Redemption (Amos Decker #5)(11)

He rolled down his window. “Can I help you, buddy?”

Decker studied him more closely. “You must be Henderson.”

The man eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

“A friend told me.” He pointed at the house. “I used to live there a few years ago.”

Henderson ran his gaze over Decker. “Okay. Did you leave something behind?”

“No, I, uh…” Decker’s voice trailed off, and he looked confused.

Henderson said, “Look, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a little odd that you’re standing out here this early in the morning watching my house.”

Decker pulled his FBI creds out of his pocket and showed them to Henderson. “My friend on the police force told me you’d bought the house.”

“Wait a minute,” said Henderson, staring at the ID card. “Amos Decker?”

“Yeah.”

Henderson nodded and looked anxious. “I heard about—” He snatched a glance at his daughter, who was paying close attention to this exchange.

“Right. Anyway, have a good day. Hope you enjoy the house and the neighborhood. Nice place to raise a family.”

Decker turned and walked off as Henderson drove away.

It had been stupid coming back here. He’d rattled the guy unnecessarily. And for what? He didn’t need to come here for a walk down memory lane. It was all in his head. Pristine. Forever.

And painfully so.

He retraced his steps and got to the hotel where he and Jamison were staying in time to see her exit the elevator and walk into the lobby.

“Christ, Decker, are you just getting in?” she said, eyeing his grungy, wet clothes.

“Good morning to you too. Would you like to get some breakfast?”

She followed him into the dining area off the lobby. They sat, ordered some food, and sipped their coffees.

“So?” said Jamison. “Was Susan Richards any help?”

“She didn’t cop to the murder if that’s what you’re asking. She doesn’t have a solid alibi. She was home asleep, she says.”

“Well, considering the hour, that makes sense.”

“We may be able to tighten the parameters on that by talking to her neighbors. But I don’t think she’s good for it. She says she didn’t even know he was back in town. And that seems perfectly logical.”

“Unless she saw him on the street.”

“I saw him and didn’t recognize him,” said Decker. “And I spent a lot of time with the guy all those years ago.”

“Have you called Bogart and gotten his permission to work on this?”

He said quietly, “We’ve, uh, talked. I’m surprised he hasn’t called you.”

“No, he didn’t. So what did he say?”

At that moment their food arrived.

Decker said, “I’ll fill you in later.”

“Thank you for ordering a veggie omelet, by the way,” said Jamison. “And avoiding the bacon.”

“You must be growing on me.”

“Well, I’m just happy that you’re not growing anymore. You look good, Decker.”

“That’s a stretch, but thanks.”

He put his knife and fork down and finished his coffee.

“What are you thinking?” asked Jamison.

“I’m thinking that there’s a killer walking around town this morning thinking he or she got away with murder, and it’s really pissing me off.”

“Is that all?”

He looked at her curiously. “Isn’t that enough?”

“I mean, do you feel guilty about what happened to Meryl Hawkins?”

“I didn’t pull the trigger on the guy. I didn’t ask him to come here and ignite this case again.”

“But you think that the fact that someone killed him is evidence that he might have been innocent? I mean, you basically said that earlier.”

“Meaning that I made a mistake?” said Decker slowly.

“I wouldn’t look at it that way. You investigated the case and all the evidence pointed to that guy. I would have seen it the same way.”

“Regardless, if he was innocent, I have to make it right.”

Jamison hiked her eyebrows. “Because the weight of the world’s problems always falls on your admittedly broad shoulders?”

“Not the weight of the world. The weight of one case that I handled. Responsibility comes with the territory. My actions took a guy’s freedom away.”

“No, I’d say his actions took his freedom away.”

“Only if he did it,” countered Decker. “If he didn’t commit the crimes, it’s a whole other ball game.”

Jamison fingered her coffee cup. “If he was set up, whoever did it knew what they were doing. Who would have a beef against the guy that badly?”

Decker nodded. “Good point. And I have no idea. Hawkins was a skilled machinist but lost his job when the factory he worked at had layoffs. Then he went on the odd-job road. Doing what he could to make ends meet.”

“Sounds like a lot of people these days.”

He eyed the FBI badge that was clipped to her lapel. “How does it feel?”

She looked down at the badge and smiled. “Pretty damn good, actually. Did you ever think of taking the plunge?”