Дэвид Балдаччи - Redemption

“Yes, our oldest was in college. Our two younger ones were out with friends.”

“So, no other cars? No sounds from the Richardses’? I know you’ve been asked this before. But if you could think about it again.”

“I didn’t hear anything from the Richards house, no,” said Mrs. DeAngelo.

Decker was about to move on to another question when something in her voice caught his attention. “What about one of the other houses?” he asked.

“Well, it was the empty one. Just to the left of us.”

“So the one closest to the Richardses?”

“Yes. It had been abandoned for a long time. Sometimes you had teens over there doing things, drinking and smoking and—”

“Screwing,” said DeAngelo.

“Anthony!” exclaimed his wife. “Language.”

DeAngelo grinned and settled back in his recliner. “Well, they were.”

“So it might have been the same that night?” said Decker. “Some teens over there? What exactly did you see or hear?”

“It was just a glimpse of movement, really.” She rubbed her temples. “Oh, it was so long ago.” She looked at her husband. “But I do think it was a teenager.”

“Male or female?”

“Male. At least I think so. It really was just a glimpse.”

“And do you remember what time that might have been?”

“Well, it was certainly after the storm had started. I was thinking to myself that they were getting soaked.”

“But you don’t have a certain time in mind?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

Decker nodded. “Okay. I appreciate your making the effort.”

He left them there and walked back outside. He didn’t know what he could expect all this time later. Most witnesses couldn’t remember what they saw yesterday, much less thirteen years ago. He walked over to the empty house to which Mrs. DeAngelo had just been referring.

He peered into one of the windows but couldn’t see much. He tried the door. It was locked. He had no idea who even owned the house. Whoever did wasn’t doing much with it.

He headed over to the Richardses’ house and surveyed it.

David Katz had driven his car into the driveway and then past the front of the house and behind it, where he had pulled into a small grassy park-off situated there.

Decker looked back over his shoulder. From here it would have been impossible for DeAngelo to have seen him get out of the car and go into the house. The other neighbors had reported the same thing: They hadn’t seen Katz go into the house where he would later die.

And yet it was indisputable that he had.

Decker looked down at the ground here. Katz’s car’s tires had sunk deeply into the ground, what with all the rain. He had driven in before the storm started, so there weren’t really traces of his car tires coming onto the property. As Lancaster had earlier pointed out, the rain would have washed those away. But a car coming in after the rain had started should have left some traces. So had the killer walked here? In the driving rain? And left no traces of that inclemency when he had entered the house? It made no sense. But it had to, somehow, because it had happened.

His phone buzzed. It was Lancaster.

“I think we got a runner,” she said. “We must’ve spooked her.”

“ Her ? Who is it?”

“Susan Richards.”

“Hold on, where’s the FBI gal? I liked her.”

Agatha Bates was staring up at Decker through the lenses of her thick glasses.

Mary Lancaster, who stood next to Decker in Bates’s small living room, said, “She’s on another assignment out of state. I’m working with Agent Decker now.”

Bates nodded. “Well, so long as you got somebody to keep an eye on him . He’s a strange one,” she added, as though Decker couldn’t hear her. “I think he’s just too big for his own good, if you know what I mean.”

Lancaster said to him, “I had gone over to Richards’s house to question her again. The car was gone and there was no answer. Mrs. Bates was out in her yard, called me over, and told me what she saw last night.”

Decker glanced out the window across the street at Susan Richards’s house. “What can you tell us?” he said.

“What I told this lady. It was around nine-thirty last night. I heard that dang car start up.”

“You mean Richards’s car with the loud muffler?” said Decker.

She frowned up at him. “I thought I just said that.”

“Tell him what happened next,” said Lancaster quickly.

Bates slowly drew her gaze from Decker and said, “Saw Susan get out of the car while it was running and head into the house. She came out a few minutes later with a big old suitcase. One of them rolling ones. She leaned down and opened the car trunk and heaved it in. Then she slammed the trunk shut and got in the car.”

“What was she wearing?” asked Decker.

“Long trench coat and a hat, all I could see.”

“And you’re sure it was her?” said Decker.

“’Course I am. I know Susan. Tall, thin, blonde hair and all.”

Lancaster nodded. “And then she drove away?”

“That’s right. She didn’t tell me about taking a trip. But she must be going away for a while. That bag was stuffed.”

Lancaster looked over at Decker, who was once more staring out the window. She said, “Richards must have left in a hurry. She didn’t stop the newspaper or mail deliveries. I checked.”

“So is she on the lam, then?” asked Bates. “What we used to call it when people go on the run. You know, like The Fugitive . I loved that show. Don’t make ’em like that anymore.” Her small face crinkled with pleasure. “And I had the biggest crush on David Janssen. What a hottie he was. He’s dead now. Everybody I liked on TV is dead now.”

“We’re not sure of her reasons for leaving,” said Lancaster.

“Well, if Susan killed that man, she probably would try to get away,” said Bates. “I know I would.”

Decker said, “Did you see anyone else over there last night?”

Bates’s gaze swiveled back to him. “No. Woulda told you if I had.”

“Nothing out of the ordinary?” he persisted.

Bates thought about this. “Not unless you count somebody going on the lam.”

Decker and Lancaster left and walked across the street to Richards’s home. A forensic team was inside looking around.

Decker looked to the sky where a storm was coming in.

Lancaster followed his gaze. “Weird weather this time of year. It was warm and humid and not a cloud in the sky last night. Now we’re going to get a storm and the temp will drop twenty-five degrees.”

Decker nodded absently. “You put out a BOLO, right?” he said.

“Of course. Nothing yet. We also tagged her credit cards and her phone. No charges, and she must have turned her phone off.”

“Someone will probably spot the car. Or hear it.”

“So does this confirm her guilt vis-à-vis Meryl Hawkins?”

“Did you check the rear door of the Residence Inn?”

“Hasn’t changed since your time. Still broken. And no CCTV. So, did Richards exact her revenge on Hawkins?”

“I don’t know.”

“If she’s innocent, why run?”

“Same answer.”

“So how do we get answers?”

“We need to know more about Hawkins.”

“Like what?”

“Everything.”

“You mean after he was murdered?”

“No, before.”

“How does that help us?”

“If he didn’t kill the Richardses and David Katz, there must have been some reason why the real murderer would pick him to place the blame. We might find those reasons by looking at what he was doing before the murders.”

They walked back to their cars. When they reached them Decker turned to his old partner.