Walk the Wire (Amos Decker #6)(120)

“So that explains his note,” said Jamison. “That he was sorry and hated himself.”

“I suppose it does, yes.”

“And someone else must’ve found out,” said Jamison. “And blackmailed him.”

“How did the blackmail start?” asked Decker.

“He received an anonymous message just about the time that Irene Cramer’s body was found.”

“He showed it to you?”

“Yes. He was both angry and scared.”

“What did it say?”

“Basically, it threatened exposure unless Walt did what they asked him to do.”

“Fudge the post results?” said Jamison.

“Yes. Particularly about the slicing of the stomach and intestines. To tell the truth, I was surprised that he had even mentioned it in his report. But he really did care about doing a good job, I’ll give him that.”

“How did you know they weren’t bluffing about knowing about his thefts?”

“Those ‘business’ trips he took? They had photos of him pawning the items he’d stolen. Business records, payment receipts.”

“Any idea who it was?”

Southern shook her head.

“Why did he tell you about the blackmail?”

“I guess he needed my support on this to make sure it all went okay. I mean, I was part of the business, too. Our whole life is tied up in this place. If it went under we’d have nothing. And Walt said if he was caught he’d say I knew all about it. That I would go to jail, too. I was so scared. So I just went along with everything.”

“Have the blackmailers been in touch with you since Walt killed himself?” asked Decker.

“No. Why would they contact me?”

“I don’t know, but they might. And let us know if they do.” He paused. “So what do you plan to do now?”

“I don’t know. My head is filled with so much stuff now it’s hard to think straight. I have to keep the business going, for one thing.”

“Can you manage that?”

“Walt was certified in doing postmortems, which I’m not. But I am a trained and certified mortician. I can do embalming, cosmetics, cremation, everything you need to take care of people properly at the end.”

“Will you eventually leave here?” asked Jamison. “I mean, you could build a business somewhere else.”

“Caroline would have to agree. I don’t want to go without her. I really do care for her. And, yes, we are a couple.”

“But she was seeing my brother-in-law. You saw them together at the OK Corral.”

Southern smiled grimly. “She was merely keeping up heterosexual appearances.”

“That must’ve been hard to keep secret in a town this small.”

“We worked at it. We were very careful.”

“Not so careful if you met up in the bedroom above the bar,” Decker pointed out.

“We did that very infrequently. Besides, all the people at the bar were drunk and the staff was too busy to notice. And we were friends. Everyone knew that. They just didn’t realize what close ‘friends’ we were. And we’d leave out the back only very late at night. Most of the time we would go out to my parents’ old farmhouse to be together. I thought about selling the place. Walt wanted me to. My father fought in Vietnam. He brought back a lot of curiosities from there that might be quite valuable. Plus a lot of weapons. He was quite the gun guy. But it made for a private place for Caroline and me. So I’m glad I kept it.”

“Is that your car in the parking lot?” asked Decker. “ ‘Heaven’?”

“Yes.” She smiled.

“What?” asked Decker.

“Remember I talked about barter? Well, the tires on the Mustang came from Hal Parker in payment for us burying his wife.”

“I guess people do what they have to do.”

“Will this have to come out, I mean, Caroline and me?”

“Lots of gay people live their lives openly and freely now,” said Jamison.

“Yes, but not here, I think.”

“Look,” said Decker, “we can’t guarantee anything. We’re trying to solve a series of crimes. We have to go where the evidence takes us.”

“I guess I can understand that. Will you be talking to Caroline, too?”

“Probably.”

“Can you tell her that I didn’t tell you about us? That you figured it out?”

“If it’s important to you,” said Jamison.

“It is. Very important.”

“I can see that,” said Decker quietly.





DECKER MADE A BRIEF STOP at the police station to look at an old report. Then he and Jamison drove to the offices of Dawson Enterprises, located in a building in downtown London.

“Why are we here?” Jamison asked.

“To learn stuff we don’t know,” replied Decker cryptically.

They were taken to the office of the firm’s CFO. His name was Abner Crutchfield, a small, dapper man in his late fifties with resolute features and a deep voice. He was dressed in an open-collared shirt, slacks, and polished tasseled loafers.

“Terrible business with Mr. Dawson and Mr. McClellan,” he began. “I guess you’re working on their cases.”