“And this was before the Marses’ murder, you’re sure?”
“Yes. Just shortly before.”
“Do you remember the man’s name?”
“I do, as a matter of fact. His name was Dan Reardon. To my knowledge they never found him.”
“Do you have any records for him?”
“No. They would have been disposed of by now.”
“Can you describe him. Race, height, weight, anything?”
“Well, he was a big man. Tall, about six-four or so. Over two hundred pounds. Dan was in his fifties back then. Strongly built.”
“White, black?”
“White.”
“Did he have any family?”
“No. His wife had died. And they had no children. He lived on the outskirts of town and kept to himself.”
“What did he do for a living?”
“Not much. Odd jobs here and there. Always in hock for something. He’d get some money and then it would be gone. We often had to write off his charges because he just didn’t have the money.”
“Well, thanks, Melissa, this really helped a lot.”
Decker clicked off and looked at Bogart. “Always in hock. Get some money and then it would be gone. What are the odds he visited the pawnshop where Roy worked? And then Roy found out they had the same dentist?”
“Clearly, the physical descriptions tallied, which would have been the reason Roy would have picked him. And with the bodies being burned and the faces obliterated you would just have to be close enough to sell the deception.”
“So Roy kidnapped Dan to later substitute his body in the house. Then he killed Dan and either killed another woman or his wife and set the bodies on fire.”
“And set up his son for the murder. He must have paid off the motel clerk and Ellen Tanner to lie about the time.”
“And messed with the car so it would break down right in front of the motel. Melvin told us his dad was good at working on cars.”
“But why, Decker? Why go to all that trouble to implicate your own son and send him to prison?”
“I don’t know,” admitted Decker.
“Could he have hated Melvin for some reason?”
“Hating your son is one thing. Doing all of this to put him in prison is something else altogether.”
“Unless Roy Mars is some sort of psychopath.”
“He lived here for twenty years without harming anyone,” pointed out Decker. “This was an elaborate scheme and it had to have sufficient motivation.”
“Which brings me back to my earlier question: How are you going to tell Melvin?”
Decker looked out the car window, where yet another storm was descending upon them. “Not a clue,” he replied.
CHAPTER
46
WHEN THEY GOT back to the motel, Mary Oliver was in the small lobby with Jamison. Both women rose when they walked in.
“Any word on Davenport?” asked Oliver breathlessly.
Bogart shook his head. “We’re doing everything we can, but so far, nothing. The locals are reporting in to me every hour. There have been no sightings.”
Oliver glanced down, obviously distraught.
“Are you okay?” asked Bogart.
She balled her hands into fists. “God, this is just so frustrating. First, this man Montgomery comes forward and that gets Melvin out of prison.”
“Well, you helped too,” said Jamison. “You kept him alive to get to that point.”
Surprisingly, Oliver shook her head in disagreement. “I wish I could claim credit for all that, but I can’t. I came on relatively recently. I filed a petition to stop the execution, but the court declined to act on it. Melvin’s other lawyers had washed their hands of him. I think they thought he was guilty. I read about the case and contacted Melvin. I just had a feeling, you know, that something wasn’t right. And then Montgomery coming forward seemed to be a miracle. And now it turns out all of that may have been a lie.”
“But you don’t believe that Melvin is guilty, do you?” asked Jamison.
“No. There’s something else going on here. Something far deeper. But now Davenport has been kidnapped and we may never see her again.”
“Well, we do have some news,” said Bogart.
He told them about the discoveries with the X-rays and the possible switching of the dental records. When he was done both women stared at him, stunned.
“I…I can’t believe this,” stammered Oliver. “Why would Roy Mars have done all that?”
“A good question,” said Decker. “And one we don’t have an answer for.”
Oliver said, “Would it be okay if I worked with all of you on this? I know that you’re the professionals, but I don’t think anyone wants to get to the bottom of this more than Melvin and I do. And I’m a criminal defense lawyer, so I do know my way around investigations.”
Bogart glanced at Decker and Jamison before saying, “Another pair of eyes never hurts.”
“Where’s Melvin?” asked Decker.
“In his room,” said Oliver. “I’ve just come from there. Are…are you going to…?”
“I’m going to try,” said Decker, and he set off.
* * *
A minute later he knocked on the door.
“Who is it?” Mars called out.
“Decker.”
Decker heard footsteps coming toward the door and it opened. He said, “You up for a walk?”
Mars gazed at him suspiciously. “Why?”
“Got something I want to talk to you about.”
“Is it bad?”
“It might be. In fact, it probably will be, to you.”
“Is it about Davenport?”
“No. It’s a little more personal. And I just want you to hear me out, okay? And then you can, well, say what you want to.”
“Shit, Decker, you definitely got my attention.”
“Let’s go, we might be able to beat the rain. And you might need some air.”
They started walking on the shoulder along the road. Decker had his hands shoved deeply in his coat pockets.
Mars shot him anxious glances. “Come on, man, don’t go quiet on me now. My belly’s on fire.”
Decker took a long breath and plunged into what they had discovered. To his credit, Mars said nothing until he was finished. In fact, he didn’t say anything until Decker prompted, “Well?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. Something.”
Mars stopped walking and so did Decker. The two men stared pointedly at each other.
Mars said, “It’s pretty clear I knew nothing, really, about my parents. So what you just told me, I guess, hell, it could be true.”
“Can you think of any reason why your father would want to frame you for murder?”
“Not off the top of my damn head, no,” barked Mars. “How would you answer if someone asked you that question about your old man?”
“I’d be pissed, like you are now.”
“Well, there you go.”
