The Last Mile (Amos Decker 2)

“I don’t know. Something.”

Mars stopped walking and so did Decker. The two men stared pointedly at each other.

Mars said, “It’s pretty clear I knew nothing, really, about my parents. So what you just told me, I guess, hell, it could be true.”

“Can you think of any reason why your father would want to frame you for murder?”

“Not off the top of my damn head, no,” barked Mars. “How would you answer if someone asked you that question about your old man?”

“I’d be pissed, like you are now.”

“Well, there you go.”

Mars started trudging along again and Decker matched his stride.

A truck zipped past them, and then another car. They moved farther off the road and were soon walking along the edge of a drainage ditch.

His gaze on the ground, Mars said, “If it wasn’t my dad’s body, do you think it was my mother’s?”

“I have no facts to support it, but, other things being equal, I do think it was your mother. One missing person in a small town was enough. Two would have been a red flag to the police, when it was followed by two burned-up bodies.”

“So my father just killed her? And then burned her up? How could he do that? I mean, I know he loved her. If I know nothing else about the guy I know that!”

“There might be an explanation.”

“Like what?” snapped Mars.

“Like she was dying anyway. And it would not be a painless death. It might be months of agony. Maybe they thought this way was better, I don’t know.”

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“Okay, but my mom never would’ve been part of framing me for a murder.”

“Maybe she didn’t know about that.”

Mars considered this and then said in an exasperated tone, “Shit, I don’t know. I’m not smart enough to figure this out.”

“Maybe I’m not either.”

“Hell, if you don’t, who will?”

“So the murders and the burning were done to allow your father to get away. Your mother’s death is explained by her cancer. She wasn’t going to go with him, so that was the only way.”

“To get away from his past, you mean?”

Decker nodded. “That also might be why he told you he was sorry that night.”

“What?”

“When you were hypnotized by Davenport, you told us you came home one night and your dad was there. He was looking sort of scary but he told you he was sorry. That was it, no explanation. Then he left the room.”

“Damn. I forgot about that.”

“And it must be something really bad because he had to take such extraordinary steps. He killed this Dan Reardon, Melvin, and used his body as part of the deception. You need to come to grips with that.”

“That my old man was a cold-blooded killer? Yeah, let me just come to grips with that. Probably only take a few seconds,” he added sarcastically.

“Well, he might have been one in the past, but it looked like he reformed until something happened to throw everything out of whack. I think the sequence of events went something like this: Your mother was diagnosed with cancer. It wasn’t here because the doctor’s office knew nothing about it. So they went somewhere else to get that diagnosis. I don’t know where.”

“Okay,” said Mars. “Then what?”

“They probably were going to tell you the bad news and deal with it like every other family does in such a situation. But then the ESPN piece aired, someone recognized your dad and/or your mother, and everything changed.”

“Do you think they threatened them?”

“Maybe, or maybe they didn’t wait for the threat to come. They just acted. They switched the dental records. Your father snatched Reardon. You said Ellen Tanner was a recent acquaintance. Your dad could have arranged all that. Same with the motel guy. They’re paid off to lie. Then Tanner disappeared and the motel guy retired to Florida. He probably used the money in his bank account to pay them.”

“So you’re telling me they lied and sent me to prison for, what, less than three grand each?”

“I’ve run into people who’d slit your throat for a cup of coffee,” Decker replied bluntly.

“Damn.”

“And you said your dad was good with cars.”

“Yeah, he could fix anything.”

“So he could easily have sabotaged your car so it would stall by the motel. He probably drugged your mother and Reardon, shot them, and then burned the bodies. And then he left. He also probably planted the blood in your car.” Decker paused. “He might have driven over to the motel to do it, and at the same time he reversed whatever he’d done to disable your car so it would start when the police showed up there. And that would explain the person who saw a car in the vicinity of your house that night. Only it was your dad’s car, not yours.”

“Our cars did look alike. But what if I’d called my house that night from the motel and told him to come get me?”

“I don’t think he would have picked up the phone, Melvin. And that would leave you stuck at the motel.”

“So he did all that knowing that I’d be arrested for the crime? But why?”

“The folks coming after him would suspect a deception because they so conveniently died with no faces left and the bodies burned. But they would probably never think that Roy would frame his own son for the murder. That throws the suspicion off effectively and makes the deaths seem legit. That gives Roy breathing room. He gets away with whatever was in that safe deposit box.”

“And twenty years later everything starts exploding. Montgomery being paid off? Me out of prison? Davenport being kidnapped? Why?”

“They want what’s in the box, Melvin. They see you as the last chance to get it.”

“You still think they’ll contact you about Davenport?”

“I hope they do. It might be the only chance we have to get her back alive.”

CHAPTER

47

DECKER SAT IN his motel room staring at his laptop.

He had typed one word in and was checking the search results. Most people faced with pages of information tended to skim. Decker did not skim. He read it all thoroughly. And down near the bottom of the third page he found something of interest.

This took him to another search, and he read down these pages.

This, in turn, had led him to something of greater interest.

Then he sat back and drank from the glass of water next to his elbow as he listened to the rain beating down outside. He had heard that Texas had been in a prolonged drought. Well, they might just be coming out of it. He had never seen this much rain before, even in Ohio, where the weather could go through long stretches of inclemency.

He put the glass of water down, lining up the water ring precisely, though his thoughts were not nearly as aligned.

Chocha did mean “prostitute” in Spanish. And Decker had learned that the “female anatomy” that Mars had refused to say out loud under hypnosis was “vagina.” But chocha also meant something else in another regional dialect of Spanish. In a country other than Spain or Mexico. And that something else might be both informative and problematic.

And Decker didn’t know how to deal with the problematic part, at least right now.

Lucinda had said the word, not Mars’s father.

Yes, problematic.

A couple minutes later he was knocking on Mars’s door after speaking to the FBI agent standing guard there.

“I can tell from the look on your face you got more questions,” said Mars wearily when he opened it.

“I do.”

“You never get tired?”

“I get tired all the time. I’m fat and in crappy shape.”