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“Um,” said the woman, looking nervous.
“Go check it out. I won’t be long.”
“Thanks.” She shot out of the room, yelling, “Good grief, what now!”
Decker pushed some hanging clothes out of the way and shone his Maglite over the back wall of the closet. Then he looked to the left, where the panel in question was situated. He rapped against it with his fist. It rang hollow. He rapped against the other two walls and got the same sound. It was just drywall over studs after all.
It had been repaired and painted over and there was nothing really for Decker to see. He thought back to the first time he’d seen this space. The panel had been taken off—it had been cut out and then wedged back into place. Not so very seamlessly, it appeared, which was one reason why it had been discovered so readily.
He remembered that behind the cutout was an open space in between the studs. The gun inside a box had been found there. There had been no prints found on either item. He looked down at the floor. The closet was carpeted, and it looked to be the same carpet as during the Hawkinses’ time here. He got down on his knees and hit it with his light.
What are you doing, Decker? After all this time did you think you were going to find a smoking gun in the frigging carpet?
He straightened and finally admitted to himself that he was grasping at straws. He had not a sliver of a lead on this investigation. Either with the murders all those years ago, or with Meryl Hawkins’s more recent one.
He rose and left the bedroom.
And that’s where Decker ran right into a wall of police with a grinning Blake Natty bringing up the rear.
