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Jamison had called the rest of her family and Frank’s parents, telling them the awful news. His parents and Frank’s foursiblings were coming in. Two of Jamison’s sisters were also planning to attend the funeral. Jamison had given her sister something to help her sleep.
Amber and Zoe were together in Amber’s bedroom locked in each other’s arms.
Decker and a subdued Jamison had sat up in the kitchen and discussed things. He had filled her in on what had happened.
“This is terrible, Decker.They just moved here. And now this?”
Decker remained silent.
She looked up at him, her face teary. “What are you thinking?”
“That you need to concentrate on your sister and Zoe. Leave the investigation to me. At least for now.”
She slowly nodded. “It’s not something I want to do, you know that?”
“I know that.”
“Zoe’s in shock. I’m soworried about her. She loved her dad so much. And on her birthday. I mean, how awful is that?”
“Pretty damn awful.”
“We’ve got to think about funeral arrangements. There aren’t many options here. And getting family here for it is a logistical nightmare. And what about burial? Would he want to be buried here? He has no connection to this place. So, cremation? God, I can’t believeI’m having to talk about any of this.”
She started to sob quietly.
Decker hesitantly rose, went over to her, and patted her shoulder with his hand. His mind had some soothing things he could say to her, but a disconnect did not allow him to actually say them.
Jamison seemed to understand his internal struggle. She gripped his big hand. “Thanks, Amos.”
Hesaid nothing. But he kept patting her shoulder, silently cursing his inability to do anything more than that.
Now, in his room, he looked at the spot on the window glass where he had just now wiped away the circle he’d made in the condensation.
Six people were dead.
Indisputably murdered by another with premeditation and malice aforethought.
Now a seventhperson, Frank Mitchell, was dead. By an accident, from all accounts.
Jamison had finally gone to bed.
But Decker once again found sleep too elusive.
He decided, despite the rain, to take another walk.
He took the same umbrella from the hall closet, buttoned his coat around him, and set off.
His path took him to the street of the Murder House. Theplace was dark, but the police tape was still there. The local cop car wasn’t there. But one of Kemper’s black SUVs was. He could see a man inside it.
Decker looked down the street.
Dan Bond, the blind man.
Mrs. Martin, the Sunday school teacher.
And Fred Ross with his sawed-off shotgun and bitter demeanor.
The only three people who lived on thestreet and who could have seen anything relevant. And if that was the criterion, then Bond should be struck from the list, though he might haveheardsomething.
And Ross too. He said he’d been at the hospital, though Decker would have to check that.
He looked at his watch.
Ten-thirty.
Mrs. Martin lived at number 1640. The lights were on there.
Decker started walking toward it.
