Redemption (Amos Decker #5)(31)

“We do, Decker. It’s not really about that.”

“What else is there?”

“What people want out of life, for one.”

“What do you want that’s different from what Earl wants?”

“I want to keep working in law enforcement.”

“And Earl doesn’t want that?”

“It’s hard on him, Decker. It’s hard on Sandy. I get that. But all I’ve ever wanted to be is a cop. I’ve worked my entire adult life to get to this point. I can’t just chuck it, even if I do care for somebody.”

“So it’s an either/or?”

“It apparently is for Earl. But I’m not blaming him. You know when those monsters left those mannequins at our home dressed up to look like they’d been murdered two years ago? It scared the shit out of all of us, but Earl especially took it hard. He couldn’t stop talking about it. What if it had been for real? Things changed after that between us. And they’ve never gone back to what they were.”

“And what about Sandy? Earl said he’s getting more custody than you.”

“With my job, how could I have done that? It would be way too hard on Sandy. I’m not going to put her through that.”

“She’s your daughter.”

“And she’s Earl’s daughter too. And she has special needs. His job is a lot more flexible than mine. I can’t suddenly duck out of a homicide investigation or not show up for court so I can pick her up from school because she’s having an episode. I know. I tried. It didn’t work. You saw that for yourself.”

“I did and I’m sorry.”

She gave a weak smile. “Apologies? You going soft on me in your middle age?”

“Doubtful.” He took a swig of beer. “I’m sorry that my problems intruded into your life. What happened to your family was because of me.”

She reached over and gripped his hand. “Every problem in the world is not yours to solve. I know you have very broad shoulders, but no one can take on that sort of responsibility. And it wasn’t your fault. It was the fault of a couple of very sick people. You know that’s true.”

“Do I?” he said. “It doesn’t feel that way.”

“You can’t live this way, Amos. It’s not sustainable.”

“I never expected to live that long anyway.”

She withdrew her hand and said coldly, “No one should wish for a shortened life.”

“I’m not wishing for it. I’m just being realistic.”

“You’ve lost weight. You’re in a lot better shape than the last time I saw you.”

“It’s not my weight that concerns me.”

She glanced at his head and frowned. “Problems there?”

“Does it matter? I’ll just keep going until…I don’t.”

“I guess we can talk in circles all night.”

“I’d rather move forward on this case.”

“So, you mentioned Hawkins’s past. Where do you start?”

“I start with before he allegedly became a murderer.”

“You mean?”

“Exactly.”





Chapter 18



TRAMMEL, OHIO.

Decker had never been here, though it was only a two-hour drive southwest of Burlington. It wasn’t that far mileage-wise, but the only way there was mostly over state routes and rural back roads.

Trammel’s downtown looked just like a photo of his hometown, right down to the dinginess and despair, alleviated by the glimpses of hope in the form of a new business opening and the foundation of a building being dug. And young faces on the sidewalks, and late-model cars on the streets.

Mitzi Gardiner lived in what Decker would call the upscale part of town, made up of large old homes where Trammel’s elite had once lived, and where the new money had now congregated. They were large and brick with a past century’s small windows, immaculately landscaped lawns with mature trees and bushes, and more modern additions tacked on by recent owners. Most had gated front entrances and luxury cars parked in the curved drives.

After being buzzed in through the gate, he walked up to the front door, noting the precisely laid-out planting beds, though the flowers had withered or else died out as fall deepened to winter. The house’s windows were sparkling clean, the brick veneer seemed to have just been power-washed, and the front double doors looked like a fresh coat of paint had just been applied to them.

Neat, nice, monied. All the things Mitzi Gardiner had never been when Decker first met her. She’d been an unemployed drug addict and petty criminal who would steal and prostitute herself out to anyone to support her habit. He remembered her as tall, scrawny, and pasty, with needle-tracked arms and a deviated septum from all the snorted coke. Her pupils had been dilated, her movements jerky and largely out of her control. A wreck of a human being.

He knocked on the door and immediately heard footsteps approaching. He had phoned ahead. She knew he was coming.

When the door opened, Decker could hardly believe his own eyes. Or, even more incredibly, his infallible memory.

The woman gazing back at him was around forty, tall, shapely, her blonde hair done in such a way as to maximize both its fullness and attractiveness. She wore a pale blue dress that flattered her hips and showed a glimpse of cleavage, a simple necklace with one emerald at the throat, and a large diamond engagement ring and wedding band on her left hand. Her makeup and complexion were perfect. The once-destroyed septum had been fully repaired. The eyes held not a hint of dilation. The teeth were white and perfect and no doubt veneers, for her drug habit had left her own teeth gray and diseased, he recalled.