files. We can go over them tonight after dinner.”

“Where? Here?”

“I’d like to stay here for one more day. There are people on the list who live in New York. Might as well question them while I’m here. And I have to return all the original files to Breck and to Karen now that we have copies.”

“What about the Staten Island police? Do you think we should talk to them since Joanne filed a report with them?”

“We should give them a courtesy call and help them clear their missing persons file. But since Pettigrew was murdered in Greenbury, they don’t have anything to do with the case.”

McAdams stood up and hefted the box. “We’ve got a lot of reading to do.”

“And it’s only going to grow once we get the e-mails and the phone records. Get dressed already.”

“Patience, man. I know you’re starved, but I’m not the cause of your low blood sugar.”

“I know you’re not the problem. But, at present, you’re the only scapegoat I have. Put some clothes on and let’s get out of here.”

Tyler had retired an hour ago, but at two in the morning, Decker was wide awake. By three, he finally crawled under soft down covers. It had been a good night. Gathering all the files and cross-referencing proved to be beneficial. He had put almost all the names listed into four categories: Pettigrew’s relatives, his closest friends, his work people, and his old friends from his Greenbury days, this last category being the smallest but the most important because Pettigrew was murdered there. As for the others, he had narrowed the New York City field down to four people he still wanted to interview:

1 Harold Cantrell: Pettigrew’s boss for two years at a place called the McGregor Fund.

2 Marta Kerr, aged thirty: described by PI James Breck and Karen Osterfeld as a close friend of Pettigrew. He had even stayed with her for a couple of months. Her address was in Chelsea and there was an associated phone number.

3 Darwin Davis, aged twenty-five: a friend of Pettigrew from his Morse McKinley days. They reconnected once Davis graduated and moved to the city.

4 Dr. Elwood Marshall (aged, well, who really cares?): Pettigrew’s surgeon and doctor, who specialized in sex reassignment surgery. He had been working with Pettigrew since he was twenty up until his disappearance five years ago.

Decker would make the calls first thing in the morning. He was thinking about how he’d arrange his day when he drifted off and lost himself in a world he wouldn’t remember in the morning.

Chapter Ten

The medical practice was in the East Village, near Washington Square and in a maisonette that fronted a six-story residential brick building. Dr. Elwood Marshall specialized in cosmetic and reconstruction surgery, and judging by the amount of people in the waiting room, he did well. All the couches and chairs were taken, and there was a small line at the reception window. Decker waited his turn and it took almost eight minutes before he faced a heavily made-up receptionist wearing a brunette wig of long waves. A pretty woman in that extreme way, except the voice told another story. It was beyond throaty: it was deep as in a well-developed Adam’s apple. The name tag said Eloise.

“Can I help you?”

Decker discreetly took out his official ID. “We have an appointment with Dr. Elwood.”

“We?”

Decker looked around until he spotted McAdams leafing through the magazine entitled Gay Today. If he could have beaned the kid from across the room, he would have done it. He looked back at Eloise, the receptionist. “My detective seems to have found some interesting reading material.”

“People have all sorts of interesting facets to their personality.” Her smile was a smirk. “I’ll tell the doctor you’re here. It may take a few minutes. We’re swamped today.”

Decker thanked her and the glass partition slid closed in front of him. He walked over to McAdams and elbowed him hard. He whispered, “Learning something?”

“There are some real hot-looking dudes in this magazine.” He put it down on the table. “If I were gay, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Lucky for me that women just aren’t that picky.”

Decker stifled a laugh. “Try to concentrate on the investigation, Tyler. It’s what you’re being paid to do.”

“You mean that paltry sum that’s handed to me twice a month?”

“You were the one who turned down those cushy, well-paid internships.” Decker heard someone call his name. “That’s us. C’mon, Harvard. Let’s go find some answers.”

They were escorted into an office that looked out on a small back garden. The sun had ducked behind clouds, leaving the foliage to grow in gray, sooty light. The air-conditioning was running full blast. The nurse was tall with long thin hands. He said, “The doctor will be with you as soon as he can. Have a seat.”

