Дэвид Балдаччи - Redemption

Decker nodded. “So David Katz and Don Richards. Either or both.”

“You said they had done business together. Katz was the businessman and Richards was the banker.”

“Right.”

“Had they become friends?”

“Not that we could find. Rachel Katz said no. The Richardses were older and had kids, and they didn’t. And they were both too busy with work to form friendships like that, at least that’s what she told me.”

“And did either of the wives say why Katz was coming over that night?”

“Neither of them knew that he was. Again, that’s what they said. It doesn’t make it true.”

“Did Katz just pop in, then?”

“There was a phone call placed the day before from Katz’s cell phone to Richards’s cell phone. It might have been then that they arranged to meet.”

“If Katz called Richards, maybe he initiated the meeting?”

“That could be, yes,” agreed Decker. “But even though Katz called Richards, that doesn’t mean he asked for the meeting. He might have just called out of the blue and then Richards asked him to come by.”

“When he knew his wife would be out — is that significant?” asked Mars.

“It could be very significant, especially considering that Susan Richards has vanished.”

Mars said, “Well, Richards worked at the bank. Maybe something fishy was going on there and he wanted Katz’s advice.”

“And then someone came here and killed them. And killed the kids too because they would be witnesses. But that would be risky. Why not kill whoever was the target while they were alone, not in a house filled with people?”

“Maybe they were running out of time and were afraid that someone was going to blow the whistle on what they were doing.”

Decker was staring miserably at the switch plate. “It’s only a small difference, but I should have noticed it before.”

“They manipulated you and everybody else.”

“Rookie mistake. I assumed things I shouldn’t have.”

“But now you figured it out and you get a second chance to get it right. Like you did with me. You gave me a second chance.”

“You’re cutting me a lot of slack.”

“Well, sometimes friends have to do that. But then sometimes they have to kick you in the ass too. And trust me, if it comes to it, I will.”

“I would expect nothing less, Melvin.”

Decker’s phone rang. He answered, and Captain Miller started speaking.

“They found Susan Richards.”

“Where?”

“Two towns over.”

“You bringing her in?”

“We are. In a meat wagon. She killed herself, Amos.”

Decker was in the morgue looking at yet another body.

She looked like she was asleep, not dead.

“Bodies really piling up,” said the ME as he laid the sheet back down on top of Susan Richards.

“Cause of death?”

“My best guess right now, drug overdose. Women usually go the overdose route when committing suicide. Guys like to blow their heads off with guns.”

Richards had been found in an abandoned building by a construction worker working nearby who had noticed an odd smell.

“Time of death?” asked Decker.

“Rigor has resolved so she’s been dead a while. I’ll have a better time later.”

“Could the time of her death be close to when she disappeared?”

The man looked over the body and rubbed his chin. “Yes, actually, it could.”

Decker had already been told that the suitcase she had been seen putting in her car had not been found with the body.

“Any pill bottles found with her? Or a suicide note?”

The ME shook his head. “No, on both counts.”

The door opened and Blake Natty walked in, looking shriveled and depressed. He eyed the body of Susan Richards with little interest. “So she killed herself?” he said.

“Unknown as yet,” said Decker.

Natty said, “Well, if she did kill herself, we know why: She murdered Hawkins.”

“If she did kill him, she got the wrong guy,” said Decker.

Natty waved this off. “That’s your theory.”

“It’s more than a theory now,” replied Decker. He explained about the light switch plate at the Richardses’ old house. “And they placed a smudge of Katz’s blood on the plate to draw our attention to it and thus the print.”

“Where do you think the print and the switch plate came from?”

“The easiest source would have been Hawkins’s home. I think they didn’t put Katz’s blood on the print because that would have messed up the ridge lines.”

“And the DNA under the girl’s nails?” asked Natty.

“They picked her because she was physically smaller and weaker than the others. And they needed a plausible scenario to get the DNA under her nails. And a struggle during a strangulation plausibly fit that bill.”

“But Decker,” said the ME, “I pulled out those reports and went over them after I knew you were looking into the case again. If someone else had scratched Hawkins and then transferred what was under that person’s nails to under Abigail Richards’s nails, you would expect to find the other person’s DNA as well.”

“If the other person were a family member, would that make a difference?” asked Decker, who already knew the answer.

“Well, of course it would. All humans’ DNA is ninety-nine point nine percent the same. But that one-tenth is dramatically different for all, except if you’re a monozygotic or identical twin. But the testing that was done on Abigail’s nails would not have picked up on a third party’s DNA if the person were a family member of Hawkins. They would have had to do additional steps. Actually, they would have had to do extra steps to check for any third-party corruption, family or not.”

Natty eyed Decker. “What family member are you talking about?”

“There really can only be one: his daughter, Mitzi.”

“Why would she have set up her old man?” asked Natty.

“I don’t know.” He looked at the ME. “Is the DNA sample still available to do additional testing, to see if Mitzi’s DNA or a third party’s had corrupted it? I asked you to check earlier.”

The ME nodded his head. “I did check. And there is some left. I’m having an expert in Cincinnati where they have much better equipment and protocols do sophisticated testing on it. They’ll be able to differentiate between a father’s and daughter’s DNA, and also the presence of any third party. But it will take a little time.”

“Let me know as soon as you have something.”

“You really think his daughter was involved?” said Natty.

“If she were it would explain how the murder weapon came to be found in a panel behind the wall of his closet. I just reread the report of the search team that went over Hawkins’s house. They wrote that Mitzi had drawn their attention to some unevenness of the wall. They didn’t ask her why she knew about it.”

“Are you going to ask her about it?” said Natty.

“I think if I go back to that well again, she’s going to lawyer up. Probably already has. Right now, she’s home free, or thinks she is.”

Decker looked back at Susan Richards’s body. He closed his eyes and thought back to something that a witness had told him. He put layer after layer of facts on top of that one, pulling them down from his cloud with ease. Until something did not make sense. It stood out, in fact, like a blinking red light.

Natty said, “So, you don’t think she killed herself?”

Decker opened his eyes. “I’m almost sure she didn’t.”

“How?”

“Because I think she was already dead when she left her house.”

It was the next day and Decker and Mars were standing in front of the late Susan Richards’s house. Across the road, Decker could once more see Agatha Bates sitting on her screened porch.