“Where in the hell do you think I was at that hour? I was in my bed asleep.”
“Can anyone verify that?” asked Decker.
“I live alone. I never remarried. That’s what having your family wiped out will do to you!” she added fiercely.
“What time did you get home last night?” asked Decker.
Richards took a moment to compose herself and sat back. “I got off work at six. Three days a week, I volunteer at the homeless shelter on Dawson Square. I was there until around eight last night. There are people who can vouch for me.”
“And after that?” said Lancaster.
Richards sat back and spread her hands. “I drove home, cooked some dinner.”
“What’d you have?” asked Lancaster.
“Oh, the usual. Smoked salmon on crusty bread with cream cheese and capers to warm up my appetite, then a Waldorf salad, some linguine with fresh clams, and a nice little tiramisu for dessert. And I paired that with a wonderful glass of my favorite chilled Prosecco.”
“Seriously?” said Lancaster.
Richards made a face. “Of course not. I made a tuna sandwich with a pickle and some corn chips. And I skipped the Prosecco and had iced tea instead.”
“Then what did you do?”
“I ordered something from Bed, Bath & Beyond online. You can probably check that. Then I watched some TV.”
“What program?” asked Decker.
“I was streaming. Outlander. I’m really getting into it. Season two. Jamie and Claire in France.”
“What was the episode about?”
“Lots of political skullduggery. And some pretty intense sex.” She added sarcastically, “Want me to describe it in graphic detail for you?”
“And then?” said Decker.
“I finished watching that. Then I took a shower and called it a night. I woke up when the police knocked on my door. Pounded, more precisely,” she added, frowning.
“You drive a dark green Honda Civic?” said Lancaster.
“Yes. It’s the only car I have.”
“And you live on Primrose, on the north side?”
“Yes. I have for about five years now.”
“You have neighbors?”
“On both sides of me and across the street.” She sat up. “One of them might be able to tell you that I was home last night. Or at least that I didn’t leave once I got there.”
“We’ll check that out,” said Lancaster. “Did you know Meryl Hawkins was back in town?”
“I had no idea. What, do you think he’d knock on my door and ask for a handout? I thought he was in prison for life. And I still don’t know why he wasn’t.”
“He was terminal with cancer, so they cut him loose.”
“Well, that seems shitty,” said Richards. “Don’t get me wrong, I hated the asshole. But they just kicked him to the curb because he was dying?”
“Apparently so. And he never tried to contact you?”
“Never. If he had, I might have tried to kill him. But he didn’t and so I didn’t.”
Decker said, “You opened a florist shop, didn’t you? With the proceeds from your husband’s insurance policy? I remember seeing it. Over on Ash Place?”
She eyed him warily. “I buried my family with a chunk of the insurance money. And then I went on living. I’m not sure how.”
“And the florist shop?” persisted Decker.
“There wasn’t that much left after the funeral expenses. But, yes, I opened a florist shop. I’ve always loved gardening and flowers. It did okay. Provided a decent living. Even did some holiday events for the police department. I sold it a few years back. Now I run the place for the new owners. When my Social Security kicks in, I’m going to retire and just work on my own garden.”
Lancaster looked at Decker. “Anything else?”
He shook his head.
“How was he killed?” asked Richards.
“We’re holding that back for now,” said Lancaster.
“Am I free to go?”
“Yes.”
She rose and looked at the pair. “I didn’t kill him,” she said quietly. “Years ago, I probably would have, no problem. But I guess time does help to heal you.”
She walked out.
Lancaster looked at him. “You believe her?”
“I don’t disbelieve her.”
“There were no usable prints or other trace in Hawkins’s room.”
“I didn’t expect there would be.”
“So what now?”
“We do what we always did. We keep digging.”
Lancaster checked her watch. “Well, right now I’ve got to get home and get some sleep or I’m going to keel over. I’ll give you a call later. You should get some sleep too.”
He rose and followed her out of the room.
Outside, Lancaster said, “I can drop you off where you’re staying.”
“I’d rather walk, thanks. It’s not that far.”
She smiled. “Nice to be working with you again.”
“You might not think that much longer.”
“I’ve gotten used to your ways.”
“So you say.”
He turned and walked off into the breaking dawn.
Chapter 6
A gentle rain kicked in as Decker trudged along the pavement.
It felt very odd to once more be investigating a crime in his hometown. The last time had involved the murder of his family. This one was different, but it still affected Decker personally.
If I was part of convicting an innocent man?
He looked around as he walked. He had decided not to come back for Cassie’s birthday, or their wedding anniversary. That simply would have been too much for him to handle. Yet he would keep returning for their daughter’s birthday. He had to be here for that milestone, though each visit was emotionally crippling for him.
His long feet carried him past where he was staying, and after a few miles he reached the long-established neighborhood. It was light now. He stopped walking and stood on the corner staring up at the place he used to call home.
The last time he’d been here was two years ago. It looked remarkably unchanged, as though time had stood still since his last visit. Although there were two unfamiliar cars in the driveway, a Ford pickup and a Nissan Sentra.
As he stood there, a man in his early thirties and a girl around seven came out of the side door. The girl was carrying a school backpack and the man was dressed in khakis and a white collared shirt with a windbreaker over it. He carried a slim briefcase in one hand. The girl yawned and rubbed her eyes.
They climbed into the pickup truck and backed out of the driveway. That’s when the man spotted Decker standing there watching the house.
He rolled down his window. “Can I help you, buddy?”
Decker studied him more closely. “You must be Henderson.”
The man eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know that?”
“A friend told me.” He pointed at the house. “I used to live there a few years ago.”
Henderson ran his gaze over Decker. “Okay. Did you leave something behind?”
“No, I, uh...” Decker’s voice trailed off, and he looked confused.
Henderson said, “Look, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a little odd that you’re standing out here this early in the morning watching my house.”
Decker pulled his FBI creds out of his pocket and showed them to Henderson. “My friend on the police force told me you’d bought the house.”
“Wait a minute,” said Henderson, staring at the ID card. “Amos Decker?”
“Yeah.”
Henderson nodded and looked anxious. “I heard about—” He snatched a glance at his daughter, who was paying close attention to this exchange.