Mars started trudging along again and Decker matched his stride.
A truck zipped past them, and then another car. They moved farther off the road and were soon walking along the edge of a drainage ditch.
His gaze on the ground, Mars said, “If it wasn’t my dad’s body, do you think it was my mother’s?”
“I have no facts to support it, but, other things being equal, I do think it was your mother. One missing person in a small town was enough. Two would have been a red flag to the police, when it was followed by two burned-up bodies.”
“So my father just killed her? And then burned her up? How could he do that? I mean, I know he loved her. If I know nothing else about the guy I know that!”
“There might be an explanation.”
“Like what?” snapped Mars.
“Like she was dying anyway. And it would not be a painless death. It might be months of agony. Maybe they thought this way was better, I don’t know.”
“Okay, but my mom never would’ve been part of framing me for a murder.”
“Maybe she didn’t know about that.”
Mars considered this and then said in an exasperated tone, “Shit, I don’t know. I’m not smart enough to figure this out.”
“Maybe I’m not either.”
“Hell, if you don’t, who will?”
“So the murders and the burning were done to allow your father to get away. Your mother’s death is explained by her cancer. She wasn’t going to go with him, so that was the only way.”
“To get away from his past, you mean?”
Decker nodded. “That also might be why he told you he was sorry that night.”
“What?”
“When you were hypnotized by Davenport, you told us you came home one night and your dad was there. He was looking sort of scary but he told you he was sorry. That was it, no explanation. Then he left the room.”
“Damn. I forgot about that.”
“And it must be something really bad because he had to take such extraordinary steps. He killed this Dan Reardon, Melvin, and used his body as part of the deception. You need to come to grips with that.”
“That my old man was a cold-blooded killer? Yeah, let me just come to grips with that. Probably only take a few seconds,” he added sarcastically.
“Well, he might have been one in the past, but it looked like he reformed until something happened to throw everything out of whack. I think the sequence of events went something like this: Your mother was diagnosed with cancer. It wasn’t here because the doctor’s office knew nothing about it. So they went somewhere else to get that diagnosis. I don’t know where.”
“Okay,” said Mars. “Then what?”
“They probably were going to tell you the bad news and deal with it like every other family does in such a situation. But then the ESPN piece aired, someone recognized your dad and/or your mother, and everything changed.”
“Do you think they threatened them?”
“Maybe, or maybe they didn’t wait for the threat to come. They just acted. They switched the dental records. Your father snatched Reardon. You said Ellen Tanner was a recent acquaintance. Your dad could have arranged all that. Same with the motel guy. They’re paid off to lie. Then Tanner disappeared and the motel guy retired to Florida. He probably used the money in his bank account to pay them.”
“So you’re telling me they lied and sent me to prison for, what, less than three grand each?”
“I’ve run into people who’d slit your throat for a cup of coffee,” Decker replied bluntly.
“Damn.”
“And you said your dad was good with cars.”
“Yeah, he could fix anything.”
“So he could easily have sabotaged your car so it would stall by the motel. He probably drugged your mother and Reardon, shot them, and then burned the bodies. And then he left. He also probably planted the blood in your car.” Decker paused. “He might have driven over to the motel to do it, and at the same time he reversed whatever he’d done to disable your car so it would start when the police showed up there. And that would explain the person who saw a car in the vicinity of your house that night. Only it was your dad’s car, not yours.”
“Our cars did look alike. But what if I’d called my house that night from the motel and told him to come get me?”
“I don’t think he would have picked up the phone, Melvin. And that would leave you stuck at the motel.”
“So he did all that knowing that I’d be arrested for the crime? But why?”
“The folks coming after him would suspect a deception because they so conveniently died with no faces left and the bodies burned. But they would probably never think that Roy would frame his own son for the murder. That throws the suspicion off effectively and makes the deaths seem legit. That gives Roy breathing room. He gets away with whatever was in that safe deposit box.”
“And twenty years later everything starts exploding. Montgomery being paid off? Me out of prison? Davenport being kidnapped? Why?”
“They want what’s in the box, Melvin. They see you as the last chance to get it.”
“You still think they’ll contact you about Davenport?”
“I hope they do. It might be the only chance we have to get her back alive.”
CHAPTER
47
DECKER SAT IN his motel room staring at his laptop.
He had typed one word in and was checking the search results. Most people faced with pages of information tended to skim. Decker did not skim. He read it all thoroughly. And down near the bottom of the third page he found something of interest.
This took him to another search, and he read down these pages.
This, in turn, had led him to something of greater interest.
Then he sat back and drank from the glass of water next to his elbow as he listened to the rain beating down outside. He had heard that Texas had been in a prolonged drought. Well, they might just be coming out of it. He had never seen this much rain before, even in Ohio, where the weather could go through long stretches of inclemency.
He put the glass of water down, lining up the water ring precisely, though his thoughts were not nearly as aligned.
Chocha did mean “prostitute” in Spanish. And Decker had learned that the “female anatomy” that Mars had refused to say out loud under hypnosis was “vagina.” But chocha also meant something else in another regional dialect of Spanish. In a country other than Spain or Mexico. And that something else might be both informative and problematic.
And Decker didn’t know how to deal with the problematic part, at least right now.
Lucinda had said the word, not Mars’s father.
Yes, problematic.
A couple minutes later he was knocking on Mars’s door after speaking to the FBI agent standing guard there.
“I can tell from the look on your face you got more questions,” said Mars wearily when he opened it.
“I do.”
“You never get tired?”
“I get tired all the time. I’m fat and in crappy shape.”
The Last Mile Page 31
