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"For you and me," Ski said. "But not for a man with an injured leg."
"He told me it was black and blue and swollen," Berry said.
"A limp wouldn't have attracted much attention in that area," Somerville said. "Lots of rehab clinics. Day surgery places. People on crutches, wheelchairs. A guy with a limp wouldn't have attracted attention."
"I guess," Ski said, but still with doubt. "That's a lot of walking for a man with a bum leg." He explained that Starks had walked almost a mile from the abandoned Toyota to Walmart in Merritt. "Part of that was over rough ground and in the dark. If you're right, he did that after walking from the medical district to Sally Buckland's house. Not only that, why did he make the car switch? Why use Ms. Buckland's car to move her here? Why not the Toyota?"
"He didn't want the Toyota to be seen by any of her neighbors, who could later identify it," Somerville said.
The detective's explanation was thin but logical, and Ski didn't have a better one.
"What's the skinny on that Toyota?" Allen asked.
Ski said, "The VIN has been scratched off. The license plate belongs to a blue 2001 Taurus in Conway, Arkansas. One of our deputies talked to the owner. He was recently in Houston, had his license plate lifted while he was here, but he's not sure where or when the theft took place."
"Starks was laying his groundwork."
"Apparently. But it wasn't too smart of him to return to Merritt last night after killing Sally Buckland," Ski said. "He had to know that every peace officer in deep East Texas was on the lookout for him with a warrant for his arrest for the lake house shooting. Yet after stashing Buckland's body here, which seems another reckless thing to do, he went back to Merritt and hid in a ratty motel. What the hell for?" He shook his head in frustration. "Doesn't make sense to me."
"He had unfinished business in Merritt," Berry said softly. "Has, that is. I'm still alive."
Caroline hugged her closer. "Is tha
t all for now, Detective?"
They wrapped up with Allen and Somerville. As they congregated at the front door to exchange contact information, Ski noticed Berry staring down the hallway toward her bedroom. When she came back around, there were tears in her eyes. It would be a long time, if ever, before she could go into that room and open the closet door without remembering the gruesome discovery she'd made. Oren Starks had contaminated her home, too.
As Caroline and Berry went through the front door, Detective Allen detained Ski. "Another sec, please, Deputy?"
"Sure."
"Who's the character?" Allen nodded through the open doorway toward Dodge, who was standing just inside the yellow crime scene tape, smoking and chatting with a uniformed Houston police officer.
Ski replied, "He's a private investigator, working for Ms. King."
"He's packing."
"He's licensed to carry."
"So he said."
"Then what's the problem?"
The detective shrugged. "I don't know. Is there one?"
"No. He's sound. He was a former cop here in Houston. When did you join the force?"
" 'Eighty-six."
"You missed each other. He left in 'seventy-nine."
"Any particular reason why?"
Ski glanced beyond Allen and saw Somerville propped against the entryway wall, intent on his cell phone. "Have you got your man there checking?"
"I do, yeah." Allen smiled, but not with humor.
"Dodge had some insubordination issues, but he wasn't fired. He left by choice."
