“Does he have a vehicle other than the truck?” asked Jamison.
“He has an ATV. Keeps it in the shed out back.”
They quickly searched the house including the small bedroom but found no one there.
“Bed is still made,” noted Kelly.
Decker walked back into the front room and touched the beer on the table. “Warm. Would he be drinking during the day?”
“Not the Hal Parker I know.”
Decker went into the kitchen, slapped on a pair of latex gloves he’d pulled from his pocket, and opened the dishwasher. There was one plate, a set of utensils, and a water glass inside. He eyed Jamison, who had followed him. “Dinner last night. Beer while watching the TV. Whatever happened, I think it took place last night.”
Next, he eyed the two wineglasses and a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter. “One beer can but two wineglasses. How does that figure in?”
“Somebody showed up while he was drinking beer and watching TV, maybe?” speculated Kelly. “They crack open some wine and drink it. Then either that person takes Hal, or somebody else comes in here and takes him and the other person. But I don’t know who that could be.”
“He have any enemies?” asked Jamison.
“Never heard anyone say a word against him. Everybody liked Hal.”
“Let’s check the shed,” said Decker.
They trooped outside to the small plank shed. It had an overhead garage door that wasn’t locked. With his latex gloves still on, Decker carefully lifted the door and it rolled up on well-oiled tracks while the other two stood ready, their guns pointed at the emerging opening ready for whatever might be revealed.
There was a Honda ATV parked right inside the small space.
Decker had half expected to see the body of Hal Parker in here.
Parker wasn’t inside.
But another dead body was.
She was on the ATV, lying forward on her front side so her torso and head were resting against the handlebars with her legs splayed out behind her. She was dressed in a short tight skirt, a low-cut body-hugging midriff top, thigh-high black stockings, and spiky shoes.
On the right side of the woman’s head was a bloody hole where a bullet had ended her life.
They all just stared at the body for a few moments.
“She’s young, looks to be in her early twenties,” noted Decker as he gazed at the body. He glanced at Kelly. “Do you know who she is?”
Kelly nodded, looking grim. “She’s Pamela Ames, Susan and Milton’s oldest daughter, from the Colony.”
“But she’s not dressed like the other women there,” pointed out Jamison. “She’s dressed, well, pretty alluringly.”
“And I wonder why,” said Decker.
Chapter 21
As Decker stared across the width of the London Police Station’s main room, he had a sense of déjà vu, and for a horrible reason. Milton and Susan Ames were sitting in two straight-back chairs after having been told of the murder of their daughter and having viewed and identified her remains at the funeral home.
Years ago, Decker had found the bodies of his wife, daughter, and brother-in-law in their home in Burlington, Ohio. He had called the cops and then sat on the bathroom floor staring at his daughter. Molly Decker had been bound to the toilet using the belt of her bathrobe after her killer had used that very same belt to strangle her to death. Decker had sat there with his service pistol in hand. He had finally stuck it into his mouth and was seriously contemplating eating a round and dying with them. But something, he wasn’t exactly sure what, had stopped him.
After his brain injury his personality had also changed. Thus, he was no longer adept in moments like this, that called for delicacy and empathy. He usually said the wrong thing or made the wrong gesture. It was just a disconnect he often could not control.
He refocused on the grieving Ameses. He would ordinarily leave this sort of thing to Jamison. She was now sitting next to him and studying the Ameses as well. She touched his hand and started to say something, but at that moment Decker got up and walked over to the stricken people. He knelt down in front of them.
Jamison looked on fearfully, no doubt thinking her partner would not be up to dealing with the bereaved parents.
Susan Ames had aged a decade since he had last seen her. The woman’s face was fallen in, her eyes bloodshot, her hands shaking, her thin chest heaving unevenly. Her scarf had fallen off, and she hadn’t seemed to have noticed.
Milton simply stared down at his hands, his eyes reddened from the tears shed.
Susan focused on Decker when he picked up the scarf and held it out to her.
As her fingers closed around it, he said, “I’m so very sorry.”
Susan nodded. “She... she was very smart. She could have...” She shook her head, unable to finish.
Decker cleared his throat and said, “I had a daughter. She was smart and could’ve been anything, too. But somebody took that opportunity away from her.”
Now Milton looked at Decker, as though he were just now seeing him for the first time.
Decker continued. “And I caught that person. And I will do the same for your daughter because she deserves nothing less.”
Susan slowly nodded and murmured, “Thank you.”
Jamison sat there transfixed by what she was seeing. When Decker turned to her she tried to assume a normal expression, but she wasn’t quick enough. He showed no reaction to this.
He rose and said to the Ameses, “I know this is a really hard time, but the sooner we can get some information from you, the faster we can catch whoever did this.”
Milton just sat there, but Susan nodded. “We understand.”
Kelly appeared in the doorway having overheard this last part. “If you’re ready, then?” he said quietly.
The Ameses rose as though roped together and followed them down the hall to a small, windowless room with one rectangular table and four chairs, two on either side. They all sat except Decker. He leaned against the wall, his thick arms folded over his broad chest.
“Okay, the most obvious question: Was there any connection between Hal Parker and your daughter?” asked Kelly, his small notepad open and his pen hovering.
“None that I know of,” said Susan. “There would be no reason, you see. He never worked for us. We didn’t require his services. He never came to the Colony. She never mentioned him.”
“Okay,” said Kelly. “When was the last time you saw Pamela?”
At this, Susan glanced nervously at her husband.
Decker said, “We found her at about one in the afternoon. Prelim on the time of death was around nine o’clock last night. So there’s a long gap of time unaccounted for.”
Milton looked up, his eyes watery. “She had left the Colony. Pammie had left us.”
“When did this happen?” said a clearly surprised Kelly. “I hadn’t heard anything about that.”
“Well, we don’t broadcast when people leave us,” said Susan, assuming a more measured and prim manner. “It’s not something we like to dwell upon.”
“And it happens very infrequently,” Milton hastened to add. “But we can’t keep someone against their will, not when they’re of age. We would never do that.”
“But we did counsel her, we tried to show her how bad it would be,” said Susan.
“Let’s get back to what happened to your daughter,” said Decker.
At this comment, both Milton’s and Susan’s eyes filled with fresh tears.
Jamison handed them both Kleenexes, which they used to wipe their eyes.
“Pammie was... bored with life at the Colony,” began Milton. “And because of that we let her go and stay with my cousin’s family in San Antonio last year. She got a taste of... life outside. She apparently liked it very much. When she got back she told us she wanted to leave, go back to San Antonio and enroll in some classes, find a job and—”