There were two wooden chairs and one plush leather desk chair separated by a large, rosewood desk holding one pile of paperwork, a bamboo file organizer, a cup of pens, a stapler, and a large phone that had many blinking lines. The walls were covered with diplomas and certifications. Ten minutes after the detectives were seated, a white-coated man in his mid to late fifties flew in like a rogue gust of wind. He was medium in stature with a paunch that lay over a Gucci belt. He had a long face with wiry, silver hair and eyes somewhere between tawny and brown. He sat down at his desk chair and extended his hand to both detectives. “How can I help?”

“As I told your receptionist over the phone, it has to do with a case we’re working on involving one of your former patients.”

“And I suppose you know that even if we’re dealing with former patients, there is confidentiality. Who are we talking about? My receptionist didn’t say.”

Decker said, “We found some remains up north in Greenbury near the Five Colleges of Upstate. We have a tentative match to Lawrence Pettigrew. Lorraine Pettigrew.”

Marshall sat back in his chair, a pained look on his face. “That’s awful.” He regarded Decker. “Because the police are involved … was it murder?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“The developments are recent, but the murder was not. He has been dead for quite some time. Anything you can tell me about him would be helpful.”

“Like what?”

“Did he confide in you on personal matters, for instance?”

“They all confide in me on personal matters. When people come to me, they are very confused and very emotional. I’m just as much therapist as I am surgeon.”

“What about Pettigrew?”

“He was no exception.”

“Anything specific that you can tell me?”

Marshall picked up the phone. “Donnie, can you get me Lawrence/Lorraine Pettigrew’s file, please?” After he hung up the receiver, he said, “It’s been a while. From what I recall, he was very gung-ho on having surgery. When I first see them, they usually are. I always go slowly. Any change, be it a nose job or breast implants, takes getting used to. Let alone something as drastic as sex reassignment surgery. I start with the face. We did some skin sanding, some hair removal. He did well with those procedures, so we took the next step.”

“Which was?”

“Hormonal therapy.” A moment later, Donnie came in with the file and then left. Marshall began to skim through it.

“Yes, I put him on a low dose of the appropriate hormones needed to override the androgens. That’s when the problems started. He didn’t like how it made him feel. He said … this is what I wrote down … it made him feel on edge and moody.”

“PMS,” McAdams said.

“Yes, it does mimic some symptoms in some people. But with time, most transgender people adjust to it. Lawrence not only disliked how it made him feel, he also didn’t like the changes in his body.”

“Meaning?”

“He liked losing his body hair, but he didn’t like having actual breasts although he had been dressing with prosthetics for two years. He loved the way he looked in women’s clothing. But he didn’t like looking at his naked body.” Marshall looked at the chart. “He said he didn’t feel beautiful as a man or a women, just some kind of weird chimera. Now, adjustment can take months. But he didn’t seem to want to adjust. So we began to talk about alternatives.”

“Which are?”

“His problem was not that unusual. There are many men who feel as he did. They consider themselves women in men’s bodies. They are attracted to men. But they don’t want to do the last, fateful step because they can’t adjust to their bodies as women.”

“Okay,” Decker said. “I talked to a few of Pettigrew’s friends. Karen Osterfeld and her current partner, Jordeen Crayton. I believe that Pettigrew intended to marry Karen Osterfeld, who was Karl Osterfeld back then.”

Marshall said nothing.

“Do you know anything about that?”

“If I did, I wouldn’t say. Karen Osterfeld is still very much alive.”

“And she’s your patient?”

“You know I can’t say anything.”

“How about if she gave you permission to talk to me?”

Marshall said, “Has she?”

“I haven’t asked her.”

“So then there’s nothing to talk about.” Marshall stood up. “I hope I’ve been helpful. I have examination rooms filled with patients. I really must get on with them.”

Decker said. “I have one more question. Since Lawrence didn’t adjust to his womanly body, I assume that sex reassignment surgery was off the table.”

“Yes, of course. It was not appropriate for him. He kept on with hormones but at an even lower dose. And he wanted to continue with cosmetic dermabrasion and laser hair removal. I didn’t have a problem with that.”

“Did he do those procedures here?”

“Yes.”

“And he was still your patient up until he disappeared?”

“Yes. As I recall, we found out about his disappearance because he didn’t show to one of his appointments. Pettigrew was usually reliable.”

“His disappearance must have come as a shock to you.”

