She shook her head.
“I think I might have wounded the driver,” said Decker as he touched his forehead and felt the bandage there. “I placed three shots in the windshield right in front of the driver’s seat.”
“State police are checking it all out. Dollars to donuts we’ll be able to find the truck. So who do you think it was?”
Decker sat up a little. “Someone who either followed me to Trammel or picked up the tail after I left Mitzi Gardiner’s house.”
“And how did that go?”
Decker filled her in on his interview.
“You think she was telling the truth?”
“Almost nobody tells the entire truth. They slant facts to make themselves look better or blameless, or both.”
“Sounds like she’s really turned her life around, though,” said Lancaster, a bit wistfully.
“Which means she has a lot to lose potentially,” countered Decker.
“You think she called somebody after you left?”
“I guess you can pull her phone records and check. Although it would be a little obvious if as soon as I leave her somebody tries to kill me. She has to know she’d be on the suspect radar.”
“And with her new, chic life, she might not have ready access to hired killers.”
“They might have just wanted to warn me off, not kill me.”
She looked him over. “I think you need to rethink that. From what I heard, you almost got French-fried in your car.”
“It was close,” conceded Decker. “Any developments on your end?”
“None worth mentioning.”
“Well, this attempt on my life tells us one thing,” said Decker.
“What’s that?”
“It seems that Meryl Hawkins was telling the truth.”
Chapter 20
TALK ABOUT COMING FULL CIRCLE.
Decker dropped his duffel on the floor of his new digs.
It was the next evening and after a night’s stay in the hospital he had moved into the Residence Inn. This was actually his old room when he’d lived there.
He’d gotten a new rental car after spending considerable time on the phone trying to explain to Hertz exactly what had happened to the other one.
“Someone was trying to kill you?” the customer service rep had said skeptically. “I’ve been doing this a long time and that’s a first for me.”
“Not for me,” Decker had truthfully replied.
He sat in the one chair next to the window and overlooking the street. He popped the cold beer he had brought with him.
That was dinner. Well, really it wasn’t, but after nearly getting blown up the night before, he didn’t have much of an appetite.
He touched his head where the bandage still was. It was another knock up there to add to all the others. How many more could he endure without something major popping?
And he was tired of getting nearly blown up. He’d almost bought it in a similar way back in Baronville. The only good thing to come out of his almost being killed was the fact that someone was afraid of what he would find out. That meant there was a truth out there that needed to be discovered.
And Decker meant to find it.
One floor down was the room where Meryl Hawkins’s life had ended, a bit prematurely.
And violently.
Sipping his beer, Decker walked down to the space. It was still off-limits and stickered with yellow tape, but the officer guarding the door knew Decker and let him pass.
“What happened to you?” the cop asked, eyeing the bandage around the big man’s head.
“When I find out, I’ll let you know.”
Decker closed the door behind him and surveyed the space. Nothing had been touched other than Hawkins’s body being removed. He wondered briefly about the man’s burial, or cremation. Part of him wanted to haul his daughter down here to take care of her father’s remains. Part of him understood why she wanted nothing to do with it.
At the end of the day that was really none of his concern.
He looked at the chair where Hawkins had been sitting. There were traces of blood on it, not from the exit wound since there hadn’t been one. The splatter from the entry wound had been the source.
Pillow, gun, dead guy. No witnesses.
He looked around the rest of the room. It had already been thoroughly searched and nothing else had been found.
They’d gotten the postmortem report on Hawkins but not the tox screen yet. His stomach had been empty. But what was in his bloodstream?
Decker closed his eyes and dialed up his cloud. Hawkins had told him at the cemetery that he was going to take something to help him sleep, after spending a few hours throwing up. There had been no evidence of that in the bathroom, but he might have cleaned it up. But there had also been no sign of meds, either illegal or not.
They’d checked the Dumpster at the rear of the building and found nothing there either. Had whoever killed him taken the meds for some reason? Why would that be? What could they have revealed?
He went back to his room, put his few clothes away, cleaned up, and, suddenly hungry, went in search of dinner.
He chose Suds because it was close and cheap. He sat at the bar and ordered a beer, and a burger and fries with chili. He involuntarily looked over his shoulder once, thinking that Jamison might swoop in and chastise him for the cardiac killer meal plan.
He turned to his right when the person sat down next to him a few minutes later.
Rachel Katz eyed the bandage around his head. “What happened to you?”
“Cut myself shaving,” replied Decker as he took a sip of beer.
She looked down at his plate. “Not into organics, I take it.”
“What’s more organic than meat and potatoes?”
She smiled. “You have a comeback for everything. I didn’t see that in you all those years ago.”
She ordered a glass of Prosecco.
He glanced sideways at her. “Somehow, I didn’t figure you for a Suds patron.”
“Oh, I’m full of surprises. But I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She leaned over next to him. “I’m the majority owner of this bar.” She straightened and studied Decker for his reaction to this.
“I’m impressed at the diversity of your holdings. From penthouses to pubs.”
She smiled. “Another quip. Good for you. If the detective thing doesn’t work out, fall back on stand-up, no pun intended.”
Her drink arrived, and she took a sip of it, filling her hand with nuts from a bowl in front of them.
“So, how’s the investigation coming?”
“It’s coming.”
“I thought you would have solved the whole thing by now.”
“Investigations don’t work that way. They’re on their own timetable.”
“But you solved my husband’s murder really fast.”
“Did I?” he shot back.
She munched her almonds and peanuts and looked around the full bar. “It’s good to see the town getting back on its feet, isn’t it?” she asked.
“So when you finish rebuilding Burlington, what’s next?”
She swiveled around and leaned back against the bar. “I’m not sure. There are lots of places like Burlington, but not all have the potential to make a comeback. I don’t want to make a ton of money here and blow it on another place that will never make it out of the abyss.”