Redemption (Amos Decker #5)(89)

She appeared startled by this and sat up. “Um, no, I think I threw it away. Why?”

“Good thing I took a picture of it.” Decker took out his phone and held it up.

She looked at the screen. “But that’s the wrong side. That’s the back of the picture.”

“Well, for my purposes, this is the relevant side.” He pointed at the writing. “Daddy’s little star. He was a very proud papa.”

Gardiner looked up at him from under hooded eyes. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yes, it was. Things change. People change. I have another picture to show you.” He flipped through the screens. “This is a picture of your father’s forearm taken during the autopsy.”

“Oh, please, God, I am not looking at that,” she said in disgust.

“There’s nothing gruesome about it, Ms. Gardiner. I just want you to look at the tattoos on the forearm.”

“My father did not have tattoos.”

“He got these after he went to prison.”

She became subdued. “After?”

“Yeah. Here’s the first one. A spiderweb.” He explained the symbolism.

“I’m sure lots of prisoners get that one because even though they’re guilty they can’t accept what they did,” she said defiantly.

“Here’s the second one.” He showed her the teardrop and looked at her expectantly.

“What does that one mean?” she asked dully.

“Travis Correctional is an all-male facility. And some of the men there get…lonely. And they take out that loneliness on other men, like your father.”

She blinked rapidly as she processed this. “You…you mean?”

“Yes. I do. Now, here’s the third one. And this is the one I really want you to focus on.” He brought up the screen with the arrow through the star. “I’ve seen a lot of prison tats. I’ve never seen that one before.” He looked at her for a reaction.

For a moment it looked like the woman had stopped breathing. Then she licked her lips, dabbed at her eyes, and looked away.

“Any idea what that might mean?” he asked.

“I know what you’re getting at.”

“What’s that?”

“The photo! The writing on the back.” She waved her shaky hand at the photo of the tattoo on his phone screen. “And…that.”

He sat back and studied her.

She dabbed at her eyes again with her sleeve. Finally, she looked up at him. “What exactly do you want from me?”

“The truth would be fine.”

“I’ve told you everything.”

“No you haven’t.”

“This happened a long time ago. What the hell does it matter? Everyone has moved on with their lives. I know I have.”

“Tell that to Susan Richards and Rachel Katz…And your father.”

She shook her head and looked down.

“I’m not here to send you on a guilt trip, Ms. Gardiner.”

She barked, “Oh, just call me Mitzi. That’s all I’ll ever be. Ditzy Mitzi. An addict who was always a disappointment to her father.” She looked up at him and said coldly, “You put lipstick on a pig, it’s still a fucking pig.”

“Turning your life around could not have been easy.”

She waved this off. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“I’m also here to make something as clear as possible.”

“What?”

“People connected to this case are dying or in the hospital fighting for their life. By my count, you’re the only one left.”

“I told you before I could take care of myself.”

“I’m sure the others thought the same. But the guy who shot Katz was a real pro. Ex-Army turned bad guy white supremacist type. Trained sniper. Hired to do the hit. He’s dead, but who’s to say another one won’t replace him? And maybe you go out armed, but a pistol isn’t going to save you from a long-range rifle shot you won’t ever hear or see coming before it kills you.”

“You’re just trying to scare me,” she said offhandedly, though her voice shook.

“I am trying to scare you. For your own good.”

“I don’t see how I can possibly help you.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“As far as I know, my father killed those people.”

“How did your father feel about your drug use?”

“He hated it. Why?”

“I understand he was trying to get you into rehab.”

“He’d done it before, but I could never make it stick. He kept trying.”

“So he never did drugs himself?”

“Are you crazy? He was as straight as they came on that. He attacked a guy who came to our house trying to sell me some stupid weed.”

“Okay. Your dad was picked up in a bad area of town. At his trial the defense laid out the possibility that he was there trying to get drugs for your mother’s pain.”

“We’ve already been over this. He might have. I mean, I told you before that he did his best to take care of her.” She unexpectedly smiled. “He could build anything, really. Make anything work. He built a little scooter for me when I was ten, for my birthday. I mean, he made it out of scrap parts. It had a little battery and a motor. He made those too. Only went about five miles an hour but I rode it everywhere.” Her smile faded. “But he couldn’t build anything to help Mom. That was beyond him.”