“It was disturbing, yes. But your news is not just disturbing, it’s awful.” Marshall was silent for a moment. “My patients are often not socially acceptable to their families. The rejection causes them to seek other means of support—a community that understands them in the best of all worlds. But sometimes they seek solace in bad habits—crazy partying, alcohol, drugs, and promiscuous sex. That kind of edgy lifestyle often gets them into deep trouble.”

Getting a caffeine fix in the city was as easy as walking down the block. Small cafés, stores, and take-out markets abounded. The detectives had a little over an hour before their appointment with Harold Cantrell, Pettigrew’s manager at McGregor in Midtown near the UN Plaza.

McAdams sipped iced tea. “We’ve got two Pettigrews: the conventional Lorraine and the in-your-face Lawrence.”

“But both of them were very smart.”

“I’m not denying the intelligence. I’m thinking maybe the conventional Lorraine went up to Morse McKinley to have one last fling as Lawrence. He certainly wasn’t forthcoming to Karen about what he was doing up there.”

“True.”

“If the murder happened up there, shouldn’t we be concentrating on his last days in Greenbury?”

“We’re down here now. We might as well get whatever background we can before we go back up. It’s not like the usual case where time matters. We can be deliberate.”

McAdams said, “What do you think of Pettigrew’s rejection of sex reassignment surgery?”

“In terms of what?”

“Karen, who was Karl back then, thought she was marrying a woman. Maybe she was angry that Pettigrew refused to go through with the surgery?”

“But she herself didn’t go through with the surgery. They obviously came to some kind of understanding. They were having a baby together.” Decker finished his iced coffee. “I mean, what are you thinking? That Karen and Pettigrew got into an altercation and she killed him, dragging his body back up to Greenbury?”

“Maybe she tailed him to Greenbury and caught him in a compromising position. The coroner thinks that Pettigrew was hit from behind by someone shorter than him. Karen is definitely shorter than Pettigrew.”

“I don’t see a pregnant woman lugging around a six-foot-plus body and burying it deep in the woods.”

“Maybe she had help. Maybe Jordeen isn’t as innocent as she makes herself out to be. Isn’t it you who told me to look at the spouse first?”

Decker didn’t answer right away. “Sure. It could be Karen. Maybe they did fight. Accidents happen.”

“Especially if Pettigrew was living a double life.”

“Sure, why not?”

“I hate when you’re noncommittal.”

“Tyler, I’m not being deliberately vague. I just don’t know what’s going on. But keep the hypotheses coming. It gets my senile brain working.” Decker checked his watch. It was half past noon and their appointment was at one-fifteen. He put a twenty on the table. “If we leave now, we can walk it easily. Let’s go.”

“Want to Uber? It’s like ninety degrees outside.”

“I’m the one in the suit.”

“All the more reason why we shouldn’t walk. You’re going to sweat and then go into an air-conditioned office and you’ll catch a cold.”

“I’ll take my jacket off when I walk. That way, when I put my jacket back on, I’ll be comfortable in an air-conditioned building. C’mon. I need some exercise.”

“Don’t blame me if you collapse from heat prostration.”

“I won’t. Besides, you know CPR.” When McAdams didn’t answer, Decker said, “You did finally take the course, right?”

“I signed up.”

Decker exhaled and walked out of the café. McAdams had to hotfoot it to keep up with him. “Honest Abe, I really meant to do it. The time got away from me.”

“What’s the matter with you, McAdams? I understand taking shortcuts but not when lives depend on it.”

“Mea culpa. I am truly humbled. I promise I’ll take a course once I get settled in school.”

“Not good enough. There’s a life-size doll at the firehouse in Greenbury. As soon as we get back, I’m giving you a few lessons. It won’t be official. You’ll still have to be certified. But it’ll give you a jump start.”

“Are you kidding me?” McAdams protested. “Do you know how many germs have settled in that orifice? C’mon!”

“No excuses, McAdams. End of discussion.”

“Fine.” McAdams rolled his eyes. “Anything else?”

“That’s sir to you.”

“Anything else, sir?”

“Yes, there is, McAdams. Because you were derelict in your duties as a sworn officer of the law, you can carry my jacket.”

UN Plaza was a gleaming skyscraper set in blocks of open space. It was fronted with hedges and concrete barrels and poles with flapping banners depicting its member countries. From Harold Cantrell’s office at the McGregor Fund, Decker could see people gathering in orderly queues, waiting for a tour.

