THE ROAD WAS LONG, dusty, and wide open to the waves of heat shimmering under a sun that seemed closer to the earth than it should have been.
In the distance they could see oil rigs pumping and a sea of gas flares burning off straight into the atmosphere. They passed one tanker truck that had gone off the road and was driving through what looked like farmland.
“What the hell is he doing?” asked Jamison, who was driving the SUV.
“Dumping his saltwater waste,” Kelly replied, looking angry. “Some of what comes back up the pipe after it goes down it to fracture the shale. What that trucker is doing is against the law. He’ll ruin that land for farming forever because the salt permanently burns the soil to nothing. They pull that shit all the time just to save themselves time and trouble. We fine the crap out of them and they still keep doing it.”
“How much farther?” asked Decker.
“It’s right up ahead, on the left.”
They rounded a curve and a modest ranch house came into view. An old and battered gray pickup truck was parked outside.
“Parker have any family?” asked Jamison.
“No. His wife died. His kids are grown and gone.”
As they climbed out of the SUV Decker glanced down at the bumper sticker on the rear of Parker’s truck.
GUN CONTROL MEANS USING BOTH HANDS.
Kelly led the way up the plank steps.
The front door was standing partially open. Seeing that, all three instinctively pulled their weapons.
Kelly called out through the opening, “Hal? It’s Joe Kelly. You in there? You okay? We want to ask you some questions.”
There were sounds coming from inside but they were unintelligible.
“Hal? You okay?” Kelly cried out again. He looked at Decker. “What the hell is going on here?”
Decker looked at him. “Your call. Do we go in?”
“You bet we do.” Kelly took the lead, pushed the door fully open with the palm of his free hand, and they all charged inside.
The front room was plainly furnished with a Remington shotgun and Winchester rifle on a rack on one wall and two fishing rods leaning in a corner. An open beer can was on a table next to a recliner. But there was no sign of Parker.
“Hal?” called out Kelly again.
Decker took in the space, top to bottom, left to right. It looked like Parker had just stood and walked out of the room. The TV was still on. Those were obviously the sounds they had heard.
On one wall was a series of photos. Decker ran his gaze over each of them. They were pictures of Parker and members of various hunting parties next to the carcasses of large, dead animals.
“That’s Shane in that one,” said Decker.
Kelly nodded. “Yeah, they hunt a lot together. I’m in that one over there. Got an eight-point buck on that trip,” he added, indicating another photo. He looked around. “I don’t like this one bit. He wouldn’t leave his door open like that.”
“Does he have a vehicle other than the truck?” asked Jamison.
“He has an ATV. Keeps it in the shed out back.”
They quickly searched the house including the small bedroom but found no one there.
“Bed is still made,” noted Kelly.
Decker walked back into the front room and touched the beer on the table. “Warm. Would he be drinking during the day?”
“Not the Hal Parker I know.”
Decker went into the kitchen, slapped on a pair of latex gloves he’d pulled from his pocket, and opened the dishwasher. There was one plate, a set of utensils, and a water glass inside. He eyed Jamison, who had followed him. “Dinner last night. Beer while watching the TV. Whatever happened, I think it took place last night.”
Next, he eyed the two wineglasses and a half-empty bottle of wine on the counter. “One beer can but two wineglasses. How does that figure in?”
“Somebody showed up while he was drinking beer and watching TV, maybe?” speculated Kelly. “They crack open some wine and drink it. Then either that person takes Hal, or somebody else comes in here and takes him and the other person. But I don’t know who that could be.”
“He have any enemies?” asked Jamison.
“Never heard anyone say a word against him. Everybody liked Hal.”
“Let’s check the shed,” said Decker.
They trooped outside to the small plank shed. It had an overhead garage door that wasn’t locked. With his latex gloves still on, Decker carefully lifted the door and it rolled up on well-oiled tracks while the other two stood ready, their guns pointed at the emerging opening ready for whatever might be revealed.
There was a Honda ATV parked right inside the small space.
Decker had half expected to see the body of Hal Parker in here.
Parker wasn’t inside.
But another dead body was.
She was on the ATV, lying forward on her front side so her torso and head were resting against the handlebars with her legs splayed out behind her. She was dressed in a short tight skirt, a low-cut body-hugging midriff top, thigh-high black stockings, and spiky shoes.
On the right side of the woman’s head was a bloody hole where a bullet had ended her life.
