Chapter 30
TEN P.M.
Not a good time for introspection.
One was tired. Not ready for deep thought about critical issues.
And it was storming hard outside.
Decker sat in his chair, in his bedroom in the stricken house, and looked out at the water bucketing down.
And yet hewastrying to be introspective,to make some sense of it all.
He set the empty beer can down on the floor and wiped his mouth.
It hadn’t tasted like beer, but rather acid. He couldn’t imagine anything tasting good ever again.
Streaks of lightning, followed by booms of thunder, seemed to form an uneasy synchronicity with the smacks of his heart.
Though he couldn’t possibly hear them overthe roar of the storm, he knew that two women in the house, one very young and one only in her thirties, fatherless and widowed, respectively, were probably still bawling their eyes out. In his mind’s eye he could see them, hunched over, arms wrapped around their sides, as though struggling mightily to keep what little they had left inside somewhat intact and functional.
He used hisfinger to trace a circle on the window where condensation had collected.
One of the longest walks Decker had ever made had been from the front door of the restaurant back to the table. He had asked Green and Lassiter for permission to go and get the Mitchells and escort them out. He did not want the news that awaited them to come in a public place.
He didn’t know why he hadthought of this. His old self would have done so instinctively. To be sensitive and compassionate had been reflexive with the old Amos Decker.
Then the blindside hit on the field had left him pretty much the polar opposite of what he had been. It was, to say the least, unsettling to occupy the same body but be a totally different person.
Yet still, hehadthought about havingthem be told of the loss in a private place. And he had acted on that thought.
That’s something, isn’t it?
He had told them that the detectives wanted to talk to them about something important and that they preferred to do so down at the police station, only a few blocks away. He had told them that it couldn’t wait. It had to happen now.
He had seen an alarmed lookin Amber’s eyes that made him believe she knew that what was happening would be quite personal to her. But she remained outwardly calm and collected. And he thought he knew why.
Zoe had still been looking at her book and smiling. Obviously, the mom was keeping it together for her daughter.
Cassie, Decker’s wife, would have done the same thing.
While they were collectingtheir things, Decker managed to whisper to Jamison, “It’s about Frank. It’s bad. The worst.”
At first, Jamison made no noticeable reaction to this, but then her face visibly paled and her hand trembled a bit as she put it on the table to support herself as she stood.
The detectives drove Amber and Zoe to the police station. Jamison went with her sister and niece in Green’scar, while Decker followed them.
At the station they all reunited.
Apparently nothing was said in the police car, because Zoe seemed fine—curious about what was going on, but otherwise all right.
That would not be the case for much longer.
They had gone into a private room. Well, Amber had gone in with the two detectives, while Jamison stayed outside withZoe.
Surprisingly, Amber had asked Decker to accompany her into the room, where they had her sit, while Lassiter and Green stood facing her. Decker noted that in another corner of the room was a female police officer.
Green had spoken first.