Дэвид Балдаччи - Redemption

Mars nodded slowly. “Okay, if you’re sure about that.”

“Very sure.”

“Because there’s been another murder you might not have heard of.”

Katz had picked up her fork. She slowly put it down as she absorbed this news. “What? Who?”

“Man named Karl Stevens. He dealt drugs here. He sold stuff to Mitzi and to Frankie Richards. Decker thinks he might be involved.”

“And he’s dead?”

“He was in prison. We went to see him. He said he knew nothing either. By the time we got back to Burlington the man had a knife in his neck.” Mars picked up his Dewar’s and took a sip. “So, apparently, some people don’t care if folks know anything or not. They just kill them.”

“But how could... I mean, he was in prison. People get killed in prison all the time.”

“You’re right about that. But the thing is, the tats that Stevens had on his arms?”

“What about them?” Katz said in a trembling voice.

“They matched the tats on the guy who shot Sally Brimmer. Decker was really sure about that, and nobody’s memory beats his.”

“And you don’t think that might be a coincidence?”

“Do you?”

Katz sat back and composed herself. “Well, I’m sorry about this Mr. Stevens, but that has nothing to do with me.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

“I am sure.”

“Then let’s just get back to this lovely meal.”

Mars finished all of his steak. Katz barely touched her food. She finished her second Dewar’s, though.

As they were leaving, they passed Marks’s table. Duncan Marks put out a hand and gripped Katz’s arm. “Rachel, I thought that was you over there.”

“Hello, Duncan.”

“The place is doing fabulous. Another home run for you.”

“Thanks.”

Marks looked at Mars. “And I don’t believe I know your friend.”

Mars put out a hand. “Melvin Mars. Nice to meet you, sir.”

They shook hands as the other people at the table stared dully at them.

“Rachel said that was your Maserati out there. Beautiful car.”

“Yes, it is. German engineering and Italian design, a match made in heaven.”

They all laughed.

They walked out of the restaurant and Katz turned to Mars.

He said, “Seems like a nice guy.”

“Yeah, look, um, I know we just had lunch, but can we have dinner tonight?”

“Okay, sure. Where?”

She hesitated. “My place. I can actually cook.”

When he looked uncomfortable, she gripped his arm. “I promise, it won’t be like that. I... I just need to have a home-cooked meal and someone to talk to. And I’d like that someone to be you.”

Mars squeezed her hand and nodded. “Sure, sounds good.”

“Seven okay?”

“I’ll be there. Anything I can bring?”

“Just yourself, Melvin, that will be enough.”

Decker and Lancaster were sitting in the detectives’ room when the door opened. It was the ME. He had taken off his white lab coat and was now dressed in a suit. He held up some paperwork.

“Got some results for you,” he said. He joined them at Lancaster’s desk and thumbed through the pages. “First up, Meryl Hawkins had some painkillers in his system. Oxycodone.”

“Would that have incapacitated him?” asked Decker. “Could he have been unconscious when he was shot?”

“He could very well have been,” replied the ME. “And Susan Richards. She died of an overdose of fentanyl. Doesn’t take much with that drug. Nasty, powerful stuff.”

“Any sign during the post that she was a regular drug user?”

“No, nothing like that at all. She was in good shape, actually. Would have lived a lot longer.”

“And time of death?” asked Decker.

“She’d been dead a while, Amos.”

“I asked you this before. Could she have been dead from the moment she allegedly left her house that night?”

“Well, I can tell you that her probable time of death would coincide with your theory.” He paused. “So you think she was murdered at her house?”

“Something like that.”

The ME shook his head. “This case grows more complex by the minute. Glad it’s not my job to figure it out.”

After the ME left, Lancaster said, “Well, if you’re right, then someone killed her and took her body out in that suitcase and then dumped it. That means the person that Agatha Bates saw leaving that night was not Susan Richards.”

“Tall, lean, and blonde,” said Decker.

“Mitzi Gardiner or Rachel Katz, like you said before. But I checked Mitzi’s alibi for the time Richards was allegedly abducted. The restaurant verified that she was there all evening, long after Richards went missing.”

“So Rachel Katz, then?”

“Speaking of, any word from your buddy on her?”

“He emailed. They finished lunch. Said Katz was acting weird. Wants to have dinner at her place tonight. He said he thinks she’s going to open up to him. He also said he told her about Karl Stevens being killed, and though she tried to hide it, she got really freaked out.” Decker added, “Duncan Marks was also at the restaurant. Melvin talked to him. And Katz said he was involved with some of her projects.”

“I didn’t know that. But you remember Marks, surely.”

“I actually did some work for him when his daughter, Jenny, got involved with a con artist. Marks came into Burlington way back and started buying up stuff. Took a little hit with the recession, but then came roaring back, acquiring properties on the cheap. He’s made a lot of money. Had the biggest home in the area when I lived here.”

“Still does,” said Lancaster. “On that hill outside of town. It’s like the guy is looking down on the rest of us.”

“Reminds me of another guy with a big house on the hill in Pennsylvania. But he was broke, and wasn’t looking down on anyone, actually.”

“Well, Marks isn’t broke. He’s got money coming out of every pore of his skin. I heard he actually made a lot of money before coming to Burlington. Investments or some such. IPOs and other crap I’ll never understand and never make a dime off.”

“Why’d he pick Burlington? I never knew.”

“I heard that his father was from here. Worked in the old shoe factory before moving away, I believe. Marks bought that and turned it into luxury condos.”

“That’s also where Rachel Katz lives.”

Lancaster snapped her fingers. “That’s right.”

“So according to Melvin, Katz was freaked out by the news of Stevens’s murder. And now she might want to talk to him. And he’s having dinner with her tonight.”

“Hawkins wanted to talk to you too, and he’s dead now. And who knows, maybe the same for Susan Richards.”

They looked at each other.

“Maybe we need to keep an eye on your buddy tonight.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

When Rachel Katz opened the door, Mars filled the doorway of her condo.

He was dressed in light gray slacks and an open-collared white shirt with a dark blue jacket over it. He had a bottle of red in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other.

Katz was dressed casually in jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, and she was barefoot.

“I feel overdressed,” commented a smiling Mars as he walked in.

“You look great. I just felt like a jeans-and-no-shoes night.”

She thanked him for the flowers and wine and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said as she got out a vase and filled it with water, then set the flowers in it after snipping off the ends of the stalks.

“My mom taught me it was always polite and respectful to bring something.”

“Well, your mother taught you right. Do you see her much?”