The only chair in the office was behind the desk. Five minutes later, a kid—probably an intern—came in with two folding seats. It seems that Mr. Cantrell was called away to an emergency meeting but should be back shortly.

Shortly was almost a half hour. Cantrell was a slight, thin man in his thirties with a cue-ball head and algae-green eyes. He sat down and shook his head.

“I’m sorry about Lorraine.” He took out a handkerchief and wiped his sweaty forehead. “I’ve been having a bad day, but I suppose a death puts things in perspective. You’re from Greenbury so I’m assuming she was found there.”

“She was.”

“Was she murdered?”

“Unofficially, yes.”

“So what are you doing here?”

“Talking to people who knew her. Trying to re-create her life just before it happened.”

“When did it happen?”

“Probably right after she disappeared.”

“So around five years ago.”

“Yes. I’d like to ask you what you remember about her disappearance.”

“Wow. It was a while ago but you don’t forget things like that. From my standpoint, I didn’t even know she was missing until she didn’t show up on Monday. When she didn’t call in sick, I called her, but it went straight to voice mail. About an hour later, her boyfriend called asking if Lorraine was at work. That’s when we both knew something had happened. I continued to call her boyfriend after that, just to see if there was anything new. After a while …”

He threw up his hands.

“Life goes on.” Cantrell shook his head again.

McAdams said, “You were her boss?”

“Yes. Lorraine was hired as a junior analyst. She was on probation as any new employee would be. She was doing a good job. She had potential. It was really sad.”

“Did you hire her?”

“I was one of the people who interviewed her. She had several rounds of interviews. Everyone was keen on her. She was a smart person and a hard worker. It’s just a shame.”

Decker said, “Did she have any problems with any of her co-workers?”

His nostrils flared. “Why would she have problems with co-workers?”

“It’s what you ask when you’re dealing with murder victims.”

“Oh. Not that I know of.”

“She was transgender,” Decker said. “Anyone have problems with that?”

Cantrell suppressed a laugh. “I can see you don’t know much about McGregor.”

“Enlighten me, Mr. Cantrell.”

“Our investments are socially conscious. We make it a point to be diverse, and as a result, the company appeals to a lot of people who live alternative lifestyles.”

“Just because two people are gay doesn’t mean they get along,” Decker said. “How did she get along with her co-workers?”

“As far as I know, she fit in fine. I don’t know anyone who had a problem with her. She didn’t work here all that long. And she wasn’t in publicity or human resources. She mostly sat at her desk and analyzed stocks.”

“Did she have a specialty?” McAdams asked.

“Not a sector, no. We hired her to work with institutional endowments. A lot of schools have considerable funds but they’re not big enough to hire their own full-time analysts. We have a number of institutions as clients. That’s what attracted Lorraine to our company. She loved working with schools and colleges.”

Decker was writing furiously in his notebook. “Lorraine went to Morse McKinley up north in Greenbury.”

“Yes, I know. She didn’t finish because she was supposed to undergo sex reassignment surgery. She told us everything.”

“She told her partner that she was going up to Morse McKinley the weekend she disappeared,” Decker said. “We know she made it up there, but we don’t know why she went in the first place. By any chance, would it have something to do with the firm?”

“No.” Cantrell was puzzled. “Why would it have something to do with us?”

“Perhaps someone sent her up there to raise awareness of your investment strategy?”

“I was her boss and I certainly didn’t do that. Her job was analysis, not finding new clients.”

“But if she knew someone up north, maybe she went there with the specific goal to recruit new clients.”

“I would never ask her to do something like that. And I couldn’t imagine anyone else asking her to do it.”

“Maybe she was trying to show initiative,” McAdams said.

“This is all speculation on something that happened years ago.”

“I realize that,” Decker said. “But because it happened so long ago, speculation is a part of the investigation.”

“I can appreciate your position, but unfortunately, I have nothing to add.” Cantrell checked his watch. “Anything else?”

Decker stood up and closed his notebook. “Thank you for your time. If I have anything else to ask you, where can I reach you easily?”

“Here’s my card.” Cantrell scribbled on it. “My cell is on the back. It’s terrible what happened to her. I hope you find out who did it.”

