His self-serving declaration was met with accusing silence.

Lance blushed. “I’ll reimburse out of my own pocket if you promise no jail time.”

“Kid, right now, that’s the least of your worries,” Oliver said.

“What other items did you steal?” Decker asked.

“Nothing after that.” Terry winced. “I swear it! I refused to go back to the cemetery. The last job gave me the creeps. Not that she didn’t try to change my mind. But when she saw that cemeteries were out, she pushed me into other things.”

“Like?”

“Razoring out antique maps from old atlases.”

“When was this?”

“About a year and a half ago, must have been in the start of our junior year. And FYI, I refused to do it. For one thing, you saw how careful they are at the reference desks. I knew I’d get caught. Then Angeline suggested that we could go to local libraries along the Hudson. Small towns are often filled with antique books. And no one cares about them. But I told her no. If she wanted to do it, she was on her own. She dropped it, but I knew her schemes weren’t over, especially when she showed up with a Movado watch on her wrist. She dumped me because I wasn’t of any use to her anymore. Finally, when she started sporting expensive stuff, it dawned on me that she got herself a new partner.”

“How’d John Latham come into the picture?”

“I don’t know how she met him. Maybe her contact in Boston fixed them up.”

“And you don’t know who this Boston contact was?”

“No.” A pause. “I thought you said you knew the contact.”

“I want to hear what you have to say.”

“I don’t have anything to say! I never knew her contact but I damn well knew she was doing something: her bling got bigger, her ski equipment was top of the line, and her sunglasses and purses were plastered with designer logos. How else did she afford any of that shit if she wasn’t doing something illegal.”

“And you have no idea how she met John Latham?”

“No, I don’t know. Why don’t you believe me?”

“Are you asking me that seriously?” When Terry reddened, Decker said, “When did you find out about Latham?”

“I already told you guys that.”

“So tell us guys again.” McAdams held up his iPad. “Just for my notes.”

“About a year ago, I tailed her into Boston. I saw Latham. I turned around, I went home. I was pissed. I admit it. And I thought very hard about punching his lights out. But I was tired after the long drive. And I guess the drive also cooled me off. I didn’t kill him and I didn’t kill her.” He slumped into his chair, regarding Decker with beseeching eyes. “I’m scared. No offense, but I don’t want to end up like him.” He pointed to Tyler.

“None taken,” McAdams said. “I’m not happy about it, either.”

“What do I do now, man?”

Oliver said, “Stop stealing stuff would be a great start.”

“I was a fucking moron. I’ll reimburse whatever I took in cash. I’ll write apology letters. I’ll do community service. But badgering me won’t help because I have no idea who killed either of them.” His eyes moistened. I repeat, “What do I do now?”

“A few more questions, Lance,” Decker said. “Do you know a man named Alex Beckwith?”

Terry shook his head. “Who is he?”

Oliver said, “How about Martin Kosovsky?” When he didn’t get a response, he said. “Lars Dotter Hemellvich?”

“Never heard of them. They sound Russian.”

“What about Victor Gerrard?” Decker said.

Terry thought long and hard. “Is he kinda like in his early thirties?”

“He kinda is and he’s kinda missing.”

“Oh God—”

“What do you know about him?”

“The name sounds vaguely familiar.”

McAdams did an image search and showed the pad to Terry. “Any of these faces ring a bell?”

Lance studied the pictures. “I think I might have met this one at a college party. He might have been a friend of Angeline’s. Beyond that . . .” He shrugged.

Decker said to McAdams. “Show him a picture of Jason Merritt.”

“Sure.” McAdams punched in search letters. “Here you go.”

Terry shook his head with conviction. “Don’t know him.”

“Take another look,” Decker said.

“I don’t have to. I don’t know him.”

Decker pointed to his suitcases. “Where were you planning to go?”

“I have an aunt who lives near Los Angeles. Actually, she lives in a small little town about seventy miles north of L.A. She has this converted garage that she rents out to surfers because she lives close to the shore. It’s currently empty and she said I could use it. I thought I’d spend some time up there until this all blows over.”

“I’ll need the name of your aunt, the address, and her phone number,” Decker said.

“No problem.” A pause. “So I can go visit her?”

“You can go, but don’t leave Ventura without telling me where you’re going.”

The kid’s mouth dropped open. “How’d you . . . ?”

“The end part of Malibu is around forty miles from L.A. Sixty miles is Oxnard, seventy miles plus is Ventura. Ninety miles plus is Santa Barbara. I know that because I spent thirty years of my life with the Los Angeles Police Department.”

“Oh . . . so you were, like, in L.A.?”

“Yes, Lance, LAPD is indeed in L.A.,” Decker said. “You know what that means? It means don’t piss me off because over there, I have all sorts of friends in very high places.”

CHAPTER 35

OLIVER WENT TO fetch the car while McAdams, Rina, and Decker shivered in the cold. McAdams was upright, resting on his cane as Rina and Decker tried to figure out how to fold up the wheelchair.

The kid said, “The Boston contact is Goddard.”

“Could be,” Decker said.

“But we have no proof.”

“If Lance never met Angeline’s Boston contact, we don’t have a link.”

“Back to Boston?”

“Maybe. First things first. How do you fold up this chair?”

“There should be a latch near the footrest.”

“Ah. Right.” Decker and Rina managed to squash the chair down to a flat rectangle of metal and wheels. “Even if there was a link between Goddard and Angeline, a marble statue isn’t worth killing over.”

Rina said, “Maybe the statue turned out to be priceless, like that Degas that was just sitting outside the French embassy for years.”

Decker smiled. “I don’t think so.”

Rina smiled back. “Well, neither do I.”

“Where are we off to in the immediate?” McAdams asked. “Victor Gerrard’s apartment?”

“Yes, and that reminds me . . .” Decker pulled out his phone and punched in Cindy’s number, got her machine, and left a message. He turned to his wife. “How are you doing?”

Rina checked her watch. “Rachel’s home by now. I’d love to go see our granddaughter.”

“Not without Schultz.”

“He can come along.”

“How about we drop you off at Nina’s? And then you and Greg can take a cab to Brooklyn. We’ll meet you there later.”

“That sounds like a good plan.”

“Be careful.”

“Of course.”

Finally Oliver inched over to the sidewalk with the car. Traffic, as usual, was terrible. It took a few minutes to load everyone up, to buckle everyone up, and to pull out into the cacophony of horns.

“We’ll drop Rina off at Nina’s and then we’ll head out to Gerrard’s New York address.”

“I pulled up several images of Gerrard,” McAdams said. “We can pass those around to the neighbors.”

Oliver slammed on the brakes and the car skidded. “I hate this city.”

“It’s meant for carriages, not cars,” McAdams said. “If you walk, there’s nothing like it . . . in good weather . . . without a cane.”

“You’re doing pretty well with the walking stick, Tyler,” Rina said.

“Yes, I am. Take the wheelchair back. I’d really prefer to walk.”

“It’s slippery out there,” Oliver said.

“I’ll manage. I hate feeling like a cripple.” He sighed. “This whole thing has been truly humbling.”

“You’ve handled it all very well,” Decker said.