The Last Mile (Amos Decker, #2)(54)

To carry stuff, tell time, and encase your feet, only thirty-four thousand bucks.

But that told him that whoever was behind this had deep pockets. Regina Montgomery had evidently expected a lot more money to be coming through.

The big payoff for a life of misery with Charles Montgomery.

Only she never really got to enjoy it, did she? Once Charles was dead, Regina was expendable. It was cruel. It was heartless.

Decker would have expected nothing less from people who had let an innocent man rot in prison for twenty years.

He got undressed and climbed into bed.

They had worked this case for a while now and he was desperately fearful that the minimal progress they had made would be all there ever was.





CHAPTER

28



THE GYM WAS small, with only one treadmill, a rack of dusty dumbbells, an ancient stationary bike, and a solitary medicine ball.

Decker walked on the treadmill, slightly increasing the pace every few minutes. As he walked he watched the TV bolted to the wall.

The news was on, and the top story was the execution of Charles Montgomery, followed by the death of his wife when her home had exploded.

“What are the odds?” asked one of the newscasters. “Both dying on the same day like that.”

They didn’t die on the same day, Decker thought. Regina had actually died after midnight, meaning she had perished on the following day.

But still, he couldn’t dispute the man’s overarching point. What were the odds?

Well, Decker knew they were actually really good if someone had murdered Regina as soon as her husband was safely dead.

The door to the gym opened and in walked Melvin Mars dressed in workout clothes. He nodded at Decker and started doing some stretching.

Then he began his workout, and Decker forgot all about what he was doing and simply watched. He couldn’t believe the intensity, even the insanity of the routine. Once, he nearly fell off the treadmill because he was so enthralled by what the nearly forty-two-year-old Mars was capable of doing.

Finally, Decker just turned off the treadmill and watched.

When Mars was finally done, he picked up a fresh towel off a table and wiped down.

“How often do you do that?” asked Decker.

“Every day. For the last twenty years.”

“Impressive. I felt like I was having a heart attack just watching you.”

Mars shrugged. “Kept me going. Kept me sane. You know?”

Decker nodded. “I can understand that.”

Mars sat on a stool and looked up at Decker, his expression wary. “What do you think is going on, really?”

“Someone hated you. And then someone felt sorry for you.”

Mars looked surprised. “What?”

“They framed you, put you in prison, and nearly let you be executed. Then they paid off the Montgomerys and a false confession got you out of prison.”

“You think it’s the same folks?”

“It’s been twenty years, but it’s certainly possible.”

“Why the change of heart? They kill my parents, see me go to prison, and then get me out? Doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

“I agree. They pinned the crime on you because you were the most likely suspect.”

“So why kill my parents?”

“Because of something they knew, saw, heard, did.”

“They were just ordinary folks in a little town in West Texas, Decker.”

“They were that when you knew them. But they might have had a whole other life before you came along, Melvin. And maybe they came to West Texas to get away from it.”

Mars nodded. “I guess that makes more sense than anything else. You think they were involved in something bad?”

“The probabilities lie there. People involved in something good do not often get murdered.”

“It’s hard to see my parents in that light.”

“The scar on your father’s face?”

“Yeah, I know. Been thinking about that. He got so mad. Never seen my old man like that before.”

“Maybe he was like that a lot when he was younger.”

“You think somebody cut him? Bad dudes that later found ’em and killed ’em?”

“Not necessarily.”

“What, then?”

“It could have come from a bad plastic surgery.”

Mars nearly fell off his stool. “Whoa, what?”

“If your dad was on the run from people, he might very well have wanted to change his appearance. Plastic surgery is a way to do that. But he might have not had the money or maybe the opportunity to go to a legitimate surgeon. So he opts for someone in the back-alley trade. Hence the scar.”

“But what about my mom? She didn’t have any scars.”

“He might have met her after he was on the run. She might not have been involved in the bad world he was in.”

“Yeah, okay. I can’t see my mom being a criminal. She was really a sweet lady. Never raised her voice to me. Always calm.”

“The question is, how do we trace them?”

Mars rubbed some more sweat off his face. “Do we have to?”

Decker looked at him with a puzzled expression. “Have to what?”

“Push this any further. I mean, my parents are dead. I’m outta prison.”