McAdams took the card. “Thank you.”

Decker gave Cantrell his card. “And please let me know if you hear of anything.”

“Why would I hear of anything?”

“This has turned into a murder investigation, Mr. Cantrell. Like the police, people speculate. And sometimes they even know what they’re talking about.”

It was a little past two when they left. Clouds that looked like balls of Brillo pads had materialized, blocking out the sun but keeping in the heat, making the city swelter. Decker felt like a walking water balloon.

McAdams pulled out his phone and pressed the Uber app. “Two-minute ETA. You can come or not, but I’m not walking.”

“This time you win. It’s hot.”

They both stood under a dry cleaner’s awning. McAdams said, “I remember going back to school when I was very little dressed in a jacket and tie. When I finally went to boarding school, I was happy about the fact that New Hampshire was quite a bit cooler than New York in September. Of course, once the winter hit, I would have killed to get back into the city. Even if Manhattan was just as cold as New Hampshire—which it rarely was—you see a great deal more of the sun.” He looked at the overcast sky. “Believe it or not.”

A car pulled up.

“Our ride, boss.”

The men hopped in the air-conditioned car and sped off to Park Avenue. An hour later, both men had showered, changed, and were ravenous. Neither had had much beyond coffee, and it was after three. Decker picked up his cell and there were three missed calls from the station house within twenty minutes.

McAdams came in the room rubbing a towel over his curly, wet hair.

Decker said, “Did you get missed calls from Greenbury?”

The kid checked his phone. “Two. Want me to see what’s up?”

“I’ll call. If they’re calling both of us, it’s important.” He connected to the police line. “This is Detective Decker.”

“Oh, hi, Detective, hold on.” Immediately the line went into idle mode.

“What’s going on?” Tyler asked.

Decker shrugged. Captain Mike Radar came on the line. “Are you still in New York?”

“Yes.”

“Is the kid with you?”

“The kid is with me.”

“Put your phone on speaker.”

“This doesn’t sound good.” Decker pressed the speakerphone button. “What’s up?”

“We found another grave. Same area as Pettigrew—guesstimate is around a hundred to two hundred yards away.”

Decker raked his fingers through his wet hair. “When did this happen?”

“The murder? I have no idea.”

“When did you find the remains?”

“Oh, right. About an hour ago. I think you’re right. We’ll need the dogs.”

“We’ll pack up and leave as soon as possible.” He checked his watch. “We’ll try to make it back before seven. We should still have some daylight.”

“Enough for you to see the remains.”

“By remains, do you mean another skeleton?”

“Yes.”

“Male or female?”

“We haven’t gotten to the pelvic area yet, just the human skull. We’ve got some hair but far less and it looks to be shorter than Pettigrew’s hair.”

“What color?”

“Brown. We also found a watch and more than one earring this time. We found seven. Mostly studs and cuffs.”

“Multiple ear piercings. What about nose or tongue piercings?”

“There’s no soft tissue. Maybe there’s a little cartilage so there could be a pierce through it. No tongue, but there might be a stud inside the jaws. The coroner just got here. It would be good to have you here before we dig up any more graves.”

“Good Lord, I hope not.”

“Decker, we’ve got two bodies interred close to each other. I’m no big-city expert, but what are the odds that this is a coincidence?”

“It’s no coincidence.”

“Any thoughts?”

“A lot but they’re a little jumbled right now.”

“Well, unjumble them. It’s not like I can go on Amazon and pick up a copy of Serial Killers for Dummies.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Mike.” Decker cut the line.

“That would make for interesting reading,” McAdams said. “What can you tell me about serial killers in …” The kid checked his watch. “In ten minutes.”

Decker was about to brush him off, but the question made him think.

“They’re rare, and despite what you’ve been told by TV and movies, they don’t fall into neat categories. Some are smart—or organized as the FBI likes to say. Some are dumb and disorganized. Some are organized sometimes, and disorganized at other times. There are those who kill within race, but others don’t give a damn about the color of the skin. Some have a definite type, for others any type will do. Some stalk, but some don’t. Some are loners, but others have families—wives and kids.

