“The boy was his own flesh and blood—maybe brother or maybe son—but he was flesh and blood. When he kicked that woman out, Philip told his papa that he couldn’t raise Darrell alone. I came over and started working for Mr. Philip.” George placed the teacup on the stark, granite counter. “She died a few years later…after Mr. Philip kicked her out.”

“How’d she die?”

“Something with an infection and gangrene…had her leg chopped off. It was real sad. Mr. Philip paid for the cremation. Felt it was the right thing to do.”

What a sport, Decker thought. Yet who was he to judge? Then he thought, Why shouldn’t I judge? He took care of his daughter after his divorce, he took care of his wife’s sons, loved them and raised them and treated them as if they were his own—they were legally—at great cost to his own psyche. Damn right, he could judge.

“And the baby brother?” Decker asked. “What happened to the little boy?”

George shrugged. “I don’t know, sir. Darrell…he once told me that the boy died. Then he told me the boy was alive and adopted by a real rich family. Then he told me that the boy was a black Muslim. He makes up stories, Darrell does. He’s always made up lots of stories.”

Decker nodded. “Thanks for the tea, George.”

“You’re welcome.” Finally he turned to Decker. “Don’t be thinking too badly about Darrell. He had it rough.”

“I can see that.” Decker tapped his foot. “When was the last time you’ve heard from Darrell, George? This time I need to know the truth.”

“Three days ago,” the butler admitted. “The boy wanted money…like Mr. Philip said.”

“Did you give him money?”

“Four hundred dollars…from my savings. It wasn’t smart, but like I said, the boy had it rough.”

“Any idea where he might be?”

“No, sir. Before three days ago, I didn’t see him in three years.”

“How did he appear? Nervous or calm?”

“He was jittery. I just thought that he was nervous to get out before his papa came home. I tole him he could stay the night…that his papa wasn’t coming home. But he just took the money and left.”

“Didn’t say anything to you?”

“He said ‘thank you, George. Thank you, very much. I love you.’” The old man’s eyes watered. “I do believe he meant it.”

“I’m sure he did.” Decker hesitated, then said, “By the way, this lost brother of Darrell’s…was his name Richard…Ricky for short?”

George went wide-eyed. “How’d you know that?”

“A guess, sir.” Decker patted the butler’s rounded shoulder. “Just a guess.”

30

Decker looked up from Merv Baldwin’s computer. “How many years was Moke on the payroll?” he asked.