The Last Mile (Amos Decker, #2)(45)

“So you will have to work?”

“Didn’t you hear me? Yes, I’ll have to work. Do I look rich to you? I’ve been working my ass off all my life. Work till I drop, unless Tommy makes it to the NFL, and then he can take care of me.”

Mars said, “I wouldn’t bank on that. It’s like a one-in-a-million chance.”

She eyed him. “You played football, so I heard.”

“It’s a rough sport. Tell Tommy to be a doctor or lawyer instead. He’ll have a much healthier retirement.”

“I’m sure you’re mad at my husband, but he did come forward. Only reason you’re out of jail.”

“He was the reason I was in jail,” countered Mars. “He murdered my parents. So excuse me for not feeling grateful.”

She shook her head and mumbled something like, “You people.”

Decker placed a restraining hand on Mars’s shoulder, since it looked like the man was about to jump to his feet. “When do you get the insurance money?” he asked.

“Why do you care?”

“I told you I just had a few questions, Mrs. Davenport. The sooner you answer them the sooner we’re out of here. The reverse is also true.”

She picked up her tea, took a sip, ate a cracker, and then said, “I have to file the claim. It might take a few days, or maybe a week. It’s not like they won’t have proof he’s dead.”

“Right.” Decker looked at Jamison and nodded.

Jamison pointed to Montgomery’s wrist. “That’s a beautiful watch. Cartier, isn’t it?”

Montgomery immediately covered it with her other hand. “No, it’s not.”

“It says Cartier on the watch face,” pointed out Jamison.

She looked down at her hand. “I got it for like ten bucks.”

“Where?”

“I forgot.”

“It’s against the law to traffic in knockoffs,” said Decker.

“So find the person who sold it to me and arrest him.”

Decker rose, went into the kitchen, pulled the curtain aside, lifted up the boxes stacked there, and brought them back into the room and set them on the floor.

Montgomery jumped to her feet. “What the hell are you doing? You can’t do that. Those are mine.”

“Chanel. Neiman Marcus. Saks. Bergdorf Goodman. Jimmy Choo. They all make very nice stuff. And very expensive.”

Jamison pointed to a bag hanging on the coat tree by the front door. “And that’s an Hermès bag. I wish I could afford one.”

Montgomery turned pale. “They’re all fakes. I can’t afford none of that.”

Decker said, “I wasn’t aware that fraudsters shipped their goods in boxes with the names of the brands on the side. They usually just sell them on the street.”

Montgomery said nothing to this. She took another sip of tea and ate another cracker.

“Can I look inside the boxes?” asked Decker.

“No!”

“Why not?”

“You got a search warrant?”

“Actually, I don’t need one.”

She looked wide-eyed at him. “Why not?”

“I used to be a police officer but I turned in my badge.”

“But you’re with the FBI!”

“As a civilian, not an agent. Never badged or sworn in.”

Despite Montgomery’s protests, Decker opened the boxes and snapped photos of the contents with his phone camera. Then he leaned down so his face was only a few inches away from Montgomery’s. “We can easily trace all of these purchases. And since you already told us you haven’t received the insurance money yet, that can’t be the source of the funds. So why don’t you tell us the truth, Mrs. Montgomery? How did you come by the money?”

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

“Do you really want to play it that way?”

“Get out of my house.”

Mars said, “Somebody paid you off to have your husband lie and say he killed my parents. Who was it?”

She looked at him and said fiercely, “Who the hell do you think you are, talking to me like that? You are nothing but—”

“But what?” interrupted Mars. “A colored boy who should keep his mouth shut ’round good white folks like you?”

“Get out of my house!” she screamed.

“I lost twenty years of my life!” Mars screamed right back.

Montgomery looked at Decker. “Get out of my house before I call the cops.”

Decker said, “You can call the cops. And then we’ll tell them what we know. And we’ll find out about the money you’ve come by and why. And then you’re going to be in a world of trouble. In fact, you’re going to go to prison.”

She looked stunned by this. “I ain’t done nothing wrong.”

“Try obstruction of justice. Conspiracy. Aiding and abetting a murderer.”

“I did not!”

“By helping those who really did kill the Marses, you did. And the cumulative penalties for all those crimes means you won’t have to worry about following your son to college. Your housing will be provided by the government.” He paused momentarily. “For the rest of your life.”