Redemption (Amos Decker #5)(20)

“Where were you walking?”

“All over. Had to think.”

“What about?”

“None of your beeswax.” He paused. “And, hold on, they never told me who was killed.”

Lancaster told him who and where.

“Hell, I don’t know those people.”

Decker said casually, “So you’ve never been to that house?”

“Never. No reason to.”

“You see anybody on your walk who can corroborate your story?”

“Nope. It was raining. Nobody was dumb enough to be outside, except me.”

“You ever been to the American Grill on Franklin Street?” asked Lancaster.

“I don’t eat out much. Can’t afford it.”

“You ever run into the owner?”

“And who’s that?”

“David Katz.”

“Never hearda him.”

Lancaster described him.

“Nope, doesn’t ring a bell with me.”

A far slimmer Ken Finger, Hawkins’s court-appointed attorney, arrived just then, and Hawkins was compelled to open his mouth and provide a court-ordered cheek swab of his DNA.

Hawkins asked Decker what he was going to do with that sample.

“None of your beeswax,” Decker replied.

*



Decker looked at Jamison after describing this back-and-forth to her. “And later that morning, the search team found the gun hidden behind a loose section of wall in Hawkins’s closet. Ballistics matched the bullets taken out at the postmortem.”

“And the DNA from the cheek swab?”

“It took a while to get the results back, but they matched the trace under Abigail Richards’s fingernails.

“Case closed at that point.”

“Apparently.”

Decker looked at the floor again. “Except for no traces from the rain.”

“He could have had another pair of shoes and socks with him. He could have taken off his shoes and left them outside. And changed into the dry shoes.”

Decker shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Look at the porch.”

Jamison stepped to the window and looked at the small-roofed porch with open sides.

Decker said, “Mary and I got soaked going in, and that porch offered almost no protection. And I don’t see Hawkins having the foresight to bring an extra pair of shoes and socks. And how could he take the time to stop and change out of his shoes before breaking into a house with a bunch of people in it? Anybody could have looked out the front door or window and seen him. And hell, he’d have to have brought another set of clothes and a hair dryer before he set foot inside. Otherwise, there would have been traces.”

“Is there another way into the house that he could have used?”

“None that wouldn’t leave us with the same problem as now.”

“He could have cleaned up his wet traces on his way out.”

“After murdering four people he’s going to take the time to do that? And from all the different places he had to be in the house to kill them all? And there’s carpet too, so he’s going to what, get out a steam cleaner and fire it up and get rid of every single bit of mud, wet gravel, soaked blades of grass?”

“But, Decker, you know the alternative if that is the case.”

Decker glanced over at her. “Yeah, that Hawkins was right, and I was wrong. He was innocent. And I put him away in prison. And now he’s dead.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“The hell it isn’t,” said Decker.





Chapter 11



THERE WAS NO PLACE on earth colder than a morgue.

At least Decker was thinking that as he looked down at the body of Meryl Hawkins on the metal table. The ME had drawn back the sheet so that Hawkins’s emaciated body was completely exposed. On one side of Decker stood Jamison. On the other was Lancaster.

The ME said, “As I noted, the cause of death was a small-caliber soft-nosed or dumdum bullet. It deformed after cleaving through the skull and then cartwheeled through the soft tissue, breaking up more as it did so, just as it’s designed to do.” He pointed to the man’s brain that was sitting on another table. “You can see that it did considerable damage. Hawkins would have died instantly. Round was still in the soft tissue. In fragments. That’s why I can’t give you a more exact answer as to caliber.”

“And no way to do a ballistics comparison if we do find a gun to test?” said Lancaster.

“Afraid not. As I said, it’s just metal slivers and chunks dispersed over a wide area of the brain. Like a bomb exploded. Really no spiral lands or grooves from the gun barrel left to match it to, unfortunately.” He added, “There were also traces of polyurethane foam and microbeads embedded in the wound and brain tissue.”

“What?” said Jamison, looking puzzled.

Decker said, “The killer used a pillow to muffle the shot.”

“Cheap version of a muzzle suppressor,” added Lancaster. “The burn marks on his forehead would have been even more pronounced if the killer hadn’t used the pillow. It was pretty close to a contact wound.”

“They must’ve cleaned up the trace and taken the pillow with them,” said Decker. “There was no sign of it in the room.”