“That’s the question, isn’t it? Susan Richards and Rachel Katz also testified that neither of them knew him, and weren’t aware that their husbands did either.”
“So it was a random burglary, then? He just drove around—”
“Walked. He didn’t have a car other than the one that was parked in front of your house all that day and well into the night. We confirmed that with witnesses from your old neighborhood.”
“He could have stolen a car,” she pointed out.
“That’s true. But no car was seen approaching the Richardses’ house that night except for David Katz’s.”
“Wasn’t it raining like crazy that night? How could anyone say for sure they didn’t see a car?”
“Fair point. Talk to me about the discovery of the murder weapon at your parents’ home.”
“What about it?”
“It was found behind a wall panel in your parents’ closet?”
“Okay. So?”
“Did you know about that panel?”
“No. I’d never been in their closet. I never had any reason to.”
“And one of the techs found it?”
“I think so.”
“You were there?”
“I had to be. I couldn’t leave my mother alone.”
“So you were there on the day of the murders and then afterwards?”
“Yes. Again, I couldn’t leave her alone.”
“And you never saw your father after the time of the murders?”
“No. I never left the house. I answered the door when you and your partner showed up that night.”
“That’s right.”
She looked at her watch. “Now, if there’s nothing else?”
“There’s just one thing.”
“Yes?”
“How did the gun get in the closet?”
“What?”
“If your father didn’t come home after the murders, how did the gun he used to kill those people end up behind the panel in the closet?”
“I…I don’t know.”
“Maybe you were asleep? Or…?”
“Or maybe I was stoned out of my mind?” she said, a bitter look on her face.
“When we came to interview you later that night, you were sort of out of it.”
“Then there’s your answer. My father came home, hid the gun, and then left again. And neither my mother nor I saw him.”
“Right, that would explain it. And the stuff he stole never turned up.”
“I don’t know anything about that. You didn’t find it in our house.”
“No, we didn’t. And we looked for it.”
“Okay.” She made a show of looking at her watch again.
“He had five hundred dollars in his pocket. Any idea where that came from?”
“I assumed from him selling the stuff he stole.”
“Right, well, thanks for your time.”
She showed him out. At the door Gardiner said, “I’m not really sure why you’re putting yourself through this, Detective Decker.”
“That thought had crossed my mind.”
Decker walked down the drive and the gates automatically opened as he approached them. When he got to his car, he suddenly looked back at the house in time to see a curtain on one of the front windows flutter closed.
He got into the car thinking that people were interesting. Sometimes they just couldn’t distinguish the truth from bullshit. Sometimes they didn’t want to. It was often easier just to believe a lie.
He drove off with more questions than he’d started the trip with.
And for some reason, that made him happy.
Amos Decker actually smiled as he drove back to Burlington.
He stopped smiling when something rammed into his car on a back road in the middle of nowhere.
Chapter 19
DECKER HAD SEEN THE HEADLIGHTS coming up on him but figured the person would slow down and back off.
That was not how it played out. Not even close.
The first strike catapulted his big frame straight ahead. His front and side curtain airbags deployed, and he felt his skin tingle and then burn slightly from the released gases powering the safety devices.
Momentarily disoriented by the collision, Decker looked in the rearview mirror and saw the lights coming at him again. The headlights were set higher than his taillights.
Truck. A big one. He thought he could see the huge metal bumper right before…
The rear of his car was lifted completely off the road with the next impact.
His airbags having already burst open, Decker felt his chest hit the steering column after colliding with the airbag and crushing it. But the air pocket still prevented serious injury.
He cut the wheel to the right, and then the left. The truck mirrored those movements. He could smell gasoline.
Great, his tank must’ve gotten cracked.
He floored it and the car leapt forward.
The truck accelerated to match this burst of speed.
Decker dug in his pocket for his phone. His fingers tapped on the screen.
If he could just call 911…
Then the phone was flung out of his hand when the truck smashed into him again. This sent his car into a sideways spin. He felt like a NASCAR driver who’d had his car’s rear tapped by another at high speed. Fishtailing, totally out of control. It was not a great feeling.
But Decker had been in high-speed chases before as a cop. He knew what to do. He didn’t fight the wheel but rather steered in the direction of the spin to regain control of the car.
He slid sideways down the asphalt, tires smoking, fuel leaking, and Decker fearful that heat from one would ignite the other.
He came to a stop about fifty feet later. He pushed the deployed airbag out of the way and looked out the window.
The monster truck was heading his way, a T-bone impact definitely in the works.
Well, screw that.
Decker pulled his weapon, rolled down the window, took aim, and unloaded his mag first at the radiator, then down to the tires, and finally up to the windshield. Three fractured circles were imprinted on the glass where his bullets hit.
The truck immediately veered off, ran into the grass shoulder, regained traction, shot back onto the road, and limped off, smoke now coming from its engine.
Decker didn’t know if he’d hit the driver or not. He could only hope he had.
He was debating whether to go after the truck, when the smell of gas suddenly strengthened.
He quickly undid his seat belt, bent down and retrieved his phone, kicked open the door, and hustled away from the car. He dialed 911 and told them what had happened, giving his location as best he could. Then he watched with a sickening feeling as a lick of flames emerged at the rear of his ride.
He instantly turned and sprinted away from the car. When the explosion rocked the dark sky, he was flung forward by the concussive blast and drilled face first into the hard shoulder of dirt, grass, and gravel.
And that’s where the cops found him when they showed up later.
* * *
“You just can’t keep out of trouble, can you?”
Decker looked groggily up from his hospital bed at Lancaster hovering over him and furiously chewing her gum.
“Did they find the truck?”