They all just stared at the body for a few moments.
“She’s young, looks to be in her early twenties,” noted Decker as he gazed at the body. He glanced at Kelly. “Do you know who she is?”
Kelly nodded, looking grim. “She’s Pamela Ames, Susan and Milton’s oldest daughter, from the Colony.”
“But she’s not dressed like the other women there,” pointed out Jamison. “She’s dressed, well, pretty alluringly.”
“And I wonder why,” said Decker.
AS DECKER STARED ACROSS the width of the London Police Station’s main room, he had a sense of déjà vu, and for a horrible reason. Milton and Susan Ames were sitting in two straight-back chairs after having been told of the murder of their daughter and having viewed and identified her remains at the funeral home.
Years ago, Decker had found the bodies of his wife, daughter, and brother-in-law in their home in Burlington, Ohio. He had called the cops and then sat on the bathroom floor staring at his daughter. Molly Decker had been bound to the toilet using the belt of her bathrobe after her killer had used that very same belt to strangle her to death. Decker had sat there with his service pistol in hand. He had finally stuck it into his mouth and was seriously contemplating eating a round and dying with them. But something, he wasn’t exactly sure what, had stopped him.
After his brain injury his personality had also changed. Thus, he was no longer adept in moments like this, that called for delicacy and empathy. He usually said the wrong thing or made the wrong gesture. It was just a disconnect he often could not control.
He refocused on the grieving Ameses. He would ordinarily leave this sort of thing to Jamison. She was now sitting next to him and studying the Ameses as well. She touched his hand and started to say something, but at that moment Decker got up and walked over to the stricken people. He knelt down in front of them.
Jamison looked on fearfully, no doubt thinking her partner would not be up to dealing with the bereaved parents.
Susan Ames had aged a decade since he had last seen her. The woman’s face was fallen in, her eyes bloodshot, her hands shaking, her thin chest heaving unevenly. Her scarf had fallen off, and she hadn’t seemed to have noticed.
Milton simply stared down at his hands, his eyes reddened from the tears shed.
Susan focused on Decker when he picked up the scarf and held it out to her.
As her fingers closed around it, he said, “I’m so very sorry.”
Susan nodded. “She . . . she was very smart. She could have . . .” She shook her head, unable to finish.
Decker cleared his throat and said, “I had a daughter. She was smart and could’ve been anything, too. But somebody took that opportunity away from her.”
Now Milton looked at Decker, as though he were just now seeing him for the first time.
Decker continued. “And I caught that person. And I will do the same for your daughter because she deserves nothing less.”
Susan slowly nodded and murmured, “Thank you.”
Jamison sat there transfixed by what she was seeing. When Decker turned to her she tried to assume a normal expression, but she wasn’t quick enough. He showed no reaction to this.
He rose and said to the Ameses, “I know this is a really hard time, but the sooner we can get some information from you, the faster we can catch whoever did this.”
Milton just sat there, but Susan nodded. “We understand.”
Kelly appeared in the doorway having overheard this last part. “If you’re ready, then?” he said quietly.
The Ameses rose as though roped together and followed them down the hall to a small, windowless room with one rectangular table and four chairs, two on either side. They all sat except Decker. He leaned against the wall, his thick arms folded over his broad chest.
“Okay, the most obvious question: Was there any connection between Hal Parker and your daughter?” asked Kelly, his small notepad open and his pen hovering.
“None that I know of,” said Susan. “There would be no reason, you see. He never worked for us. We didn’t require his services. He never came to the Colony. She never mentioned him.”
“Okay,” said Kelly. “When was the last time you saw Pamela?”
At this, Susan glanced nervously at her husband.
Decker said, “We found her at about one in the afternoon. Prelim on the time of death was around nine o’clock last night. So there’s a long gap of time unaccounted for.”
Milton looked up, his eyes watery. “She had left the Colony. Pammie had left us.”
“When did this happen?” said a clearly surprised Kelly. “I hadn’t heard anything about that.”
“Well, we don’t broadcast when people leave us,” said Susan, assuming a more measured and prim manner. “It’s not something we like to dwell upon.”
“And it happens very infrequently,” Milton hastened to add. “But we can’t keep someone against their will, not when they’re of age. We would never do that.”
“But we did counsel her, we tried to show her how bad it would be,” said Susan.
“Let’s get back to what happened to your daughter,” said Decker.
