Morphine would have been the presumptive choice, Decker figured. It certainly would be what the hospice folks used with their patients. But Hawkins had to be damn sure of the provenance. He certainly wasn’t going to give his wife some half-assed, kitchen-sink-concocted drug, and there had been plenty of those back then.
There were, Decker recalled, some sellers here who had pure stuff. They hadn’t made it in kitchen labs; they’d stolen it from pharmacies and hospital supply rooms. They asked premium dollar for it, because of its purity. You got more pop for your dollar and you clearly knew what you were injecting. That meant chances were good that you’d live to be an addict another day.
That, Decker decided, would be the stuff Hawkins would be looking for. If he had learned one thing about the man during the investigation and trial, it was that Meryl Hawkins was completely devoted to his wife. Yet no drugs of any kind had been found on him.
Decker closed his eyes. Five hundred dollars had been found on Hawkins. Was it cash he’d gotten for the stolen goods?
But how could the guy have transported all the stuff he supposedly took when there was no accounting for a car being seen there? It was possible he could have driven a stolen car there and no one had noticed it. Then he could have simply driven away, come here, and tried to barter stolen goods for drugs. He had the cash, so maybe he had been trudging through the rain after fencing the stuff and was looking for the right kind of drugs for his wife when the police had picked him up.
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 floor-boards. 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.”