Chapter 19
They drove directly to Regina Montgomery’s house, which, as Montgomery had said, was only about twenty minutes from the prison.
The skies were threatening rain, and, as the temperature dipped, perhaps even some snow, though it rarely fell in this part of Alabama.
Bogart drove and Decker rode next to him. Davenport was in the backseat writing up some notes on her electronic tablet. Milligan was next to her doing the same thing on his.
Jamison was to Milligan’s left. She said, “That was one scary man.”
“Well, at least the public won’t have to worry about him anymore,” said Bogart.
“Do you think his head injury made him do all those things?” asked Jamison.
“I don’t know,” replied Bogart. “In the eyes of the law it apparently didn’t matter if it did or not.”
“I guess not,” she said doubtfully.
“Lisa, what was your opinion of him?” asked Bogart as he glanced at her in the car’s rearview.
She looked up from her tablet. “My down and dirty is the guy is being truthful. He’s obviously cagey as hell, but he also seems genuinely remorseful. And if he is suffering from PTSD and that head wound affected critical areas of his brain, what he later did could make sense.”
She saw Decker staring out of the side window, obviously not paying attention to what she was saying.
“What did you think, Amos?” she said.
When he said nothing she reached forward and touched his shoulder. He jerked and glanced back at her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was asking what you thought of Montgomery?”
“I think it’s more important what we think of Regina Montgomery,” he said.
“And why is that?” she asked, looking confused. “I remember you saying we needed to find out if Montgomery had family.”
“And I hope we’re just about to get some answers.”
Regina Montgomery lived in one of a line of old duplexes that looked about a few rusted nails and a few more termite bites from falling down. They parked out front. There was an old cream-colored Buick with a tattered faux leather top sitting out in a front yard that held not a single blade of grass. The entire area looked blighted. In the distance they could hear a freight train’s whistle.
A light rain started to fall as they walked up to the front door. It had a pyramid-shaped glass with a crack in it at about eye level.
Bogart knocked on the door.
Davenport said, “The place next door looks abandoned.”
“Half the places here look abandoned,” noted Bogart.
They heard approaching footsteps and the door was opened.
Regina Montgomery was of medium height, thin, and her hair was more white than brown. She was dressed in faded jeans, flats, and a sweater with some smears of dirt near the waist.
They identified themselves and were invited in.
The front room was small, with a few pieces of cheap and battered furniture. She led them into the kitchen, moved some boxes and stacks of paper off chairs, and motioned for them to sit down around the small table in the middle of the space. There were only four chairs, so Milligan and Davenport stood.
Regina looked nervously at each of them before settling her gaze on Bogart, who had produced his FBI shield at the front door.
“What do you want with me?” she asked bluntly.
“Just to ask some questions. We’ve spoken with your husband.”
“Just so you know, while it’s true we never got divorced, we haven’t lived together for a long time. He’s been in prison for years.”
“But legally he’s still your husband?”
“Yes.”
“When did you learn about his maybe having murdered Roy and Lucinda Mars?”
She leaned back in the chair and assumed a focused expression. “When I went to the prison to visit Chuck.”
“Do you remember the date?”
“No, not exactly. I go every week, though. Lemme think.” She picked up a pack of cigarettes off the table, lit one, blew smoke out her nostrils, and was silent for a few moments, then said, “Maybe a couple months or so. Maybe. I’m not really sure.”
“Were you surprised?” asked Bogart.
“What, that he’d killed people? Hell no. I knew he could be violent. He’d murdered other people. It’s why they’re going to execute him. He killed an Alabama state trooper. That’s gonna get you the damn death penalty every time.”
“He said he had you look up the Marses’ case online to make sure he was right?” prompted Bogart.
“Yeah, I went over to the library. I don’t have a computer. I printed out their pictures and some other information and brought it to him at the prison. He recognized them right off.”
“Did you suggest that he tell the authorities?”
She shook her head. “That was Chuck’s idea. But I thought it was the right thing to do. One way he could, you know, make up for what he’d done a little.”
Decker looked around the space, his mind taking snapshots of everything he was seeing. “After your husband is executed what are your plans?”
She snorted. “Ain’t got none. I live here and can barely make the rent. I work at the grocery store and then have a second job at the McDonald’s down the road.”
“Your son lives with you?” asked Decker.
She nodded. “Tommy. He’s a good boy. He’ll do all right.”
“His father said he was a good ballplayer.”
She nodded. “Yeah, he is.”
“He doesn’t visit his dad?”
She looked at him crossly. “No. Why should he?”
“It was good of you to stick by your husband through all this,” noted Jamison.
“We had some good times together. A few good times. And he is Tommy’s dad. And I blame the damn government. Chuck fights for his country, gets a chunk of his head torn out, and what’d they do for him? Nothing. Now that’s a damn crime, if you ask me.”
“I think you’d find a lot of people to agree with you on that,” observed Davenport.
“Anything else you can tell us?” asked Bogart.
“I don’t know nothing else.” She looked at her watch. “And I got to get to work. My shift starts in about twenty minutes.”
She walked them to the door and shut it firmly behind them.
Bogart looked at Decker. “Okay, what now?”
“Now we go see the Howling Cougars.”
The rain had started to fall more steadily as they approached the high school that Decker had located on his phone.
“What are we doing here?” asked Bogart.
“You mentioned the Howling Cougars?” said Davenport.
Decker nodded. “The pictures at Regina Montgomery’s. Her son was in his Howling Cougars football jersey.”
“Okay, so you want to talk to him, but he’s never visited his father,” pointed out Jamison.
“I don’t want to ask him about his father.”
Bogart parked in the visitors’ parking lot and they went into the office. A few minutes later they were headed to the gym with the assistant principal.
“Tommy has finished his classes for the day,” said the man as they walked down the corridor. “But the team is doing some work in the gym.”
“But isn’t football season over?” asked Bogart.
The man smiled. “This is Alabama. Football season is never really over. And we won the conference championship this season. The boys want to repeat next year. Just getting in some extra work.”
He left them in the gym after speaking to the coach, who brought Tommy Montgomery over a minute later.
He was a good-looking kid, taller than his father, with broad shoulders and thick arms and thicker legs.
He looked at them all with unfriendly eyes. “Coach said you’re here about my old man.”