At this comment, both Milton’s and Susan’s eyes filled with fresh tears.
Jamison handed them both Kleenexes, which they used to wipe their eyes.
“Pammie was . . . bored with life at the Colony,” began Milton. “And because of that we let her go and stay with my cousin’s family in San Antonio last year. She got a taste of . . . life outside. She apparently liked it very much. When she got back she told us she wanted to leave, go back to San Antonio and enroll in some classes, find a job and—”
“—start living her life,” finished Susan.
“But then you tried to talk her out of it,” said Jamison. “Like you said.”
“And we were unsuccessful, as we also told you,” replied Susan stiffly.
“When exactly did she leave the Colony?” asked Kelly.
“A month ago,” answered Milton brusquely.
“But she didn’t go to San Antonio?” Decker pointed out. “She was still here. Unless she went out there and came back.”
“She . . . she hadn’t gone yet,” said Milton in a small voice.
“What was she waiting for?” asked Jamison.
Milton was about to answer when Susan cleared her throat. He glanced at his wife, who was staring at him with such a rigid expression that it was like she had been transformed from flesh to wood.
Milton shut his mouth and looked away while Decker watched this interaction closely.
She said, “We . . . we live a communal life here, and have no personal resources, but we could have asked the community to provide her with some means to travel to San Antonio and given her a bit of a cushion until she became self-sustaining.”
“But you didn’t,” said Jamison.
Susan could only shake her head.
Milton said, “We thought it would be a way to make her come . . . home.” He broke down entirely now and rested his forehead on the table, his body quaking. His wife didn’t look at him, but she did pat him gently on the back.
Decker eyed Kelly and said, “We’ll need to check her movements, friends, whether she had a job. Where she was staying and what if any connection she had to Hal Parker.” He stopped and stared over at Susan. “Before, you said that Parker never came to the Colony. But then you said that you had never required his services, which implies that you knew what he did for a living. Did you know Hal Parker, Ms. Ames?”
She glanced at her husband, who was still bent over, weeping quietly.
“I . . . I knew him, yes. Unlike Milton I . . . I have not always been here at the Colony. When I was younger, much younger, I lived in London with my parents. Hal was older than I was, but our families were neighbors, so I would see him a good deal when I was a child. I’ve . . . I know what he does for a living.”
Jamison said, “So did Pamela know him? Might she have gone to him for help when she left here?”
“It’s possible,” said Susan. “I don’t know for sure.”
Jamison frowned. “You didn’t keep in touch with her?”
Susan said defensively, “She didn’t have a cell phone.”
“I find that hard to believe,” said Jamison. “Even if she wasn’t used to having access to one at the Colony, it would be hard to do without one once she had left there.”
Kelly added, “And London’s not that big. Surely you could have gone to see her.”
“I chose not to see her,” snapped Susan. “She had made her choice. She didn’t want to be a part of our world anymore.”
Decker pushed off the wall, came forward, and said offhandedly, “So she might have been staying with Parker. And if someone came there to take him away and she was there, she might have just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Kelly nodded in agreement. “That could be, yes.”
Jamison said, “But, Decker, it’s a one-bedroom house. And we didn’t find any clothing or other things that would indicate that Pamela Ames was living there. And there was no vehicle other than Parker’s.” She gazed up at him, puzzled. “You know all that.”
Decker kept his gaze on Milton. “That’s right, Alex. So now maybe Milton can tell us what his wife doesn’t want us to know.”
All eyes turned to Milton as he slowly sat back against his chair. He rubbed his eyes and would not look at his wife this time.
“Unlike Susan, I did keep in touch with Pammie.”
“And?” said Decker.
“And she was working as a waitress at the big truck stop on the main road coming into town.”
“She told you this?”
“No. I heard it from someone else. A trucker who makes deliveries here. He knew Pammie. He told me she was there. I . . . I went there to see her. But when I saw . . .”
“I’m sorry, but I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” said Jamison. “When you saw what?”
“Well, what she was wearing! What all the waitresses wore in that place. They were barely clothed. And all the men ogling them. It was . . . I just couldn’t believe that my daughter—”
Susan made a clucking sound and glanced at her husband with a scathing look.
Milton swallowed nervously and looked down.
“And you told her what you thought about it?” said Jamison.
He nodded, still looking down. “I . . . I told her I was ashamed of her and never wanted to see her again.”
On that, Milton broke into sobs and couldn’t answer another question.