Although given that the man had never even had a parking ticket before that, it seemed implausible that after killing four people Hawkins could calmly go about his task of selling the stolen goods and shop for drugs in the middle of a monsoon. And he had to know the police would be looking for the killer.
Decker opened his eyes.
When they had questioned Hawkins late that night, he had seemed genuinely stunned that he was being accused of murder. Back then Decker and Lancaster had just assumed he was lying like any killer would.
Decker closed his eyes once more and he was back in that interrogation room sitting across from a man accused of four homicides, including two kids.
Decker had slid pictures across of the dead people.
“You recognize these, Mr. Hawkins?”
He hadn’t looked at the photos.
“Look at them, Mr. Hawkins.”
“I’m not and you can’t make me.”
But Decker had noticed the man glanced sideways at the photo of Abigail Richards and grimaced, almost looking like he might be sick to his stomach. Back then Decker had taken that as an indication of a guilty conscience.
But now?
“Give us a name, Mr. Hawkins,” Lancaster had said. “Of anyone you might have seen or met with tonight. Or who might have seen you. We can follow that up, and if it checks out, you’re a free man.”
Hawkins had never given a name. And as Decker focused his memory on that exact moment, he recalled seeing something on the man’s face that he hadn’t necessarily seen before.
Resignation.
“Hey, Decker!”
Decker looked over at the car that had pulled up beside him. The driver had rolled down the window and called out to him.
Decker mouthed a curse under his breath.
It was Blake Natty looking cocksure, as usual.
“I thought I made myself clear, Decker.”
“You’re going to have to explain that, Natty.”
Then he looked past Natty and was surprised to see Sally Brimmer in the passenger seat looking very uncomfortable.
Natty said, “I told you that you cannot investigate these cases.”
“No, you told me I couldn’t interfere with your investigation.” Decker made a show of looking around. “Not seeing any interference. I’m just out for a stroll. How about you, Ms. Brimmer? You see any interference with a police investigation going on here?”
Brimmer looked like she wanted to melt into the car’s floorboards. She smiled weakly and said, “I’m not getting in the middle of this, guys.”
“Smart gal,” said Natty with a slick grin before turning back to Decker. “Maybe you should be that smart. I don’t want to have to lock you up.”
“I’m sure. I mean why would you want a federal lawsuit landing on the department like a nuclear bomb? Even all the brown-nosing you’ve done with the superintendent all these years wouldn’t be enough to save your butt.”
“You better watch yourself, smart-ass.”
“I do, Natty, every day of my life.”
“And you give me any more lip, your fat ass is going into a cell. Guaranteed.”
“Then you get a First Amendment lawsuit on top of the other one. I don’t think the department has enough lawyers to cover all that crap, and it would probably hit the national news pipeline.” Decker peered past him to look at Brimmer. “You do PR for the police. You care to wade into the middle of that one, Ms. Brimmer?”
She held up her hands in mock surrender and looked away.
Decker looked down at Natty’s ring hand and then over at Brimmer. “Wait a minute, Natty, aren’t you still married?”
Natty barked, “What’s it to you?” He glanced quickly at Brimmer. “What the hell are you insinuating? I’m…I’m just giving her a ride to…her apartment.”
Decker glanced at Brimmer again, who was staring out her window now. Then he made a show of checking his watch. It was nearly eight p.m.
“Well, tell Fran I said hello, when you get back from Brimmer’s apartment.”
“Stay out of my damn way, Decker, or you will go down.”
Natty hit the gas and the car sped off.
Decker stared after it and thought he saw Brimmer looking back at him through the rear glass. Though in the darkness, he couldn’t be sure.
Natty and Brimmer. Who saw that coming?
Chapter 23
THE HAWKINSES’ OLD HOME.
It wasn’t empty. There was a car parked in the driveway.
It was the next day and Decker trudged up the steps to the front door of the house, as he eyed the kids’ toys in the front yard.
He knocked and instantly heard cries from young children, the scraping of animal claws on hardwood, and then the firm tread of grown-up feet coming toward the front door. It opened to reveal a young woman around thirty. Her brown hair was tied up in a ponytail and her face held the weary features of a mother with young children. This was confirmed when three small faces poked out from behind her.
“Yes?” she said, looking Decker up and down. “There’s no solicitation in this neighborhood, just so you know.”
“I’m not selling anything,” he said as he held out his FBI credentials.
She took a step back after looking at his ID. “You’re with the FBI?” she said skeptically. “I thought they wore suits.”
“Some do, I’m just not one of them. And I’m kind of a hard size to fit.”
She stared up at him and nodded. “I can see that. What can I do for you?”
“How long have you lived here?”
“Two years. What is this about?”
“Over a dozen years ago, a family named Hawkins lived here.” He glanced down at the kids. “Can we speak privately?”
She looked back at her children, two twin boys and one girl, all between the ages of three and five. “I’m afraid I don’t have any privacy,” she said with a resigned smile. “Look, why don’t you come in?” She led him inside and the children backed away, staring up at the giant Decker in fear.
“Hey kids,” said the woman suddenly. “Cookies in the kitchen. One each only! And I will check.”
The three took off. They were joined by a wire-haired terrier that shot out from behind a piece of furniture, where apparently he’d been cowering.
“Yeah, some watchdog, that Peaches,” said the woman dryly. “Now, what about this other family?”
“I’ll get right to the point since I doubt we have much time before your kids come back. A gun that was used in a serious crime years ago was found behind a wall in the master bedroom closet here. I wanted to take a look at that spot.”
The woman’s features collapsed. “Good Lord. Nobody told us about that when we bought the place. I thought the Realtor had to tell you stuff like that. When did it happen?”
“About thirteen years ago. And no crime was committed here, technically.”
“And you still haven’t found this person?”
“No, we did. He was in prison. Then he got out. And a few days ago someone murdered him.”
“Oh my God,” said the woman, putting a hand to her face. “But if he was convicted of the crime involving the gun, why do you need to see the place where it was found?”