Bone Box. Faye Kellerman
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.”
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