said, “She didn’t mention that.”
“She wouldn’t. To her, I’m just a bad girl who doesn’t care.” A long sigh. “What the hell happened to my baby brother?”
“We were hoping you could maybe help us out with that. What do you know about Brady?”
“Not a lot. We did talk, but not too often.”
“What did you talk about?” McAdams asked.
“Mostly we talked about how we were coping.”
“How was he coping?”
“He said he was okay. He had a job, he had a few friends. Mom basically ignored him and he ignored her. Plus, he had the entire basement for his living quarters. About four times the space of this apartment and no rent. Mom always favored Brady. Me? Not so much.”
“Did you know any of Brady’s friends?”
She paused and shook her head. “I knew a few of his school friends, but that was a long time ago.”
Decker paged through his notes. “Patrick Markham and Brett Baderhoff.”
“Yeah. Wow, haven’t heard those names in a while.”
“Anyone of a more recent vintage?”
Brandy smiled. “Yes, come to think of it. He had a pal from work. Boxer. He was a warehouse worker. I never met him, but Brady told me that he and Boxer would go out drinking sometimes. He was an older guy—around thirty-five or so. Sounds like loser company, but I’m not one to judge.”
“Is Boxer his first or last name?”
“Don’t know. Brady just called him Boxer.”
“It sounds like a nickname,” McAdams said.
“It might be.”
“What about girlfriends?” Decker asked.
She shrugged ignorance. “He never mentioned anyone specific.”
“I have to ask you this. Did you know of any activities that might have compromised Brady in some way?”
“If he was dealing, I didn’t know about it.”
“Your mom said he always had cash.”
“Then ask my mom about it.”
“I did. She had no idea how he got it.”
“Neither do I.”
Decker wondered how much he should say to her. Brandy appeared to be truthful. Maybe it was worth the chance. “I pulled in a couple of punks this afternoon. Both of them told me that Brady was selling used and out-of-date electronic equipment to recycling dealers.”
She waited. “Okay. Is there something wrong with that?”
“No. The kids said he found the stuff dumpster diving. Does that sound like the kind of thing your brother might do?”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “Brady could be … entrepreneurial. But his business wasn’t always legal, to put it mildly.”
“He dealt drugs?”
“Nothing big, but yes, he sold pot and pills in high school.”
“And that’s all?”
“He didn’t peddle tar or crack, if that’s what you’re asking.” A pause. “At least, if he did, I didn’t know about it.”
“So it’s possible he could have dealt harder stuff.”
“Maybe.” She looked at the ceiling. “Something got him murdered.”
“True enough,” McAdams said. “Was he good at computers?”
“I’ve never known him to be a whiz or geeky or anything like that. But he did work in the electronics department at Bigstore, and he was promoted to manager. So maybe he was more adroit than I knew.”
“Was Brady good at numbers like you and your dad?” Decker asked.
“Yes, he was, come to think of it. He was no abstract math genius, but he could add and subtract in his head. I imagine that a gift like that would come in handy working in retail. Today, with calculators and computers, his skill doesn’t bring much to the table. But it’s a great party trick.”
“How about if you’re betting and the odds keep changing?”
“I don’t think Brady was a gambler. We both had our fill of that life from Dad.” Brandy checked her watch. “I’m sorry to be rude, but I have to meet my mom at the mortuary tomorrow and I’m just dreading it. I need a little time to relax. If you have more questions down the road, I’m fine with it. Just not now.”
The men got up and gave Brandy their cards. “Call if you can think of anything else,” Decker told her. “You’ve been very helpful.”
“Have I?”
“Very much. Thanks for your time, Ms. Neil.”
“Just call me Brandy. It’s kind of a stripper name, but I like it. It’s about the only thing I’ve kept from my old life.”
AFTER THEY GOT into the car, McAdams said, “If Brady was a gambler like his old man, it could explain how he wound up dead. Maybe he borrowed money from the wrong person.”
“It’s a thought, but a true gambler usually doesn’t have cash lying around. They spend it as soon as they get it.”
“A professional poker player?”
“Living in the basement of his mother’s home?”
“A mediocre professional poker player?” When Decker didn’t answer, McAdams said, “Well, what do you think?”
“I don’t have any definite theories right now. But what do you think about a manager of the electronics department of Bigstore keeping company with a warehouse worker?”
“He was stealing from the inventory?” McAdams said. “Don’t they keep meticulous records?”
“I’m sure they have records … how meticulous?” Decker shrugged. “If he was dealing in broken-down parts, what’s to say that a box here and there didn’t get accidentally dropped and ruined?”
“Then Bigstore would return it to the manufacturer.”
“Yes, if it was a really big, expensive item. But Bigstore sells a lot of glasses, decorative pots and vases, and kitchenware and small appliances and food in jars. Stuff they wouldn’t ship back because it’s too little. If it was a smaller item—a phone or a cheap game system—maybe the store would elect to lump it all together under its breakage insurance policy.”
“Okay.
