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“No, it doesn’t,” said Lancaster firmly.
Fairweather took that as a not-so-subtle nudge to move on. “Well, good seeing you, Decker.”
As she moved away, Decker walked over to stand directly in front of the dead man, who still sat there like a statue. Lancaster and Jamison joined him.
Decker said, “So the shooter walks up to Hawkins, who’s sitting in this chair, presses the gun against his forehead, and pulls the trigger.” He looked around. “And no sign of a struggle?”
“Maybe he was asleep,” suggested Lancaster.
“After letting the person in, the guy sits down in a chair and dozes off?” said Jamison.
Decker said, “He told us he was taking drugs. Did you find any?”
Lancaster shook her head. “Nothing in here or the bathroom. No discarded wrappers or empty pill bottles. Just a small duffel of clothes, a few bucks in his wallet. The post will show if he had anything in his system.”
Decker looked around the room again, taking in every detail and imprinting it on his memory. He had already done this, but decided to do it again. His memory had been having a few hiccups of late and he didn’t want to take a chance that he had missed something. It was like printing out a second copy of a photo.
Hawkins’s yellowing skin had given way to a translucent paleness. Death did that to you, what with the stoppage of blood flow. At least the cancer was no longer a factor for the man. With death it had immediately stopped eating away at Hawkins’s innards. Decker figured a fast bullet was preferable to a slow, painful death. But it was still murder.
“So, motives and possible suspects?” said Lancaster.
“Not to state the obvious, but does Susan Richards still live in the area?” asked Decker.
“Yes, she does.”
“That would be my starting point,” said Decker.
Lancaster checked her watch. “I’ll have her picked up and taken to the station. We can interview her there.”
“So, you want us involved?” said a surprised Jamison.
“In for a dime,” replied Lancaster.
“The thing is, we have a day job,” said Jamison. “Which often extends into nights.”
“I can call Bogart,” said Decker. Ross Bogart was the veteran FBI agent who headed up the task force of which Decker and Jamison weremembers.
“So, you really want to stay and dive into this?” asked Jamison warily.
“Do I have a choice?” asked Decker.
“You always have a choice,” said Lancaster, gazing knowingly at Decker. “But I think I know what that choice will be.”
Jamison said, “Decker, have you really thought this through?”
He indicated the corpse and said forcefully, “Thisis significant. The guy comes to town saying he’s innocent and approaches me and Lancaster to prove him right. Now somebody just killed him.”
“Well, like you just suggested, it might be Susan Richards, the widow of the man Hawkins was convicted of murdering.”
“It might, and it might not.”
Decker turned and walked out.
Lancaster looked at Jamison. “Well, some things never change. Like him.”
“Tell me about it,” replied Jamison wearily.
