Shane looked at Kelly. “What do you think, Joe?”
Kelly stared down at his hands. “You know those guys have been at each other for years. Maybe Hugh just reached the last straw. Sell out to McClellan and then make sure he could never enjoy the fruits of it?”
“But then he kills himself so he could never enjoy his fortune, either?” said Jamison in a doubting tone.
“Guilt can make people do crazy things,” said Kelly. “But I know, none of it makes much sense.”
After his beer came, Shane took a sip and eyed Decker. “Something big went down over near the Brothers’ Colony. Lots of people and trucks and they put up a shield around it. You know anything about that?”
“I saw that too when I was driving by there,” said Southern.
“What do you know about the All-American Energy Company?” Decker asked Shane.
“Seen them around. Never talked to them. Drove by their rig from time to time.”
Kelly said, “We’ve been totally shut out of what’s going on over there, Decker. I know enough to know that those are Feds swarming the place. You have to know something.”
“Not that I can share.” He looked at Shane. “You really don’t know if your father left you anything? I get that you’re not into money and business, but still. Most people would want to know.”
Shane finished his beer and glared at Decker. “Look, I went to war, okay? I nearly got killed a bunch’a times over there, so I never thought I’d outlive my dad. What the hell did it matter to me about whether he was leaving me his money? Money that he got by digging shit out of the ground. Money that I don’t want or need.”
“What will you do then?” asked Southern.
“Got my farm. I got some of my own money saved. If my old man did leave something to me, maybe I’ll donate it. Know a lot of vets who can’t even rub two dimes together.”
“That’s good of you, Shane,” commented Jamison.
“And Caroline?” asked Decker.
“What about her?” said Shane sharply.
“I’m assuming she inherited from her father.”
“I would imagine so. Hugh doted on her.”
“Did you know her brother well?” asked Jamison.
Shane slowly nodded, his features turning sad. “Junior was a great guy. Gentle and funny. Had a big heart. We were friends. He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“We understand that he was gay,” said Jamison.
“Yeah, so?” said Shane.
“And his father didn’t understand that?”
“His father made his life a living hell. It’s why he killed himself.”
“Caroline said it was an overdose,” said Jamison.
Kelly said, “He didn’t leave a note. He left a recording. It was . . . it was pretty damn sad.”
“You heard it?”
“I was one of the cops investigating the case, so yeah, I did. I kept a copy of it, in fact. Haven’t listened to it since. I’m not ashamed to say I cried when I heard it.”
“It must’ve hit Caroline and her mother particularly hard,” said Jamison as Southern nodded.
Kelly shrugged. “It did. I think it would’ve driven a lasting wedge between her and her father, but then Maddie died and those two were the only ones left. I’m not saying she didn’t still care for her father, but . . . it was complicated.”
“She told us sort of the same thing,” noted Jamison.
Decker’s phone buzzed. He took it out and looked at a series of photos and reports that had just been delivered in an email. As his gaze ran over them, Decker tensed, and then realization spread over his features.
Jamison noticed this and whispered, “What is it?”
Decker’s gaze drifted up the stairs, where Dawson had gone. He rose.
Jamison said, “Where are you going?”
“We’re going to see Caroline.”
Southern said, “Let me go with you. I think I might be of some help. She is still very vulnerable.”
Decker looked at Jamison, who nodded.
“Okay, but whatever you hear up there you don’t share with anyone.”
“Understood.”
Kelly said, “I hope that doesn’t include me! I am investigating this case.”
“We’ll fill you in,” Jamison assured him.
They rose and headed up the stairs, leaving a troubled-looking Kelly and Shane staring after them.
THE SPACE ABOVE THE BAR was a series of rooms. One was a large open area that probably served as an event space. Chairs were stacked against the wall along with folding tables. Piles of linen napkins and tablecloths were on a long buffet set against one wall. Decker, Jamison, and Southern walked through this space to a bar area that was a replica of the one below, only much smaller. Decker spotted a spool of twine sitting on one table. He scooped it up and put it in his jacket pocket.
“What’s that for?” asked Jamison.
“You’ll see.”
Next they passed through an open doorway, turned left, and ran into the only other door there.
Decker stepped up to it and knocked.
“Caroline, it’s Decker and Jamison, we’d like to talk to you.”
“Please go away. I don’t feel well.”
“Caroline,” said Southern. “I’m here too. I really think you should talk to them.”
“I’m too tired. I’m going to bed.”
Southern looked helplessly at Decker.
“Your father didn’t kill himself,” Decker called out through the door, drawing a surprised look from Jamison. “He was murdered.”
Now they could hear footsteps. The door opened and there was Dawson, barefoot and her eyes welling with tears. But the look on her face was one of anger. “What the hell are you talking about? He killed himself. We all saw it.”
“Can we come in?” asked Decker.
For a split second she looked like she might slam the door in their faces. But then her expression softened and she stepped back.
Jamison sat in a chair and Decker stood while Dawson curled up on the bed. Southern hovered near her, looking anxiously at her friend.
“What are you talking about?” demanded Dawson.
Decker took out his phone. “I just got these pictures and reports from the forensic tech who worked your father’s crime scene. They tell a very different story than suicide.”
“How?”
In answer Decker took out the spool of twine and rolled out a length of it about a foot longer than he was tall and held it up.
“Twine?” said Dawson, looking confused.
“I had the tech measure the twine that was found at the scene. It was seven feet, four inches long. That’s about the length of this section of twine.”
“So?”
“So why would he use a length of twine that long? From the triggers to the gun stock and back to his hand was about forty-three inches. He had to wrap it around the stock to pull the triggers the right way to discharge it. Then he wraps it once around his hand, that’s maybe a few inches. What’s the other three feet or so for?”
“I . . . I don’t know. Maybe he just cut off a long length without measuring it. The rest was just extra. So that proves nothing.”