“Almost all of them are opportunistic. If it’s easy and convenient and they’re in the mood, they’ll hit. Most of them—if they have a car—spend lots of time driving around at night, looking for prey. Some have long-distance driving jobs that make looking for prey easy—like truckers or house movers. Some have transient jobs like short-order cooks and work temporary construction crews. But others hold down regular day jobs and prowl around after the wife and kids go to sleep. They clock lots of miles on their cars. It’s not only their transportation, it’s their place of operation.

“That’s the who and the how. As to the why? Your guess is as good as mine. They kill for sexual satisfaction, they kill because it gives them a physical charge that’s exciting, they kill because they’re warped, they kill because they get their jollies playing cat and mouse with the police, the press, and the public. In other words, they kill because they can.”

McAdams said, “That’s the last time I ask you a question.”

Decker checked his watch. “I still have six minutes to go.”

“Is there anything else you’d like to add?”

“Yes, there is as a matter of fact. Maybe it is a serial killer—but right now, let’s not get fixated on that idea. It could be just what you said before: that Karen went up north and found Pettigrew and the Doe we just unearthed were involved in a tryst.”

“A love triangle.”

“Possibly. It also could be that Pettigrew and Doe were murdered at the same time—not sequentially.”

“Okay. Sure. Fair enough. And what if we find other bodies?”

“You’re really into this being a serial killer.”

“I’m just asking a question, Old Man.”

“If we find other bodies, then I’ll revise my thinking accordingly.”

Chapter Eleven

After dropping off Rina, Decker and McAdams headed for the crime scene. They arrived at Bogat just as the sun was sinking behind the horizon. It was cooler in the forest than in town, even cooler than a couple of days ago when they had discovered Pettigrew’s body. The foliage was starting to turn—small peeks of gold and rust. The sky had burst into purples and pinks, and a cricket or two started in song as twilight emerged. Nightfall would hit soon and the woods would become lines and shadows.

Under the tent was a whirl of activity with police and coroner officials. There was a picnic table covered in white cloth. Atop were unearthed bones, tufts of hair, clothing fragments, and a few personal effects—jewelry and something that looked like leather—maybe a purse or a wallet. Two arc lamps attached to battery packs provided high-intensity illumination. Ben Roiters was watching the action from ringside. The man still had a head of hair—most of it dark—even though he had passed the six-zero mark a few years ago. He was stoop shouldered with a paunch and alert, dark eyes. He had been a seasoned detective in his heyday but had worked for Greenbury for the last ten years. Decker motioned him outside the tent.

Roiters said, “This is unbelievable. What’re the odds that you have two bodies in such close proximity that are not related?”

Decker shook his head. “Zero.”

“So what is it? A gang fight in the woods gone wrong? A satanic ritual? A serial killer?”

“My vote is on C,” McAdams said.

Decker turned to him. “Okay, Tyler. Defend your choice.”

McAdams shrugged. “I don’t know who the other body is, but there are no indications that Pettigrew was a hard-core gangbanger.”

“What about a satanic ritual?” Decker asked.

“Pettigrew was smacked in the head. If it was satanic, I’d expect to see more knife action in a ritual sacrifice: cut marks on his bones and things like that.”

Roiters said, “I agree with the kid, Pete. As soon as we found a second body, I thought of a serial killer.”

“Could be a one-off where the killer whacked two people at the same time,” Decker said.

“Coroner thinks the bodies weren’t buried at the same time. So a serial killing makes more sense.”

Decker said, “Then it’s someone who kills men and women.”

McAdams said, “Pettigrew had been consistently dressing as a woman when he came back to Greenbury.”

“Yeah, I know,” Decker turned to Roiters. “When was the Bogat hiking trail put in?”

“I don’t have a clue. I’m the quintessential couch potato.”

McAdams was already on his iPhone. “I can’t get reception. What are you thinking? That it doesn’t make sense to bury two bodies so close to a public trail?”

“Yep. I’m thinking the bodies were interred before the trail went public. Karen Osterfeld doesn’t remember Bogat when she was here around seven years ago. And it had just opened up when I came on the scene, after Delilah Occum’s disappearance.”

“Do you think there are more bodies out there?” McAdams stowed his phone.

“Possibly.” Decker blew out air. “Radar’s getting some dogs so we can cover a much bigger area.” He raised his eyebrows. “When are you going back to school?”

“Classes start in a week. But that doesn’t mean I have to show up right away.”

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