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“And it was just you and your husband here that night?”
“Yes, our oldest was in college. Our two younger ones were out with friends.”
“So, no other cars? No sounds from the Richardses’? I know you’ve been asked this before. But if you could think about it again.”
“I didn’t hear anything from the Richards house, no,” said Mrs. DeAngelo.
Decker was about to move on to another question when something in her voice caught his attention. “What about one of the other houses?” he asked.
“Well, it was the empty one. Just to the left of us.”
“So the one closest to the Richardses?”
“Yes. It had been abandoned for a long time. Sometimes you had teens over there doing things, drinking and smoking and—”
“Screwing,” said DeAngelo.
“Anthony!” exclaimed his wife. “Language.”
DeAngelo grinned and settled back in his recliner. “Well, they were.”
“So it might have been the same that night?” said Decker. “Some teens over there? What exactly did you see or hear?”
“It was just a glimpse of movement, really.” She rubbed her temples. “Oh, it was so long ago.” She looked at her husband. “But I do think it was a teenager.”
“Male or female?”
“Male. At least I think so. It really was just a glimpse.”
“And do you remember what time that might have been?”
“Well, it was certainly after the storm had started. I was thinking to myself that they were getting soaked.”
“But you don’t have a certain time in mind?”
“No, I’m sorry.”
Decker nodded. “Okay. I appreciate your making the effort.”
He left them there and walked back outside. He didn’t know what he could expect all this time later. Most witnesses couldn’t remember what they saw yesterday, much less thirteen years ago. He walked over to the empty house to which Mrs. DeAngelo had just been referring.
He peered into one of the windows but couldn’t see much. He tried the door. It was locked. He had no idea who even owned the house. Whoever did wasn’t doing much with it.
He headed over to the Richardses’ house and surveyed it.
David Katz had driven his car into the driveway and then past the front of the house and behind it, where he had pulled into a small grassy park-off situated there.
Decker looked back over his shoulder. From here it would have been impossible for DeAngelo to have seen him get out of the car and go into the house. The other neighbors had reported the same thing: They hadn’t seen Katz go into the house where he would later die.
And yet it was indisputable that he had.
Decker looked down at the ground here. Katz’s car’s tires had sunk deeply into the ground, what with all the rain. He had driven in before the storm started, so there weren’t really traces of his car tires coming onto the property. As Lancaster had earlier pointed out, the rain would have washed those away. But a car coming inafterthe rain had started should have left some traces. So had the killer walked here? In the driving rain? And left no traces of that inclemency when he had entered the house? It made no sense. But it had to, somehow, because it had happened.
His phone buzzed. It was Lancaster.
“I think we got a runner,” she said. “We must’ve spooked her.”
“Her? Who is it?”
“Susan Richards.”
