up and called Radar, who said, “Jaylene Boch is on disability.”
“Yeah, I just found out that a car accident left her a paraplegic eight years ago. If Joseph Boch is Boxer and he’s missing, who’s taking care of Jaylene?”
“I’ve got her phone number. Call it and let me know if she answers. If she doesn’t, go ahead and make a forced entry, just to make sure she’s okay. Knock hard.”
“Got it.” Decker hung up. He called Jaylene’s cell phone. After three rings, there was a beep and Decker left his name and number. But he still didn’t feel comfortable about walking away. He went over to Baccus. “We’re going to do a forced entry for a welfare check. Turns out Jaylene Boch—”
“Is a paraplegic.”
“Looked it up on your phone?”
“Yep.”
“Radar gave me her cell phone. No one is answering. I just want to make sure she’s not in there, lying on the floor and incapacitated. Agreed?”
“Absolutely.”
“All right, let’s do this.” Decker took out a set of lock picks, and then he backtracked and put them away. Instead, he took out a credit card. After working it back and forth, the bolt retracted and the lock popped. As he opened the door, the stench was overwhelming. Involuntarily, he turned his head. Then he brought out a handkerchief. Lennie was a few steps behind him. She had turned ashen.
Decker took out his revolver. “Watch my back. I don’t think this is a fresh kill.” He waited for her to respond. “You do have a firearm, don’t you?”
“Yes, sorry. Of course.” Lennie disengaged her gun from her shoulder holster.
Single file, they walked into a messy living room—paper cups and plates, food wrappers, soiled clothes, dirty towels, all of it scattered on tables, the sofa, and the two chairs opposite the sofa. Off the living room was the kitchen in an equal state of disarray and mess. Dirty dishes and used pots and pans piled in the sink. Ants were crawling in neat little roadways on the counters, down the cabinets, and onto the floor.
Decker said, “These two rooms are clear. I’m going to check out the other rooms. You okay?”
“Fine,” she said.
Slowly he walked down the hallway that had three doors. With his back to the wall, he opened the one closest to the living room. As soon as he did, the stink grew stronger.
He pivoted, gun drawn, and went inside.
She was tied to her wheelchair, head lolling to the side, her eyes closed, her lips parched and cracked. A rag was stuck in her mouth.
“Damn it!” Quickly, Decker checked out the room closet. Empty. He felt for a pulse and was shocked to find something thready and weak. He turned to Baccus. “She’s alive. Call an ambulance!” Carefully, he removed the rag from her mouth. She had defecated over herself, down the chair, and onto the floor. Decker patted her sweaty forehead with his handkerchief. As he did this, she moaned. “Mrs. Boch, we’re the police. We’re taking you to the hospital. Just stay with me, okay.”
Baccus said, “Ambulance is coming. I also called for additional officers and SID.”
“Which police station?”
“Hamilton, sir. It’s in their jurisdiction.”
“It’s related to our case, but you’re right. It’s their call.”
Jaylene moaned again.
Lennie said, “Is she going to be okay?”
Decker put his fingers to his lips. “Just hang in there, Jaylene. Just a few more minutes.” To Baccus. “We’ve got to clear the two other rooms. Otherwise emergency services won’t come in. C’mon.”
“We just leave her alone?”
“You have to protect my back, Baccus. We have no idea who else is in the house.”
“Yes.” Lennie wiped sweat off her brow. “Of course.”
The door across the hall was a bathroom—broken toilet, cracked tile floors, and a browned acrylic tub/shower for the handicapped. He took out his handkerchief, ran it under the faucet, and wrung out the excess water.
“C’mon,” Decker said. “One more to go.”
The last room was all the way in the back and looked over the rear yard. He stood with his back against the wall and threw open the door. The stench was horrible. Blood was everywhere—on the walls, on the floor, on the bed linens, and on discarded clothing. Decker quietly walked over to the closet and opened it. It was the only area of the room not smeared with blood.
Definitely a crime scene, but no body.
He rushed out of the room and back to the old lady and wiped her brow with his damp handkerchief. To Baccus, he said, “Stand guard over the back bedroom. No one goes in without my say-so.”
“Got it.”
The wail of the sirens got louder. Within moments, paramedics were knocking at the door. Decker let them in. “House is clear. Follow me.”
Once Jaylene was being ministered to, Decker walked over to the back bedroom and peered inside. He took off his shoes. “See that over there?”
“What am I looking at?”
Decker said, “He tried to make it to the door. He didn’t get there. You can see a massive amount of spray on the door and on the walls near the door. He runs to the closet—see the footprints? Doesn’t make it to the closet, either. He’s mowed down there. See these smear tracks? They’re dragging the body out …” He looked at the hallway. “Nothing bloody here.” He went over to the windows. Blood was dripping onto the floor even before he opened the drapes. Once he did, he opened the window and saw blood on the bottom of the frame. “They pulled him out the window.”
He paused, then looked outside.
“No real visible blood outside. They might have washed it down. I’ll take a closer look.”
“How could they have dragged him away without leaving blood outside?”
“Someone’s waiting on the other side with a trash bag.” Decker walked back into the first bedroom to check on Jaylene Boch. They had taken off her soiled clothes and were cleaning her body. Decker looked away, but not before noticing an IV was in her arm and an oxygen tube was in her nose. He went back into the hallway as two paramedics were bringing in a gurney. “How is she?”
“Badly dehydrated. She’s conscious but barely so. It’s hard to tell what damage has been done.”
Ten minutes later, they put her on the mobile gurney, leaving the dirtied wheelchair behind, and loaded her into the ambulance.
“Where are you taking her?”
“St. Luke’s.”
The major hospital in Hamilton. “I’ll
